Chapter Text
The penthouse living room buzzed with lazy chatter. Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Angel Dust, and Niffty lounged around as the warm glow of Hell’s eternal twilight filtered through the windows. Alastor, humming a jaunty tune, casually stirred a pot of something questionable in the kitchen.
Charlie perked up suddenly. “Hey, Alastor? We never did find out… where did you go all those years?”
The room grew still. Even Husk put down his drink, watching carefully. He had known Alastor longer than any of them — before Charlie even had her hotel dream — but even he didn’t know where the Radio Demon had disappeared to.
Alastor grinned wide, eyes flashing. "Oh, that old chestnut! Well, if you must know…" He twirled the spoon dramatically. "I was in the human world."
There was a collective blink of disbelief.
"WHAT?!" Angel Dust blurted out, nearly dropping his cigarette. "Why?!"
Alastor chuckled, static buzzing faintly around him. "Oh, I was dreadfully bored, my dears. Here, Hell had grown a tad... stagnant. So I thought—what better way to amuse myself than to frolic among the mortals?"
"Frolic?" Vaggie said suspiciously, folding her arms.
Alastor leaned in, voice dripping with mock innocence. "I may have... disguised myself as a not-deer—you know, slightly wrong antlers, eyes that don’t quite blink right—and wandered the woods. Scared a few hikers. Terrified a few campgrounds. Caused a few... disappearances."
Charlie paled. "Disappearances?"
He smiled brighter, if that was even possible. "Well, a fellow must eat, mustn't he?"
Husk groaned, rubbing his face. "Knew it. Knew it had to be somethin’ messed up."
Alastor waved a hand breezily. "Nothing that wasn't in good fun! They were hardly missed, I'm sure." He twirled his finger, static crackling in the air. "Sometimes I'd even make the trees talk, or the fog hum old radio jingles from the 1930s. Delightfully unsettling!"
Niffty clapped her hands excitedly. "Ooh! Did you make them see, like, spooky shapes too? Like in those old haunted woods stories?!"
"But of course!" Alastor beamed. "Spectral figures, distant laughter, flickering lights—anything to drive the more superstitious mortals into delightful hysteria."
Charlie looked horrified. "You—you didn’t make any deals, right?"
At that, Alastor’s grin turned sharp. "Deals?" he laughed, a crackle in the air. "For my soul? Oh, pish posh!" His smile darkened slightly. "I own my soul. Always have, always will. I’d never cheapen myself with such... nonsense."
Angel leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Man, you're seriously messed up, deer boy."
"Thank you!" Alastor said brightly, bowing slightly. "It was just a bit of harmless chaos... and a feast or two. All in the name of good, wholesome entertainment!"
There was a long silence.
Finally, Husk sighed and grabbed his drink again. "You’re lucky I don’t care enough to stop you."
Alastor chuckled lowly, the sound warping the air. "Lucky indeed."
Charlie, despite herself, laughed nervously. "Only you would cause cryptid sightings and human urban legends just because you were bored."
Alastor’s eyes glinted dangerously. "Ah, but my dear, chaos is its own reward."
Charlie leaned forward on the couch, wide-eyed. “Wait, wait—you’re saying you created urban legends?!"
Alastor leaned casually against the counter, stirring his strange brew. His grin widened, teeth gleaming. "Oh, not all of them, my dear. Just… a fair share."
Angel Dust put his boots up on the coffee table. "Like what, exactly? Bigfoot? Mothman? What are we talkin' here?"
Alastor chuckled, a low crackling noise weaving through the room like faint static. "Oh no, nothing so crude as Bigfoot. No, I preferred... finesse. Little things. Little fears."
He ticked off on his fingers:
"The Wendigo?"
"I merely wandered through the snowy woods, eyes glowing, whispering in the blizzard winds. Humans have such fragile minds."
"The Not-Deer sightings?"
He laughed, shaking his antlered head. "That one was practically handed to me. Slightly wrong proportions, backwards joints... a dash of unnatural movement... et voilà! Terrified campers, endless Reddit posts, countless YouTube ‘documentaries’."
"The Radio Static in the Forests?"
He leaned in closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "That was my favorite. Imagine hiking alone, and suddenly... crackling voices humming an old jazz tune you don’t recognize... but it’s coming from the trees themselves."
Charlie shivered, fascinated and disturbed all at once.
Niffty giggled. "You must’ve had so much fun!"
