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Do NOT talk to your sleep paralysis demon.
2024.05.13 16:29 Physical-Speaker-457 Do NOT talk to your sleep paralysis demon.
Seriously, don't even attempt to trivialize it. It's not about waking you up at 3:00 am for mundane reasons like running out of milk or needing your Wi-Fi password. This entity, whatever it may be, operates outside our reality's bounds, and its motives are far from benign. I learned this the hard way recently, which is why I'm cautioning you all against making light of it. But before delving into specifics, let me offer some context, as sleep paralysis is a recent phenomenon for me.
One of my earliest memories of sleep disruption traces back to my grade school days. With my mother on an early shift unable to drive me to school for its 8:00 am start, she would drop me off at my aunt's house. Here, she ensured I was fed, dressed, and ready for school. Most mornings, I had just about an hour left to sleep before needing to rise. Often, I'd find myself in a half-asleep state from the moment my mom roused me until she tucked me into my aunt's spare bedroom.
On one of those mornings, as I lay down, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, I experienced a peculiar sensation. It felt as though my body began to rise, hovering about two feet above the bed, before swiftly plummeting back down. Startled awake, I assumed my mother had thrown me back onto the bed, only to find the room empty upon opening my eyes.
I hadn't encountered any other experiences quite like that, but it was during this time that I distinctly recall a notable surge in the frequency of the nightmares I was experiencing. The nightmares were generally the same, some cloaked being hiding in the recesses of my vision, always there, always watching. I felt as though each passing night terror that it got closer and closer to me, but always just out of reach. At times, I found myself trapped in a dark room, enveloped by an overwhelming sense of malevolence that seemed to saturate the air—and a fear entirely foreign to my waking experiences.
Then I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time.
It occurred at my mother's house, marking the initial instance where I experienced the sensation of my body being effectively immobilized while my mind remained active. I recall attempting to move my eyes and then my body, but all efforts were futile. As I struggled to regain autonomy, it sounded as though a gathering had convened in my kitchen, voices carrying in muted tones. None of the which resembled those of my parents; I even detected snickering and laughter at one point. The conversation seemed to be aimed at me, as my name was uttered several times, yet the other words remained indecipherable. The episode concluded with me returning to sleep without any further disturbances.
As the instances of sleep paralysis became more frequent, they culminated in another peculiar experience. Shortly after moving into my first apartment, still in the midst of unpacking and assembling furniture, the second incident occurred. I lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by unassembled bedframe pieces, when I awoke to find myself imprisoned within my own body once more. In the darkness, I heard a faint sound—a presence moving softly over each piece of furniture. Panic gripped me as I strained to turn my head towards the noise, but every effort proved futile. With each passing moment, the unseen entity drew closer until it reached the bedside. Helpless, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever awaited.
Meow?
Relief washed over me as I realized it was just my generously proportioned feline friend making his way around the room. I could hear him moving about, stepping on more furniture and emitting a few disgruntled meows, presumably chastising my laziness for not assembling it yet. As I began to drift back to sleep, I was abruptly startled awake by a chilling sound.
Snnn-orrrff
A primal, guttural snarl pierced the silence, its menacing resonance echoing through the room like a thunderous roar. I struggled desperately to move my limbs, silently screaming in my mind, yet only managing a feeble whimper as I sensed the beast drawing near. Despite my efforts, my body only twitched, while in my imagination, I leapt up and fled. As a mischievous chuckle erupted, I felt hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. I suddenly awoke, screaming, kicking and punching. I jerked my head to the side and was met only with darkness. I jumped up and turned the light on, a quick scan of the room revealed there was nothing there. Exhausted and recognizing my inability to function effectively, I reluctantly resigned myself to lying back down with the light on until morning. I called into work, knowing that in my current state, I wouldn't be of much use to anyone.
Days passed and soon, it was that time of the month again for my regular check-in from mom. I hesitantly answered the call. After a few minutes of conversation, we eventually broached the topic of my sleep paralysis.
"Honey, it's probably all the stress." she reasoned.
My job had me grinding away tirelessly, but despite my efforts, all I got was a tiny bump in pay. To add to the mix, my landlord decided it was the perfect time to raise the rent. It's safe to say, the stress was really getting to me. "I don't know, it's been happening my whole life, Dad ever had any issues with sleep?"
There was a noticeable pause as she contemplated her reply. "He's definitely had his share of nightmares, he'd wake me up a lot of the times, poor thing would be in tears."
"Jeez, I never knew, but Mom I gotta…" I endeavored to conclude the conversation, as my allotted chat time was expiring, however my mother promptly interrupted me.
"Sweetie, why won't you join us at church? It might help?"
I released a sigh. I staunchly opposed the notion of going to church; I'd rather watch a documentary on the history of paperclips. "Thanks, but I'm not feeling that right now."
"Please, just do it for me?" She pleaded.
Eager to bring the call to a close. "I'll think about, but, alright I'm going to go ahead a hop off here."
"Alright, I miss you, call me later okay?"
"I will, love you, bye."
I concluded the call with a sigh of relief, grateful for its conclusion.
For a stretch, life seemed to fall into place: My job noticed the disparity between my increased workload and pay and offered me a new position that significantly improved my financial situation. Thanks to this new position, I crossed paths with my wife, and we swiftly eloped. She was one of the top account managers, earning a substantial income, which enabled us to afford a nice house together. During this period, the night terrors and bouts of sleep paralysis took a hiatus, granting me a reprieve. Yet amidst the tranquility, a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered, as if a tempest loomed on the horizon, urging me to savor the calm while it lasted.
During this period, my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were overjoyed as she reached the sixth month of her pregnancy, carrying our long-awaited daughter. However, my suspicions proved tragically correct. I'll never forget the heart-wrenching phone call from my wife, her voice choked with tears, informing me of the terrifying sight of blood. Hastening to the emergency room, we raced against time, but our efforts proved futile. We lost our precious daughter that day. The journey back home was a blur, engulfed in a suffocating sense of loss that seemed to consume us both. It felt as though a part of me had died alongside our daughter, and the profound grief only served to widen the chasm between us as time passed, transforming our once intimate bond into a hollow semblance of what it once was.
Sleep paralysis and nightmares began to resurface, as if some malevolent force was exploiting my already troubled state, and my ability to sleep dwindled. Additionally, minor habits and disparities in the early stages of our marriage, once insignificant, began escalating into cataclysmic arguments. By now, I'm certain even my breathing would agitate my wife. Despite experimenting with various medications, none proved effective. Even vigorous physical exercise failed to exhaust me enough for uninterrupted sleep. The situation escalated to the point where my wife banished me from the bedroom due to my incessant tossing and turning, disrupting her rest. Consequently, I found myself relegated to the couch. Resorting to alcohol became a regular occurrence, partly to numb the discomfort of the couch but also as a means of coping with my grief.
We barely conversed, even though she mentioned marriage counseling, I rebuffed the idea, convinced it wouldn't benefit us. Frequently, I'd discover her in tears, cradling the sonogram of our daughter, yet I would quietly withdraw, allowing her solitary moments of sorrow. She had her unique methods of grieving, just as I had mine.
"I can't keep doing this, we're drowning in debt, and you're just pushing us further into it with every bottle." She pointed to the glass in my hand.
"Oh, come on! I work hard for us, I deserve to unwind a bit!" In a moment of animated expression, I inadvertently spilled some of my beverage onto the floor.
"Unwind? You call draining our savings and neglecting our future 'unwinding'!?"
"Look, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight."
She crossed her arms, and for a moment, silence enveloped us before she finally spoke.
"I just—I feel like I'm living with a stranger." Her eyes begin to shimmer with emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!" My voice rising in volume.
She attempted to delicately take my drink away, her touch then shifting to gently grasp my hand. "I want us to be a team again, not just two people sharing a bed."
But the moment I felt her touch, I instinctively shoved her hands away from me. "We haven't been a 'team' since we lost—" My voice quivered, then exploded into rage. "You pushed me out! You did this! You don't talk to me about anything anymore! Just get the hell out!" I pointed to the door.
I stood in the open doorway, watching her car pull out of the driveway. With a final sip, I closed the door behind me. Met with silence, I sensed the weight of tension hanging heavy in the air. Deciding one more bourbon was in order, I made my way to the kitchen, intent on pouring myself one last drink. In a bid to ensure a restful night, I opted to accompany my indulgence in alcohol with a hefty dosage of sleeping pills. A reckless choice, I'm aware, but perhaps death was in fact the ultimate form of slumber. I settled onto the couch, flicking through channels until my libation was drained. Feeling sufficiently relaxed, I decided it was time for bed. Ascending the stairs, I stumbled and collapsed onto the master bedroom's mattress. Sleep enveloped me swiftly that night, yet trouble was never far behind.
I recall waking during the night and noticing that the hallway light remained illuminated. It struck me as odd since I distinctly remember switching it off before retiring to bed. However, given my inebriated state from the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed, I surmised that I must have simply forgotten. I'd just get up and switch it off, but a wave of unease washed over me. Despite my intentions, I found myself paralyzed, trapped within my own body once again. I found myself transfixed on the door, illuminated by the soft glow seeping in from the hallway. In that moment, I discerned a shadowy figure lurking behind the door.
I hoped it was my wife, but a gut feeling told me otherwise; this time felt different, suffocated by an eerie malevolence. The doorknob rattled violently, as if something were struggling to open it. Yet, amidst the noise I caught a sinister snicker. The relentless jiggling of the doorknob reached a fever pitch, threatening to wrench it free from its socket at any instant. Then, as abruptly as it began, the tumult ceased, leaving an ominous silence hanging in the air. The door then creaked open with a slow, foreboding motion.
A sinister, shapeless presence loomed in the doorway, defying gravity as it hovered above the ground, its shadowy form exaggerated by the eerie glow seeping in from the hallway. I whimpered, struggling to stir my limbs in a futile attempt to awaken my body, but they responded only with slight twitches. My gaze remained fixed on the form before me, immobilized by fear. Suddenly, a sinuous appendage extended from the specter's face, resembling a long, black tentacle. It elongated and snaked toward me, prompting me to instinctively shut my eyes. Sensing its proximity, I remained frozen, an icy chill grazed my forehead, jolting me awake in an instant. Sleep eluded me for the rest of the night, so I opted for an early morning, brewing a pot of coffee to chase away the lingering unease.
For the following weeks, my routine remained monotonous: work, microwave dinner, then numbness induced by sleeping pills and bourbon until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that my wife wanted to reconcile, but insisted on therapy and my attendance at AA meetings. I refused, firmly convinced that all I desired was to reclaim my bed, and that her reaction was excessive. I contended that the alcohol provided comfort, a gesture I hadn't received from her in quite some time. My mother-in-law and wife were both displeased with my response; it became apparent that divorce was now the inevitable solution.
At this juncture, I experienced sleep paralysis on a daily basis, even in the absence of the entity. Each night, I would awaken multiple times, unable to move, only freeing myself to find dread awaiting the next episode upon returning to sleep. There was one rare night when I slept soundly, only to be abruptly awakened by a late-night call from an old friend. We had a bond stretching back to our middle school days, and were inseparable back then. However, this call wasn't one of nostalgia; it was about money. He needed a bailout for his mortgage, promising a swift repayment.
I moved to the edge of my bed, frustration mounting as I started to rub my forehead. "I can't, I just can't right now, I need to get back to sleep good—"
He interrupted me. "Please, I don't want to lose the house."
I found myself raising my voice in frustration as irritation crept in. It appeared he was wholly incapable of learning from his mistakes. "Look, it isn't my responsibility to bail you out every time you're in trouble!"
"I know, I know, please, at least do it for Eli, Chelsea left me all alone and it's been hard man." His voice starting to crack.
My voice raising to a near scream; "He isn't my responsibility either! You should have been careful! I told you she wasn't good for you and you didn't listen! Sort your own shit out from now on!"
I ended the call and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. So much for a good night's rest, thanks a lot, friend.
As my life spiraled further into chaos, I realized I needed to explore solutions beyond relying on alcohol and sleeping pills to combat sleep paralysis. Perhaps a spiritual approach was necessary. While I knew my mother would be pleased with this consideration, I'm certain what I had in mind would be vehemently discouraged. My mother firmly believed in the existence of demons, warning against interacting with them outside of 'God's protection'. Perhaps she was right, but I grew desperate for a solution. At this stage, I was willing to do anything for peace of mind, regardless of the consequences. So, I concocted a masterful plan:
I'd simply ask it what it would take to make it stop.
Each morning was fraught with dread, pondering whether the entity would manifest itself. I ensured to kickstart my day with a potent drink, maintaining a steady buzz throughout, perhaps to stave off any wavering doubts about my decision. My patience bore fruit one fateful night as I found myself immobilized once more.
This marked the initial instance when the entity directly addressed me, and its words seared into my memory with chilling permanence. It uttered abhorrent, repulsive, unfathomable insults about me, branding me a failure, devoid of worth, as insignificant as a microbe. It dissected my existence, critiquing my choices, appearance, and demeanor with a cruelty I had never encountered. It seemed to possess an uncanny ability to strike at the core of my being, as if it wielded a weapon honed to annihilate my spirit. And then, its merciless laughter echoed relentlessly.
In that moment, I recognized it as my opportunity to retort. However, the barrage of insults stoked a fire within me, igniting a fury that overpowered my intentions. What did this entity presume to know about me? It was entirely mistaken, and that infuriated me. Against my better judgment, fueled by indignation, I deviated from my plan and impulsively blurted out: "What's so damn funny?!"
As the words echoed in my mind, the laughter abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Relief flooded through me as I dared to hope that I had put an end to the ordeal. Yet, my premature celebration was cut short when an indescribable dread enveloped me. A black ichor oozed onto the floor beside my bed, signaling the beginning of a hellish spectacle. From the viscous sludge, a dark figure emerged, coated in sticky tar, yet defying gravity as it ascended, hovering above the ground.
Above me, it loomed, its weighty presence palpable as thick sludge cascaded onto the bed, it halted directly over me. Its head inclined, scrutinizing me with unseen gaze. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrestrained, as I braced for the inevitable embrace of death. The figure gradually descended, its feet pressing into my chest with an icy chill coursing through me. As its waist aligned with my sternum, a frigid sensation enveloped me. With a swift motion, it plunged its hand into my chest, seizing my heart, and darkness consumed my senses.
I felt a terrifying pull downward, as if gravity itself had gone haywire. My stomach churned with a sickening weightlessness, reminiscent of a plummeting elevator. As my descent abruptly halted, the sound of wind rushing in my ears gave way to a sudden explosion—a resounding burst, resembling the opening of a parachute. That's when I sensed something coiling around my waist, though invisible to my eyes. Desperate to break free, I reached out, only to recoil in horror as my fingers brushed against scaly, rough skin.
Simultaneously, the air filled with the echoing beat of what seemed like enormous wings, while I experienced the unsettling sensation of being lifted and dropped. Though I had a suspicion about what gripped me, disbelief held me back from fully acknowledging it. So, resigned, I surrendered to my captor's will, allowing them to transport me to an unknown destination. As the darkness yielded, a faint glow emerged beneath us—a jagged line emanating an eerie orange-red light. The creature descended, revealing a sight that churned my stomach: bubbling lava. Its faint glow barely illuminated what seemed to be a cavern.
As I descended further into the cavern's depths, the beast veered close enough for me to sense the searing warmth of the lava beneath my feet. Gradually, our descent stabilized, and my gaze shifted forward, revealing a massive door-like structure. Its design echoed the grandeur of ancient Gothic architecture, adorned with pointed arches and intricate buttresses. The edifice appeared crafted from a peculiar variety of marble, possessing a beauty tinged with an unsettling aura. Its construction defied convention, evoking a sense of unease; never before had anything been wrought in such a manner.
As the creature descended once more, carrying me firmly, we passed through the doorway, revealing the true scale of the chamber. Beyond the threshold, a vast expanse unfolded, illuminated by a solitary spherical light source, casting an unsettlingly dim glow upon a colossal, otherworldly mechanism. It resembled a colossal pillar, stretching upward into the darkness of the cavern, its details obscured by the dim light. Within its intricate workings, gears, wheels, and chains rotated at a languid pace. Amidst this mechanical labyrinth, my attention was drawn to a swirling mass of gray at the base of the mechanism, slowly undulating. The beast appeared to be steering us directly toward it.
As we drew nearer, we sailed past what appeared to be a platform, upon which perched a colossal beast. Its form resembled that of a massive reptilian creature, akin to what one might envision as a dinosaur. Yet, it stood upright on two legs, its powerful limbs chained firmly to the platform. With each short, sharp inhalation, it unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated through every fiber of my being. I couldn't help but notice the protrusion of its jugular vein, roughly the size of my upper thigh, expanding with each thunderous cry. As we approached the swirling mass of gray, a sudden wave of horror washed over me as I comprehended its true nature.
A sea of people.
I observed that they were all bound together by chains, encircling their arms, legs, and necks. These chains converged at the towering pillar, linking each individual to the mechanism. The mass of people moved in a circular motion, driving the turning of the cogs. Their pallid complexion suggested an absence of life, as if all vitality had been drained from them. Their agonized screams pierced the air, mouths devoid of tongues. I witnessed an individual collapse to their knees, only to be forcefully yanked upright by some unseen power, rest was an elusive notion in this place. To my horror, amidst the throng of young adults and the elderly, I saw children swept along by the relentless current of the crowd.
As the creature positioned me amidst the multitude, I pleaded desperately, but it was futile; the chains had already ensnared me. With each movement of the mass of people, I felt the tug on my own chain, pressed in on all sides without an inch of space to spare. The towering figures around me obscured any view beyond their heads, leaving me engulfed in a sea of bodies.
My voice pierced the chaotic symphony of screams, rising in a desperate plea for escape.
"Please! I don't belong here! I just wanted to sleep, this is a mistake!"
As I cried out, the orb of light began to shift, seemingly in response to my desperate appeals. As it drew closer and closer, a sense of dread gripped me. Hovering ominously above, it revealed itself as a grotesque monstrosity, casting a sickly glow that chilled me to the bone. I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse, my knees weakening with each passing moment. What loomed overhead defied any attempt at human description; it resembled a cluster of intertwining tubes, swirling and spiraling in a mesmerizing dance that transcended the bounds of reality. Bathed in a sickly blue light that pulsed like molten lava beneath its tendrils.
The light wrought a profound transformation within me, granting a clarity of self-awareness unlike anything I had ever known. In its piercing illumination, I was confronted with the raw truth of my being, stripped of illusion or denial. It was a sobering revelation, an awakening to the most authentic understanding of myself I had ever experienced.
I belonged here.
I had systematically driven away my friends, neglecting their presence and refusing to open up to them. Even my own mother's attempts at connection felt burdensome, our conversations reduced to mere obligations. But perhaps the greatest tragedy lay in the chasm that had formed between my wife and me—a divide entirely of my own making. I was the architect of my own downfall, responsible for the ruin of my life, with no one else to blame but myself. Every word the entity had uttered about me held a painful truth.
From this vantage point, my life appeared almost sweet in retrospect, bathed in the stark light of self-awareness. Yet, any semblance of hope quickly dissolved, for in this desolate realm, hope found no foothold, no sanctuary to thrive.
With my head bowed low, I trudged forward, the weight of my chain pulling me inexorably onward. In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability, I found myself offering a prayer. Despite my awareness that it would likely go unanswered, I embraced the grim reality of my fate, accepting it with a heavy heart.
God, have mercy on me…
Suddenly the sound of chains breaking shattered the air as I was yanked upward with astonishing velocity. In a sudden blur, the scene below shrank rapidly beneath me. The rush of wind buffeted me, and I sensed another presence, an arm wrapped around my waist. Clutching onto it tightly, I braced myself as the cavern's light faded into absolute darkness, squeezing my eyes shut against the unknown.
With a jolt, my rapid ascent came to an abrupt halt, my back colliding with something soft. Gradually, I realized I was back in the familiarity of my own bed. At the foot of the bed stood a figure, its features obscured by a radiant glow emanating from its form, resembling molten glass. The brilliance bathed the entire room in an ethereal light. For a fleeting moment, we locked gazes, suspended in a silent exchange. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure began to ascend, leaving my room cloaked once more in shadows.
I sat in silence for a while, grappling with the enormity of my experience. To dismiss it as a mere nightmare or hallucination would be a gross understatement; whatever transpired felt hauntingly more vivid and tangible than my current reality. It would take me months of introspection and contemplation to begin to make sense of it all, to reconcile the surreal with the mundane, and to find a semblance of peace within myself.
Although the experience didn't trigger an immediate transformation, its impact lingered, nudging me towards a path of change. Despite my ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction, I made a conscious decision to seek help. I began prioritizing regular hangouts with my best friend and even accompanied my mom to a few church visits. While I remained uncertain about my own connection to religion, witnessing her joy brought a sense of fulfillment that warmed my heart. In making her happy, I found a newfound source of happiness within myself.
As time passed, a sense of progress gradually infused my life. Achieving a year of sobriety marked a significant milestone on my journey, celebrated amidst the supportive community of AA. Even my wife took notice of my efforts towards self-improvement, leading us to embark on marriage counseling together. Before long, her return to our home signaled a hopeful new chapter in our relationship.
