The Strings Between Us

Unpublished and Dangerous

The morning came gray and heavy.

By the time Belinda pulled back the curtain of the hotel window, the Ohio sky was weighed down with storm clouds, the air thick with anticipation.

It felt like the kind of day where something irreversible was about to happen.

Slappy stood by the table, dressed in a charcoal cloak and gloves, the collar sharp and high like he was preparing for a duel rather than a burglary.

"You ready, dollface?"

She turned, already tying her cloak around her neck. Her disguise still held — her features human, her voice smooth, her skin no longer painted porcelain... but the ticking of her curse was always there beneath the surface.

"I've never robbed a famous author before," she said.

"Then it's your lucky day."

They left the Graveheart Inn before sunrise, traveling by shadow and side street until they arrived at the unassuming brown-brick building on a quiet suburban block.

It looked like nothing — the kind of place you'd pass without a second glance.

But Belinda could feel the magic radiating off of it like invisible heat waves.

"It's enchanted," she murmured.

"He keeps all his stories here," Slappy said darkly. "All the monsters he's ever written. All the spells he's ever gatekept."

He turned to her, expression serious.

"Once we're inside, do not touch anything that moves. Not unless I say."

"Why? What moves?"

"Everything."

~~~

The front door had no knob. Just a brass keyhole surrounded by runes.

Slappy withdrew the feather-shaped key and slid it in. The lock hissed, the glyphs glowing red — then white — and then—

Click.

The door swung open to darkness.

Slappy held out his hand. She took it.

Together, they stepped inside.

The air in the office was cold and damp, like the inside of a tomb.

Glass display cases lined the walls — inside were original manuscripts, photos of old typewriters, and sketches of monsters in red pen.

"This isn't just his office," Belinda whispered. "It's a vault."

Slappy nodded grimly.

They moved deeper, navigating between filing cabinets and old trunks covered in locks. The place was eerily silent, except for the occasional creak of wood or shuffle of paper from nowhere.

Slappy led her to a spiral staircase descending into a hidden basement.

Here, the air was thicker. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, some titles glowing faintly, others chained shut.

"It should be in here somewhere," he murmured, pulling the compass from his satchel.

The compass needle spun wildly, then pointed left — toward a shelf marked "Unpublished and Dangerous."

Belinda followed as Slappy reached out and ran his gloved fingers along the spines.

When he stopped, she knew he'd found it.

A thick black volume, bound in cracked leather. No title.

"That's it?" she asked.

He nodded.

"The spell to undo your curse is in here. But—"

Suddenly—

SLAM.

The bookshelf behind them snapped shut, sealing them in.

The lights dimmed. The runes on the walls began to pulse red.

"He set a trap," Belinda said.

"Of course he did," Slappy growled. "Nothing's ever easy with Stine."

The floor beneath them rumbled. A dark shape slithered across the ceiling — long and serpentine. Belinda stumbled back.

"Is that—?"

"A story guardian," Slappy said, shielding her behind him. "He made it to protect the most dangerous books. And it hates me."

The creature dropped — half-shadow, half-ink, all fangs and whips of torn paper.

It shrieked and lunged.

Slappy shoved Belinda aside just in time.
The monster crashed down, swiping a talon where her head had just been. Books flew everywhere. The enchanted ones hissed and snapped like cornered animals.

"Get the book!" Slappy shouted. "I'll distract it!"

"I'm not leaving you with that thing!"

"I've handled worse!"

But Belinda saw it then — Slappy wasn't as fast as usual. The portal travel and magic cost him more than he'd admitted. He was slowing.

She made a decision.

"We do this together," she snapped, and grabbed a glowing journal from the nearest shelf.

The monster turned to her, screeching.

"Hey, inky!" she yelled. "Catch!"

She threw the journal — it exploded in a burst of blue fire, knocking the creature back.

Slappy blinked. "Not bad."

"You're not the only one who can improvise."

He grinned. "Remind me to promote you later."

With the monster stunned, Slappy lunged for the spellbook and stuffed it into his satchel.

"Time to go!"

They sprinted back up the staircase, the monster shrieking behind them.

The runes were flashing like warning sirens.
The whole building was waking up. Shelves shook. Pages flew like knives.

They crashed through the front door just as it slammed behind them again, sealing the vault.

The street outside was still empty. Normal.
Untouched.

They stood there panting, wild-eyed.

Then Slappy laughed.

"That was fun."

Belinda slugged his arm. "You're insane."

"Takes one to know one."

~~~

Back at the Graveheart, they sat on the bed with the spellbook between them.

It was heavy and warm to the touch.

Slappy turned the first few pages, scanning silently.

Belinda watched his profile — the way his brow furrowed, the way his mouth twitched with concentration.

"Did you mean it?" she asked finally.

He looked up. "Mean what?"

"That I'd have a choice."

He didn't answer right away.

"Yeah. I meant it."

Their eyes met.

And that promise hung there — between them — radiating with potential.