(( I'm just putting it somewhere to have, it's from 2013, I thought I posted it but I can't find it and MAYBE I DIDN'T so I'm posting it for storage. The end is more of a summary than a story. ANYWAY here it is. ))

Barth slept for most of the carriage ride. Harker watched him for a while, and then slept too. The marked man had not revealed anything more about their job, and Grimhold had been polite but could only tell Barth the address he had been instructed to drive them to. The address meant nothing to Barth. He was not even sure if their destination was business or residential.
There was nothing else to do except sleep, which suited Barth fine.
The carraige stayed mostly true to Halloween's ominous rolling hills. If it did falter, Grimhold was driving at the vampire equivalent of 3AM, and trying to make out the road squinting through sunglasses, a nose thick with sunscreen, and a floppy hat. Roadkill waved at him occasionally. Even with the overcast October sky, he drove between trees and overhanging cliffs, hunting for shadows, until he came to the long, last shadow of a grey house. The house contained almost no width, but was very tall, with a tower at the very top.
Grimhold stopped the carriage, making no announcements, opened the door to the carraige, and waited. Harker, who was on the other side of Barth, opened his own door and climbed to the top to get his luggage, a single carpetbag, which he pulled down with a grumble.
"Get him up," he said to Grimhold, "he's slept enough."
"You will find that keeping him awake is a feat of comparable difficulty with your assigned task," Grimhold said.
"Harder? I find that hard to believe." Harker said.
"Of comparable difficulty," Grimhold repeated.
Harker looked at Barth, as if sizing him up. "He's a Mudd, right? Earth elemental?"
"Avarice," Barth supplied. He was still arranged floppily in the seat, knee up and chin resting in the crook of his arm. His eyes had snuck half-way open sometime during their conversation. "There's err, there's a lot of walking involved, is there?"
"I've parked as close to the door as possible," Grimhold said.
"We're going to hand out pamphlets?" Barth asked hopefully.
Harker looked at him like he was stupid. "You just go first. Play nice and introduce yourself."
"My real name? Err, not my real name. My regular name, I mean. As opposed to using a pseudonym." Barth wondered if he should be wearing a fedora too. Hello, I'm Jimmy the Fish, here on seedy business, that sort of thing. So cooperate or get lit up. What made this entire rigamarole more ridiculous was that he was the one expected to perform it.
"Using whatever you call yourself," Harker said. "We don't have all day, kid."
Barth oozed out of the carraige, letting gravity do most of the work, then stared glumly at the house. It was shabby and full of hard uncomfortable angles. There was no horticulture, not even carnivorous or dead variety, just weeds, and of course the tower, which to Barth only translated as *stairs*. He braved the short walk across the lawn, with Harker lurking at an exaggerated slow pace behind him and Grimhold staying back in the shade of the carriage. Harker waited for him to hit the doorbell.
Barth tapped it.
He was not sure what he expected to emerge from the house. A monster, maybe, or one of the less reputable classes of undead. He was certainly not expecting a stern, handsome demon as gray as the house and wearing a threadbare jacket to throw open the door with violent surprise. Blood had been completely drained from his face. "Rasputher!" he cried, and grabbed Barth. He had long claws. His ferocity worsened as he gripped Barth's arms.
Barth deduced in short order that his expendability was about to be expended, and with no idea what sort of curse the incantation Rasputher entailed, squirmed with what remained of his energy, yelping, "I was just testing the door a bit, seems to work fine, I'll be right on my way, *please don't kill me*."
The demon looked as though Barth had struck him. He started to speak, thought better of it, then stepped backwards, and to Barth's great surprise, released him. "What do you want," The demon demanded.
Barth looked at Harker for instruction, received none, and forged ahead meekly, "I'm Bartholomew Mudd."
There was no recognition in the other's eyes. Harker was silent. Barth, desperate, reguritated the first piece of information that had been demanded of him. "My father, Ardenter, sent me."
The demon looked suspiciously at Harker, then tested the word. "Ardenter," This seemed to pacify him, and he adjusted his sleeves, like a cat regaining its dignity after it has bolted in crazy zigzags around the room. "I see. Yes, that's his mark. Well. Come in. Sorry about not recognizing you. I can't be expected to keep track of all of his..." he swirled a hand irritability. "*Excessiveness*."
Barth stepped inside to the foyeur, which was underfurnished and unkempt. The other demon hung around the door, letting Harker in and staring at the carraige outside. "Tell your servant to park your carriage around back. There aren't any more of you piled out there, are there?"
"No," Barth said, "Just me, I'm afraid."
"Good, good," The demon said. He kept sneaking glances at Barth. "How long are you planning on staying?"
"Err, staying," Barth repeated.
"Not very long," The demon told him. "We don't have much food in the house. And the guest rooms haven't been seen to in some time. He's not going to start cycling you through, is he? At this point, with half of you monsters and ghosts and whatever else he's been fooling around with, the family line's been muddled to Christmas and back."
The walls were lined with portraits. There was the house's occupant, as expected, along with other demons Barth didn't recognize, and one other he did: a young, thin, sorrowful version of his father. The horns, as ribbed and gaudy as Barth's own, were difficult to mistake. He fixed to this portrait, bewildered, and asked in a slow, careful way as if not quite sure if the answer would earn him another assault, "That's...dad?"
"Oh yes," The demon said, "As thick-headed then as he is now, even though he's had centuries to grow something besides his belly and his ego."
Barth, who had been puzzling over the situation, at last said, "Then you're...?"
"His father," the demon said, "and your grandfather. Samuel. Here, keep up, we'll get you settled."