Not a trace of sleep paralysis had haunted me since that fateful night when I was guided from the depths of despair. I'm not entirely sure if it was an angel, or God, but whatever it was, it spared me, and for that, I'm grateful. And now, the most joyous news of all: my wife and I are expecting our first child next week. The doctors assure us of her perfect health, filling us with anticipation and gratitude. As for her name, I already have the perfect one in mind:
Grace
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One of my earliest memories of sleep disruption traces back to my grade school days. With my mother on an early shift unable to drive me to school for its 8:00 am start, she would drop me off at my aunt's house. Here, she ensured I was fed, dressed, and ready for school. Most mornings, I had just about an hour left to sleep before needing to rise. Often, I'd find myself in a half-asleep state from the moment my mom roused me until she tucked me into my aunt's spare bedroom.
On one of those mornings, as I lay down, teetering between wakefulness and sleep, I experienced a peculiar sensation. It felt as though my body began to rise, hovering about two feet above the bed, before swiftly plummeting back down. Startled awake, I assumed my mother had thrown me back onto the bed, only to find the room empty upon opening my eyes.
I hadn't encountered any other experiences quite like that, but it was during this time that I distinctly recall a notable surge in the frequency of the nightmares I was experiencing. The nightmares were generally the same, some cloaked being hiding in the recesses of my vision, always there, always watching. I felt as though each passing night terror that it got closer and closer to me, but always just out of reach. At times, I found myself trapped in a dark room, enveloped by an overwhelming sense of malevolence that seemed to saturate the air—and a fear entirely foreign to my waking experiences.
Then I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time.
It occurred at my mother's house, marking the initial instance where I experienced the sensation of my body being effectively immobilized while my mind remained active. I recall attempting to move my eyes and then my body, but all efforts were futile. As I struggled to regain autonomy, it sounded as though a gathering had convened in my kitchen, voices carrying in muted tones. None of the which resembled those of my parents; I even detected snickering and laughter at one point. The conversation seemed to be aimed at me, as my name was uttered several times, yet the other words remained indecipherable. The episode concluded with me returning to sleep without any further disturbances.
As the instances of sleep paralysis became more frequent, they culminated in another peculiar experience. Shortly after moving into my first apartment, still in the midst of unpacking and assembling furniture, the second incident occurred. I lay on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by unassembled bedframe pieces, when I awoke to find myself imprisoned within my own body once more. In the darkness, I heard a faint sound—a presence moving softly over each piece of furniture. Panic gripped me as I strained to turn my head towards the noise, but every effort proved futile. With each passing moment, the unseen entity drew closer until it reached the bedside. Helpless, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever awaited.
Meow?
Relief washed over me as I realized it was just my generously proportioned feline friend making his way around the room. I could hear him moving about, stepping on more furniture and emitting a few disgruntled meows, presumably chastising my laziness for not assembling it yet. As I began to drift back to sleep, I was abruptly startled awake by a chilling sound.
Snnn-orrrff
A primal, guttural snarl pierced the silence, its menacing resonance echoing through the room like a thunderous roar. I struggled desperately to move my limbs, silently screaming in my mind, yet only managing a feeble whimper as I sensed the beast drawing near. Despite my efforts, my body only twitched, while in my imagination, I leapt up and fled. As a mischievous chuckle erupted, I felt hot, pungent breath on the back of my neck. I suddenly awoke, screaming, kicking and punching. I jerked my head to the side and was met only with darkness. I jumped up and turned the light on, a quick scan of the room revealed there was nothing there. Exhausted and recognizing my inability to function effectively, I reluctantly resigned myself to lying back down with the light on until morning. I called into work, knowing that in my current state, I wouldn't be of much use to anyone.
Days passed and soon, it was that time of the month again for my regular check-in from mom. I hesitantly answered the call. After a few minutes of conversation, we eventually broached the topic of my sleep paralysis.
"Honey, it's probably all the stress." she reasoned.
My job had me grinding away tirelessly, but despite my efforts, all I got was a tiny bump in pay. To add to the mix, my landlord decided it was the perfect time to raise the rent. It's safe to say, the stress was really getting to me. "I don't know, it's been happening my whole life, Dad ever had any issues with sleep?"
There was a noticeable pause as she contemplated her reply. "He's definitely had his share of nightmares, he'd wake me up a lot of the times, poor thing would be in tears."
"Jeez, I never knew, but Mom I gotta…" I endeavored to conclude the conversation, as my allotted chat time was expiring, however my mother promptly interrupted me.
"Sweetie, why won't you join us at church? It might help?"
I released a sigh. I staunchly opposed the notion of going to church; I'd rather watch a documentary on the history of paperclips. "Thanks, but I'm not feeling that right now."
"Please, just do it for me?" She pleaded.
Eager to bring the call to a close. "I'll think about, but, alright I'm going to go ahead a hop off here."
"Alright, I miss you, call me later okay?"
"I will, love you, bye."
I concluded the call with a sigh of relief, grateful for its conclusion.
For a stretch, life seemed to fall into place: My job noticed the disparity between my increased workload and pay and offered me a new position that significantly improved my financial situation. Thanks to this new position, I crossed paths with my wife, and we swiftly eloped. She was one of the top account managers, earning a substantial income, which enabled us to afford a nice house together. During this period, the night terrors and bouts of sleep paralysis took a hiatus, granting me a reprieve. Yet amidst the tranquility, a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered, as if a tempest loomed on the horizon, urging me to savor the calm while it lasted.
During this period, my wife and I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of our first child. We were overjoyed as she reached the sixth month of her pregnancy, carrying our long-awaited daughter. However, my suspicions proved tragically correct. I'll never forget the heart-wrenching phone call from my wife, her voice choked with tears, informing me of the terrifying sight of blood. Hastening to the emergency room, we raced against time, but our efforts proved futile. We lost our precious daughter that day. The journey back home was a blur, engulfed in a suffocating sense of loss that seemed to consume us both. It felt as though a part of me had died alongside our daughter, and the profound grief only served to widen the chasm between us as time passed, transforming our once intimate bond into a hollow semblance of what it once was.
Sleep paralysis and nightmares began to resurface, as if some malevolent force was exploiting my already troubled state, and my ability to sleep dwindled. Additionally, minor habits and disparities in the early stages of our marriage, once insignificant, began escalating into cataclysmic arguments. By now, I'm certain even my breathing would agitate my wife. Despite experimenting with various medications, none proved effective. Even vigorous physical exercise failed to exhaust me enough for uninterrupted sleep. The situation escalated to the point where my wife banished me from the bedroom due to my incessant tossing and turning, disrupting her rest. Consequently, I found myself relegated to the couch. Resorting to alcohol became a regular occurrence, partly to numb the discomfort of the couch but also as a means of coping with my grief.
We barely conversed, even though she mentioned marriage counseling, I rebuffed the idea, convinced it wouldn't benefit us. Frequently, I'd discover her in tears, cradling the sonogram of our daughter, yet I would quietly withdraw, allowing her solitary moments of sorrow. She had her unique methods of grieving, just as I had mine.
"I can't keep doing this, we're drowning in debt, and you're just pushing us further into it with every bottle." She pointed to the glass in my hand.
"Oh, come on! I work hard for us, I deserve to unwind a bit!" In a moment of animated expression, I inadvertently spilled some of my beverage onto the floor.
"Unwind? You call draining our savings and neglecting our future 'unwinding'!?"
"Look, just let me sleep in my own bed tonight."
She crossed her arms, and for a moment, silence enveloped us before she finally spoke.
"I just—I feel like I'm living with a stranger." Her eyes begin to shimmer with emotion.
"I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!" My voice rising in volume.
She attempted to delicately take my drink away, her touch then shifting to gently grasp my hand. "I want us to be a team again, not just two people sharing a bed."
But the moment I felt her touch, I instinctively shoved her hands away from me. "We haven't been a 'team' since we lost—" My voice quivered, then exploded into rage. "You pushed me out! You did this! You don't talk to me about anything anymore! Just get the hell out!" I pointed to the door.
I stood in the open doorway, watching her car pull out of the driveway. With a final sip, I closed the door behind me. Met with silence, I sensed the weight of tension hanging heavy in the air. Deciding one more bourbon was in order, I made my way to the kitchen, intent on pouring myself one last drink. In a bid to ensure a restful night, I opted to accompany my indulgence in alcohol with a hefty dosage of sleeping pills. A reckless choice, I'm aware, but perhaps death was in fact the ultimate form of slumber. I settled onto the couch, flicking through channels until my libation was drained. Feeling sufficiently relaxed, I decided it was time for bed. Ascending the stairs, I stumbled and collapsed onto the master bedroom's mattress. Sleep enveloped me swiftly that night, yet trouble was never far behind.
I recall waking during the night and noticing that the hallway light remained illuminated. It struck me as odd since I distinctly remember switching it off before retiring to bed. However, given my inebriated state from the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed, I surmised that I must have simply forgotten. I'd just get up and switch it off, but a wave of unease washed over me. Despite my intentions, I found myself paralyzed, trapped within my own body once again. I found myself transfixed on the door, illuminated by the soft glow seeping in from the hallway. In that moment, I discerned a shadowy figure lurking behind the door.
I hoped it was my wife, but a gut feeling told me otherwise; this time felt different, suffocated by an eerie malevolence. The doorknob rattled violently, as if something were struggling to open it. Yet, amidst the noise I caught a sinister snicker. The relentless jiggling of the doorknob reached a fever pitch, threatening to wrench it free from its socket at any instant. Then, as abruptly as it began, the tumult ceased, leaving an ominous silence hanging in the air. The door then creaked open with a slow, foreboding motion.
A sinister, shapeless presence loomed in the doorway, defying gravity as it hovered above the ground, its shadowy form exaggerated by the eerie glow seeping in from the hallway. I whimpered, struggling to stir my limbs in a futile attempt to awaken my body, but they responded only with slight twitches. My gaze remained fixed on the form before me, immobilized by fear. Suddenly, a sinuous appendage extended from the specter's face, resembling a long, black tentacle. It elongated and snaked toward me, prompting me to instinctively shut my eyes. Sensing its proximity, I remained frozen, an icy chill grazed my forehead, jolting me awake in an instant. Sleep eluded me for the rest of the night, so I opted for an early morning, brewing a pot of coffee to chase away the lingering unease.
For the following weeks, my routine remained monotonous: work, microwave dinner, then numbness induced by sleeping pills and bourbon until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I received a text from my mother-in-law stating that my wife wanted to reconcile, but insisted on therapy and my attendance at AA meetings. I refused, firmly convinced that all I desired was to reclaim my bed, and that her reaction was excessive. I contended that the alcohol provided comfort, a gesture I hadn't received from her in quite some time. My mother-in-law and wife were both displeased with my response; it became apparent that divorce was now the inevitable solution.
At this juncture, I experienced sleep paralysis on a daily basis, even in the absence of the entity. Each night, I would awaken multiple times, unable to move, only freeing myself to find dread awaiting the next episode upon returning to sleep. There was one rare night when I slept soundly, only to be abruptly awakened by a late-night call from an old friend. We had a bond stretching back to our middle school days, and were inseparable back then. However, this call wasn't one of nostalgia; it was about money. He needed a bailout for his mortgage, promising a swift repayment.
I moved to the edge of my bed, frustration mounting as I started to rub my forehead. "I can't, I just can't right now, I need to get back to sleep good—"
He interrupted me. "Please, I don't want to lose the house."
I found myself raising my voice in frustration as irritation crept in. It appeared he was wholly incapable of learning from his mistakes. "Look, it isn't my responsibility to bail you out every time you're in trouble!"
"I know, I know, please, at least do it for Eli, Chelsea left me all alone and it's been hard man." His voice starting to crack.
My voice raising to a near scream; "He isn't my responsibility either! You should have been careful! I told you she wasn't good for you and you didn't listen! Sort your own shit out from now on!"
I ended the call and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. So much for a good night's rest, thanks a lot, friend.
As my life spiraled further into chaos, I realized I needed to explore solutions beyond relying on alcohol and sleeping pills to combat sleep paralysis. Perhaps a spiritual approach was necessary. While I knew my mother would be pleased with this consideration, I'm certain what I had in mind would be vehemently discouraged. My mother firmly believed in the existence of demons, warning against interacting with them outside of 'God's protection'. Perhaps she was right, but I grew desperate for a solution. At this stage, I was willing to do anything for peace of mind, regardless of the consequences. So, I concocted a masterful plan:
I'd simply ask it what it would take to make it stop.
Each morning was fraught with dread, pondering whether the entity would manifest itself. I ensured to kickstart my day with a potent drink, maintaining a steady buzz throughout, perhaps to stave off any wavering doubts about my decision. My patience bore fruit one fateful night as I found myself immobilized once more.
This marked the initial instance when the entity directly addressed me, and its words seared into my memory with chilling permanence. It uttered abhorrent, repulsive, unfathomable insults about me, branding me a failure, devoid of worth, as insignificant as a microbe. It dissected my existence, critiquing my choices, appearance, and demeanor with a cruelty I had never encountered. It seemed to possess an uncanny ability to strike at the core of my being, as if it wielded a weapon honed to annihilate my spirit. And then, its merciless laughter echoed relentlessly.
In that moment, I recognized it as my opportunity to retort. However, the barrage of insults stoked a fire within me, igniting a fury that overpowered my intentions. What did this entity presume to know about me? It was entirely mistaken, and that infuriated me. Against my better judgment, fueled by indignation, I deviated from my plan and impulsively blurted out: "What's so damn funny?!"
As the words echoed in my mind, the laughter abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Relief flooded through me as I dared to hope that I had put an end to the ordeal. Yet, my premature celebration was cut short when an indescribable dread enveloped me. A black ichor oozed onto the floor beside my bed, signaling the beginning of a hellish spectacle. From the viscous sludge, a dark figure emerged, coated in sticky tar, yet defying gravity as it ascended, hovering above the ground.
Above me, it loomed, its weighty presence palpable as thick sludge cascaded onto the bed, it halted directly over me. Its head inclined, scrutinizing me with unseen gaze. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and unrestrained, as I braced for the inevitable embrace of death. The figure gradually descended, its feet pressing into my chest with an icy chill coursing through me. As its waist aligned with my sternum, a frigid sensation enveloped me. With a swift motion, it plunged its hand into my chest, seizing my heart, and darkness consumed my senses.
I felt a terrifying pull downward, as if gravity itself had gone haywire. My stomach churned with a sickening weightlessness, reminiscent of a plummeting elevator. As my descent abruptly halted, the sound of wind rushing in my ears gave way to a sudden explosion—a resounding burst, resembling the opening of a parachute. That's when I sensed something coiling around my waist, though invisible to my eyes. Desperate to break free, I reached out, only to recoil in horror as my fingers brushed against scaly, rough skin.
Simultaneously, the air filled with the echoing beat of what seemed like enormous wings, while I experienced the unsettling sensation of being lifted and dropped. Though I had a suspicion about what gripped me, disbelief held me back from fully acknowledging it. So, resigned, I surrendered to my captor's will, allowing them to transport me to an unknown destination. As the darkness yielded, a faint glow emerged beneath us—a jagged line emanating an eerie orange-red light. The creature descended, revealing a sight that churned my stomach: bubbling lava. Its faint glow barely illuminated what seemed to be a cavern.
As I descended further into the cavern's depths, the beast veered close enough for me to sense the searing warmth of the lava beneath my feet. Gradually, our descent stabilized, and my gaze shifted forward, revealing a massive door-like structure. Its design echoed the grandeur of ancient Gothic architecture, adorned with pointed arches and intricate buttresses. The edifice appeared crafted from a peculiar variety of marble, possessing a beauty tinged with an unsettling aura. Its construction defied convention, evoking a sense of unease; never before had anything been wrought in such a manner.
As the creature descended once more, carrying me firmly, we passed through the doorway, revealing the true scale of the chamber. Beyond the threshold, a vast expanse unfolded, illuminated by a solitary spherical light source, casting an unsettlingly dim glow upon a colossal, otherworldly mechanism. It resembled a colossal pillar, stretching upward into the darkness of the cavern, its details obscured by the dim light. Within its intricate workings, gears, wheels, and chains rotated at a languid pace. Amidst this mechanical labyrinth, my attention was drawn to a swirling mass of gray at the base of the mechanism, slowly undulating. The beast appeared to be steering us directly toward it.
As we drew nearer, we sailed past what appeared to be a platform, upon which perched a colossal beast. Its form resembled that of a massive reptilian creature, akin to what one might envision as a dinosaur. Yet, it stood upright on two legs, its powerful limbs chained firmly to the platform. With each short, sharp inhalation, it unleashed a deafening roar that reverberated through every fiber of my being. I couldn't help but notice the protrusion of its jugular vein, roughly the size of my upper thigh, expanding with each thunderous cry. As we approached the swirling mass of gray, a sudden wave of horror washed over me as I comprehended its true nature.
A sea of people.
I observed that they were all bound together by chains, encircling their arms, legs, and necks. These chains converged at the towering pillar, linking each individual to the mechanism. The mass of people moved in a circular motion, driving the turning of the cogs. Their pallid complexion suggested an absence of life, as if all vitality had been drained from them. Their agonized screams pierced the air, mouths devoid of tongues. I witnessed an individual collapse to their knees, only to be forcefully yanked upright by some unseen power, rest was an elusive notion in this place. To my horror, amidst the throng of young adults and the elderly, I saw children swept along by the relentless current of the crowd.
As the creature positioned me amidst the multitude, I pleaded desperately, but it was futile; the chains had already ensnared me. With each movement of the mass of people, I felt the tug on my own chain, pressed in on all sides without an inch of space to spare. The towering figures around me obscured any view beyond their heads, leaving me engulfed in a sea of bodies.
My voice pierced the chaotic symphony of screams, rising in a desperate plea for escape.
"Please! I don't belong here! I just wanted to sleep, this is a mistake!"
As I cried out, the orb of light began to shift, seemingly in response to my desperate appeals. As it drew closer and closer, a sense of dread gripped me. Hovering ominously above, it revealed itself as a grotesque monstrosity, casting a sickly glow that chilled me to the bone. I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse, my knees weakening with each passing moment. What loomed overhead defied any attempt at human description; it resembled a cluster of intertwining tubes, swirling and spiraling in a mesmerizing dance that transcended the bounds of reality. Bathed in a sickly blue light that pulsed like molten lava beneath its tendrils.
The light wrought a profound transformation within me, granting a clarity of self-awareness unlike anything I had ever known. In its piercing illumination, I was confronted with the raw truth of my being, stripped of illusion or denial. It was a sobering revelation, an awakening to the most authentic understanding of myself I had ever experienced.
I belonged here.
I had systematically driven away my friends, neglecting their presence and refusing to open up to them. Even my own mother's attempts at connection felt burdensome, our conversations reduced to mere obligations. But perhaps the greatest tragedy lay in the chasm that had formed between my wife and me—a divide entirely of my own making. I was the architect of my own downfall, responsible for the ruin of my life, with no one else to blame but myself. Every word the entity had uttered about me held a painful truth.
From this vantage point, my life appeared almost sweet in retrospect, bathed in the stark light of self-awareness. Yet, any semblance of hope quickly dissolved, for in this desolate realm, hope found no foothold, no sanctuary to thrive.
With my head bowed low, I trudged forward, the weight of my chain pulling me inexorably onward. In a moment of unprecedented vulnerability, I found myself offering a prayer. Despite my awareness that it would likely go unanswered, I embraced the grim reality of my fate, accepting it with a heavy heart.
God, have mercy on me…
Suddenly the sound of chains breaking shattered the air as I was yanked upward with astonishing velocity. In a sudden blur, the scene below shrank rapidly beneath me. The rush of wind buffeted me, and I sensed another presence, an arm wrapped around my waist. Clutching onto it tightly, I braced myself as the cavern's light faded into absolute darkness, squeezing my eyes shut against the unknown.
With a jolt, my rapid ascent came to an abrupt halt, my back colliding with something soft. Gradually, I realized I was back in the familiarity of my own bed. At the foot of the bed stood a figure, its features obscured by a radiant glow emanating from its form, resembling molten glass. The brilliance bathed the entire room in an ethereal light. For a fleeting moment, we locked gazes, suspended in a silent exchange. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the figure began to ascend, leaving my room cloaked once more in shadows.
I sat in silence for a while, grappling with the enormity of my experience. To dismiss it as a mere nightmare or hallucination would be a gross understatement; whatever transpired felt hauntingly more vivid and tangible than my current reality. It would take me months of introspection and contemplation to begin to make sense of it all, to reconcile the surreal with the mundane, and to find a semblance of peace within myself.
Although the experience didn't trigger an immediate transformation, its impact lingered, nudging me towards a path of change. Despite my ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction, I made a conscious decision to seek help. I began prioritizing regular hangouts with my best friend and even accompanied my mom to a few church visits. While I remained uncertain about my own connection to religion, witnessing her joy brought a sense of fulfillment that warmed my heart. In making her happy, I found a newfound source of happiness within myself.
As time passed, a sense of progress gradually infused my life. Achieving a year of sobriety marked a significant milestone on my journey, celebrated amidst the supportive community of AA. Even my wife took notice of my efforts towards self-improvement, leading us to embark on marriage counseling together. Before long, her return to our home signaled a hopeful new chapter in our relationship.
