peckenpaugh | THE UPPER LEVELS

up into the balconies

you climb The breathing boughs of that nightmare tree crowd into the upper balconies of the ruined auditorium. You have to duck and bend to get by them in places, sometimes through spaces that seem to grow smaller as you press through. These branches are warm to the touch, some of them uncomfortably so, pulsing with something that isn't quite life.

You've climbed these stairs more than once in your time here; to take your place after your sorting, to watch new students find their House, or perhaps just for an assembly. This building always seemed so sturdy, so safe. It was a place to go for shows, for celebrations, and hell, to just get out of class. Now, the floorboards creek precariously, split and splintering where vines have crept through. Benches are broken, overturned and tossed aside to make room for the auditorium's new king: the malignant maple. Up here, the glowing blue seeds hanging from branches are close enough to pluck. Those that have ripened litter the floor and railings, filling the balconies with an eerie blue twinkle.

The air is muggy, clogged by falling ash. It stinks of coal and sulfer. But you keep moving, anyway. Keep opening portals and pushing on. Just a little bit higher, and then maybe you'll be able to plunge into the depths.

and you fight By now there's a plan, and with it, a slowly growing brigade of people, of beings, of bugs, who are gathering to push back against inevitability.

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Eventually, through the magic of RP Time, Burton Bland crumples to the floor, just a pile of dust. The scene rewinds, the man in the tweed suit resuming his place at the booth, as if he never even noticed the two teens eavesdropping on his conversation.

"And what in the Hell is all this shit, man? Looks satanic," Henry shuffles the stack more, flourishing out a collection of handwritten notes. Symbols and diagrams cover the page. Words and phrases like "heart" and "leyline" stand out. "It ain't you, Burt."

"That, Henry," says Burton Bland with a casual flick of his wrist, "Is what's going to dissolve the wall that separates us from them."

The memory begins again with a slow nod from the man in the dark robes. "In exchange for being allowed to stay in this...plane? You will monitor the wound in Paw Paw?"

The memory owner nods. "His..._pressure? No. _Aura? Cannot _harm us. We ^can keep the gate."

"Coffee, sir!" chirps an intern as they throw open the interrogation room door.

It startles the memory owner, who flares several sets of extra long shadowy tendril limbs. That startles the intern, who nearly drops the coffee.

The interrogation room door still stands open, though, leaving a way to the Peckenpaugh auditorium.

They don't have to pack his boxes for him, but things jolt forward eventually.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Bruno Ellerby shouts from the street, waving apologetically up at the window as he tries to climb out of a cramped Camaro. Behind him, Bryce can hear a gentle exhale. The closest thing to a laugh he’s heard from his mother in weeks.

“I’m not taking you away from them,” Marilynn continues as the sound of the horn continues to echo through the neighborhood. “I still love this town, I still want you to go to Peckenpaugh.”

“What if I don’t want to come back? You get to bail, why can’t I just go to Ilvermorny or something? Just,” he throws his hands up in a frustrated shrug, “leave all this shit behind?”

Marilynn doesn’t answer right away. She climbs to her feet, hefting the box up with a surprising strength. Then again, Marilynn Swint Qualls has always surprised people with her strength. “I don’t think you can, honey,” she answers, finally, as she moves to the door. “This holler is in your blood, and your blood is in this holler. It’ll call you back.”

Bryce doesn’t say anything. His mother clearly doesn’t expect him to. She takes the box out into the hall, but for everyone else it’s an exit to 2020.

Page 17 of 17

THE UPPER LEVELS

MEMORY: Planting A Seed

MEMORY: Coffee

MEMORY: Moving Out But Not On