THE DARKEST SHOW AROUND

SAFE BEHIND THESE WINDOWS AND THESE PARAPETS OF STONE

He knew that something was wrong as he ascended the stairs leading to the bell tower. The top two steps were black. They were charred, and when he put his hand on them, they felt warm to the touch, as if they had been burning. The bell tower smelled; it was a nasty, foul stench that reminded him of death. Rotting flesh, thought Phoebus, drawing his sword and surveying the bell tower.

He did not like what he saw, and he had struggled to swallow his panic. The door to the bell tower had been smashed in. The floor was covered with bits of wood and broken glass. The table and chairs had been overturned. Worst of all – worse than the foul stench – was the smear of blood in the center of the room.

"Esmerelda? Quasimodo?" he was greeted by silence, and it chilled him despite the day's heat. His wife was missing. His pregnant wife was missing, and, judging by the blood on the floor, she was probably hurt too. He called her name again, shouting until his voice was trembling and hoarse.

He searched the bell tower as thoroughly as he could, taking care not to step in the smear of blood. There were some bloody footprints scattered around the bell tower; he could make out Quasimodo's misshapen foot. The other footprints were made by men wearing shoes. They didn't seem to lead anywhere, though. They randomly stopped, as if the men who had made them had simply vanished into thin air.

Strangest of all was the center of the smear of blood. There was a perfectly square patch in the center of the blood. The square was perfectly clean. It had been untouched by the blood. How could the blood – which seemed to cover the entire floor – have missed a perfect square? Had some small, square object (a book, Phoebus thought, it was book-shaped) been on the floor? Where was it now?

Phoebus touched the square and was surprised when his hand sank into the floor. He jerked his hand back and pulled his glove off. He tossed the glove onto the floor. It fell straight through the floor and out of sight, as if it had gone through a hole. He tapped the floor with his bare hand now and was surprised to feel something smooth, like paper. It felt like he was touching pieces of paper, like his hand was inside of a book.

THE UNDERWORLD

"You have to let me out of here!"

The thing on the other side of the glass (Ursula, it was Ursula, but Ursula was dead, she was dead and couldn't ever come back) laughed. "I don't have to do anything, Princess."

Ariel shook her head. "Whoever you are – whatever you are – just please let me out!"

The thing stared at her now, its eyes narrow and angry. "How can you not recognize me?" it shouted, "after all you did to me, after all you put me through, how can you not recognize me?"

"You can't be Ursula – Ursula is dead!"

The thing smiled. Ariel shrank away from the glass, suddenly glad that it was there to protect her. There was no doubt in her mind now. It was impossible, absolutely impossible, but it was happening. "This is a dream," whispered Ariel, "this is a dream, I have to wake up."

"Not a dream, my dear princess," said Ursula. "A nightmare."

There was a loud crackling sound, and Ariel suddenly felt something cold and wet pouring down on her head. She looked up, squinting into the rain of salt water. Ursula was laughing so hard her entire body was shaking like a rowboat in a storm. Ariel stared at her. Surely this wasn't her idea of torture! It was ridiculous. Ariel had once been a mermaid. Changing into a human had not diminished her love of the ocean and all things in it. She was an excellent swimmer! She could spend hours frolicking in the waves.

Being placed in a glass bowl and surrounded by water wasn't a punishment at all. "I must be dreaming," murmured Ariel.

IN A SHINING CASTLE

The book was moving. Belle stared at it, too frightened to take her eyes off of it and shaking too much to even try to pick it up. She had put the book down after the ink had suddenly turned blood red. Now the book was moving, rocking back and forth as if it was trying to open itself.

"I'm sick," whispered Belle, as though hearing it aloud would reassure her. "I must be sicker than I thought. I should go lie down."

The book lurched forward and fell to the floor, where it continued to flop around like a fish out of water. It wriggled and thrashed; pages began to rip and tear, bits and pieces of them falling to the floor like snowflakes. Belle watched in astonishment as a glove emerged from the book. It was as if the book had just spat the glove up. She bent and picked the glove up, never taking her eyes off of the book.