"Oh, immense!" Alastor said brightly. "Sometimes I even posed as an injured deer, luring do-gooders closer… only to reveal a mouth far too wide under my muzzle, just for a quick scream. Or a snack, depending on my mood."
Angel Dust gave a theatrical shudder. "Damn, no wonder people are scared of camping now."
Vaggie, arms still folded, narrowed her eyes. "You... you didn’t cause any, like... real disasters, right?"
Alastor hummed thoughtfully. "Define real."
"Like... mass death?"
He smiled charmingly. "Only a handful. Mostly isolated incidents. Hardly noticeable! Besides—" His smile sharpened, voice gleeful, "the humans blame each other far better than I ever could."
Charlie buried her face in her hands with a groan. "Alastor…."
"No harm, no foul!" he chirped.
"Except for the people you ate," Husk mumbled into his glass.
"Details, details," Alastor sang, twirling in a little circle. "Besides, I left them excellent ghost stories. A true cultural service!"
He finally plopped into an armchair, tipping his hat. "So, next time you hear a story about a ‘deer walking wrong’ in the woods... or the radio hissing when no one’s around... just know—"
He winked.
"I’m still renting space in their tiny little mortal heads."
The room sat in stunned, chaotic silence.
Angel Dust lit a new cigarette. "Man... you are a damn menace."
Alastor’s laugh echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls like old-time radio static.
"And proud of it!"
Later that evening, the gang lounged around the hotel lobby, half-bored. Husk was passed out on the bar. Niffty dusted a window that didn't need dusting. Alastor casually tuned a broken old radio with a soft hum.
Angel Dust scrolled through his phone lazily, flicking between videos, until something caught his eye.
He sat up fast. "Yo! Yo, yo, yo! Guys, you gotta see this!"
Charlie blinked. "What is it?"
Angel turned the phone around — a grainy YouTube video played, titled:
"NOT DEER CAUGHT ON CAMERA — WHAT IS THIS THING??"
The shaky footage showed two terrified humans filming deep in some misty woods.
The camera zoomed in... and there, standing dead center in the path, was a tall, wrong-looking deer.
Gangly legs. Half-shadowed face. Unmoving. Unblinking.
At first, it was silent.
Then the creature’s head twitched sideways at a perfectly wrong angle — and from nowhere, a burst of old-timey jazz crackled out of the trees.
The humans screamed.
The camera jerked wildly.
One of them dropped it, and the video ended with frantic panting and running footsteps.
Everyone stared at the screen.
Charlie’s mouth dropped open. "No way..."
Vaggie leaned closer, squinting. "Wait... is that...?"
Husk groaned without even opening an eye. "It’s him. It’s obviously him."
They all turned to look at Alastor, who was still fiddling with the broken radio, humming.
He paused.
Tilted his head.
Slowly smiled.
"...Perhaps," he said coyly.
Angel cackled and slapped the couch. "Oh my god, you got caught on camera!! You're a cryptid influencer now!"
Charlie laughed nervously. "This has... two million views?!"
Niffty bounced excitedly. "You're famous again, Alastor!"
Alastor chuckled darkly, waving a hand. "Only a few mortals saw. And what will they do? Chase shadows in the woods? Tell ghost stories? Marvelous."
Vaggie shook her head in disbelief. "You’re gonna start a whole new conspiracy theory."
"Already have," Alastor said smugly.
Angel scrolled further down, laughing harder. "Dude, there’s whole ass COMMENT SECTIONS arguing if you’re an alien, a demon, or ‘government psyop deer.’" He snorted. "Some guy thinks you’re an escaped experiment!"
Alastor's grin widened disturbingly.
"Let them wonder."
The broken radio beside him hissed to life—
and somewhere in the empty halls of the hotel, faint jazz music began to play...
for no reason at all.
Everyone shivered.
Alastor simply tipped his hat and went back to tuning his radio, humming gleefully.
Angel was still laughing when something clicked in Charlie’s mind. She sat up straight, her face going serious.
“Wait a minute.”
Everyone turned to look at her.
Charlie pointed at Alastor, eyes wide. "HOW did you even get to the human world in the first place?!"
The laughter stopped.
Vaggie sat up too, looking suspicious. "Yeah. That’s supposed to be impossible. Mortals can't just waltz into Hell... and demons can’t just walk out either."
Husk frowned, suddenly more alert. "Even overlords aren’t supposed to cross over without serious help. It’s, like... locked down. Wards. Barriers. Cosmic rules 'n crap."
The room went very, very quiet.
All eyes turned to Alastor.