xx

There was exactly one bedroom on the bottom floor, which was dusty but comfortable enough. While the majority of the house gave the impression that mourners had come through and pinched everything that wasn't nailed down, this room had some malnourished pillows stuffed in odd places, and an ink-stained writing desk that reminded Barth of his workbench at the academy. After Samuel left, he made the decision to hide there for the remainder of the visit (or whatever they were doing). The decision made it a good twenty minutes until Harker barged in, shutting the door behind him.
"Yes?" Barth asked.
"Okay, we're in," Harker said. "So I can tell you."
Barth did not look excited.
"That guy, Old Samuel. He owes your dad two-hundred fifty thousand seeds. It's your neck as much as mine on this one, he said neither of us should come back without it. I would have told you earlier, but we needed to get our foot in the door." Harker looked around the room. "You can start here, then you've got to look through the rest of the house."
"Look for what?" Barth asked, wilting.
"For the vault," Harker said. "He's got some kind of spell on it. I can't see it, but as long as you're in the bloodline, you should be able to. You just find it. I'll take care of the rest. Whatever you do, don't mention that we're after money to Old Samuel. He'll have us out of here faster than you can say Midas's daughter."
"But," Barth said, "there are stairs."
"Yeah, and a lot of them. I'd get a head start tonight, if I were you. Either way, we can't come back without that 250k."
"Are you quite sure we can't just ask? Or that he even has it. He seems a bit, err," *Poor*. That was the word Barth was looking for. Everything in this house was completely opposite to anything having to do with wealth. His father's house was crammed from floor to ceiling with opulent sculptures and furniture and whatever else he could fit onto the walls. Here the only decorations were the portraits, which all had two copper dates below them, inscribed with the owner's date of birth and date of death, and read eeriely like trophies.
"There's a vault," Harker said, "and it's loaded. If I had to guess, I'd say he's either hidden it in or near the top tower, but we won't know until you've given it the once-over."
"The top," Barth repeated, feeling faint. "As in the top of the stairs."
"Yeah. You allergic to them?" Harker asked.
"Technology has made many advancements in the pursuit of eliminating stairs," Barth said. "Lifts, for instance. Paved roads. Saddles. Broomsticks, were I of witchier inclinations. With all these strides forward, it seems like a personal insult to science that stairs still exist at all. Worse that anyone should have to go up them."
"You've still got to take the stairs," Harker said.
Barth wished he was back at the academy and within easy reach of friends willing to help with a heist. But he wasn't, and his asset pool was shallow. The stairs loomed just beyond his doorway like a herald of failure. Harker's words, *Come back with the money or not at all*. Floated above each step. Amityville seemed far away, and the idea of returning there farther still. He felt very alone. Except, of course, for the stairs.