It was a man's glove made of brown leather. How on earth had it just popped out of a book, though? Belle pinched her cheek, flinching at the pain it brought. She wasn't dreaming. The glove was real. It was solid, tangible. It smelled like horses and felt rough. She returned her attention to the book. It was lying perfectly still. A man's hand was reaching up from the pages. It groped at the air, reaching and probing curiously. Belle held her breath, watching in disbelief as the hand was followed by an arm and a shoulder.

The man who emerged from the book was tall and blonde, and he wore a bronze suit of armor. He looked just as confused as she felt. He looked around, bewildered. "Where am I?" he asked finally.

"This…this is my home," said Belle. She swallowed her fear and approached him, handing him the brown glove. He took it and thanked her. "My name is Belle," she said. "And I'd like to know how you got here."

The man shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. He picked up the book, staring down at it. "I was in Notre Dame, looking for my wife, and…well, it's as if there was a hole in the floor."

She did not know what a Notre Dame was. She shook her head and pointed at the book. "You came out of that book."

The man opened the book. "This is all very strange," he said. "I need to find my wife, though." He looked at her. ". I'm afraid she's hurt."

Belle shook her head again. "I haven't seen anyone. Maybe I can help you find her."

THE UNDERWORLD

Wherever she was, she was very sure that she was no longer in Agrabah. This place – which had somehow magically appeared beneath the floor – was cold and desolate. It was barren; the desert with its endless stretches of sand seemed rich and fertile in comparison. The place also smelled odd. It was a scent Jasmine had never encountered before, but it seemed somehow familiar. It made her think of death, although she couldn't say why. She had never encountered death before; it was still a very foreign concept to her.

Rajah and Abu seemed to be slowing her down, Rajah in particular. He obviously didn't like this place, and kept pausing to snarl and growl at shadows. He sniffed at the ground, flaring his nostrils in disgust; Jasmine wanted him to lead them to Aladdin. She was tempted to call out his name, just to break the overbearing silence that engulfed them, but she feared that doing so would bring forth some strange and hideous monstrosity from the shadows.

Rajah was leading her towards a slope, which she climbed slowly. The grass beneath her feet was thick and mossy; it stuck to her shoes as though it was trying to pull her down. There were thick clumps of vegetation near the top of the hill. The bushes were dark and almost shapeless; they seemed to shift uncomfortably. Watching them rustle back and forth made Jasmine suddenly aware that there was no wind in this place. The air hung thickly, like a great curtain. The rustling bushes only made her more uncomfortable.

The silence was suddenly shattered by a piercing scream. Jasmine fled, feeling more vulnerable than ever, and nearly flung herself into the shapeless shrubs at the top of the hill. She was relieved to find that Rajah had accompanied her, but her relief quickly faded when she noticed that the tiger seemed to be shivering. She knelt and embraced her pet, thankful that he was there with her. Abu had been clinging to her shoulders, hiding beneath her long dark hair, and he crept quickly into her arms.

"We have to find Aladdin," whispered Jasmine, stroking Rajah's ears, "we have to find him and bring him out of here."

The scream came again. It sounded like a woman's voice, but Jasmine could not be sure. She looked around. The shrubbery was thick and dense, but she could make her way through it. She crawled, sliding across the thick mossy grass on her belly, towards a thin, silvery opening beneath the shrubs. She shuddered. The grass felt withered and dead, and it scraped at her skin. She gritted her teeth and ignored it as best she could.

She made it to the opening and peeked out. She was now at the very top of the hill. A wide, flat, nearly-plantless plot of land stretched on in front of her. The sky above it was nearly black, as if a thunderstorm was approaching. There was a river at the bottom of the hill, and what looked like a little house on the opposite bank. Jasmine wasn't sure if she felt relieved or not; whoever lived in a place like this was not likely to be friendly. There was a great deal of commotion at the base of the hill, and Jasmine quickly forgot about the little house near the river.

A huge glass ball was at the bottom of the hill. Jasmine squinted. There was a person inside of the ball – a woman with flame-red hair. She appeared to be trapped. She was pounding her fists against the side of the ball. Another woman was standing outside of the ball. Jasmine gasped; the woman outside of the ball seemed to be changing shape. Her body seemed to waver – one minute, it was fat and round, the next it was thin and voluptuous. Her hair changed constantly, shifting from white to black and varying in length.