Not a trace of sleep paralysis had haunted me since that fateful night when I was guided from the depths of despair. I'm not entirely sure if it was an angel, or God, but whatever it was, it spared me, and for that, I'm grateful. And now, the most joyous news of all: my wife and I are expecting our first child next week. The doctors assure us of her perfect health, filling us with anticipation and gratitude. As for her name, I already have the perfect one in mind:
Grace
2024.05.13 08:40 greg0525 When Our Camping Trip Became a Nightmare
For as long as I can remember, my family and I have shared a deep love for the great outdoors, particularly the enchanting allure of the forest. The allure of nature's symphony, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the melodious songs of birds never failed to captivate our senses. The verdant foliage, adorned with vibrant flowers, created a kaleidoscope of colors that danced before our eyes, while the towering trees whispered ancient secrets to those who would listen. It was a place where tranquility and serenity embraced us, soothing our souls in the embrace of nature's embrace.
Our excursions into the wilderness were often brief, day trips filled with laughter, exploration, and a shared appreciation for the natural wonders around us. But the recent addition of an RV to our family provided an opportunity to embark on a new adventure—an overnight camping trip nestled within the embrace of majestic mountains and the allure of the forest.
Excitement bubbled within us as we meticulously planned our journey. We imagined gathering around a crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows upon our faces. The scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp mountain air would create an intoxicating aroma that would forever be etched in our memories.
Finally, the day arrived, and we eagerly set off, our RV becoming our mobile sanctuary. The journey itself was a testament to the beauty of the land we traversed. Majestic peaks rose like sentinels, their snow-capped summits piercing the heavens. As we delved deeper into the heart of nature's domain, our anticipation heightened, and our hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of the forest.
Upon reaching our destination, we carefully parked our RV, a tiny fortress amidst the towering giants. The forest seemed to embrace us, its silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds bidding us welcome. The air carried a crispness that invigorated our spirits, as if it whispered tales of forgotten legends and ancient mysteries.
With each step we took, the forest welcomed us into its secret realm. Our senses were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of pine needles underfoot, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy above, created dappled patterns on the forest floor, like nature's own mesmerizing tapestry.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the campsite, we gathered around the fire pit. Amelia, our adventurous and nature-loving daughter, was brimming with excitement at the prospect of building a fire.
Amelia's eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, her voice filled with anticipation. "Dad, I can't wait to make the fire! Can I help? Please?"
A smile stretched across my face, mirroring the twinkle in her eyes. I nodded, appreciating her eagerness to participate in this age-old ritual of outdoor adventure.
"Absolutely, Amelia," I replied, my voice laced with fatherly pride. "You can gather some dry branches and twigs. Just be careful not to venture too far into the forest."
With an enthusiastic nod, Amelia seized a small, weathered basket and darted towards the beckoning trees and rustling underbrush.
"Watch out for the prickly bushes, sweetheart!" I called out, a touch of caution in my voice. "And remember, stay within sight!"
Her voice, tinged with determination, floated back to me on the gentle breeze. "Don't worry, Dad! I'll find the best branches!"
As Amelia vanished into the verdant embrace of the forest, my wife, Emma, emerged from our trusty RV. Her graceful movements belied her quiet excitement as she retrieved the carefully packed food provisions from within.
Emma's nimble fingers unwrapped the ingredients with a practiced ease, her eyes glimmering with a mix of culinary artistry and familial warmth. She hummed a gentle tune under her breath, her love for nurturing our family evident in every deliberate action.
Meanwhile, I busied myself by unloading the essential cooking equipment from the storage compartments. With the clinking of metal against metal, I extracted the gleaming grill grate and stoked the coals, preparing the stage for a delicious outdoor feast.
After a while, with a skip in her step and a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Amelia emerged from the lush foliage, clutching a trove of dry branches and twigs within the sturdy basket. Yet, nestled in the crook of her other arm was an unexpected treasure—an enchanting discovery that had captured her young heart.
Amelia's voice bubbled with excitement as she approached, her words tumbling forth. "Dad! Look what I found! It's a small Teddy bear! Isn't it adorable?"
Curiosity sparked within me as I studied the small, weathered toy she presented. Its once vibrant colors had faded, its fur slightly disheveled, but it bore an undeniable charm. A silent narrative unfolded before my eyes, envisioning the laughter and companionship this cherished possession once brought to another child.
A mixture of caution and wonder mingled in my voice as I questioned, "Where did you find it, sweetheart? It seems someone may have lost it."
Amelia's face radiated with innocence and genuine affection for her newfound friend. "I found it near a tree, Daddy. Maybe another family played here, and the Teddy bear got left behind. Can I keep it, please?"
My instinctual protective nature rose, a desire to shield her from the potential disappointments that accompany lost treasures. Yet, a tender understanding blossomed within me. This small act of generosity and acceptance would foster her sense of empathy and compassion.
Considering her wide-eyed enthusiasm, I yielded to the warmth in my heart. "Alright, Amelia," I relented with a gentle smile. "If it brings you joy and reminds you of this beautiful adventure, then you can keep it."
Amelia's jubilant squeal filled the air, punctuating the acceptance of her request. With an affectionate hug, she embraced her newfound companion, promising it a future filled with endless tea parties and imaginary adventures.
Afer I set the fire, with a satisfying crackle, the flames sprang to life, dancing and flickering in a mesmerizing rhythm. The golden tendrils reached towards the night sky, casting a warm glow upon our faces. The radiant heat embraced us, dispelling the chill of the evening air as we gathered around the enchanting inferno.
I meticulously arranged the equipment we had brought, positioning the sturdy metal grill over the roaring fire. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of seasoned meat, sizzling and sputtering as it made contact with the heated grates. The tantalizing melody of crackling embers serenaded our senses, a symphony of anticipation and contentment.
My wife, her eyes sparkling with both determination and tenderness, deftly prepared the ingredients that would transform into a feast of flavors. The rhythmic symphony of chopping, the aromatic dance of herbs and spices, and the gentle sizzle of ingredients meeting the heated pan created a harmonious tableau of culinary artistry.
Amelia, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, took her place by my side, her small hands outstretched in eager anticipation. I showed her how to position the meat on the grill, carefully instructing her on the art of achieving the perfect sear. Her youthful enthusiasm ignited a sense of pride within me, as I witnessed her embracing the opportunity to contribute to our family's culinary adventure.
“We still need some firewood. I will get some until it gets darker. I will be right back!,” I told Emma and I delved deeper into the wilderness.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a symphony of nature enveloping me as I wandered amidst towering trees. My fingers brushed against dry leaves and moss-covered rocks, searching for the elusive twigs and branches necessary to further kindle our flames.
But my curiosity led me further ahead, my gaze alighting upon something beyond the ordinary. "What the hell," I murmured, my voice was like a whisper amidst the wilderness.
My my heart was quickening as I glimpsed the outline of a vehicle amidst the foliage. It stood solitary and still, like a relic from another time, its metal frame weathered by the passage of seasons.
I hesitated whether or not to go closer, my instincts prickling with unease.
"Perhaps just another camper," I told myself, though doubt lingered in my mind.
Then I changed my mind the hairs were raising on the back of my neck and walked away from the silent sentinel of metal and glass.
I retraced my steps through the labyrinth of trees, the distant echo of our footsteps mingling with the whispers of the forest. I was immediately relieved as the warmth of our camp awaited me and I was not sure if I should tell Emma that I had seen another RV deeper in the forest. I decided not to, it might ruin the warm athmosphere of our moments.
The crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of the cooking meat wove an enchanting tapestry around us, casting a spell that encapsulated the essence of togetherness. As the minutes ticked by, we shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of familial love. The darkness around us seemed to fade away, replaced by the glow of our shared experiences and the promise of a memorable night.
In that moment, it was not just the flickering flames that illuminated our campsite, but the intangible bond we shared as a family. We were not merely three individuals gathered around a fire, but a tapestry of love, connection, and shared dreams. The crackling fire served as a beacon, illuminating the path towards a future filled with shared adventures, cherished memories, and an unbreakable bond that would withstand the tests of time.
As we reveled in the joyous harmony of food and company, the night sky glittered above, painting a breathtaking backdrop for our intimate gathering. The stars, like sparkling witnesses, bore witness to the magic that unfolded in that humble campsite.
In the symphony of crackling flames and joyful chatter, we savored the beauty of simplicity, finding solace and fulfillment in the warmth of our shared presence. It was in this tranquil moment, surrounded by the wilderness and enveloped in the embrace of our loved ones, that we realized the true essence of life's blessings—a serene respite from the world's chaos, and the unrivaled joy of being together, just the three of us.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the embrace of darkness, a palpable chill crept into the air, sending shivers down our spines. Wisps of mist curled and swirled around us, lending an ethereal quality to the night.
Feeling the temperature drop, I retrieved a thick, cozy blanket from the confines of our trusty RV. Its soft fabric, woven with memories of past adventures, held the promise of warmth and comfort. Gently draping the blanket over Emma and Amelia, I ensured their precious forms were shielded from the encroaching cold.
Amelia, her energy waning with each passing moment, fought against the drowsiness tugging at her eyelids. Her yawns, like tiny symphonies of weariness, punctuated the tranquility of the evening. Sensing her fatigue, I knelt down beside her, my voice filled with gentle concern.
"Sweetheart, it's getting late and you look tired," I whispered, my breath carrying warmth in the crisp night air. "Would you like to go to bed?"
Amelia's eyes, still sparkling with the remnants of excitement, met mine. A yawn escaped her lips, a delicate melody of exhaustion. However, her spirit remained steadfast, determined to revel in every last moment of our outdoor escapade.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her voice a soft murmur. "I'm not sleepy yet. I want to stay here and enjoy the campfire."
Her response resonated with the boundless enthusiasm of youth, and I couldn't help but smile at her unwavering spirit. In that instant, I understood that this was a rare and precious opportunity—a chance to immerse ourselves in the magic of the night, to surrender to the allure of the crackling flames and the mysteries concealed within the darkness.
Then I thought of the camper van that I had just seen and for some reason, it made me feel uneasy. Trying to ignore it, I settled myself beside Amelia, the fire's radiant glow casting enchanting shadows upon our faces. Emma, her hand tenderly clasping mine, joined us, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the whispering night.
As we sat there, the crackling fire casting an otherworldly glow upon our little circle, a symphony of silence enveloped us. The distant chirping of nocturnal creatures mingled with the soft crackling of the firewood, creating a harmonious lullaby that serenaded us into a state of tranquil contentment.
Stars, like celestial lanterns, punctured the ink-black canvas above, their shimmering brilliance a testament to the vastness of the universe and the infinite possibilities that lay beyond our mortal reach. The fragrant scent of pine mingled with the smoky essence of the campfire, intoxicating our senses and anchoring us to this moment of fleeting serenity.
Time seemed suspended, as if the world had paused to allow us this respite from the frenetic pace of life. We basked in the warmth of the fire, our souls nourished by the shared silence and the bond forged through the simple act of being present with one another.
But amidst the tranquil symphony of nature, a rustling in the nearby underbrush shattered the stillness. The sudden disruption reverberated through the air, jolting us from our serene reverie. Emma's eyes widened, her hand instinctively tightening its grip around mine. Amelia, her youthful curiosity piqued, looked to me for reassurance.
"What was that, Daddy?" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
I cast a soothing smile in her direction, my attempt to allay any growing fears. "It's probably just an animal, sweetheart," I reassured her, my voice carrying a calm certainty. "Maybe a deer or a boar exploring the woods. Nothing to be worried about."
Yet, as the rustling persisted, growing louder and more distinct, even I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease gnawing at the edges of my composure. The sound seemed to possess an undeniable weight, suggesting a presence larger and more formidable than initially anticipated.
Emma's eyes darted nervously between the surrounding trees, her senses attuned to the slightest movement. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. "It sounds quite... substantial."
Instinctively, I rose to my feet, my protective instincts surging within me. "Stay here," I instructed, my voice firm but laden with an undercurrent of caution. "I'll go check it out. It's probably just passing through."
With cautious steps, I ventured toward the origin of the enigmatic rustling, my ears straining to decipher its source. I thought about the camper van. Was it possible that they could see our fire and wanted some company? That sounded ridiculous. Or could they have been in trouble? I should have checked that vehicle out.
Each crackle of twigs underfoot seemed to amplify in the stillness of the night, magnifying my senses. As I neared the treeline, anticipation mingled with a lingering sense of trepidation.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rustling ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The once vibrant symphony of nature now seemed muted, as if holding its breath in anticipation. I scanned the darkness, searching for any signs of movement, my heart thudding against my chest.
Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the warmth and safety of our campfire haven, my senses on high alert. Returning to my family, I wore a reassuring smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm despite the lingering mystery.
"It's alright," I assured them, my voice infused with a newfound conviction. "Whatever it was, it must have moved along. We're safe here."
Relief washed over their faces, their tense postures gradually easing. We settled back into our makeshift sanctuary, the familiarity of the crackling fire offering a comforting embrace. Our senses remained heightened, vigilant for any lingering signs of the unseen visitor.
Just as a semblance of calm began to settle over our campsite, an otherworldly roar pierced the night air, tearing through the fabric of serenity. The sound, far from the natural symphony we had grown accustomed to, possessed a menacing quality that resonated deep within our souls. Its metallic timbre reverberated through the darkness, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down our spines.
Amelia's eyes widened in terror, her small frame trembling with the weight of the unknown. Emma's expression mirrored the trepidation etched across our faces. This was no ordinary sound—a realization that hung heavy in the air.
"That... that doesn't sound like a deer or a boar," Emma stammered, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and dread. "What could it possibly be?"
Before we could ponder further, the deafening roar reverberated through the night once more, closer this time. Its proximity shattered any illusions of safety that had momentarily settled over us. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric sense of urgency. Our instincts kicked into overdrive, urging us to abandon our belongings and seek shelter.
"Leave everything!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency. "We have to get to the RV now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, we sprang into action. Emma snatched Amelia's hand, her grip tight and resolute, while I scooped up our precious daughter into my arms.
“My bear,” she screamed and picked up her new toy, her tiny hands clung to the worn bear with an intensity that belied her tender age.
The campfire, once a symbol of warmth and tranquility, was abandoned in an instant as we sprinted toward the sanctuary of the RV.
The world around us blurred into a frenzy of motion as our legs carried us with desperate urgency. Fear propelled us forward, fueling our determination to reach safety. With each pounding heartbeat, the roar grew louder, its ominous resonance seemingly at our heels, a predator closing in on its prey.
Finally, we reached the welcoming embrace of the RV, its sturdy frame offering a semblance of refuge from the unknown terror that lurked beyond. I swiftly deposited Amelia onto the seat, her wide eyes reflecting the same mixture of fear and relief that mirrored our own.
As I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety, I spared a glance back at the abandoned campsite. The darkness swallowed our belongings, the remnants of our interrupted evening left behind as a haunting reminder of the inexplicable menace that had disrupted our peaceful retreat.
With a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life in harmony with the echoes of the unknown creature outside. The RV became our fortress, its metal walls shielding us from the terrors that lurked beyond.
As we peeled away from the once idyllic campsite, the wailing roar echoed in the distance. Our hearts raced in unison, our breaths coming in jagged gasps as we sought solace in the sanctuary of the rolling vehicle.
With a trembling hand gripping the steering wheel, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, urging the RV to accelerate. The vehicle responded with a surge of power, propelling us forward with a newfound urgency. The engine roared in unison with the thundering beat of my heart, creating a symphony of adrenaline-fueled chaos.
As the wheels churned beneath us, the surrounding trees became a blur of green and brown, their branches reaching out like ghostly specters in our wake. The world outside the windows shifted in a dizzying dance, a kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses and fleeting shadows.
The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that flickered and danced upon the passing foliage. Each passing plant and tree seemed to contort and twist in the ethereal glow, their distorted forms morphing into grotesque silhouettes of their former selves.
A heavy silence settled within the RV, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the rushing wind. Our breaths remained caught in our chests, suspended in a shared state of shock and disbelief. The weight of what we had witnessed hung in the air, a chilling reminder that the boundaries of our world were not as fixed as we had once believed.
The scene we had left behind in the forest haunted our thoughts—a glimpse into a realm far removed from our own, something demonic, something that defied explanation. The image of that otherworldly roar and the malevolent presence it implied lingered like a scar etched into our memories, forever imprinted upon our souls.
Minutes stretched into agonizing hours as we raced along the winding road, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Our collective relief remained just out of reach, overshadowed by the lingering unease that clung to us like a specter. The distance between the forest and the main road seemed interminable, every curve and bend in the road prolonging our escape.
Finally, the familiar sight of the main road materialized before us, a beacon of respite in the darkness. As the RV merged onto its paved embrace, a collective sigh of relief cascaded through the cabin. The weight that had burdened our shoulders began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of safety and security.
Yet, despite the relief that washed over us, the memory of the demonic encounter refused to dissipate as we were heading home. We knew that what we had witnessed in the depths of the forest would forever remain a haunting enigma, a testament to the boundless mysteries that lurk on the fringes of our understanding.
With weary bodies and restless minds, we arrived back at the familiar sanctuary of our home. The weight of the night's harrowing encounter clung to us like a heavy shroud, making the simple act of finding solace in sleep an arduous task. We all slept in the same bed that night. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, we battled against the remnants of fear that lingered within the recesses of our thoughts.
Morning finally broke through the darkness, casting its tentative rays of light upon our weary faces. The sun's gentle warmth filtered through the curtains, offering a glimmer of respite from the lingering shadows of the night. We emerged from our sleep-deprived haze, grateful for the sanctuary that our home provided.
Gathering around the breakfast table, our shared silence spoke volumes. We sought solace in the simple act of breaking bread together, a familiar routine that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the lingering unease. No words were spoken of the night's horrors; instead, we focused on the mundane tasks of the morning, the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as a comforting backdrop to our collective attempt at healing.
As the day unfolded, we busied ourselves with the routine tasks, finding solace in the familiar rhythms. Dusting shelves, tending to neglected plants, and tidying up the remnants of the night's chaos became acts of therapy, a means of grounding ourselves in the reassuring normalcy of domesticity.
The weight of exhaustion settled upon our shoulders, and we allowed ourselves moments of respite as the day wore on. Sunday, a day of rest, offered a reprieve. We retreated to the cozy corners of our home, seeking solace in the embrace of soft couches and plush pillows.
As the hours slipped away, a quiet calm enveloped our home. The once-turbulent waves of fear and uncertainty settled into a gentle ebb and flow. Laughter and conversation, began to permeate the air, intermingling with the familiar sounds of a household in motion.
As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the living room window, we settled down in front of the TV, seeking solace in laughter and lightheartedness.
I reached for the remote control, ready to immerse ourselves in the comedic world of a streaming service, when something caught our attention. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying the urgent and captivating headlines of the news. A mixture of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension filled the room, prompting me to pause and leave the news channel playing.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, delivering the shocking report of a missing family. My wife leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the TV, her voice trembling with concern. Amelia, her eyes wide with curiosity, leaned closer to the TV, her Teddy bear still clutched tightly in her arms as she was listening to the newsreader.
“This is a breaking news update on a harrowing incident that has shaken the community to its core. The Hudson family, who embarked on a seemingly routine hiking trip into the serene depths of the nearby forest several weeks ago, has tragically met a devastating fate. Today, authorities have confirmed the discovery and identification of their camper van and remains, a discovery that has left investigators, medical examiners, and locals alike in a state of shock and disbelief. The process of identifying the bodies was nothing short of a nightmare for the dedicated team of forensic experts. The unimaginable horror that unfolded in those woods rendered their task exceptionally challenging. Their bodies, torn apart by an unknown and unimaginable force, presented investigators with an enigma that defied explanation. Their positions were grotesquely twisted, their injuries inexplicable and mind-boggling. According to the investigators, an unknown force seriously damaged their RV as well. Medical examiners, renowned for their expertise, were left dumbfounded as they grappled with the mysterious circumstances surrounding this tragic event. The sheer brutality of their demise left them searching for answers that seemed to lie just beyond their reach. The bite marks, enormous in size and ferocity, left on the bodies only added to the perplexity of the situation. Astonishingly, DNA testing revealed that these bite marks belonged to an unidentified creature, sending shockwaves of fear and disbelief through the community. The repercussions of this shocking revelation have reverberated throughout the town, leaving residents on edge and gripped by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. The once serene forest, a place of solace and tranquility, now holds untold horrors that have shattered the peace and shattered the lives of the Hudson family. Authorities advise everyone not to go into the forest until they find out what happened and what killed the family.”
As the newsreader went on we all stopped eating our popocorn.
“In light of these disturbing developments, it is my duty to advise against venturing into the forest at this time. The safety and security that once accompanied our tranquil natural surroundings have been shattered, replaced by an aura of uncertainty and fear. Folks, we cannot ignore the evidence before us, the evidence that points to an unknown and terrifying presence within those woods. I understand the allure of nature's embrace, the desire to explore, to seek solace, and to reconnect with the world around us. However, in this moment, I implore you to prioritize your safety and exercise caution. The risk is simply too great, and the consequences too dire to ignore. I urge you to remain vigilant, to report any suspicious activities or unusual occurrences to the authorities immediately. Your eyes and ears are our greatest assets in keeping our town safe. Together, we can overcome this darkness and restore a sense of security to our beloved community. In the coming days and weeks, we will keep you updated on the progress of our investigations,” the country sheriff said to the reporter.
“We will continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. Our hearts go out to the Hudson family and all those affected by this unimaginable tragedy. Please stay tuned for further updates as we strive to unravel the mysteries that lie hidden within the depths of our world,” the newsreader said and they showed some photos of the Hudson family.