He simply smiled — a wide, dangerous grin — and shrugged casually.
"I have my ways."
Static crackled faintly in the air.
Angel gawked. "Dude, that’s not an ANSWER!!"
Charlie leaned forward, voice half panicked, half awed. "What ways?! How?! Did you make a deal? Find a loophole? Did someone open a portal for you?!"
Alastor just chuckled, adjusting his bowtie. "Oh, my dear, secrets are half the fun. A magician never reveals his tricks!"
Vaggie pointed at him accusingly. "You're not a magician! You're a goddamn walking nightmare on stilts!"
"Precisely!" Alastor beamed.
Charlie slumped back into the couch, overwhelmed. "Great. Awesome. Not only are we housing the Radio Demon, but he apparently has the ability to just pop into the human world whenever he’s bored!"
Niffty clapped her hands happily. "Yay, field trips!"
Angel leaned over to Vaggie and stage-whispered, "Should we be...like...way more worried?"
Vaggie just buried her face in her hands.
Meanwhile, Alastor stood, twirled his cane dramatically, and gave them all a theatrical bow.
"Rest assured," he said, voice dripping with dark amusement, "if I ever choose to visit the mortal realm again... you’ll hear the jazz before you see me."
Static pulsed through the room again, as if punctuating the statement.
Charlie, trying very hard to stay positive, gave a wobbly smile. "O-Okay...well...at least you’re back now, right? No more random human world trips?"
Alastor simply grinned wider, turned on his heel, and vanished into the hotel’s shadowy halls, his faint laughter and crackling radio static trailing behind him.
No one dared ask again.
The hotel was dead quiet.
Charlie sat on the floor surrounded by open demon law books, pages scattered like leaves. Her brow was furrowed, frantic. “This—this doesn’t make sense! There are layers of cosmic laws about this! Entire realms of paperwork and permissions!”
Vaggie paced behind her, her hands in her hair. “It’s not just forbidden, it’s illegal. You’re not supposed to influence humans, show your true form, definitely not eat them—”
Angel Dust held up his phone again, still playing grainy clips of terrified humans screaming in the woods. “Wanna tell that to the poor schmuck in this video who watched him melt a tree just by looking at it.”
Niffty was giggling in the corner. “He even played jazz out of the clouds! That’s influence! That’s weather manipulation!!” She sounded thrilled.
Charlie whirled around to Alastor, who sat in a velvet chair sipping some god-awful concoction out of a teacup made of bones.
“Alastor,” she said, trying to stay calm, “You broke every rule of demonic engagement with the human world. No influence. No revealing yourself. No interfering. That’s... layers of offenses!”
He looked up slowly.
Smiled sweetly.
Shrugged.
"I have my ways."
Vaggie stomped over, furious. "You’re telling me no one stopped you?!"
Alastor let out a slow, amused chuckle. "Someone tried."
The room went still.
Charlie hesitated. “...What happened to them?”
Alastor’s smile widened unnaturally, teeth too sharp now.
His voice dropped into something colder.
“They became dinner.”
A silence fell over the group, heavy and electric.
Husk muttered, not looking up from his drink. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
Angel slowly lowered his phone. “So... you broke the laws of Hell and reality… killed whoever tried to stop you... and just... walked back in here like it was Tuesday?”
Alastor raised his teacup. “Exactly!”
Charlie collapsed backward onto the floor with a groan.
Vaggie stared at the ceiling in defeat. “Why do we even have laws?!”
Niffty beamed. “He makes things interesting!”
“Interesting?” Vaggie snapped. “He destabilized the mortal plane for fun!”
Alastor finally stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his coat. "You all worry far too much. No one ever remembers the rules in the end—only the stories. And I do love a good story.”
He tipped his hat, that ever-unsettling grin stretching too wide across his face.
“Besides,” he added, turning toward the shadows,
“I left them some delicious nightmares. A souvenir, if you will.”
And just like that, he disappeared again into the halls, leaving behind only the faint crackle of old jazz and the faintest scent of burnt ozone and pine needles.
Angel broke the silence. “Well. I’m sleeping with salt circles tonight.”
It was late. The hotel was dim and quiet, but none of them could sleep.
They were still sitting around the lounge, half in shock, half in awe.
Angel Dust kicked his legs over the side of the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Seven years," he muttered. "Seven. You were just out there screwin' around with humans. Eating a few. Playing jazz through the clouds. And nobody—*" he threw his hands up— "*nobody stopped you?!"