zz

After a laborious hour of stair climbing, Barth had managed exactly four steps. He heard footsteps, and looked up from where he was sprawled across the stairway to find Samuel staring down at him.

"Going somewhere?" Samuel asked.

"Just...admiring the portraits," Barth said.

"Oh, yes," Samuel said, stopping to look at them with a pleased expression. "Of course, it's easier to keep track of family when you aren't going through pumpkins like you're making pies out of them." There was a bell in the background. "...Come down for dinner. We're having fish."

Grimhold and Harker dined in the kitchen. Samuel and Barth had the long, thin dining table to themselves. On the chipped and undecorated plates, each demon had a single sardine. Barth moved it around his plate with a bent fork.

"So, let's get right down to it. Tell me about your family," Samuel began. "Mother, and so on. A demon? Of good financial standing?"

"Bibble-Babble Mudd. She's a demon. And err, well-off, yes," Barth answered, giving up on the sardine.

"Your name, Mudd, is from your mother. Are they rich, then? The Mudds." Samuel asked.

"Filthy," Barth said frankly, "Earth elemental demons. Very like dwarves, although they'd hate the comparison. Gold, silver, gemstones, and so on. My father is wealthy enough, but I don't see much of it."

"He and your mother don't share a bank account?"

"Hardly."

"How about you and your father, do you get along?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I don't think my father has much confidence in me."

"Rightfully so?"

Barth shrugged and said, "Sloth demons aren't known for their useful qualities."

Samuel tapped his claws on the table. "What did he send you here for, then?"

Barth could lie. Say he'd just wanted a visit, or to spend some time with family. The old demon looked at him sharply from across the table. Samuel might even pretend to believe him. Barth remembered Harker's warning, that if Samuel knew it had to do with money, they'd be out on their tails. Samuel already knew. That's how it was, with Greed demons. They could practically smell it.

"I suspect," Barth said, "he wants to wheedle some money out of you. But why he sent me to do it, I don't know."

"Hoping to prey on old sentiments," Samuel said. "How much did he want?"

Barth looked nervous.

"You might as well have it out."

"Two-hundred fifty thousand. Err, sorry. I know that's on the steep side."

Samuel glowered at him, thinking. "I see," he said. Quite suddenly his posture loosened, and he leaned back in his chair. "Alright. You've been frank. I think that was wise."

Barth was gambling, and he knew it. He waited.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like, but you shouldn't expect a cent."

Barth nodded. "I was err, afraid of that," he said. Being able to stay was....well, not much better than being kicked out, all considered. But it gave him time.

"-a cent you haven't earned yourself," Samuel finished severely.

Barth had been more afraid of that.

"I'll give you a chance for a thousand now, tonight. What do you think about that?"

Barth thought he wouldn't let go of that much, but that it was a good opportunity to address the vault location. He said, "Err, about earning,"

Samuel waved him off. "Nothing tedious like chores. Do you like checkers?"

**

Barth returned to his room baffled, soundly beaten at checkers, and no closer to the 250k.

"If you don't mind, I am trying very hard to keep the two of us alive. He knew we were sniffing about. Better to have something on the table. I don't know if you noticed the dates below the portraits, but every one of those painting's owners... *my* family members, excluding my father, are dead. You don't get a full vault on good investments alone. You said it earlier. We're in it to our necks." Harker, judging from his marks, was in it past his neck, but Barth thought mentioning it was bad for morale.