The images on the screen showed their smiling faces, frozen in time. The thought that the camper van I saw in the forest was the crime scene of a brutal and unexplained murder not far from our camp, sent chills down on my spine. This was something I kept to myself. But we all thought about the same thing: the next ones could have been us.
submitted by greg0525 to ZakBabyTV_Stories [link] [comments]
Our excursions into the wilderness were often brief, day trips filled with laughter, exploration, and a shared appreciation for the natural wonders around us. But the recent addition of an RV to our family provided an opportunity to embark on a new adventure—an overnight camping trip nestled within the embrace of majestic mountains and the allure of the forest.
Excitement bubbled within us as we meticulously planned our journey. We imagined gathering around a crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows upon our faces. The scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp mountain air would create an intoxicating aroma that would forever be etched in our memories.
Finally, the day arrived, and we eagerly set off, our RV becoming our mobile sanctuary. The journey itself was a testament to the beauty of the land we traversed. Majestic peaks rose like sentinels, their snow-capped summits piercing the heavens. As we delved deeper into the heart of nature's domain, our anticipation heightened, and our hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of the forest.
Upon reaching our destination, we carefully parked our RV, a tiny fortress amidst the towering giants. The forest seemed to embrace us, its silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds bidding us welcome. The air carried a crispness that invigorated our spirits, as if it whispered tales of forgotten legends and ancient mysteries.
With each step we took, the forest welcomed us into its secret realm. Our senses were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of pine needles underfoot, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy above, created dappled patterns on the forest floor, like nature's own mesmerizing tapestry.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the campsite, we gathered around the fire pit. Amelia, our adventurous and nature-loving daughter, was brimming with excitement at the prospect of building a fire.
Amelia's eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, her voice filled with anticipation. "Dad, I can't wait to make the fire! Can I help? Please?"
A smile stretched across my face, mirroring the twinkle in her eyes. I nodded, appreciating her eagerness to participate in this age-old ritual of outdoor adventure.
"Absolutely, Amelia," I replied, my voice laced with fatherly pride. "You can gather some dry branches and twigs. Just be careful not to venture too far into the forest."
With an enthusiastic nod, Amelia seized a small, weathered basket and darted towards the beckoning trees and rustling underbrush.
"Watch out for the prickly bushes, sweetheart!" I called out, a touch of caution in my voice. "And remember, stay within sight!"
Her voice, tinged with determination, floated back to me on the gentle breeze. "Don't worry, Dad! I'll find the best branches!"
As Amelia vanished into the verdant embrace of the forest, my wife, Emma, emerged from our trusty RV. Her graceful movements belied her quiet excitement as she retrieved the carefully packed food provisions from within.
Emma's nimble fingers unwrapped the ingredients with a practiced ease, her eyes glimmering with a mix of culinary artistry and familial warmth. She hummed a gentle tune under her breath, her love for nurturing our family evident in every deliberate action.
Meanwhile, I busied myself by unloading the essential cooking equipment from the storage compartments. With the clinking of metal against metal, I extracted the gleaming grill grate and stoked the coals, preparing the stage for a delicious outdoor feast.
After a while, with a skip in her step and a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Amelia emerged from the lush foliage, clutching a trove of dry branches and twigs within the sturdy basket. Yet, nestled in the crook of her other arm was an unexpected treasure—an enchanting discovery that had captured her young heart.
Amelia's voice bubbled with excitement as she approached, her words tumbling forth. "Dad! Look what I found! It's a small Teddy bear! Isn't it adorable?"
Curiosity sparked within me as I studied the small, weathered toy she presented. Its once vibrant colors had faded, its fur slightly disheveled, but it bore an undeniable charm. A silent narrative unfolded before my eyes, envisioning the laughter and companionship this cherished possession once brought to another child.
A mixture of caution and wonder mingled in my voice as I questioned, "Where did you find it, sweetheart? It seems someone may have lost it."
Amelia's face radiated with innocence and genuine affection for her newfound friend. "I found it near a tree, Daddy. Maybe another family played here, and the Teddy bear got left behind. Can I keep it, please?"
My instinctual protective nature rose, a desire to shield her from the potential disappointments that accompany lost treasures. Yet, a tender understanding blossomed within me. This small act of generosity and acceptance would foster her sense of empathy and compassion.
Considering her wide-eyed enthusiasm, I yielded to the warmth in my heart. "Alright, Amelia," I relented with a gentle smile. "If it brings you joy and reminds you of this beautiful adventure, then you can keep it."
Amelia's jubilant squeal filled the air, punctuating the acceptance of her request. With an affectionate hug, she embraced her newfound companion, promising it a future filled with endless tea parties and imaginary adventures.
Afer I set the fire, with a satisfying crackle, the flames sprang to life, dancing and flickering in a mesmerizing rhythm. The golden tendrils reached towards the night sky, casting a warm glow upon our faces. The radiant heat embraced us, dispelling the chill of the evening air as we gathered around the enchanting inferno.
I meticulously arranged the equipment we had brought, positioning the sturdy metal grill over the roaring fire. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of seasoned meat, sizzling and sputtering as it made contact with the heated grates. The tantalizing melody of crackling embers serenaded our senses, a symphony of anticipation and contentment.
My wife, her eyes sparkling with both determination and tenderness, deftly prepared the ingredients that would transform into a feast of flavors. The rhythmic symphony of chopping, the aromatic dance of herbs and spices, and the gentle sizzle of ingredients meeting the heated pan created a harmonious tableau of culinary artistry.
Amelia, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, took her place by my side, her small hands outstretched in eager anticipation. I showed her how to position the meat on the grill, carefully instructing her on the art of achieving the perfect sear. Her youthful enthusiasm ignited a sense of pride within me, as I witnessed her embracing the opportunity to contribute to our family's culinary adventure.
“We still need some firewood. I will get some until it gets darker. I will be right back!,” I told Emma and I delved deeper into the wilderness.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a symphony of nature enveloping me as I wandered amidst towering trees. My fingers brushed against dry leaves and moss-covered rocks, searching for the elusive twigs and branches necessary to further kindle our flames.
But my curiosity led me further ahead, my gaze alighting upon something beyond the ordinary. "What the hell," I murmured, my voice was like a whisper amidst the wilderness.
My my heart was quickening as I glimpsed the outline of a vehicle amidst the foliage. It stood solitary and still, like a relic from another time, its metal frame weathered by the passage of seasons.
I hesitated whether or not to go closer, my instincts prickling with unease.
"Perhaps just another camper," I told myself, though doubt lingered in my mind.
Then I changed my mind the hairs were raising on the back of my neck and walked away from the silent sentinel of metal and glass.
I retraced my steps through the labyrinth of trees, the distant echo of our footsteps mingling with the whispers of the forest. I was immediately relieved as the warmth of our camp awaited me and I was not sure if I should tell Emma that I had seen another RV deeper in the forest. I decided not to, it might ruin the warm athmosphere of our moments.
The crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of the cooking meat wove an enchanting tapestry around us, casting a spell that encapsulated the essence of togetherness. As the minutes ticked by, we shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of familial love. The darkness around us seemed to fade away, replaced by the glow of our shared experiences and the promise of a memorable night.
In that moment, it was not just the flickering flames that illuminated our campsite, but the intangible bond we shared as a family. We were not merely three individuals gathered around a fire, but a tapestry of love, connection, and shared dreams. The crackling fire served as a beacon, illuminating the path towards a future filled with shared adventures, cherished memories, and an unbreakable bond that would withstand the tests of time.
As we reveled in the joyous harmony of food and company, the night sky glittered above, painting a breathtaking backdrop for our intimate gathering. The stars, like sparkling witnesses, bore witness to the magic that unfolded in that humble campsite.
In the symphony of crackling flames and joyful chatter, we savored the beauty of simplicity, finding solace and fulfillment in the warmth of our shared presence. It was in this tranquil moment, surrounded by the wilderness and enveloped in the embrace of our loved ones, that we realized the true essence of life's blessings—a serene respite from the world's chaos, and the unrivaled joy of being together, just the three of us.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the embrace of darkness, a palpable chill crept into the air, sending shivers down our spines. Wisps of mist curled and swirled around us, lending an ethereal quality to the night.
Feeling the temperature drop, I retrieved a thick, cozy blanket from the confines of our trusty RV. Its soft fabric, woven with memories of past adventures, held the promise of warmth and comfort. Gently draping the blanket over Emma and Amelia, I ensured their precious forms were shielded from the encroaching cold.
Amelia, her energy waning with each passing moment, fought against the drowsiness tugging at her eyelids. Her yawns, like tiny symphonies of weariness, punctuated the tranquility of the evening. Sensing her fatigue, I knelt down beside her, my voice filled with gentle concern.
"Sweetheart, it's getting late and you look tired," I whispered, my breath carrying warmth in the crisp night air. "Would you like to go to bed?"
Amelia's eyes, still sparkling with the remnants of excitement, met mine. A yawn escaped her lips, a delicate melody of exhaustion. However, her spirit remained steadfast, determined to revel in every last moment of our outdoor escapade.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her voice a soft murmur. "I'm not sleepy yet. I want to stay here and enjoy the campfire."
Her response resonated with the boundless enthusiasm of youth, and I couldn't help but smile at her unwavering spirit. In that instant, I understood that this was a rare and precious opportunity—a chance to immerse ourselves in the magic of the night, to surrender to the allure of the crackling flames and the mysteries concealed within the darkness.
Then I thought of the camper van that I had just seen and for some reason, it made me feel uneasy. Trying to ignore it, I settled myself beside Amelia, the fire's radiant glow casting enchanting shadows upon our faces. Emma, her hand tenderly clasping mine, joined us, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the whispering night.
As we sat there, the crackling fire casting an otherworldly glow upon our little circle, a symphony of silence enveloped us. The distant chirping of nocturnal creatures mingled with the soft crackling of the firewood, creating a harmonious lullaby that serenaded us into a state of tranquil contentment.
Stars, like celestial lanterns, punctured the ink-black canvas above, their shimmering brilliance a testament to the vastness of the universe and the infinite possibilities that lay beyond our mortal reach. The fragrant scent of pine mingled with the smoky essence of the campfire, intoxicating our senses and anchoring us to this moment of fleeting serenity.
Time seemed suspended, as if the world had paused to allow us this respite from the frenetic pace of life. We basked in the warmth of the fire, our souls nourished by the shared silence and the bond forged through the simple act of being present with one another.
But amidst the tranquil symphony of nature, a rustling in the nearby underbrush shattered the stillness. The sudden disruption reverberated through the air, jolting us from our serene reverie. Emma's eyes widened, her hand instinctively tightening its grip around mine. Amelia, her youthful curiosity piqued, looked to me for reassurance.
"What was that, Daddy?" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
I cast a soothing smile in her direction, my attempt to allay any growing fears. "It's probably just an animal, sweetheart," I reassured her, my voice carrying a calm certainty. "Maybe a deer or a boar exploring the woods. Nothing to be worried about."
Yet, as the rustling persisted, growing louder and more distinct, even I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease gnawing at the edges of my composure. The sound seemed to possess an undeniable weight, suggesting a presence larger and more formidable than initially anticipated.
Emma's eyes darted nervously between the surrounding trees, her senses attuned to the slightest movement. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. "It sounds quite... substantial."
Instinctively, I rose to my feet, my protective instincts surging within me. "Stay here," I instructed, my voice firm but laden with an undercurrent of caution. "I'll go check it out. It's probably just passing through."
With cautious steps, I ventured toward the origin of the enigmatic rustling, my ears straining to decipher its source. I thought about the camper van. Was it possible that they could see our fire and wanted some company? That sounded ridiculous. Or could they have been in trouble? I should have checked that vehicle out.
Each crackle of twigs underfoot seemed to amplify in the stillness of the night, magnifying my senses. As I neared the treeline, anticipation mingled with a lingering sense of trepidation.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rustling ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The once vibrant symphony of nature now seemed muted, as if holding its breath in anticipation. I scanned the darkness, searching for any signs of movement, my heart thudding against my chest.
Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the warmth and safety of our campfire haven, my senses on high alert. Returning to my family, I wore a reassuring smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm despite the lingering mystery.
"It's alright," I assured them, my voice infused with a newfound conviction. "Whatever it was, it must have moved along. We're safe here."
Relief washed over their faces, their tense postures gradually easing. We settled back into our makeshift sanctuary, the familiarity of the crackling fire offering a comforting embrace. Our senses remained heightened, vigilant for any lingering signs of the unseen visitor.
Just as a semblance of calm began to settle over our campsite, an otherworldly roar pierced the night air, tearing through the fabric of serenity. The sound, far from the natural symphony we had grown accustomed to, possessed a menacing quality that resonated deep within our souls. Its metallic timbre reverberated through the darkness, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down our spines.
Amelia's eyes widened in terror, her small frame trembling with the weight of the unknown. Emma's expression mirrored the trepidation etched across our faces. This was no ordinary sound—a realization that hung heavy in the air.
"That... that doesn't sound like a deer or a boar," Emma stammered, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and dread. "What could it possibly be?"
Before we could ponder further, the deafening roar reverberated through the night once more, closer this time. Its proximity shattered any illusions of safety that had momentarily settled over us. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric sense of urgency. Our instincts kicked into overdrive, urging us to abandon our belongings and seek shelter.
"Leave everything!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency. "We have to get to the RV now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, we sprang into action. Emma snatched Amelia's hand, her grip tight and resolute, while I scooped up our precious daughter into my arms.
“My bear,” she screamed and picked up her new toy, her tiny hands clung to the worn bear with an intensity that belied her tender age.
The campfire, once a symbol of warmth and tranquility, was abandoned in an instant as we sprinted toward the sanctuary of the RV.
The world around us blurred into a frenzy of motion as our legs carried us with desperate urgency. Fear propelled us forward, fueling our determination to reach safety. With each pounding heartbeat, the roar grew louder, its ominous resonance seemingly at our heels, a predator closing in on its prey.
Finally, we reached the welcoming embrace of the RV, its sturdy frame offering a semblance of refuge from the unknown terror that lurked beyond. I swiftly deposited Amelia onto the seat, her wide eyes reflecting the same mixture of fear and relief that mirrored our own.
As I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety, I spared a glance back at the abandoned campsite. The darkness swallowed our belongings, the remnants of our interrupted evening left behind as a haunting reminder of the inexplicable menace that had disrupted our peaceful retreat.
With a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life in harmony with the echoes of the unknown creature outside. The RV became our fortress, its metal walls shielding us from the terrors that lurked beyond.
As we peeled away from the once idyllic campsite, the wailing roar echoed in the distance. Our hearts raced in unison, our breaths coming in jagged gasps as we sought solace in the sanctuary of the rolling vehicle.
With a trembling hand gripping the steering wheel, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, urging the RV to accelerate. The vehicle responded with a surge of power, propelling us forward with a newfound urgency. The engine roared in unison with the thundering beat of my heart, creating a symphony of adrenaline-fueled chaos.
As the wheels churned beneath us, the surrounding trees became a blur of green and brown, their branches reaching out like ghostly specters in our wake. The world outside the windows shifted in a dizzying dance, a kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses and fleeting shadows.
The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that flickered and danced upon the passing foliage. Each passing plant and tree seemed to contort and twist in the ethereal glow, their distorted forms morphing into grotesque silhouettes of their former selves.
A heavy silence settled within the RV, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the rushing wind. Our breaths remained caught in our chests, suspended in a shared state of shock and disbelief. The weight of what we had witnessed hung in the air, a chilling reminder that the boundaries of our world were not as fixed as we had once believed.
The scene we had left behind in the forest haunted our thoughts—a glimpse into a realm far removed from our own, something demonic, something that defied explanation. The image of that otherworldly roar and the malevolent presence it implied lingered like a scar etched into our memories, forever imprinted upon our souls.
Minutes stretched into agonizing hours as we raced along the winding road, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Our collective relief remained just out of reach, overshadowed by the lingering unease that clung to us like a specter. The distance between the forest and the main road seemed interminable, every curve and bend in the road prolonging our escape.
Finally, the familiar sight of the main road materialized before us, a beacon of respite in the darkness. As the RV merged onto its paved embrace, a collective sigh of relief cascaded through the cabin. The weight that had burdened our shoulders began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of safety and security.
Yet, despite the relief that washed over us, the memory of the demonic encounter refused to dissipate as we were heading home. We knew that what we had witnessed in the depths of the forest would forever remain a haunting enigma, a testament to the boundless mysteries that lurk on the fringes of our understanding.
With weary bodies and restless minds, we arrived back at the familiar sanctuary of our home. The weight of the night's harrowing encounter clung to us like a heavy shroud, making the simple act of finding solace in sleep an arduous task. We all slept in the same bed that night. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, we battled against the remnants of fear that lingered within the recesses of our thoughts.
Morning finally broke through the darkness, casting its tentative rays of light upon our weary faces. The sun's gentle warmth filtered through the curtains, offering a glimmer of respite from the lingering shadows of the night. We emerged from our sleep-deprived haze, grateful for the sanctuary that our home provided.
Gathering around the breakfast table, our shared silence spoke volumes. We sought solace in the simple act of breaking bread together, a familiar routine that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the lingering unease. No words were spoken of the night's horrors; instead, we focused on the mundane tasks of the morning, the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as a comforting backdrop to our collective attempt at healing.
As the day unfolded, we busied ourselves with the routine tasks, finding solace in the familiar rhythms. Dusting shelves, tending to neglected plants, and tidying up the remnants of the night's chaos became acts of therapy, a means of grounding ourselves in the reassuring normalcy of domesticity.
The weight of exhaustion settled upon our shoulders, and we allowed ourselves moments of respite as the day wore on. Sunday, a day of rest, offered a reprieve. We retreated to the cozy corners of our home, seeking solace in the embrace of soft couches and plush pillows.
As the hours slipped away, a quiet calm enveloped our home. The once-turbulent waves of fear and uncertainty settled into a gentle ebb and flow. Laughter and conversation, began to permeate the air, intermingling with the familiar sounds of a household in motion.
As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the living room window, we settled down in front of the TV, seeking solace in laughter and lightheartedness.
I reached for the remote control, ready to immerse ourselves in the comedic world of a streaming service, when something caught our attention. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying the urgent and captivating headlines of the news. A mixture of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension filled the room, prompting me to pause and leave the news channel playing.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, delivering the shocking report of a missing family. My wife leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the TV, her voice trembling with concern. Amelia, her eyes wide with curiosity, leaned closer to the TV, her Teddy bear still clutched tightly in her arms as she was listening to the newsreader.
“This is a breaking news update on a harrowing incident that has shaken the community to its core. The Hudson family, who embarked on a seemingly routine hiking trip into the serene depths of the nearby forest several weeks ago, has tragically met a devastating fate. Today, authorities have confirmed the discovery and identification of their camper van and remains, a discovery that has left investigators, medical examiners, and locals alike in a state of shock and disbelief. The process of identifying the bodies was nothing short of a nightmare for the dedicated team of forensic experts. The unimaginable horror that unfolded in those woods rendered their task exceptionally challenging. Their bodies, torn apart by an unknown and unimaginable force, presented investigators with an enigma that defied explanation. Their positions were grotesquely twisted, their injuries inexplicable and mind-boggling. According to the investigators, an unknown force seriously damaged their RV as well. Medical examiners, renowned for their expertise, were left dumbfounded as they grappled with the mysterious circumstances surrounding this tragic event. The sheer brutality of their demise left them searching for answers that seemed to lie just beyond their reach. The bite marks, enormous in size and ferocity, left on the bodies only added to the perplexity of the situation. Astonishingly, DNA testing revealed that these bite marks belonged to an unidentified creature, sending shockwaves of fear and disbelief through the community. The repercussions of this shocking revelation have reverberated throughout the town, leaving residents on edge and gripped by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. The once serene forest, a place of solace and tranquility, now holds untold horrors that have shattered the peace and shattered the lives of the Hudson family. Authorities advise everyone not to go into the forest until they find out what happened and what killed the family.”
As the newsreader went on we all stopped eating our popocorn.
“In light of these disturbing developments, it is my duty to advise against venturing into the forest at this time. The safety and security that once accompanied our tranquil natural surroundings have been shattered, replaced by an aura of uncertainty and fear. Folks, we cannot ignore the evidence before us, the evidence that points to an unknown and terrifying presence within those woods. I understand the allure of nature's embrace, the desire to explore, to seek solace, and to reconnect with the world around us. However, in this moment, I implore you to prioritize your safety and exercise caution. The risk is simply too great, and the consequences too dire to ignore. I urge you to remain vigilant, to report any suspicious activities or unusual occurrences to the authorities immediately. Your eyes and ears are our greatest assets in keeping our town safe. Together, we can overcome this darkness and restore a sense of security to our beloved community. In the coming days and weeks, we will keep you updated on the progress of our investigations,” the country sheriff said to the reporter.
“We will continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. Our hearts go out to the Hudson family and all those affected by this unimaginable tragedy. Please stay tuned for further updates as we strive to unravel the mysteries that lie hidden within the depths of our world,” the newsreader said and they showed some photos of the Hudson family.
The images on the screen showed their smiling faces, frozen in time. The thought that the camper van I saw in the forest was the crime scene of a brutal and unexplained murder not far from our camp, sent chills down on my spine. This was something I kept to myself. But we all thought about the same thing: the next ones could have been us.