Charlie sat curled in a chair, clutching a pillow to her chest. Her brain felt fried. "There are...literal entities whose only job is to stop demons from slipping into the human world. Like...guardians. Divine barriers. Cosmic enforcers!"
Vaggie added, dead serious, “Some demons get obliterated just for thinking about sneaking up there.”
Niffty, perched upside-down on the couch, chirped, "But he just went, messed around, and came back with no trouble!"
Everyone turned again to look at the calmest, most relaxed person in the room.
Alastor sat in an armchair, legs crossed, whistling some jaunty, old-timey tune. His antlers caught the dim light like eerie branches.
Angel pointed at him. "How?! How the hell did you leave Hell for seven years, prank humanity, eat a few hikers, and just come back like nothing happened?!"
Alastor opened one eye.
His grin widened.
He gave a casual shrug.
"I have my ways."
The air crackled faintly with static.
Charlie threw her hands in the air. "That’s NOT an ANSWER!!"
Vaggie’s eye twitched. "You’re telling me... not one enforcer. Not one celestial being. Not even a rival demon tried to drag your ass back here?!"
Alastor chuckled lowly. "Oh, they tried, my dear. Once."
He gently tapped the side of his cane against the floor.
"And after that... well..."
He leaned forward, his smile turning razor-sharp.
"Word got around."
A chill ran through the room.
Angel Dust whistled low. "Daaaamn. You mean they were too scared to mess with you after that?"
Alastor’s eyes gleamed faintly red.
He straightened his tie. "Fear, reputation, and a little... strategic snacking. You’d be amazed how far it gets you."
Charlie looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. "You...you made yourself too terrifying to touch."
Alastor tapped the side of his head playfully. "The best defenses are psychological, my dear! Why fight battles when you can end them before they begin?"
Niffty giggled, clapping her hands. "That’s so smart!"
Vaggie dropped into a chair, facepalming hard. "You’re telling me the entire cosmic order just gave up because you’re too scary."
Alastor winked.
“More efficient that way.”
The lights flickered faintly as if the entire hotel itself shivered.
Angel Dust pulled a blanket up over his head. "Man, if I see a weird deer in the woods ever again, I’m pretendin' I didn’t."
From somewhere down the hall, the faint crackle of static and a snippet of jazzy swing echoed faintly.
Charlie groaned into the pillow. "This is fine. This is totally fine. This is our life now."
The next morning, the hotel was quiet… but uneasy.
Charlie had been up all night reading obscure celestial reports. Vaggie was nervously organizing and reorganizing her weapons. Angel was on his third coffee, eyes wide. Even Husk wasn’t drinking — which meant something was seriously wrong.
Charlie paced the lounge, clutching a stack of papers. “Okay, listen—look at these reports from the human world. These weren’t just spooky stories. These are real recorded events. Mass hallucinations. Forests turning red overnight. Radio stations hijacked by... jazz music from the 1920s.”
Angel nodded along, wide-eyed. “Yeah, and that one town where all the deer started walking on two legs and talking in rhymes.”
Niffty added cheerfully, “Ooooh! Or when that haunted theme park just appeared overnight and then disappeared a week later — but the cotton candy kept screaming for weeks!”
Everyone turned again to face the smug deer in question.
Alastor was humming to himself, carving some invisible shape into the arm of his chair with a claw. Not even looking up.
Charlie took a breath. “Alastor. What else did you do in the human world?”
No answer.
“Seriously,” Vaggie pressed, crossing her arms. “The more we dig, the more weirdness we find. Was that you? All of it?!”
Still humming.
Angel leaned over the back of his chair. “Be honest. Were you the guy who made that town’s mayor cough up spiders on live TV?”
Alastor paused.
Then slowly turned to face them all — that unsettling, static-charged grin stretching across his face.
"My, my. So many questions."
Charlie’s voice rose. “We’re serious! Did you cause all that?!”
Alastor just gave a little bow of his head.
"I suppose... you’ll find out eventually~"
Static danced in the corners of the room.
A long, uncomfortable silence followed.
"...What the hell does that mean?" Vaggie said flatly.
He didn’t answer.
He was gone. Just like that.
No sound. No smoke. No warning.
Only the faint echo of ragtime piano… and a scribbled note left behind on the armrest of his chair, scrawled in blood-red ink:
“Keep your radios tuned.”
Angel stared at it, wide-eyed. “I ain’t sleepin’ ever again.”
Charlie sat down hard. “I’m going to personally invent demon laws 2.0.”