@ top- house must contain almost no width, but very tall, with a tower at the top (from which Rasputher reputedly jumped to his death?? (According to Samuel, because Sloth is so close to despair and he had written a plethora of depressing letters and poetry, which were oversensitive and not very good, and others could account for his very gloomy nature) But a very tall staircase leading up to it. ...Or similar means by which Barth would be too lazy to do himself.
All the portraits lining the halls and stairs have dates in copper beneath them, (1943-198 cool which remind Barth eeriely of trophies.
ll
Harker says Barth has to be the one to find the vault, and therefore search every inch of the house. Once he's located it though, Harker can do the rest. Barth therefore tediously begins searching the house (which is one long vertical climb). The first night he gets about four or so steps in when Samuel comes down the stairs, saying that Barth must come to dinner (there is always a dinner bell rung), and catch him up on family affairs (When asked what he is doing on the staircase, Barth says that he is also catching up on family affairs by viewing each of the portraits). They have a single sardine. After dinner, Barth is exhausted from the stairs and can't help doing anything but sleeping the entire night. In the afternoon, not being an early riser, he begins his search again. The stairwell has windows at every turn, and is very well-lit. Samuel is increasingly ill at dinner. Barth finally reaches the top of the staircase after many tries and falling asleep under his grandmother's portrait, thus missing dinner (Grimhold finds and carries him to the top, finally able to do so now that it is night).
At the very top is not the vault, just the last family portrait, which is a picture of Barth (worryingly with a birthdate and deathdate, neither of which belong to Barth). (this turns out to be Rasputher, the portrait having been moved to the site of his suicide). Samuel explains this at dinner.
Barth does at last find the vault (on the bottom floor after all, after despairing of searching the stairs and intending to give up completely), but occupied and with Harker sneaking out of it, curiously empty-handed. He waits to see what Harker does the next night, which is a repetition of the first (visits the vault, comes back out with nothing) Barth confronts him about it and Harker confesses he had actually found the vault earlier (( some circumstance which hints to this, Barth being the one who located it without realizing? )) and has been sneaking the money out in very small incriments so he won't be discovered (and that soon enough they will have the full amount, and that Barth should tell Grimhold to be prepared to leave). Barth realizes he's lying, and instead (the next night?) locks him in the vault. The next morning Samuel finds him in the vault, dead.
Barth explains the situation, that Harker had been using a fear-draining curse on the contents of the vault, and that he must have locked himself inside, resulting in his own death. Samuel counters that Harker must have found it difficult to turn the key from the outside, to which Barth accuses Samuel of complicity in his great-uncle's death (that the stairs were too much of a climb). Samuel says it does not matter who helped him up, Rasputher didn't have the will to pull himself together again. Barth remembers he has pulled himself together several times already. It is acknowledged that Ardenter probably cared less for the bogus amount of 250k and more about inheriting the remainer of the family fortune (and that Harker was sent to kill Samuel). But was, as usual, clumsy and heavy-handed in his methods. Samuel and Barth find a sort of kinsmanship in each other (although Samuel was fond of his brother, Rasputher, he had all of Ardenter's wits - that is to stay, he was a fairly stupid demon, without the force to back it up ... Barth is more wily and very similar to his Grandfather) and Samuel thinks Barth might be able, in turn, to get rid of Ardenter and his brood (as is sort of family tradition), and at last sends Barth and Grimhold back with the 250k, with the explanation that Harker, clearly mad, had tried to murder Samuel but had killed himself accidentally with his own spell. Here we see a bit of Barth's house, which is large, and very crowded/active (in contrast to his dream of an empty house, think beginning of Home Alone) Ardenter did not really want the amount, but accepts it and sends Barth back to school (perhaps also looking at Barth a little differently). Barth is not very interested in the family fortune, but is very interested in saving his own skin from similarly greedy relatives, and resolves to take any means necessary to prevent his portrait from turning up in the stairwell.

(Barth's grandmother grandfather is a Kitsune - currently also out of town on separate business, falls asleep underneath his portrait on the stairwell, by his Grandfather's bedroom.)