2024.05.13 08:10 greg0525 When Our Camping Trip Became a Nightmare
For as long as I can remember, my family and I have shared a deep love for the great outdoors, particularly the enchanting allure of the forest. The allure of nature's symphony, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the melodious songs of birds never failed to captivate our senses. The verdant foliage, adorned with vibrant flowers, created a kaleidoscope of colors that danced before our eyes, while the towering trees whispered ancient secrets to those who would listen. It was a place where tranquility and serenity embraced us, soothing our souls in the embrace of nature's embrace.
Our excursions into the wilderness were often brief, day trips filled with laughter, exploration, and a shared appreciation for the natural wonders around us. But the recent addition of an RV to our family provided an opportunity to embark on a new adventure—an overnight camping trip nestled within the embrace of majestic mountains and the allure of the forest.
Excitement bubbled within us as we meticulously planned our journey. We imagined gathering around a crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows upon our faces. The scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp mountain air would create an intoxicating aroma that would forever be etched in our memories.
Finally, the day arrived, and we eagerly set off, our RV becoming our mobile sanctuary. The journey itself was a testament to the beauty of the land we traversed. Majestic peaks rose like sentinels, their snow-capped summits piercing the heavens. As we delved deeper into the heart of nature's domain, our anticipation heightened, and our hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of the forest.
Upon reaching our destination, we carefully parked our RV, a tiny fortress amidst the towering giants. The forest seemed to embrace us, its silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds bidding us welcome. The air carried a crispness that invigorated our spirits, as if it whispered tales of forgotten legends and ancient mysteries.
With each step we took, the forest welcomed us into its secret realm. Our senses were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of pine needles underfoot, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy above, created dappled patterns on the forest floor, like nature's own mesmerizing tapestry.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the campsite, we gathered around the fire pit. Amelia, our adventurous and nature-loving daughter, was brimming with excitement at the prospect of building a fire.
Amelia's eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, her voice filled with anticipation. "Dad, I can't wait to make the fire! Can I help? Please?"
A smile stretched across my face, mirroring the twinkle in her eyes. I nodded, appreciating her eagerness to participate in this age-old ritual of outdoor adventure.
"Absolutely, Amelia," I replied, my voice laced with fatherly pride. "You can gather some dry branches and twigs. Just be careful not to venture too far into the forest."
With an enthusiastic nod, Amelia seized a small, weathered basket and darted towards the beckoning trees and rustling underbrush.
"Watch out for the prickly bushes, sweetheart!" I called out, a touch of caution in my voice. "And remember, stay within sight!"
Her voice, tinged with determination, floated back to me on the gentle breeze. "Don't worry, Dad! I'll find the best branches!"
As Amelia vanished into the verdant embrace of the forest, my wife, Emma, emerged from our trusty RV. Her graceful movements belied her quiet excitement as she retrieved the carefully packed food provisions from within.
Emma's nimble fingers unwrapped the ingredients with a practiced ease, her eyes glimmering with a mix of culinary artistry and familial warmth. She hummed a gentle tune under her breath, her love for nurturing our family evident in every deliberate action.
Meanwhile, I busied myself by unloading the essential cooking equipment from the storage compartments. With the clinking of metal against metal, I extracted the gleaming grill grate and stoked the coals, preparing the stage for a delicious outdoor feast.
After a while, with a skip in her step and a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Amelia emerged from the lush foliage, clutching a trove of dry branches and twigs within the sturdy basket. Yet, nestled in the crook of her other arm was an unexpected treasure—an enchanting discovery that had captured her young heart.
Amelia's voice bubbled with excitement as she approached, her words tumbling forth. "Dad! Look what I found! It's a small Teddy bear! Isn't it adorable?"
Curiosity sparked within me as I studied the small, weathered toy she presented. Its once vibrant colors had faded, its fur slightly disheveled, but it bore an undeniable charm. A silent narrative unfolded before my eyes, envisioning the laughter and companionship this cherished possession once brought to another child.
A mixture of caution and wonder mingled in my voice as I questioned, "Where did you find it, sweetheart? It seems someone may have lost it."
Amelia's face radiated with innocence and genuine affection for her newfound friend. "I found it near a tree, Daddy. Maybe another family played here, and the Teddy bear got left behind. Can I keep it, please?"
My instinctual protective nature rose, a desire to shield her from the potential disappointments that accompany lost treasures. Yet, a tender understanding blossomed within me. This small act of generosity and acceptance would foster her sense of empathy and compassion.
Considering her wide-eyed enthusiasm, I yielded to the warmth in my heart. "Alright, Amelia," I relented with a gentle smile. "If it brings you joy and reminds you of this beautiful adventure, then you can keep it."
Amelia's jubilant squeal filled the air, punctuating the acceptance of her request. With an affectionate hug, she embraced her newfound companion, promising it a future filled with endless tea parties and imaginary adventures.
Afer I set the fire, with a satisfying crackle, the flames sprang to life, dancing and flickering in a mesmerizing rhythm. The golden tendrils reached towards the night sky, casting a warm glow upon our faces. The radiant heat embraced us, dispelling the chill of the evening air as we gathered around the enchanting inferno.
I meticulously arranged the equipment we had brought, positioning the sturdy metal grill over the roaring fire. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of seasoned meat, sizzling and sputtering as it made contact with the heated grates. The tantalizing melody of crackling embers serenaded our senses, a symphony of anticipation and contentment.
My wife, her eyes sparkling with both determination and tenderness, deftly prepared the ingredients that would transform into a feast of flavors. The rhythmic symphony of chopping, the aromatic dance of herbs and spices, and the gentle sizzle of ingredients meeting the heated pan created a harmonious tableau of culinary artistry.
Amelia, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, took her place by my side, her small hands outstretched in eager anticipation. I showed her how to position the meat on the grill, carefully instructing her on the art of achieving the perfect sear. Her youthful enthusiasm ignited a sense of pride within me, as I witnessed her embracing the opportunity to contribute to our family's culinary adventure.
“We still need some firewood. I will get some until it gets darker. I will be right back!,” I told Emma and I delved deeper into the wilderness.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a symphony of nature enveloping me as I wandered amidst towering trees. My fingers brushed against dry leaves and moss-covered rocks, searching for the elusive twigs and branches necessary to further kindle our flames.
But my curiosity led me further ahead, my gaze alighting upon something beyond the ordinary. "What the hell," I murmured, my voice was like a whisper amidst the wilderness.
My my heart was quickening as I glimpsed the outline of a vehicle amidst the foliage. It stood solitary and still, like a relic from another time.
I hesitated whether or not to go closer, my instincts prickling with unease.
"Perhaps just another camper," I told myself, though doubt lingered in my mind.
I cautiously approached the abandoned camper van, each step echoing in the eerie silence of the forest. A sense of unease crept over me, intensifying with every closer stride. The van, though not ancient, bore the unmistakable marks of neglect and abandonment, standing alone like a forgotten relic amidst the wilderness.
"Hello?" My voice broke the stillness, but no reply greeted my inquiry. It was as if the very air held its breath, shrouding the scene in an unsettling silence. Abandonment hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the once vibrant camping spot.
My eyes scanned the scene, taking in the disarray that surrounded the camper. Camping equipment lay strewn haphazardly, a jumbled testament to the hurried departure of its previous occupants. But it was the ominous black stain on the ground that drew my attention, a stark reminder of some past calamity, perhaps a fire that had ravaged this place.
As I moved closer, my gaze was drawn to a chilling sight—a massive scraping marred the side of the camper van, like a grotesque scar etched into its metal skin. It seemed almost as if some colossal force had clawed at the vehicle, leaving behind a haunting testament to its power.
The stillness of the campsite was oppressive, suffocating, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation of some unseen threat. Not even the birds dared to break the silence with their song, lending an unsettling quality to the desolation that surrounded me.
With a shiver of apprehension, I realized that I stood on the precipice of a mystery, the unanswered questions hanging in the air like a thick fog. What had transpired in this forsaken place? And more importantly, was I truly alone in this silent wilderness?
The hairs were raising on the back of my neck and walked away from the silent sentinel of metal and glass. I retraced my steps through the labyrinth of trees, the distant echo of our footsteps mingling with the whispers of the forest. I was immediately relieved as the warmth of our camp awaited me and I was not sure if I should tell Emma that I had seen another RV deeper in the forest. I decided not to, it might ruin the warm athmosphere of our moments.
The crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of the cooking meat wove an enchanting tapestry around us, casting a spell that encapsulated the essence of togetherness. As the minutes ticked by, we shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of familial love. The darkness around us seemed to fade away, replaced by the glow of our shared experiences and the promise of a memorable night.
In that moment, it was not just the flickering flames that illuminated our campsite, but the intangible bond we shared as a family. We were not merely three individuals gathered around a fire, but a tapestry of love, connection, and shared dreams. The crackling fire served as a beacon, illuminating the path towards a future filled with shared adventures, cherished memories, and an unbreakable bond that would withstand the tests of time.
As we reveled in the joyous harmony of food and company, the night sky glittered above, painting a breathtaking backdrop for our intimate gathering. The stars, like sparkling witnesses, bore witness to the magic that unfolded in that humble campsite.
In the symphony of crackling flames and joyful chatter, we savored the beauty of simplicity, finding solace and fulfillment in the warmth of our shared presence. It was in this tranquil moment, surrounded by the wilderness and enveloped in the embrace of our loved ones, that we realized the true essence of life's blessings—a serene respite from the world's chaos, and the unrivaled joy of being together, just the three of us.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the embrace of darkness, a palpable chill crept into the air, sending shivers down our spines. Wisps of mist curled and swirled around us, lending an ethereal quality to the night.
Feeling the temperature drop, I retrieved a thick, cozy blanket from the confines of our trusty RV. Its soft fabric, woven with memories of past adventures, held the promise of warmth and comfort. Gently draping the blanket over Emma and Amelia, I ensured their precious forms were shielded from the encroaching cold.
Amelia, her energy waning with each passing moment, fought against the drowsiness tugging at her eyelids. Her yawns, like tiny symphonies of weariness, punctuated the tranquility of the evening. Sensing her fatigue, I knelt down beside her, my voice filled with gentle concern.
"Sweetheart, it's getting late and you look tired," I whispered, my breath carrying warmth in the crisp night air. "Would you like to go to bed?"
Amelia's eyes, still sparkling with the remnants of excitement, met mine. A yawn escaped her lips, a delicate melody of exhaustion. However, her spirit remained steadfast, determined to revel in every last moment of our outdoor escapade.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her voice a soft murmur. "I'm not sleepy yet. I want to stay here and enjoy the campfire."
Her response resonated with the boundless enthusiasm of youth, and I couldn't help but smile at her unwavering spirit. In that instant, I understood that this was a rare and precious opportunity—a chance to immerse ourselves in the magic of the night, to surrender to the allure of the crackling flames and the mysteries concealed within the darkness.
Then I thought of the camper van that I had just seen and for some reason, it made me feel uneasy. Trying to ignore it, I settled myself beside Amelia, the fire's radiant glow casting enchanting shadows upon our faces. Emma, her hand tenderly clasping mine, joined us, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the whispering night.
As we sat there, the crackling fire casting an otherworldly glow upon our little circle, a symphony of silence enveloped us. The distant chirping of nocturnal creatures mingled with the soft crackling of the firewood, creating a harmonious lullaby that serenaded us into a state of tranquil contentment.
Stars, like celestial lanterns, punctured the ink-black canvas above, their shimmering brilliance a testament to the vastness of the universe and the infinite possibilities that lay beyond our mortal reach. The fragrant scent of pine mingled with the smoky essence of the campfire, intoxicating our senses and anchoring us to this moment of fleeting serenity.
Time seemed suspended, as if the world had paused to allow us this respite from the frenetic pace of life. We basked in the warmth of the fire, our souls nourished by the shared silence and the bond forged through the simple act of being present with one another.
But amidst the tranquil symphony of nature, a rustling in the nearby underbrush shattered the stillness. The sudden disruption reverberated through the air, jolting us from our serene reverie. Emma's eyes widened, her hand instinctively tightening its grip around mine. Amelia, her youthful curiosity piqued, looked to me for reassurance.
"What was that, Daddy?" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
I cast a soothing smile in her direction, my attempt to allay any growing fears. "It's probably just an animal, sweetheart," I reassured her, my voice carrying a calm certainty. "Maybe a deer or a boar exploring the woods. Nothing to be worried about."
Yet, as the rustling persisted, growing louder and more distinct, even I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease gnawing at the edges of my composure. The sound seemed to possess an undeniable weight, suggesting a presence larger and more formidable than initially anticipated.
Emma's eyes darted nervously between the surrounding trees, her senses attuned to the slightest movement. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. "It sounds quite... substantial."
Instinctively, I rose to my feet, my protective instincts surging within me. "Stay here," I instructed, my voice firm but laden with an undercurrent of caution. "I'll go check it out. It's probably just passing through."
With cautious steps, I ventured toward the origin of the enigmatic rustling, my ears straining to decipher its source. I thought about the camper van. Was it possible that they could see our fire and wanted some company? That sounded ridiculous. Or could they have been in trouble? I should have checked that vehicle out.
Each crackle of twigs underfoot seemed to amplify in the stillness of the night, magnifying my senses. As I neared the treeline, anticipation mingled with a lingering sense of trepidation.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rustling ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The once vibrant symphony of nature now seemed muted, as if holding its breath in anticipation. I scanned the darkness, searching for any signs of movement, my heart thudding against my chest.
Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the warmth and safety of our campfire haven, my senses on high alert. Returning to my family, I wore a reassuring smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm despite the lingering mystery.
"It's alright," I assured them, my voice infused with a newfound conviction. "Whatever it was, it must have moved along. We're safe here."
Relief washed over their faces, their tense postures gradually easing. We settled back into our makeshift sanctuary, the familiarity of the crackling fire offering a comforting embrace. Our senses remained heightened, vigilant for any lingering signs of the unseen visitor.
Just as a semblance of calm began to settle over our campsite, an otherworldly roar pierced the night air, tearing through the fabric of serenity. The sound, far from the natural symphony we had grown accustomed to, possessed a menacing quality that resonated deep within our souls. Its metallic timbre reverberated through the darkness, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down our spines.
Amelia's eyes widened in terror, her small frame trembling with the weight of the unknown. Emma's expression mirrored the trepidation etched across our faces. This was no ordinary sound—a realization that hung heavy in the air.
"That... that doesn't sound like a deer or a boar," Emma stammered, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and dread. "What could it possibly be?"
Before we could ponder further, the deafening roar reverberated through the night once more, closer this time. Its proximity shattered any illusions of safety that had momentarily settled over us. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric sense of urgency. Our instincts kicked into overdrive, urging us to abandon our belongings and seek shelter.
"Leave everything!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency. "We have to get to the RV now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, we sprang into action. Emma snatched Amelia's hand, her grip tight and resolute, while I scooped up our precious daughter into my arms.
“My bear,” she screamed and picked up her new toy, her tiny hands clung to the worn bear with an intensity that belied her tender age.
The campfire, once a symbol of warmth and tranquility, was abandoned in an instant as we sprinted toward the sanctuary of the RV.
The world around us blurred into a frenzy of motion as our legs carried us with desperate urgency. Fear propelled us forward, fueling our determination to reach safety. With each pounding heartbeat, the roar grew louder, its ominous resonance seemingly at our heels, a predator closing in on its prey.
Finally, we reached the welcoming embrace of the RV, its sturdy frame offering a semblance of refuge from the unknown terror that lurked beyond. I swiftly deposited Amelia onto the seat, her wide eyes reflecting the same mixture of fear and relief that mirrored our own.
As I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety, I spared a glance back at the abandoned campsite. The darkness swallowed our belongings, the remnants of our interrupted evening left behind as a haunting reminder of the inexplicable menace that had disrupted our peaceful retreat.
With a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life in harmony with the echoes of the unknown creature outside. The RV became our fortress, its metal walls shielding us from the terrors that lurked beyond.
As we peeled away from the once idyllic campsite, the wailing roar echoed in the distance. Our hearts raced in unison, our breaths coming in jagged gasps as we sought solace in the sanctuary of the rolling vehicle.
With a trembling hand gripping the steering wheel, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, urging the RV to accelerate. The vehicle responded with a surge of power, propelling us forward with a newfound urgency. The engine roared in unison with the thundering beat of my heart, creating a symphony of adrenaline-fueled chaos.
As the wheels churned beneath us, the surrounding trees became a blur of green and brown, their branches reaching out like ghostly specters in our wake. The world outside the windows shifted in a dizzying dance, a kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses and fleeting shadows.
The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that flickered and danced upon the passing foliage. Each passing plant and tree seemed to contort and twist in the ethereal glow, their distorted forms morphing into grotesque silhouettes of their former selves.
A heavy silence settled within the RV, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the rushing wind. Our breaths remained caught in our chests, suspended in a shared state of shock and disbelief. The weight of what we had witnessed hung in the air, a chilling reminder that the boundaries of our world were not as fixed as we had once believed.
The scene we had left behind in the forest haunted our thoughts—a glimpse into a realm far removed from our own, something demonic, something that defied explanation. The image of that otherworldly roar and the malevolent presence it implied lingered like a scar etched into our memories, forever imprinted upon our souls.
Minutes stretched into agonizing hours as we raced along the winding road, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Our collective relief remained just out of reach, overshadowed by the lingering unease that clung to us like a specter. The distance between the forest and the main road seemed interminable, every curve and bend in the road prolonging our escape.
Finally, the familiar sight of the main road materialized before us, a beacon of respite in the darkness. As the RV merged onto its paved embrace, a collective sigh of relief cascaded through the cabin. The weight that had burdened our shoulders began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of safety and security.
Yet, despite the relief that washed over us, the memory of the demonic encounter refused to dissipate as we were heading home. We knew that what we had witnessed in the depths of the forest would forever remain a haunting enigma, a testament to the boundless mysteries that lurk on the fringes of our understanding.
With weary bodies and restless minds, we arrived back at the familiar sanctuary of our home. The weight of the night's harrowing encounter clung to us like a heavy shroud, making the simple act of finding solace in sleep an arduous task. We all slept in the same bed that night. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, we battled against the remnants of fear that lingered within the recesses of our thoughts.
Morning finally broke through the darkness, casting its tentative rays of light upon our weary faces. The sun's gentle warmth filtered through the curtains, offering a glimmer of respite from the lingering shadows of the night. We emerged from our sleep-deprived haze, grateful for the sanctuary that our home provided.
Gathering around the breakfast table, our shared silence spoke volumes. We sought solace in the simple act of breaking bread together, a familiar routine that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the lingering unease. No words were spoken of the night's horrors; instead, we focused on the mundane tasks of the morning, the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as a comforting backdrop to our collective attempt at healing.
As the day unfolded, we busied ourselves with the routine tasks, finding solace in the familiar rhythms. Dusting shelves, tending to neglected plants, and tidying up the remnants of the night's chaos became acts of therapy, a means of grounding ourselves in the reassuring normalcy of domesticity.
The weight of exhaustion settled upon our shoulders, and we allowed ourselves moments of respite as the day wore on. Sunday, a day of rest, offered a reprieve. We retreated to the cozy corners of our home, seeking solace in the embrace of soft couches and plush pillows.
As the hours slipped away, a quiet calm enveloped our home. The once-turbulent waves of fear and uncertainty settled into a gentle ebb and flow. Laughter and conversation, began to permeate the air, intermingling with the familiar sounds of a household in motion.
As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the living room window, we settled down in front of the TV, seeking solace in laughter and lightheartedness.
I reached for the remote control, ready to immerse ourselves in the comedic world of a streaming service, when something caught our attention. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying the urgent and captivating headlines of the news. A mixture of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension filled the room, prompting me to pause and leave the news channel playing.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, delivering the shocking report of a missing family. My wife leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the TV, her voice trembling with concern. Amelia, her eyes wide with curiosity, leaned closer to the TV, her Teddy bear still clutched tightly in her arms as she was listening to the newsreader.
“This is a breaking news update on a harrowing incident that has shaken the community to its core. The Hudson family, who embarked on a seemingly routine hiking trip into the serene depths of the nearby forest several weeks ago, has tragically met a devastating fate. Today, authorities have confirmed the discovery and identification of their camper van and remains, a discovery that has left investigators, medical examiners, and locals alike in a state of shock and disbelief. The process of identifying the bodies was nothing short of a nightmare for the dedicated team of forensic experts. The unimaginable horror that unfolded in those woods rendered their task exceptionally challenging. Their bodies, torn apart by an unknown and unimaginable force, presented investigators with an enigma that defied explanation. Their positions were grotesquely twisted, their injuries inexplicable and mind-boggling. According to the investigators, an unknown force seriously damaged their RV as well. Medical examiners, renowned for their expertise, were left dumbfounded as they grappled with the mysterious circumstances surrounding this tragic event. The sheer brutality of their demise left them searching for answers that seemed to lie just beyond their reach. The bite marks, enormous in size and ferocity, left on the bodies only added to the perplexity of the situation. Astonishingly, DNA testing revealed that these bite marks belonged to an unidentified creature, sending shockwaves of fear and disbelief through the community. The repercussions of this shocking revelation have reverberated throughout the town, leaving residents on edge and gripped by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. The once serene forest, a place of solace and tranquility, now holds untold horrors that have shattered the peace and shattered the lives of the Hudson family. Authorities advise everyone not to go into the forest until they find out what happened and what killed the family.”