Husk finally lit a cigarette and muttered, “Told ya you shoulda left him in the woods.”
They’d had enough.
Charlie slammed her hands on the table, startling everyone in the room.
“ALASTOR. We are not letting this go. We are not playing your little mystery game anymore. You’re going to tell us exactly how and why you went to the human world for seven years—RIGHT NOW.”
Alastor, lounging comfortably in his chair, gave a slow blink. His grin never faltered.
“Well, if you insist…”
The lights dimmed. Static pricked the air. The floor creaked even though no one moved.
Everyone instinctively leaned in.
He stood slowly, brushing down his coat.
“You see, I was bored. Dreadfully so. The screaming here gets repetitive, the souls lose flavor after a while, and the overlords? Oh, they’re all bark and no jazz.”
He adjusted his tie, his eyes glowing faintly.
“So I decided to… take a little vacation.”
Charlie narrowed her eyes. “But how did you get there? There are rules—”
Alastor raised a hand, stopping her.
“Ah ah ah. I told you. I have my ways. There are cracks in every wall, my dear. You just have to know where to listen.”
He tapped his radio.
“Old frequencies. Forgotten sigils. Doors long sealed and long forgotten. Most demons can’t find them. Most don’t dare.”
Vaggie stepped forward, skeptical. “So you just found some backdoor to the mortal realm? Just like that?”
He chuckled darkly. “Found? No. Made.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
Husk's ears twitched. “You made a portal to Earth? Yourself?”
Alastor beamed. “Built it from scratch. Took... years. Blood. Some screaming stars. You know how it is. And once it was open—voilà! I stepped through.”
Angel stared at him, stunned. “Why even bother doing all that for a prank spree?”
Alastor’s smile sharpened. “Because chaos is a delightful hobby. And I rather enjoy watching fragile little minds bend and break.”
Niffty clapped excitedly. “That’s so crafty!!”
Charlie looked pale. “You really did all this just because you were... bored?”
“Yes,” Alastor said cheerfully. “But also because no one told me I couldn't.”
He walked forward now, slow and deliberate.
“The moment a rule is written, someone like me will test it. That’s what I do. I find the seams. And when I do…”
He reached out and snapped his fingers. The lights all flared, every bulb humming with static.
“I pull.”
The others stared in silence.
Alastor leaned on his cane, completely at ease.
“The real question, my friends, is not how I did it… but what I left behind.”
He winked.
And with a crackle of static and fading laughter, he disappeared again.
The hotel was dead silent.
Angel finally said, “Okay, but like… what if one of those portals is still open?”
Charlie’s eyes went wide with horror.
“...We have to check.”
Alastor reappeared in the center of the room with no warning, the static around him fading into a soft crackle like a dying radio station.
Everyone screamed.
Charlie nearly fell off the couch. “WHY DO YOU DO THAT?!”
Alastor chuckled. “Old habits.”
They all stared at him.
Vaggie pointed her spear. “You vanished again! What if you left?! What if you slipped back to Earth?!”
He tapped the top of her spear lightly with a single claw. “I didn’t. Not yet.”
Charlie exhaled hard. “Okay. Please. Just… tell us. What did you actually do up there? What did you spend seven years doing?”
Alastor’s grin grew unnaturally wide.
He stepped forward slowly, his voice smooth and casual — but the air trembled faintly with every word.
“Well… I wandered, mostly. I liked the woods. Humans are such nervous little things. You’d be amazed how many believe their own minds over their eyes.”
He started circling the room.
“I became an urban legend in three states. ‘The Smiling Stag.’ ‘The Man with Antlers.’ One town called me ‘The Howler of Pines.’ They built an entire subreddit about me.”
Angel blinked. “Wait… that’s you?! I thought that was some cryptid joke!”
“Oh, it was very real. I liked the attention. Some campers thought I was a spirit. Others thought I was a warning. I let them believe whatever they wanted.”
He paused by Charlie and smiled sweetly. “I only ate the rude ones.”
Charlie just stared in horror.
“I’d hijack radios late at night,” Alastor continued, voice lighter now, almost playful. “I’d broadcast nonsense. Laughter. Screams played in reverse. Sometimes entire sermons about eating your neighbors. One man followed through. He was delightful.”
Vaggie nearly gagged. “That’s messed up!”
Alastor held up a finger. “He chose to listen. I merely offered entertainment.”
He began pacing again, still calm, still cheerful.
“I rearranged entire towns. Subtly. Moved street signs. Switched house numbers. Made people think they were losing time. You’d be surprised how fast humans crumble when they can’t trust reality.”
