Neverwhere (London Below, #1)

by Neil Gaiman

Richard began to understand darkness: darkness as something solid and real, so much more than a simple absence of light. He felt it touch his skin, questing, moving, exploring—gliding through his mind. It slipped into his lungs, behind his eyes, into his mouth . . .

“Nothing,” he admitted. And then they turned the corner, and he said, “Well . . . maybe them,” and, at the same time, Door said, “Shit.” The reason Richard said “Maybe them” and the reason Door said “Shit” was this: Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar were standing on plinths on each side of the aisle down which they walked.

“No, please. Stay just where you are,” said Mr. Croup. “We like you like that. And we don’t want to have to hurt you.” “We do,” said Mr. Vandemar. “Well, yes, Mister Vandemar, once you put it like that. We want to hurt you both. We want to hurt you rather a lot. But that’s not why we’re here right now. We’re here to make things more interesting. You see, when things get dull, my partner and I become restive and, hard as you may find this to believe, we lose our sunny and delightful dispositions.” Mr. Vandemar showed them his teeth, demonstrating his sunny and delightful disposition. It was unquestionably the most horrible thing that Richard had ever seen.