As the newsreader went on we all stopped eating our popocorn.
“In light of these disturbing developments, it is my duty to advise against venturing into the forest at this time. The safety and security that once accompanied our tranquil natural surroundings have been shattered, replaced by an aura of uncertainty and fear. Folks, we cannot ignore the evidence before us, the evidence that points to an unknown and terrifying presence within those woods. I understand the allure of nature's embrace, the desire to explore, to seek solace, and to reconnect with the world around us. However, in this moment, I implore you to prioritize your safety and exercise caution. The risk is simply too great, and the consequences too dire to ignore. I urge you to remain vigilant, to report any suspicious activities or unusual occurrences to the authorities immediately. Your eyes and ears are our greatest assets in keeping our town safe. Together, we can overcome this darkness and restore a sense of security to our beloved community. In the coming days and weeks, we will keep you updated on the progress of our investigations,” the country sheriff said to the reporter.
"According to the ancient tales of our indigenous tribes," the newsreader's voice reverberated with a solemn tone, "the depths of this forest are said to be haunted by a sinister entity known as the Black Beast." As the words hung heavy in the air, the camera panned over the tranquil landscape, capturing the rustic charm of a small Indian village nestled amidst the wilderness. Suddenly, the screen flickered to life, revealing the weathered visage of an elderly Indian man, his eyes bearing the weight of centuries-old wisdom.
"The Black Beast," the elder's voice resonated with a mixture of reverence and dread, "has cast its shadow over these lands for generations." His weathered hands gestured emphatically as he spoke, as if summoning forth the very essence of the creature from the depths of memory. "It is a creature of terror, a specter that prowls the heart of the forest, its presence a harbinger of doom."
The camera zoomed in, capturing every line etched upon the elder's face, each wrinkle a testament to the trials endured under the watchful gaze of the Black Beast. "We know not how it selects its victims," he continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resignation, "nor why it chooses to spare some while condemning others to a fate worse than death."
The picture went back to the studio again.
“As you have heard, these are just local legends of course. We will continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. Our hearts go out to the Hudson family and all those affected by this unimaginable tragedy. Please stay tuned for further updates as we strive to unravel the mysteries that lie hidden within the depths of our world,” the newsreader said and they showed some photos of the Hudson family.
The images on the screen showed their smiling faces, frozen in time. The thought that the camper van I saw in the forest was the crime scene of a brutal and unexplained murder not far from our camp, sent chills down on my spine. This was something I kept to myself. But we all thought about the same thing: the next ones could have been us.
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Our excursions into the wilderness were often brief, day trips filled with laughter, exploration, and a shared appreciation for the natural wonders around us. But the recent addition of an RV to our family provided an opportunity to embark on a new adventure—an overnight camping trip nestled within the embrace of majestic mountains and the allure of the forest.
Excitement bubbled within us as we meticulously planned our journey. We imagined gathering around a crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows upon our faces. The scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp mountain air would create an intoxicating aroma that would forever be etched in our memories.
Finally, the day arrived, and we eagerly set off, our RV becoming our mobile sanctuary. The journey itself was a testament to the beauty of the land we traversed. Majestic peaks rose like sentinels, their snow-capped summits piercing the heavens. As we delved deeper into the heart of nature's domain, our anticipation heightened, and our hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of the forest.
Upon reaching our destination, we carefully parked our RV, a tiny fortress amidst the towering giants. The forest seemed to embrace us, its silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds bidding us welcome. The air carried a crispness that invigorated our spirits, as if it whispered tales of forgotten legends and ancient mysteries.
With each step we took, the forest welcomed us into its secret realm. Our senses were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of pine needles underfoot, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy above, created dappled patterns on the forest floor, like nature's own mesmerizing tapestry.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the campsite, we gathered around the fire pit. Amelia, our adventurous and nature-loving daughter, was brimming with excitement at the prospect of building a fire.
Amelia's eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, her voice filled with anticipation. "Dad, I can't wait to make the fire! Can I help? Please?"
A smile stretched across my face, mirroring the twinkle in her eyes. I nodded, appreciating her eagerness to participate in this age-old ritual of outdoor adventure.
"Absolutely, Amelia," I replied, my voice laced with fatherly pride. "You can gather some dry branches and twigs. Just be careful not to venture too far into the forest."
With an enthusiastic nod, Amelia seized a small, weathered basket and darted towards the beckoning trees and rustling underbrush.
"Watch out for the prickly bushes, sweetheart!" I called out, a touch of caution in my voice. "And remember, stay within sight!"
Her voice, tinged with determination, floated back to me on the gentle breeze. "Don't worry, Dad! I'll find the best branches!"
As Amelia vanished into the verdant embrace of the forest, my wife, Emma, emerged from our trusty RV. Her graceful movements belied her quiet excitement as she retrieved the carefully packed food provisions from within.
Emma's nimble fingers unwrapped the ingredients with a practiced ease, her eyes glimmering with a mix of culinary artistry and familial warmth. She hummed a gentle tune under her breath, her love for nurturing our family evident in every deliberate action.
Meanwhile, I busied myself by unloading the essential cooking equipment from the storage compartments. With the clinking of metal against metal, I extracted the gleaming grill grate and stoked the coals, preparing the stage for a delicious outdoor feast.
After a while, with a skip in her step and a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Amelia emerged from the lush foliage, clutching a trove of dry branches and twigs within the sturdy basket. Yet, nestled in the crook of her other arm was an unexpected treasure—an enchanting discovery that had captured her young heart.
Amelia's voice bubbled with excitement as she approached, her words tumbling forth. "Dad! Look what I found! It's a small Teddy bear! Isn't it adorable?"
Curiosity sparked within me as I studied the small, weathered toy she presented. Its once vibrant colors had faded, its fur slightly disheveled, but it bore an undeniable charm. A silent narrative unfolded before my eyes, envisioning the laughter and companionship this cherished possession once brought to another child.
A mixture of caution and wonder mingled in my voice as I questioned, "Where did you find it, sweetheart? It seems someone may have lost it."
Amelia's face radiated with innocence and genuine affection for her newfound friend. "I found it near a tree, Daddy. Maybe another family played here, and the Teddy bear got left behind. Can I keep it, please?"
My instinctual protective nature rose, a desire to shield her from the potential disappointments that accompany lost treasures. Yet, a tender understanding blossomed within me. This small act of generosity and acceptance would foster her sense of empathy and compassion.
Considering her wide-eyed enthusiasm, I yielded to the warmth in my heart. "Alright, Amelia," I relented with a gentle smile. "If it brings you joy and reminds you of this beautiful adventure, then you can keep it."
Amelia's jubilant squeal filled the air, punctuating the acceptance of her request. With an affectionate hug, she embraced her newfound companion, promising it a future filled with endless tea parties and imaginary adventures.
Afer I set the fire, with a satisfying crackle, the flames sprang to life, dancing and flickering in a mesmerizing rhythm. The golden tendrils reached towards the night sky, casting a warm glow upon our faces. The radiant heat embraced us, dispelling the chill of the evening air as we gathered around the enchanting inferno.
I meticulously arranged the equipment we had brought, positioning the sturdy metal grill over the roaring fire. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of seasoned meat, sizzling and sputtering as it made contact with the heated grates. The tantalizing melody of crackling embers serenaded our senses, a symphony of anticipation and contentment.
My wife, her eyes sparkling with both determination and tenderness, deftly prepared the ingredients that would transform into a feast of flavors. The rhythmic symphony of chopping, the aromatic dance of herbs and spices, and the gentle sizzle of ingredients meeting the heated pan created a harmonious tableau of culinary artistry.
Amelia, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, took her place by my side, her small hands outstretched in eager anticipation. I showed her how to position the meat on the grill, carefully instructing her on the art of achieving the perfect sear. Her youthful enthusiasm ignited a sense of pride within me, as I witnessed her embracing the opportunity to contribute to our family's culinary adventure.
“We still need some firewood. I will get some until it gets darker. I will be right back!,” I told Emma and I delved deeper into the wilderness.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a symphony of nature enveloping me as I wandered amidst towering trees. My fingers brushed against dry leaves and moss-covered rocks, searching for the elusive twigs and branches necessary to further kindle our flames.
But my curiosity led me further ahead, my gaze alighting upon something beyond the ordinary. "What the hell," I murmured, my voice was like a whisper amidst the wilderness.
My my heart was quickening as I glimpsed the outline of a vehicle amidst the foliage. It stood solitary and still, like a relic from another time.
I hesitated whether or not to go closer, my instincts prickling with unease.
"Perhaps just another camper," I told myself, though doubt lingered in my mind.
I cautiously approached the abandoned camper van, each step echoing in the eerie silence of the forest. A sense of unease crept over me, intensifying with every closer stride. The van, though not ancient, bore the unmistakable marks of neglect and abandonment, standing alone like a forgotten relic amidst the wilderness.
"Hello?" My voice broke the stillness, but no reply greeted my inquiry. It was as if the very air held its breath, shrouding the scene in an unsettling silence. Abandonment hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the once vibrant camping spot.
My eyes scanned the scene, taking in the disarray that surrounded the camper. Camping equipment lay strewn haphazardly, a jumbled testament to the hurried departure of its previous occupants. But it was the ominous black stain on the ground that drew my attention, a stark reminder of some past calamity, perhaps a fire that had ravaged this place.
As I moved closer, my gaze was drawn to a chilling sight—a massive scraping marred the side of the camper van, like a grotesque scar etched into its metal skin. It seemed almost as if some colossal force had clawed at the vehicle, leaving behind a haunting testament to its power.
The stillness of the campsite was oppressive, suffocating, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation of some unseen threat. Not even the birds dared to break the silence with their song, lending an unsettling quality to the desolation that surrounded me.
With a shiver of apprehension, I realized that I stood on the precipice of a mystery, the unanswered questions hanging in the air like a thick fog. What had transpired in this forsaken place? And more importantly, was I truly alone in this silent wilderness?
The hairs were raising on the back of my neck and walked away from the silent sentinel of metal and glass. I retraced my steps through the labyrinth of trees, the distant echo of our footsteps mingling with the whispers of the forest. I was immediately relieved as the warmth of our camp awaited me and I was not sure if I should tell Emma that I had seen another RV deeper in the forest. I decided not to, it might ruin the warm athmosphere of our moments.
The crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of the cooking meat wove an enchanting tapestry around us, casting a spell that encapsulated the essence of togetherness. As the minutes ticked by, we shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of familial love. The darkness around us seemed to fade away, replaced by the glow of our shared experiences and the promise of a memorable night.
In that moment, it was not just the flickering flames that illuminated our campsite, but the intangible bond we shared as a family. We were not merely three individuals gathered around a fire, but a tapestry of love, connection, and shared dreams. The crackling fire served as a beacon, illuminating the path towards a future filled with shared adventures, cherished memories, and an unbreakable bond that would withstand the tests of time.
As we reveled in the joyous harmony of food and company, the night sky glittered above, painting a breathtaking backdrop for our intimate gathering. The stars, like sparkling witnesses, bore witness to the magic that unfolded in that humble campsite.
In the symphony of crackling flames and joyful chatter, we savored the beauty of simplicity, finding solace and fulfillment in the warmth of our shared presence. It was in this tranquil moment, surrounded by the wilderness and enveloped in the embrace of our loved ones, that we realized the true essence of life's blessings—a serene respite from the world's chaos, and the unrivaled joy of being together, just the three of us.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the embrace of darkness, a palpable chill crept into the air, sending shivers down our spines. Wisps of mist curled and swirled around us, lending an ethereal quality to the night.
Feeling the temperature drop, I retrieved a thick, cozy blanket from the confines of our trusty RV. Its soft fabric, woven with memories of past adventures, held the promise of warmth and comfort. Gently draping the blanket over Emma and Amelia, I ensured their precious forms were shielded from the encroaching cold.
Amelia, her energy waning with each passing moment, fought against the drowsiness tugging at her eyelids. Her yawns, like tiny symphonies of weariness, punctuated the tranquility of the evening. Sensing her fatigue, I knelt down beside her, my voice filled with gentle concern.
"Sweetheart, it's getting late and you look tired," I whispered, my breath carrying warmth in the crisp night air. "Would you like to go to bed?"
Amelia's eyes, still sparkling with the remnants of excitement, met mine. A yawn escaped her lips, a delicate melody of exhaustion. However, her spirit remained steadfast, determined to revel in every last moment of our outdoor escapade.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her voice a soft murmur. "I'm not sleepy yet. I want to stay here and enjoy the campfire."
Her response resonated with the boundless enthusiasm of youth, and I couldn't help but smile at her unwavering spirit. In that instant, I understood that this was a rare and precious opportunity—a chance to immerse ourselves in the magic of the night, to surrender to the allure of the crackling flames and the mysteries concealed within the darkness.
Then I thought of the camper van that I had just seen and for some reason, it made me feel uneasy. Trying to ignore it, I settled myself beside Amelia, the fire's radiant glow casting enchanting shadows upon our faces. Emma, her hand tenderly clasping mine, joined us, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the whispering night.
As we sat there, the crackling fire casting an otherworldly glow upon our little circle, a symphony of silence enveloped us. The distant chirping of nocturnal creatures mingled with the soft crackling of the firewood, creating a harmonious lullaby that serenaded us into a state of tranquil contentment.
Stars, like celestial lanterns, punctured the ink-black canvas above, their shimmering brilliance a testament to the vastness of the universe and the infinite possibilities that lay beyond our mortal reach. The fragrant scent of pine mingled with the smoky essence of the campfire, intoxicating our senses and anchoring us to this moment of fleeting serenity.
Time seemed suspended, as if the world had paused to allow us this respite from the frenetic pace of life. We basked in the warmth of the fire, our souls nourished by the shared silence and the bond forged through the simple act of being present with one another.
But amidst the tranquil symphony of nature, a rustling in the nearby underbrush shattered the stillness. The sudden disruption reverberated through the air, jolting us from our serene reverie. Emma's eyes widened, her hand instinctively tightening its grip around mine. Amelia, her youthful curiosity piqued, looked to me for reassurance.
"What was that, Daddy?" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
I cast a soothing smile in her direction, my attempt to allay any growing fears. "It's probably just an animal, sweetheart," I reassured her, my voice carrying a calm certainty. "Maybe a deer or a boar exploring the woods. Nothing to be worried about."
Yet, as the rustling persisted, growing louder and more distinct, even I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease gnawing at the edges of my composure. The sound seemed to possess an undeniable weight, suggesting a presence larger and more formidable than initially anticipated.
Emma's eyes darted nervously between the surrounding trees, her senses attuned to the slightest movement. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. "It sounds quite... substantial."
Instinctively, I rose to my feet, my protective instincts surging within me. "Stay here," I instructed, my voice firm but laden with an undercurrent of caution. "I'll go check it out. It's probably just passing through."
With cautious steps, I ventured toward the origin of the enigmatic rustling, my ears straining to decipher its source. I thought about the camper van. Was it possible that they could see our fire and wanted some company? That sounded ridiculous. Or could they have been in trouble? I should have checked that vehicle out.
Each crackle of twigs underfoot seemed to amplify in the stillness of the night, magnifying my senses. As I neared the treeline, anticipation mingled with a lingering sense of trepidation.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rustling ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The once vibrant symphony of nature now seemed muted, as if holding its breath in anticipation. I scanned the darkness, searching for any signs of movement, my heart thudding against my chest.
Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the warmth and safety of our campfire haven, my senses on high alert. Returning to my family, I wore a reassuring smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm despite the lingering mystery.
"It's alright," I assured them, my voice infused with a newfound conviction. "Whatever it was, it must have moved along. We're safe here."
Relief washed over their faces, their tense postures gradually easing. We settled back into our makeshift sanctuary, the familiarity of the crackling fire offering a comforting embrace. Our senses remained heightened, vigilant for any lingering signs of the unseen visitor.
Just as a semblance of calm began to settle over our campsite, an otherworldly roar pierced the night air, tearing through the fabric of serenity. The sound, far from the natural symphony we had grown accustomed to, possessed a menacing quality that resonated deep within our souls. Its metallic timbre reverberated through the darkness, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down our spines.
Amelia's eyes widened in terror, her small frame trembling with the weight of the unknown. Emma's expression mirrored the trepidation etched across our faces. This was no ordinary sound—a realization that hung heavy in the air.
"That... that doesn't sound like a deer or a boar," Emma stammered, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and dread. "What could it possibly be?"
Before we could ponder further, the deafening roar reverberated through the night once more, closer this time. Its proximity shattered any illusions of safety that had momentarily settled over us. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric sense of urgency. Our instincts kicked into overdrive, urging us to abandon our belongings and seek shelter.
"Leave everything!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency. "We have to get to the RV now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, we sprang into action. Emma snatched Amelia's hand, her grip tight and resolute, while I scooped up our precious daughter into my arms.
“My bear,” she screamed and picked up her new toy, her tiny hands clung to the worn bear with an intensity that belied her tender age.
The campfire, once a symbol of warmth and tranquility, was abandoned in an instant as we sprinted toward the sanctuary of the RV.
The world around us blurred into a frenzy of motion as our legs carried us with desperate urgency. Fear propelled us forward, fueling our determination to reach safety. With each pounding heartbeat, the roar grew louder, its ominous resonance seemingly at our heels, a predator closing in on its prey.
Finally, we reached the welcoming embrace of the RV, its sturdy frame offering a semblance of refuge from the unknown terror that lurked beyond. I swiftly deposited Amelia onto the seat, her wide eyes reflecting the same mixture of fear and relief that mirrored our own.
As I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety, I spared a glance back at the abandoned campsite. The darkness swallowed our belongings, the remnants of our interrupted evening left behind as a haunting reminder of the inexplicable menace that had disrupted our peaceful retreat.
With a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life in harmony with the echoes of the unknown creature outside. The RV became our fortress, its metal walls shielding us from the terrors that lurked beyond.
As we peeled away from the once idyllic campsite, the wailing roar echoed in the distance. Our hearts raced in unison, our breaths coming in jagged gasps as we sought solace in the sanctuary of the rolling vehicle.
With a trembling hand gripping the steering wheel, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, urging the RV to accelerate. The vehicle responded with a surge of power, propelling us forward with a newfound urgency. The engine roared in unison with the thundering beat of my heart, creating a symphony of adrenaline-fueled chaos.
As the wheels churned beneath us, the surrounding trees became a blur of green and brown, their branches reaching out like ghostly specters in our wake. The world outside the windows shifted in a dizzying dance, a kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses and fleeting shadows.
The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that flickered and danced upon the passing foliage. Each passing plant and tree seemed to contort and twist in the ethereal glow, their distorted forms morphing into grotesque silhouettes of their former selves.
A heavy silence settled within the RV, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the rushing wind. Our breaths remained caught in our chests, suspended in a shared state of shock and disbelief. The weight of what we had witnessed hung in the air, a chilling reminder that the boundaries of our world were not as fixed as we had once believed.
The scene we had left behind in the forest haunted our thoughts—a glimpse into a realm far removed from our own, something demonic, something that defied explanation. The image of that otherworldly roar and the malevolent presence it implied lingered like a scar etched into our memories, forever imprinted upon our souls.
Minutes stretched into agonizing hours as we raced along the winding road, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Our collective relief remained just out of reach, overshadowed by the lingering unease that clung to us like a specter. The distance between the forest and the main road seemed interminable, every curve and bend in the road prolonging our escape.
Finally, the familiar sight of the main road materialized before us, a beacon of respite in the darkness. As the RV merged onto its paved embrace, a collective sigh of relief cascaded through the cabin. The weight that had burdened our shoulders began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of safety and security.
Yet, despite the relief that washed over us, the memory of the demonic encounter refused to dissipate as we were heading home. We knew that what we had witnessed in the depths of the forest would forever remain a haunting enigma, a testament to the boundless mysteries that lurk on the fringes of our understanding.
With weary bodies and restless minds, we arrived back at the familiar sanctuary of our home. The weight of the night's harrowing encounter clung to us like a heavy shroud, making the simple act of finding solace in sleep an arduous task. We all slept in the same bed that night. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, we battled against the remnants of fear that lingered within the recesses of our thoughts.
Morning finally broke through the darkness, casting its tentative rays of light upon our weary faces. The sun's gentle warmth filtered through the curtains, offering a glimmer of respite from the lingering shadows of the night. We emerged from our sleep-deprived haze, grateful for the sanctuary that our home provided.
Gathering around the breakfast table, our shared silence spoke volumes. We sought solace in the simple act of breaking bread together, a familiar routine that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the lingering unease. No words were spoken of the night's horrors; instead, we focused on the mundane tasks of the morning, the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as a comforting backdrop to our collective attempt at healing.
As the day unfolded, we busied ourselves with the routine tasks, finding solace in the familiar rhythms. Dusting shelves, tending to neglected plants, and tidying up the remnants of the night's chaos became acts of therapy, a means of grounding ourselves in the reassuring normalcy of domesticity.
The weight of exhaustion settled upon our shoulders, and we allowed ourselves moments of respite as the day wore on. Sunday, a day of rest, offered a reprieve. We retreated to the cozy corners of our home, seeking solace in the embrace of soft couches and plush pillows.
As the hours slipped away, a quiet calm enveloped our home. The once-turbulent waves of fear and uncertainty settled into a gentle ebb and flow. Laughter and conversation, began to permeate the air, intermingling with the familiar sounds of a household in motion.