Niffty giggled nervously. “What about that circus tent that appeared overnight in Indiana?”
“Oh, that was so much fun. You should’ve seen the clowns I made.”
He turned, eyes glowing faintly now.
“And once a year… I picked one person. One single human. I’d follow them. Whisper from shadows. Turn on every radio around them. Appear in reflections. Always smiling. Always watching. Just until they broke.”
The room was dead silent.
Then Husk muttered, “...You are so damn lucky the angels didn’t catch you.”
Alastor tapped his cane against the floor, once.
“They tried. One did find my portal — foolish thing. Thought he was clever.”
He tilted his head slightly, grin sharp enough to cut steel.
“He’s still screaming. Somewhere.”
Charlie was pale. “So you tormented people. For fun. For seven years.”
“Yes,” Alastor said with a bright, unsettling grin. “And I would do it again.”
He sat back in his chair, perfectly composed.
Angel just muttered, “...Remind me not to go camping. Ever.”
The hotel was quieter now — no panic, just a kind of collective dreadful curiosity.
Everyone sat in the lounge, watching Alastor like he was a loaded gun.
Which, to be fair, he was — with the safety long gone.
Charlie cleared her throat, still tense. “Alastor… you said someone tried to enter your portal.”
He gave her a pleasant nod. “Indeed they did.”
Vaggie frowned. “But... how? I thought only you could use it.”
Alastor leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers in front of him. His smile hadn’t wavered once.
“They tried. Oh, they tried. Angels are dreadfully curious things. They smell anything outside their little order and come scurrying like rats to flame.”
Angel muttered, “And what, they just tripped and fell in?”
“Oh no,” Alastor said, eyes glinting. “They touched it. That was enough.”
The lights flickered. The radios on the wall gave a low hum.
He went on.
“You see… the portal isn’t a thing I made. Not exactly. It’s a part of me. Woven into my essence. Every symbol, every frequency, every stitch — it’s mine. Touching it is like biting into my shadow.”
Everyone froze.
Alastor continued, his voice lighter now — like he was telling a bedtime story:
“And when you touch something that’s me, well… you become mine. It doesn’t matter who you are. Angel, demon, soul, shade. The moment they laid their holy little hand on it—click!”
He mimed pulling a marionette string with his fingers.
“Bound. Tied up in my frequencies. My words. My will.”
Charlie swallowed. “So that angel… is your—”
“Puppet,” Alastor finished. “I hollowed out the light and filled the space with static.”
Niffty looked fascinated. “Does he still look like an angel?”
Alastor’s smile turned cold.
“He wears the face. But he only speaks when I let him. Only moves when I tug the strings.”
Vaggie stood, disgusted. “That’s monstrous.”
“No,” Alastor said calmly, “it’s fair. He tried to steal what wasn’t his. He reached into a story that didn’t belong to him. Now he gets to listen.”
Angel, unnerved, lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. “...Dude. You’re like a walking creepypasta.”
Alastor chuckled. “Why thank you.”
Charlie stared, a sick feeling growing in her chest. “So anyone who touches it—anyone—gets bound to you?”
“Yes,” he said brightly. “It’s a lovely failsafe. A signature written in power. Their soul becomes another frequency in my broadcast.”
“And the portal?” she asked softly.
Alastor tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
“Oh, it’s still there. Quiet. Waiting. No one can find it but me. But if someone ever stumbles across the edge, curious… desperate…”
He held up a claw and drew a slow spiral in the air.
“I’ll be listening.”
Charlie sat stiffly on the velvet couch, arms folded, expression unreadable.
The others gathered cautiously nearby, keeping a healthy distance from Alastor — who, of course, was radiating smug satisfaction like it was perfume.
“Alright,” Vaggie muttered, “I already regret this, but… what else did you do up there?”
Alastor leaned on his cane with both hands, eyes twinkling like bloodied stars.
“Oh, so much. It’s honestly hard to pick a favorite!”
He began pacing slowly across the room.
“I once spent three months in a small town masquerading as the new school guidance counselor. The students began reporting dreams. All the same dream.”
“What kind of dream?” Angel asked warily.
Alastor smiled wide. “Teeth. Miles of them.”
He turned toward the window as if reminiscing.
“Another time, I set up a traveling fortune-teller's tent. No one ever saw me enter or leave. The cards I dealt didn’t tell the future — they rewrote it. People walked away thinking they were still who they were. But they weren’t.”