"Where on earth am I?" wondered Jasmine.

SAFE BEHIND THESE WINDOWS AND THESE PARAPETS OF STONE

"Oh my God!" Phoebus had warned her about the blood, but she was still shocked when she climbed up out of the floor and saw it. For a moment, Belle felt dizzy, as though she would faint.

"Easy now, easy." She felt Phoebus's hands on her arms and let him guide her out of the room without looking at it. Belle sat down on a step and buried her face in her hands, trying to push the image out of her mind. There had been so much blood! She suddenly thought of Phoebus's pregnant wife. What if it was her blood? The poor woman! She would certainly need a doctor – they had to find her at once!

"I'll be all right," said Belle, taking a deep breath. She lifted her head. Phoebus was sitting beside her, his hand resting comfortingly in the center of her back. His face was pale, the color of paper almost, and he seemed unable to look her in the eye. "We're going to find your wife," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "We're going to find her, and everything will be all right."

Phoebus nodded. "Thank you." He paused for a moment. "You don't suppose there are more of those holes like the one we came through? She may have gone through one."

"It certainly seems possible," said Belle. "The hole we came through…it led from that room to the book in my library. There might be other holes leading to other places."

"But where did they come from?"

Belle shrugged. "I don't know."

THE UNDERWORLD

"So…this is where we go when we die?"

Gaston nodded. "Yes," he said. "It isn't very pleasant, but everyone comes here sooner or later."

LeFou nodded. "And the blue man…?"

"Hades," said Gaston, "he's the God of the Dead. He's in charge."

"Who were those other guys?"

"Claude and Jafar. They're not gods or anything. They're just dead, like you and me."

LeFou looked around. "This place is awfully empty," he said. "I mean, hundreds and hundreds of people have died…where are they?"

"They're in the river," said Gaston. "Usually when people die, they go into the river."

"So why aren't we in the river?"

Gaston shrugged. He did not know why he was not in the river. He had merely woken up on the riverbank. As far as he'd knew, he'd never been in the river. LeFou had fallen into the river immediately upon dying, but he didn't seem to remember this. "I'm not sure. Some people just don't go in the river." He supposed that he could ask Hades if he wanted to, but Hades was…busy.

"I don't remember dying," said LeFou.

"No one does." At least LeFou didn't remember dying, and he'd never know that Gaston had been the one to cause his death.

"You boys up for a poker game?"

Gaston and LeFou turned. Bill Sykes was sitting on a white wicker chair, shuffling a deck of playing cards. Gaston hadn't noticed him before, but the Underworld never seemed to retain its shape; it always seemed as if people were appearing or disappearing. LeFou was already approaching Sykes, so Gaston followed.

LeFou sat down across from Sykes. "I don't think I have any money," he said, patting his pockets. "I think I spent it."

Sykes shrugged. "Money isn't any good down here anyway." He began dealing the cards. "We can always play for fun."

One of Sykes's dogs picked its head up and sniffed the air curiously. The other dog looked at it, then raised its head. The first dog stood up, shook itself, and looked towards the hill. Sykes patted its head. "You're not helping the others, Gaston?" he asked.

Gaston shook his head and picked up his cards. "No," he said.

"Helping with what?" asked LeFou.

"They're trying to get revenge on the people who killed them," said Gaston. For a moment, it looked as if LeFou was about to ask Gaston why he didn't want revenge on the Beast who had done him in. Gaston shrugged. "It seems so petty," he said quickly, "it won't change anything."

Sykes nodded. "That's what I told them," he said. "Revenge won't bring any of us back." He glanced down at his dogs and scratched behind their ears. The dogs seemed to ignore him. They continued staring at the hill. "Besides, the bastard who killed me got what was coming to him. Died of pneumonia less than a year later." He nodded towards the other side of the river. Gaston followed Sykes's gaze. The river was wide, but he thought he saw a thin man moving around on the opposite shore. "It really doesn't matter much," said Sykes.