As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the living room window, we settled down in front of the TV, seeking solace in laughter and lightheartedness.
I reached for the remote control, ready to immerse ourselves in the comedic world of a streaming service, when something caught our attention. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying the urgent and captivating headlines of the news. A mixture of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension filled the room, prompting me to pause and leave the news channel playing.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, delivering the shocking report of a missing family. My wife leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the TV, her voice trembling with concern. Amelia, her eyes wide with curiosity, leaned closer to the TV, her Teddy bear still clutched tightly in her arms as she was listening to the newsreader.
“This is a breaking news update on a harrowing incident that has shaken the community to its core. The Hudson family, who embarked on a seemingly routine hiking trip into the serene depths of the nearby forest several weeks ago, has tragically met a devastating fate. Today, authorities have confirmed the discovery and identification of their camper van and remains, a discovery that has left investigators, medical examiners, and locals alike in a state of shock and disbelief. The process of identifying the bodies was nothing short of a nightmare for the dedicated team of forensic experts. The unimaginable horror that unfolded in those woods rendered their task exceptionally challenging. Their bodies, torn apart by an unknown and unimaginable force, presented investigators with an enigma that defied explanation. Their positions were grotesquely twisted, their injuries inexplicable and mind-boggling. According to the investigators, an unknown force seriously damaged their RV as well. Medical examiners, renowned for their expertise, were left dumbfounded as they grappled with the mysterious circumstances surrounding this tragic event. The sheer brutality of their demise left them searching for answers that seemed to lie just beyond their reach. The bite marks, enormous in size and ferocity, left on the bodies only added to the perplexity of the situation. Astonishingly, DNA testing revealed that these bite marks belonged to an unidentified creature, sending shockwaves of fear and disbelief through the community. The repercussions of this shocking revelation have reverberated throughout the town, leaving residents on edge and gripped by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. The once serene forest, a place of solace and tranquility, now holds untold horrors that have shattered the peace and shattered the lives of the Hudson family. Authorities advise everyone not to go into the forest until they find out what happened and what killed the family.”
As the newsreader went on we all stopped eating our popocorn.
“In light of these disturbing developments, it is my duty to advise against venturing into the forest at this time. The safety and security that once accompanied our tranquil natural surroundings have been shattered, replaced by an aura of uncertainty and fear. Folks, we cannot ignore the evidence before us, the evidence that points to an unknown and terrifying presence within those woods. I understand the allure of nature's embrace, the desire to explore, to seek solace, and to reconnect with the world around us. However, in this moment, I implore you to prioritize your safety and exercise caution. The risk is simply too great, and the consequences too dire to ignore. I urge you to remain vigilant, to report any suspicious activities or unusual occurrences to the authorities immediately. Your eyes and ears are our greatest assets in keeping our town safe. Together, we can overcome this darkness and restore a sense of security to our beloved community. In the coming days and weeks, we will keep you updated on the progress of our investigations,” the country sheriff said to the reporter.
"According to the ancient tales of our indigenous tribes," the newsreader's voice reverberated with a solemn tone, "the depths of this forest are said to be haunted by a sinister entity known as the Black Beast." As the words hung heavy in the air, the camera panned over the tranquil landscape, capturing the rustic charm of a small Indian village nestled amidst the wilderness. Suddenly, the screen flickered to life, revealing the weathered visage of an elderly Indian man, his eyes bearing the weight of centuries-old wisdom.
"The Black Beast," the elder's voice resonated with a mixture of reverence and dread, "has cast its shadow over these lands for generations." His weathered hands gestured emphatically as he spoke, as if summoning forth the very essence of the creature from the depths of memory. "It is a creature of terror, a specter that prowls the heart of the forest, its presence a harbinger of doom."
The camera zoomed in, capturing every line etched upon the elder's face, each wrinkle a testament to the trials endured under the watchful gaze of the Black Beast. "We know not how it selects its victims," he continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resignation, "nor why it chooses to spare some while condemning others to a fate worse than death."
The picture went back to the studio again.
“As you have heard, these are just local legends of course. We will continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. Our hearts go out to the Hudson family and all those affected by this unimaginable tragedy. Please stay tuned for further updates as we strive to unravel the mysteries that lie hidden within the depths of our world,” the newsreader said and they showed some photos of the Hudson family.
The images on the screen showed their smiling faces, frozen in time. The thought that the camper van I saw in the forest was the crime scene of a brutal and unexplained murder not far from our camp, sent chills down on my spine. This was something I kept to myself. But we all thought about the same thing: the next ones could have been us.
2024.05.13 08:08 greg0525 When Our Camping Trip Became a Nightmare
For as long as I can remember, my family and I have shared a deep love for the great outdoors, particularly the enchanting allure of the forest. The allure of nature's symphony, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the melodious songs of birds never failed to captivate our senses. The verdant foliage, adorned with vibrant flowers, created a kaleidoscope of colors that danced before our eyes, while the towering trees whispered ancient secrets to those who would listen. It was a place where tranquility and serenity embraced us, soothing our souls in the embrace of nature's embrace.
Our excursions into the wilderness were often brief, day trips filled with laughter, exploration, and a shared appreciation for the natural wonders around us. But the recent addition of an RV to our family provided an opportunity to embark on a new adventure—an overnight camping trip nestled within the embrace of majestic mountains and the allure of the forest.
Excitement bubbled within us as we meticulously planned our journey. We imagined gathering around a crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows upon our faces. The scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp mountain air would create an intoxicating aroma that would forever be etched in our memories.
Finally, the day arrived, and we eagerly set off, our RV becoming our mobile sanctuary. The journey itself was a testament to the beauty of the land we traversed. Majestic peaks rose like sentinels, their snow-capped summits piercing the heavens. As we delved deeper into the heart of nature's domain, our anticipation heightened, and our hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of the forest.
Upon reaching our destination, we carefully parked our RV, a tiny fortress amidst the towering giants. The forest seemed to embrace us, its silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds bidding us welcome. The air carried a crispness that invigorated our spirits, as if it whispered tales of forgotten legends and ancient mysteries.
With each step we took, the forest welcomed us into its secret realm. Our senses were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of pine needles underfoot, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy above, created dappled patterns on the forest floor, like nature's own mesmerizing tapestry.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the campsite, we gathered around the fire pit. Amelia, our adventurous and nature-loving daughter, was brimming with excitement at the prospect of building a fire.
Amelia's eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, her voice filled with anticipation. "Dad, I can't wait to make the fire! Can I help? Please?"
A smile stretched across my face, mirroring the twinkle in her eyes. I nodded, appreciating her eagerness to participate in this age-old ritual of outdoor adventure.
"Absolutely, Amelia," I replied, my voice laced with fatherly pride. "You can gather some dry branches and twigs. Just be careful not to venture too far into the forest."
With an enthusiastic nod, Amelia seized a small, weathered basket and darted towards the beckoning trees and rustling underbrush.
"Watch out for the prickly bushes, sweetheart!" I called out, a touch of caution in my voice. "And remember, stay within sight!"
Her voice, tinged with determination, floated back to me on the gentle breeze. "Don't worry, Dad! I'll find the best branches!"
As Amelia vanished into the verdant embrace of the forest, my wife, Emma, emerged from our trusty RV. Her graceful movements belied her quiet excitement as she retrieved the carefully packed food provisions from within.
Emma's nimble fingers unwrapped the ingredients with a practiced ease, her eyes glimmering with a mix of culinary artistry and familial warmth. She hummed a gentle tune under her breath, her love for nurturing our family evident in every deliberate action.
Meanwhile, I busied myself by unloading the essential cooking equipment from the storage compartments. With the clinking of metal against metal, I extracted the gleaming grill grate and stoked the coals, preparing the stage for a delicious outdoor feast.
After a while, with a skip in her step and a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Amelia emerged from the lush foliage, clutching a trove of dry branches and twigs within the sturdy basket. Yet, nestled in the crook of her other arm was an unexpected treasure—an enchanting discovery that had captured her young heart.
Amelia's voice bubbled with excitement as she approached, her words tumbling forth. "Dad! Look what I found! It's a small Teddy bear! Isn't it adorable?"
Curiosity sparked within me as I studied the small, weathered toy she presented. Its once vibrant colors had faded, its fur slightly disheveled, but it bore an undeniable charm. A silent narrative unfolded before my eyes, envisioning the laughter and companionship this cherished possession once brought to another child.
A mixture of caution and wonder mingled in my voice as I questioned, "Where did you find it, sweetheart? It seems someone may have lost it."
Amelia's face radiated with innocence and genuine affection for her newfound friend. "I found it near a tree, Daddy. Maybe another family played here, and the Teddy bear got left behind. Can I keep it, please?"
My instinctual protective nature rose, a desire to shield her from the potential disappointments that accompany lost treasures. Yet, a tender understanding blossomed within me. This small act of generosity and acceptance would foster her sense of empathy and compassion.
Considering her wide-eyed enthusiasm, I yielded to the warmth in my heart. "Alright, Amelia," I relented with a gentle smile. "If it brings you joy and reminds you of this beautiful adventure, then you can keep it."
Amelia's jubilant squeal filled the air, punctuating the acceptance of her request. With an affectionate hug, she embraced her newfound companion, promising it a future filled with endless tea parties and imaginary adventures.
Afer I set the fire, with a satisfying crackle, the flames sprang to life, dancing and flickering in a mesmerizing rhythm. The golden tendrils reached towards the night sky, casting a warm glow upon our faces. The radiant heat embraced us, dispelling the chill of the evening air as we gathered around the enchanting inferno.
I meticulously arranged the equipment we had brought, positioning the sturdy metal grill over the roaring fire. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of seasoned meat, sizzling and sputtering as it made contact with the heated grates. The tantalizing melody of crackling embers serenaded our senses, a symphony of anticipation and contentment.
My wife, her eyes sparkling with both determination and tenderness, deftly prepared the ingredients that would transform into a feast of flavors. The rhythmic symphony of chopping, the aromatic dance of herbs and spices, and the gentle sizzle of ingredients meeting the heated pan created a harmonious tableau of culinary artistry.
Amelia, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, took her place by my side, her small hands outstretched in eager anticipation. I showed her how to position the meat on the grill, carefully instructing her on the art of achieving the perfect sear. Her youthful enthusiasm ignited a sense of pride within me, as I witnessed her embracing the opportunity to contribute to our family's culinary adventure.
“We still need some firewood. I will get some until it gets darker. I will be right back!,” I told Emma and I delved deeper into the wilderness.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a symphony of nature enveloping me as I wandered amidst towering trees. My fingers brushed against dry leaves and moss-covered rocks, searching for the elusive twigs and branches necessary to further kindle our flames.
But my curiosity led me further ahead, my gaze alighting upon something beyond the ordinary. "What the hell," I murmured, my voice was like a whisper amidst the wilderness.
My my heart was quickening as I glimpsed the outline of a vehicle amidst the foliage. It stood solitary and still, like a relic from another time.
I hesitated whether or not to go closer, my instincts prickling with unease.
"Perhaps just another camper," I told myself, though doubt lingered in my mind.
I cautiously approached the abandoned camper van, each step echoing in the eerie silence of the forest. A sense of unease crept over me, intensifying with every closer stride. The van, though not ancient, bore the unmistakable marks of neglect and abandonment, standing alone like a forgotten relic amidst the wilderness.
"Hello?" My voice broke the stillness, but no reply greeted my inquiry. It was as if the very air held its breath, shrouding the scene in an unsettling silence. Abandonment hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the once vibrant camping spot.
My eyes scanned the scene, taking in the disarray that surrounded the camper. Camping equipment lay strewn haphazardly, a jumbled testament to the hurried departure of its previous occupants. But it was the ominous black stain on the ground that drew my attention, a stark reminder of some past calamity, perhaps a fire that had ravaged this place.
As I moved closer, my gaze was drawn to a chilling sight—a massive scraping marred the side of the camper van, like a grotesque scar etched into its metal skin. It seemed almost as if some colossal force had clawed at the vehicle, leaving behind a haunting testament to its power.
The stillness of the campsite was oppressive, suffocating, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation of some unseen threat. Not even the birds dared to break the silence with their song, lending an unsettling quality to the desolation that surrounded me.
With a shiver of apprehension, I realized that I stood on the precipice of a mystery, the unanswered questions hanging in the air like a thick fog. What had transpired in this forsaken place? And more importantly, was I truly alone in this silent wilderness?
The hairs were raising on the back of my neck and walked away from the silent sentinel of metal and glass. I retraced my steps through the labyrinth of trees, the distant echo of our footsteps mingling with the whispers of the forest. I was immediately relieved as the warmth of our camp awaited me and I was not sure if I should tell Emma that I had seen another RV deeper in the forest. I decided not to, it might ruin the warm athmosphere of our moments.
The crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of the cooking meat wove an enchanting tapestry around us, casting a spell that encapsulated the essence of togetherness. As the minutes ticked by, we shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of familial love. The darkness around us seemed to fade away, replaced by the glow of our shared experiences and the promise of a memorable night.
In that moment, it was not just the flickering flames that illuminated our campsite, but the intangible bond we shared as a family. We were not merely three individuals gathered around a fire, but a tapestry of love, connection, and shared dreams. The crackling fire served as a beacon, illuminating the path towards a future filled with shared adventures, cherished memories, and an unbreakable bond that would withstand the tests of time.
As we reveled in the joyous harmony of food and company, the night sky glittered above, painting a breathtaking backdrop for our intimate gathering. The stars, like sparkling witnesses, bore witness to the magic that unfolded in that humble campsite.
In the symphony of crackling flames and joyful chatter, we savored the beauty of simplicity, finding solace and fulfillment in the warmth of our shared presence. It was in this tranquil moment, surrounded by the wilderness and enveloped in the embrace of our loved ones, that we realized the true essence of life's blessings—a serene respite from the world's chaos, and the unrivaled joy of being together, just the three of us.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the embrace of darkness, a palpable chill crept into the air, sending shivers down our spines. Wisps of mist curled and swirled around us, lending an ethereal quality to the night.
Feeling the temperature drop, I retrieved a thick, cozy blanket from the confines of our trusty RV. Its soft fabric, woven with memories of past adventures, held the promise of warmth and comfort. Gently draping the blanket over Emma and Amelia, I ensured their precious forms were shielded from the encroaching cold.
Amelia, her energy waning with each passing moment, fought against the drowsiness tugging at her eyelids. Her yawns, like tiny symphonies of weariness, punctuated the tranquility of the evening. Sensing her fatigue, I knelt down beside her, my voice filled with gentle concern.
"Sweetheart, it's getting late and you look tired," I whispered, my breath carrying warmth in the crisp night air. "Would you like to go to bed?"
Amelia's eyes, still sparkling with the remnants of excitement, met mine. A yawn escaped her lips, a delicate melody of exhaustion. However, her spirit remained steadfast, determined to revel in every last moment of our outdoor escapade.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her voice a soft murmur. "I'm not sleepy yet. I want to stay here and enjoy the campfire."
Her response resonated with the boundless enthusiasm of youth, and I couldn't help but smile at her unwavering spirit. In that instant, I understood that this was a rare and precious opportunity—a chance to immerse ourselves in the magic of the night, to surrender to the allure of the crackling flames and the mysteries concealed within the darkness.
Then I thought of the camper van that I had just seen and for some reason, it made me feel uneasy. Trying to ignore it, I settled myself beside Amelia, the fire's radiant glow casting enchanting shadows upon our faces. Emma, her hand tenderly clasping mine, joined us, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the whispering night.
As we sat there, the crackling fire casting an otherworldly glow upon our little circle, a symphony of silence enveloped us. The distant chirping of nocturnal creatures mingled with the soft crackling of the firewood, creating a harmonious lullaby that serenaded us into a state of tranquil contentment.
Stars, like celestial lanterns, punctured the ink-black canvas above, their shimmering brilliance a testament to the vastness of the universe and the infinite possibilities that lay beyond our mortal reach. The fragrant scent of pine mingled with the smoky essence of the campfire, intoxicating our senses and anchoring us to this moment of fleeting serenity.
Time seemed suspended, as if the world had paused to allow us this respite from the frenetic pace of life. We basked in the warmth of the fire, our souls nourished by the shared silence and the bond forged through the simple act of being present with one another.
But amidst the tranquil symphony of nature, a rustling in the nearby underbrush shattered the stillness. The sudden disruption reverberated through the air, jolting us from our serene reverie. Emma's eyes widened, her hand instinctively tightening its grip around mine. Amelia, her youthful curiosity piqued, looked to me for reassurance.
"What was that, Daddy?" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
I cast a soothing smile in her direction, my attempt to allay any growing fears. "It's probably just an animal, sweetheart," I reassured her, my voice carrying a calm certainty. "Maybe a deer or a boar exploring the woods. Nothing to be worried about."
Yet, as the rustling persisted, growing louder and more distinct, even I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease gnawing at the edges of my composure. The sound seemed to possess an undeniable weight, suggesting a presence larger and more formidable than initially anticipated.
Emma's eyes darted nervously between the surrounding trees, her senses attuned to the slightest movement. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. "It sounds quite... substantial."
Instinctively, I rose to my feet, my protective instincts surging within me. "Stay here," I instructed, my voice firm but laden with an undercurrent of caution. "I'll go check it out. It's probably just passing through."
With cautious steps, I ventured toward the origin of the enigmatic rustling, my ears straining to decipher its source. I thought about the camper van. Was it possible that they could see our fire and wanted some company? That sounded ridiculous. Or could they have been in trouble? I should have checked that vehicle out.
Each crackle of twigs underfoot seemed to amplify in the stillness of the night, magnifying my senses. As I neared the treeline, anticipation mingled with a lingering sense of trepidation.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rustling ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The once vibrant symphony of nature now seemed muted, as if holding its breath in anticipation. I scanned the darkness, searching for any signs of movement, my heart thudding against my chest.
Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the warmth and safety of our campfire haven, my senses on high alert. Returning to my family, I wore a reassuring smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm despite the lingering mystery.
"It's alright," I assured them, my voice infused with a newfound conviction. "Whatever it was, it must have moved along. We're safe here."
Relief washed over their faces, their tense postures gradually easing. We settled back into our makeshift sanctuary, the familiarity of the crackling fire offering a comforting embrace. Our senses remained heightened, vigilant for any lingering signs of the unseen visitor.
Just as a semblance of calm began to settle over our campsite, an otherworldly roar pierced the night air, tearing through the fabric of serenity. The sound, far from the natural symphony we had grown accustomed to, possessed a menacing quality that resonated deep within our souls. Its metallic timbre reverberated through the darkness, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down our spines.
Amelia's eyes widened in terror, her small frame trembling with the weight of the unknown. Emma's expression mirrored the trepidation etched across our faces. This was no ordinary sound—a realization that hung heavy in the air.
"That... that doesn't sound like a deer or a boar," Emma stammered, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and dread. "What could it possibly be?"
Before we could ponder further, the deafening roar reverberated through the night once more, closer this time. Its proximity shattered any illusions of safety that had momentarily settled over us. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric sense of urgency. Our instincts kicked into overdrive, urging us to abandon our belongings and seek shelter.
"Leave everything!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency. "We have to get to the RV now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, we sprang into action. Emma snatched Amelia's hand, her grip tight and resolute, while I scooped up our precious daughter into my arms.
“My bear,” she screamed and picked up her new toy, her tiny hands clung to the worn bear with an intensity that belied her tender age.
The campfire, once a symbol of warmth and tranquility, was abandoned in an instant as we sprinted toward the sanctuary of the RV.
The world around us blurred into a frenzy of motion as our legs carried us with desperate urgency. Fear propelled us forward, fueling our determination to reach safety. With each pounding heartbeat, the roar grew louder, its ominous resonance seemingly at our heels, a predator closing in on its prey.
Finally, we reached the welcoming embrace of the RV, its sturdy frame offering a semblance of refuge from the unknown terror that lurked beyond. I swiftly deposited Amelia onto the seat, her wide eyes reflecting the same mixture of fear and relief that mirrored our own.
As I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety, I spared a glance back at the abandoned campsite. The darkness swallowed our belongings, the remnants of our interrupted evening left behind as a haunting reminder of the inexplicable menace that had disrupted our peaceful retreat.
With a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life in harmony with the echoes of the unknown creature outside. The RV became our fortress, its metal walls shielding us from the terrors that lurked beyond.
As we peeled away from the once idyllic campsite, the wailing roar echoed in the distance. Our hearts raced in unison, our breaths coming in jagged gasps as we sought solace in the sanctuary of the rolling vehicle.
With a trembling hand gripping the steering wheel, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, urging the RV to accelerate. The vehicle responded with a surge of power, propelling us forward with a newfound urgency. The engine roared in unison with the thundering beat of my heart, creating a symphony of adrenaline-fueled chaos.
As the wheels churned beneath us, the surrounding trees became a blur of green and brown, their branches reaching out like ghostly specters in our wake. The world outside the windows shifted in a dizzying dance, a kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses and fleeting shadows.
The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that flickered and danced upon the passing foliage. Each passing plant and tree seemed to contort and twist in the ethereal glow, their distorted forms morphing into grotesque silhouettes of their former selves.
A heavy silence settled within the RV, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the rushing wind. Our breaths remained caught in our chests, suspended in a shared state of shock and disbelief. The weight of what we had witnessed hung in the air, a chilling reminder that the boundaries of our world were not as fixed as we had once believed.