Charlie looked horrified. “You altered their lives?”
“Just a nudge!” Alastor chirped. “A memory here, a forgotten loved one there. Some became preachers. Others walked into the ocean. One man believed he had three shadows. None of them liked him.”
Niffty clapped delightedly. “Oooh, that’s so creative!”
Husk muttered under his breath, “Y’all are way too into this…”
Alastor turned back, eyes glowing dimly. “I took over a radio tower once. Every broadcast in the state — mine. Music warped into screaming hymns, commercials turning into riddles. I buried a chant inside one playlist that caused three listeners to vanish on air.”
Angel blinked. “Wait… vanish?! Like poof?”
Alastor held up three fingers. “One burst into crows. One melted into radio parts. And one just… disappeared. No one remembers her name.”
Vaggie gritted her teeth. “How the hell did no one stop you?!”
“Oh, people tried. They brought in priests, mediums, even a government spook or two.” He chuckled. “They couldn’t even find me. I was always two steps ahead… or standing right beside them.”
Charlie finally asked, voice quiet, “Why… why do all this?”
Alastor paused.
His smile softened, just for a moment — not kind, not sad. Just... content.
“Because it was beautiful, my dear.”
He looked up at the cracked chandelier, eyes dreamy.
“They built such fragile little worlds up there. So much faith in order, in law, in safety. I merely… reminded them what it feels like when none of that matters. When the shadows reach out, and smile back.”
The silence in the room was deep and thick.
Then Alastor gave a polite little bow.
“And I must say… they screamed quite nicely.”
The room still hadn’t recovered.
The air felt like static-drenched velvet. Not hot, not cold — just charged. Everyone stared at Alastor like if they blinked, he might vanish again… or worse, do something else.
Charlie swallowed and sat up straighter. Her voice came out softer than she meant it to:
“...So. You caused chaos for seven years. You made entire towns lose their minds. You rewrote lives. You ate people. You had fun.”
Alastor beamed. “Correct!”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then finally asked:
“...Why come back?”
The question lingered in the room like cigarette smoke.
Even Husk looked up.
Vaggie narrowed her eyes.
Niffty leaned forward like it was the next line of a favorite murder mystery.
Alastor blinked once.
Then he just… shrugged.
“Oh, I got bored again.”
The room exploded with voices.
“Bored?!”
“Seriously?!”
“You’re kidding—no, wait, of course you’re not!”
Alastor talked over the din, cheerfully.
“The humans became predictable. Their patterns looped. The fear got repetitive. I’d seen enough mirrors turn red, enough radios scream. Even I have limits for the same old song, you know?”
He strolled toward the bar, still talking.
“And then—well. I happened to catch a transmission. Hell’s signal bleeding into Earth. A little news clip. Low-res, awful audio quality, terrible editing—”
He grinned wider.
“—and there she was. You, dear Charlie. Standing in front of a camera, proudly announcing a hotel that offered redemption.”
Charlie blinked, stunned. “Wait. You saw me? On Earth?!”
“Oh yes,” Alastor said. “It was hilarious. A princess of Hell, smiling so sweetly, offering kindness and peace. The audacity!”
He let out a fond laugh, almost affectionate.
“I thought, ‘Now this... this is entertainment.’”
Charlie turned bright red. “You came back because I was funny?!”
Alastor placed a hand to his chest, mock-sincere. “Because you were different. The rest of Hell was rotting in circles. But you? You had a spark. And I wanted to see where it led.”
Angel blinked. “That’s… weirdly flattering. In a terrifying, ‘you amuse the eldritch god’ kinda way.”
Alastor tipped his hat. “Why, thank you.”
Charlie looked at him — truly looked — and for the first time, understood the truth:
He hadn’t come to help.
He hadn’t come for revenge.
He hadn’t come to escape something.
He came back for the same reason a cat bats at a mouse.
Because she moved.
Because she was interesting.
Because he was bored.
Charlie sat alone in the lounge after lights-out, arms wrapped around her knees.
The soft flicker of a broken neon sign painted the carpet in pale red.
Her crown glinted in the half-light. Heavy.
She whispered aloud, not to anyone in particular:
“What happens if I’m not funny anymore?”
A voice from the shadows answered. “We’re screwed.”
Angel emerged from the hallway, lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers. “We’re all thinking it, hon.”
“Without him,” Vaggie said, arms crossed as she leaned in the doorway, “this place would’ve crumbled by now.”
“He’s the reason we haven’t been wiped off the map,” Husk grunted. “Demons steer clear. They hear his voice and run.”
“He runs the front desk, the protection, the warding…” Niffty added, twirling a duster in her hand. “Without Alastor, we’re… not a hotel. We’re just a building with good intentions.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Charlie’s voice broke as she asked, “So what do we do?”
Angel stubbed his cigarette and looked around. “...We stay fun. Keep him entertained. Keep things weird. He likes weird.”
So they tried.
Suddenly, Niffty was baking explosive cupcakes. Angel was starting impromptu musical numbers. Vaggie awkwardly tried stand-up comedy. Husk even let himself be roped into card tricks.
Charlie smiled brighter. Laughed louder. Always watching him. Always checking.
Alastor noticed. Of course he did.
One evening, he caught Charlie slipping a live duck into a gift basket.
“Planning a waterfowl-themed redemption arc?” he asked, smiling with one brow raised.
Charlie froze. “Uhh… maybe?”
The next morning, they all found themselves summoned to the lounge. Alastor stood by the grand fireplace, cane resting lightly in one hand. His shadow flickered behind him, taller than before.
“I have a question,” he said cheerfully. “Why are you all being so strange?”
Everyone tried talking at once.
“Just a little fun—”
“Keeping things lively—”
“Trying something new—”
“We thought you’d like—”
Alastor raised one hand. They fell silent.
His smile dimmed, just slightly. Not anger. Not mockery. Just... something quieter.
“You think I’ll leave,” he said plainly. “That if I get bored, I’ll vanish again.”
Charlie looked away.
He took a step forward. “You needn’t worry.”
He tilted his head, eyes glowing softer than usual — not red-hot, but radio-static warm.
“I’ve grown… fond of you all. As much as I’m capable of, that is. You’ve given me something I hadn’t expected.”
He paused, then smiled wider — not sharper, but gentler.
“Curiosity with comfort. I like the chaos, yes. But I like you. Your bickering, your plans, your little dreams. You’re like a symphony made of mismatched instruments. Horribly tuned. Wonderfully loud.”
Charlie’s eyes welled up. “...So you’re staying?”
Alastor nodded. “I will not leave unless you ask me to… or your dream is fulfilled, and there is nothing left for you to do.”
“Promise?” she whispered.
He chuckled. “Now, now. I don’t make promises. But I give you my word. And that’s rarer.”
The tension cracked. Angel flopped onto the couch with a relieved sigh. Husk grabbed a drink. Vaggie pulled Charlie into a quiet side-hug.
Alastor watched them, smile faintly tilted.
He would still have his fun.
He would still take walks with shadows.
But for now, the hotel was his home.
And they were his… favorites.
It started with whispers.
A demon lord from the Gluttony ring — bloated, horned, drooling arrogance — had heard about the Hotel.
“Redemption? Bah. Weakness.”
He sent a scouting party. A test. A warning.
No one touches the balance of Hell without consequences.
They came at night. A dozen infernal enforcers in bone armor, mouths stitched shut, blades humming with forbidden curses.
They expected resistance. Maybe a scream. A brief, satisfying massacre.
They didn’t expect silence.
They didn’t expect the lights to flicker.
They didn’t expect him.
Alastor appeared in the hallway before them — cane tapping lightly, smile fixed and terrible.
“You’re trespassing,” he said, voice static-slick and sweet.
The enforcers raised their weapons.
Alastor didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch.
He grinned wider.
The hallway twisted. Shadows bent backward. The floorboards groaned like something waking up.
And then—radio static drowned the screams.
By morning, the hotel was spotless again.
Except for one thing.
Hanging above the entrance, impaled on a wrought-iron spike, was the Gluttony lord’s severed horn — black and oozing, branded with Alastor’s sigil: a crooked smile over an inverted radio dial.
Hell noticed.
Every ring heard the signal. A pulse of forbidden frequency carried by unseen currents:
“The Hazbin Hotel is under my protection.
Its residents are mine.
Come again… and I’ll serve you for supper.”
They believed him.
Because for once, he meant it.
Inside the hotel, no one asked about the horn.
No one asked about the smell in the garden.
Charlie simply passed him in the hallway, paused, and quietly said:
“…Thank you.”
Alastor tipped his hat. “My pleasure.”
He walked away humming an old swing tune, shadows dancing at his heels.
Because he had made his point.
Not out of love. Not out of duty.
But because they were his.
And Hell now understood:
You don’t touch what belongs to the Radio Demon.