The scene we had left behind in the forest haunted our thoughts—a glimpse into a realm far removed from our own, something demonic, something that defied explanation. The image of that otherworldly roar and the malevolent presence it implied lingered like a scar etched into our memories, forever imprinted upon our souls.
Minutes stretched into agonizing hours as we raced along the winding road, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Our collective relief remained just out of reach, overshadowed by the lingering unease that clung to us like a specter. The distance between the forest and the main road seemed interminable, every curve and bend in the road prolonging our escape.
Finally, the familiar sight of the main road materialized before us, a beacon of respite in the darkness. As the RV merged onto its paved embrace, a collective sigh of relief cascaded through the cabin. The weight that had burdened our shoulders began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of safety and security.
Yet, despite the relief that washed over us, the memory of the demonic encounter refused to dissipate as we were heading home. We knew that what we had witnessed in the depths of the forest would forever remain a haunting enigma, a testament to the boundless mysteries that lurk on the fringes of our understanding.
With weary bodies and restless minds, we arrived back at the familiar sanctuary of our home. The weight of the night's harrowing encounter clung to us like a heavy shroud, making the simple act of finding solace in sleep an arduous task. We all slept in the same bed that night. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, we battled against the remnants of fear that lingered within the recesses of our thoughts.
Morning finally broke through the darkness, casting its tentative rays of light upon our weary faces. The sun's gentle warmth filtered through the curtains, offering a glimmer of respite from the lingering shadows of the night. We emerged from our sleep-deprived haze, grateful for the sanctuary that our home provided.
Gathering around the breakfast table, our shared silence spoke volumes. We sought solace in the simple act of breaking bread together, a familiar routine that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the lingering unease. No words were spoken of the night's horrors; instead, we focused on the mundane tasks of the morning, the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as a comforting backdrop to our collective attempt at healing.
As the day unfolded, we busied ourselves with the routine tasks, finding solace in the familiar rhythms. Dusting shelves, tending to neglected plants, and tidying up the remnants of the night's chaos became acts of therapy, a means of grounding ourselves in the reassuring normalcy of domesticity.
The weight of exhaustion settled upon our shoulders, and we allowed ourselves moments of respite as the day wore on. Sunday, a day of rest, offered a reprieve. We retreated to the cozy corners of our home, seeking solace in the embrace of soft couches and plush pillows.
As the hours slipped away, a quiet calm enveloped our home. The once-turbulent waves of fear and uncertainty settled into a gentle ebb and flow. Laughter and conversation, began to permeate the air, intermingling with the familiar sounds of a household in motion.
As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the living room window, we settled down in front of the TV, seeking solace in laughter and lightheartedness.
I reached for the remote control, ready to immerse ourselves in the comedic world of a streaming service, when something caught our attention. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying the urgent and captivating headlines of the news. A mixture of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension filled the room, prompting me to pause and leave the news channel playing.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, delivering the shocking report of a missing family. My wife leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the TV, her voice trembling with concern. Amelia, her eyes wide with curiosity, leaned closer to the TV, her Teddy bear still clutched tightly in her arms as she was listening to the newsreader.
“This is a breaking news update on a harrowing incident that has shaken the community to its core. The Hudson family, who embarked on a seemingly routine hiking trip into the serene depths of the nearby forest several weeks ago, has tragically met a devastating fate. Today, authorities have confirmed the discovery and identification of their camper van and remains, a discovery that has left investigators, medical examiners, and locals alike in a state of shock and disbelief. The process of identifying the bodies was nothing short of a nightmare for the dedicated team of forensic experts. The unimaginable horror that unfolded in those woods rendered their task exceptionally challenging. Their bodies, torn apart by an unknown and unimaginable force, presented investigators with an enigma that defied explanation. Their positions were grotesquely twisted, their injuries inexplicable and mind-boggling. According to the investigators, an unknown force seriously damaged their RV as well. Medical examiners, renowned for their expertise, were left dumbfounded as they grappled with the mysterious circumstances surrounding this tragic event. The sheer brutality of their demise left them searching for answers that seemed to lie just beyond their reach. The bite marks, enormous in size and ferocity, left on the bodies only added to the perplexity of the situation. Astonishingly, DNA testing revealed that these bite marks belonged to an unidentified creature, sending shockwaves of fear and disbelief through the community. The repercussions of this shocking revelation have reverberated throughout the town, leaving residents on edge and gripped by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. The once serene forest, a place of solace and tranquility, now holds untold horrors that have shattered the peace and shattered the lives of the Hudson family. Authorities advise everyone not to go into the forest until they find out what happened and what killed the family.”
As the newsreader went on we all stopped eating our popocorn.
“In light of these disturbing developments, it is my duty to advise against venturing into the forest at this time. The safety and security that once accompanied our tranquil natural surroundings have been shattered, replaced by an aura of uncertainty and fear. Folks, we cannot ignore the evidence before us, the evidence that points to an unknown and terrifying presence within those woods. I understand the allure of nature's embrace, the desire to explore, to seek solace, and to reconnect with the world around us. However, in this moment, I implore you to prioritize your safety and exercise caution. The risk is simply too great, and the consequences too dire to ignore. I urge you to remain vigilant, to report any suspicious activities or unusual occurrences to the authorities immediately. Your eyes and ears are our greatest assets in keeping our town safe. Together, we can overcome this darkness and restore a sense of security to our beloved community. In the coming days and weeks, we will keep you updated on the progress of our investigations,” the country sheriff said to the reporter.
"According to the ancient tales of our indigenous tribes," the newsreader's voice reverberated with a solemn tone, "the depths of this forest are said to be haunted by a sinister entity known as the Black Beast." As the words hung heavy in the air, the camera panned over the tranquil landscape, capturing the rustic charm of a small Indian village nestled amidst the wilderness. Suddenly, the screen flickered to life, revealing the weathered visage of an elderly Indian man, his eyes bearing the weight of centuries-old wisdom.
"The Black Beast," the elder's voice resonated with a mixture of reverence and dread, "has cast its shadow over these lands for generations." His weathered hands gestured emphatically as he spoke, as if summoning forth the very essence of the creature from the depths of memory. "It is a creature of terror, a specter that prowls the heart of the forest, its presence a harbinger of doom."
The camera zoomed in, capturing every line etched upon the elder's face, each wrinkle a testament to the trials endured under the watchful gaze of the Black Beast. "We know not how it selects its victims," he continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resignation, "nor why it chooses to spare some while condemning others to a fate worse than death."
The picture went back to the studio again.
“As you have heard, these are just local legends of course. We will continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. Our hearts go out to the Hudson family and all those affected by this unimaginable tragedy. Please stay tuned for further updates as we strive to unravel the mysteries that lie hidden within the depths of our world,” the newsreader said and they showed some photos of the Hudson family.
The images on the screen showed their smiling faces, frozen in time. The thought that the camper van I saw in the forest was the crime scene of a brutal and unexplained murder not far from our camp, sent chills down on my spine. This was something I kept to myself. But we all thought about the same thing: the next ones could have been us.
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Our excursions into the wilderness were often brief, day trips filled with laughter, exploration, and a shared appreciation for the natural wonders around us. But the recent addition of an RV to our family provided an opportunity to embark on a new adventure—an overnight camping trip nestled within the embrace of majestic mountains and the allure of the forest.
Excitement bubbled within us as we meticulously planned our journey. We imagined gathering around a crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows upon our faces. The scent of burning wood mingling with the crisp mountain air would create an intoxicating aroma that would forever be etched in our memories.
Finally, the day arrived, and we eagerly set off, our RV becoming our mobile sanctuary. The journey itself was a testament to the beauty of the land we traversed. Majestic peaks rose like sentinels, their snow-capped summits piercing the heavens. As we delved deeper into the heart of nature's domain, our anticipation heightened, and our hearts beat in sync with the rhythm of the forest.
Upon reaching our destination, we carefully parked our RV, a tiny fortress amidst the towering giants. The forest seemed to embrace us, its silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds bidding us welcome. The air carried a crispness that invigorated our spirits, as if it whispered tales of forgotten legends and ancient mysteries.
With each step we took, the forest welcomed us into its secret realm. Our senses were intoxicated by the sweet aroma of pine needles underfoot, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil. Sunlight, filtered through the canopy above, created dappled patterns on the forest floor, like nature's own mesmerizing tapestry.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the campsite, we gathered around the fire pit. Amelia, our adventurous and nature-loving daughter, was brimming with excitement at the prospect of building a fire.
Amelia's eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, her voice filled with anticipation. "Dad, I can't wait to make the fire! Can I help? Please?"
A smile stretched across my face, mirroring the twinkle in her eyes. I nodded, appreciating her eagerness to participate in this age-old ritual of outdoor adventure.
"Absolutely, Amelia," I replied, my voice laced with fatherly pride. "You can gather some dry branches and twigs. Just be careful not to venture too far into the forest."
With an enthusiastic nod, Amelia seized a small, weathered basket and darted towards the beckoning trees and rustling underbrush.
"Watch out for the prickly bushes, sweetheart!" I called out, a touch of caution in my voice. "And remember, stay within sight!"
Her voice, tinged with determination, floated back to me on the gentle breeze. "Don't worry, Dad! I'll find the best branches!"
As Amelia vanished into the verdant embrace of the forest, my wife, Emma, emerged from our trusty RV. Her graceful movements belied her quiet excitement as she retrieved the carefully packed food provisions from within.
Emma's nimble fingers unwrapped the ingredients with a practiced ease, her eyes glimmering with a mix of culinary artistry and familial warmth. She hummed a gentle tune under her breath, her love for nurturing our family evident in every deliberate action.
Meanwhile, I busied myself by unloading the essential cooking equipment from the storage compartments. With the clinking of metal against metal, I extracted the gleaming grill grate and stoked the coals, preparing the stage for a delicious outdoor feast.
After a while, with a skip in her step and a glimmer of triumph in her eyes, Amelia emerged from the lush foliage, clutching a trove of dry branches and twigs within the sturdy basket. Yet, nestled in the crook of her other arm was an unexpected treasure—an enchanting discovery that had captured her young heart.
Amelia's voice bubbled with excitement as she approached, her words tumbling forth. "Dad! Look what I found! It's a small Teddy bear! Isn't it adorable?"
Curiosity sparked within me as I studied the small, weathered toy she presented. Its once vibrant colors had faded, its fur slightly disheveled, but it bore an undeniable charm. A silent narrative unfolded before my eyes, envisioning the laughter and companionship this cherished possession once brought to another child.
A mixture of caution and wonder mingled in my voice as I questioned, "Where did you find it, sweetheart? It seems someone may have lost it."
Amelia's face radiated with innocence and genuine affection for her newfound friend. "I found it near a tree, Daddy. Maybe another family played here, and the Teddy bear got left behind. Can I keep it, please?"
My instinctual protective nature rose, a desire to shield her from the potential disappointments that accompany lost treasures. Yet, a tender understanding blossomed within me. This small act of generosity and acceptance would foster her sense of empathy and compassion.
Considering her wide-eyed enthusiasm, I yielded to the warmth in my heart. "Alright, Amelia," I relented with a gentle smile. "If it brings you joy and reminds you of this beautiful adventure, then you can keep it."
Amelia's jubilant squeal filled the air, punctuating the acceptance of her request. With an affectionate hug, she embraced her newfound companion, promising it a future filled with endless tea parties and imaginary adventures.
Afer I set the fire, with a satisfying crackle, the flames sprang to life, dancing and flickering in a mesmerizing rhythm. The golden tendrils reached towards the night sky, casting a warm glow upon our faces. The radiant heat embraced us, dispelling the chill of the evening air as we gathered around the enchanting inferno.
I meticulously arranged the equipment we had brought, positioning the sturdy metal grill over the roaring fire. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of seasoned meat, sizzling and sputtering as it made contact with the heated grates. The tantalizing melody of crackling embers serenaded our senses, a symphony of anticipation and contentment.
My wife, her eyes sparkling with both determination and tenderness, deftly prepared the ingredients that would transform into a feast of flavors. The rhythmic symphony of chopping, the aromatic dance of herbs and spices, and the gentle sizzle of ingredients meeting the heated pan created a harmonious tableau of culinary artistry.
Amelia, wide-eyed and filled with wonder, took her place by my side, her small hands outstretched in eager anticipation. I showed her how to position the meat on the grill, carefully instructing her on the art of achieving the perfect sear. Her youthful enthusiasm ignited a sense of pride within me, as I witnessed her embracing the opportunity to contribute to our family's culinary adventure.
“We still need some firewood. I will get some until it gets darker. I will be right back!,” I told Emma and I delved deeper into the wilderness.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, a symphony of nature enveloping me as I wandered amidst towering trees. My fingers brushed against dry leaves and moss-covered rocks, searching for the elusive twigs and branches necessary to further kindle our flames.
But my curiosity led me further ahead, my gaze alighting upon something beyond the ordinary. "What the hell," I murmured, my voice was like a whisper amidst the wilderness.
My my heart was quickening as I glimpsed the outline of a vehicle amidst the foliage. It stood solitary and still, like a relic from another time.
I hesitated whether or not to go closer, my instincts prickling with unease.
"Perhaps just another camper," I told myself, though doubt lingered in my mind.
I cautiously approached the abandoned camper van, each step echoing in the eerie silence of the forest. A sense of unease crept over me, intensifying with every closer stride. The van, though not ancient, bore the unmistakable marks of neglect and abandonment, standing alone like a forgotten relic amidst the wilderness.
"Hello?" My voice broke the stillness, but no reply greeted my inquiry. It was as if the very air held its breath, shrouding the scene in an unsettling silence. Abandonment hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the once vibrant camping spot.
My eyes scanned the scene, taking in the disarray that surrounded the camper. Camping equipment lay strewn haphazardly, a jumbled testament to the hurried departure of its previous occupants. But it was the ominous black stain on the ground that drew my attention, a stark reminder of some past calamity, perhaps a fire that had ravaged this place.
As I moved closer, my gaze was drawn to a chilling sight—a massive scraping marred the side of the camper van, like a grotesque scar etched into its metal skin. It seemed almost as if some colossal force had clawed at the vehicle, leaving behind a haunting testament to its power.
The stillness of the campsite was oppressive, suffocating, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation of some unseen threat. Not even the birds dared to break the silence with their song, lending an unsettling quality to the desolation that surrounded me.
With a shiver of apprehension, I realized that I stood on the precipice of a mystery, the unanswered questions hanging in the air like a thick fog. What had transpired in this forsaken place? And more importantly, was I truly alone in this silent wilderness?
The hairs were raising on the back of my neck and walked away from the silent sentinel of metal and glass. I retraced my steps through the labyrinth of trees, the distant echo of our footsteps mingling with the whispers of the forest. I was immediately relieved as the warmth of our camp awaited me and I was not sure if I should tell Emma that I had seen another RV deeper in the forest. I decided not to, it might ruin the warm athmosphere of our moments.
The crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of the cooking meat wove an enchanting tapestry around us, casting a spell that encapsulated the essence of togetherness. As the minutes ticked by, we shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of familial love. The darkness around us seemed to fade away, replaced by the glow of our shared experiences and the promise of a memorable night.
In that moment, it was not just the flickering flames that illuminated our campsite, but the intangible bond we shared as a family. We were not merely three individuals gathered around a fire, but a tapestry of love, connection, and shared dreams. The crackling fire served as a beacon, illuminating the path towards a future filled with shared adventures, cherished memories, and an unbreakable bond that would withstand the tests of time.
As we reveled in the joyous harmony of food and company, the night sky glittered above, painting a breathtaking backdrop for our intimate gathering. The stars, like sparkling witnesses, bore witness to the magic that unfolded in that humble campsite.
In the symphony of crackling flames and joyful chatter, we savored the beauty of simplicity, finding solace and fulfillment in the warmth of our shared presence. It was in this tranquil moment, surrounded by the wilderness and enveloped in the embrace of our loved ones, that we realized the true essence of life's blessings—a serene respite from the world's chaos, and the unrivaled joy of being together, just the three of us.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the embrace of darkness, a palpable chill crept into the air, sending shivers down our spines. Wisps of mist curled and swirled around us, lending an ethereal quality to the night.
Feeling the temperature drop, I retrieved a thick, cozy blanket from the confines of our trusty RV. Its soft fabric, woven with memories of past adventures, held the promise of warmth and comfort. Gently draping the blanket over Emma and Amelia, I ensured their precious forms were shielded from the encroaching cold.
Amelia, her energy waning with each passing moment, fought against the drowsiness tugging at her eyelids. Her yawns, like tiny symphonies of weariness, punctuated the tranquility of the evening. Sensing her fatigue, I knelt down beside her, my voice filled with gentle concern.
"Sweetheart, it's getting late and you look tired," I whispered, my breath carrying warmth in the crisp night air. "Would you like to go to bed?"
Amelia's eyes, still sparkling with the remnants of excitement, met mine. A yawn escaped her lips, a delicate melody of exhaustion. However, her spirit remained steadfast, determined to revel in every last moment of our outdoor escapade.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her voice a soft murmur. "I'm not sleepy yet. I want to stay here and enjoy the campfire."
Her response resonated with the boundless enthusiasm of youth, and I couldn't help but smile at her unwavering spirit. In that instant, I understood that this was a rare and precious opportunity—a chance to immerse ourselves in the magic of the night, to surrender to the allure of the crackling flames and the mysteries concealed within the darkness.
Then I thought of the camper van that I had just seen and for some reason, it made me feel uneasy. Trying to ignore it, I settled myself beside Amelia, the fire's radiant glow casting enchanting shadows upon our faces. Emma, her hand tenderly clasping mine, joined us, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the whispering night.
As we sat there, the crackling fire casting an otherworldly glow upon our little circle, a symphony of silence enveloped us. The distant chirping of nocturnal creatures mingled with the soft crackling of the firewood, creating a harmonious lullaby that serenaded us into a state of tranquil contentment.
Stars, like celestial lanterns, punctured the ink-black canvas above, their shimmering brilliance a testament to the vastness of the universe and the infinite possibilities that lay beyond our mortal reach. The fragrant scent of pine mingled with the smoky essence of the campfire, intoxicating our senses and anchoring us to this moment of fleeting serenity.
Time seemed suspended, as if the world had paused to allow us this respite from the frenetic pace of life. We basked in the warmth of the fire, our souls nourished by the shared silence and the bond forged through the simple act of being present with one another.
But amidst the tranquil symphony of nature, a rustling in the nearby underbrush shattered the stillness. The sudden disruption reverberated through the air, jolting us from our serene reverie. Emma's eyes widened, her hand instinctively tightening its grip around mine. Amelia, her youthful curiosity piqued, looked to me for reassurance.
"What was that, Daddy?" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames.
I cast a soothing smile in her direction, my attempt to allay any growing fears. "It's probably just an animal, sweetheart," I reassured her, my voice carrying a calm certainty. "Maybe a deer or a boar exploring the woods. Nothing to be worried about."
Yet, as the rustling persisted, growing louder and more distinct, even I couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease gnawing at the edges of my composure. The sound seemed to possess an undeniable weight, suggesting a presence larger and more formidable than initially anticipated.
Emma's eyes darted nervously between the surrounding trees, her senses attuned to the slightest movement. "Are you sure, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with apprehension. "It sounds quite... substantial."
Instinctively, I rose to my feet, my protective instincts surging within me. "Stay here," I instructed, my voice firm but laden with an undercurrent of caution. "I'll go check it out. It's probably just passing through."
With cautious steps, I ventured toward the origin of the enigmatic rustling, my ears straining to decipher its source. I thought about the camper van. Was it possible that they could see our fire and wanted some company? That sounded ridiculous. Or could they have been in trouble? I should have checked that vehicle out.
Each crackle of twigs underfoot seemed to amplify in the stillness of the night, magnifying my senses. As I neared the treeline, anticipation mingled with a lingering sense of trepidation.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rustling ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The once vibrant symphony of nature now seemed muted, as if holding its breath in anticipation. I scanned the darkness, searching for any signs of movement, my heart thudding against my chest.
Slowly, I retraced my steps back to the warmth and safety of our campfire haven, my senses on high alert. Returning to my family, I wore a reassuring smile, hoping to convey a sense of calm despite the lingering mystery.
"It's alright," I assured them, my voice infused with a newfound conviction. "Whatever it was, it must have moved along. We're safe here."
Relief washed over their faces, their tense postures gradually easing. We settled back into our makeshift sanctuary, the familiarity of the crackling fire offering a comforting embrace. Our senses remained heightened, vigilant for any lingering signs of the unseen visitor.
Just as a semblance of calm began to settle over our campsite, an otherworldly roar pierced the night air, tearing through the fabric of serenity. The sound, far from the natural symphony we had grown accustomed to, possessed a menacing quality that resonated deep within our souls. Its metallic timbre reverberated through the darkness, sending icy tendrils of fear snaking down our spines.
Amelia's eyes widened in terror, her small frame trembling with the weight of the unknown. Emma's expression mirrored the trepidation etched across our faces. This was no ordinary sound—a realization that hung heavy in the air.
"That... that doesn't sound like a deer or a boar," Emma stammered, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and dread. "What could it possibly be?"
Before we could ponder further, the deafening roar reverberated through the night once more, closer this time. Its proximity shattered any illusions of safety that had momentarily settled over us. The air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric sense of urgency. Our instincts kicked into overdrive, urging us to abandon our belongings and seek shelter.
"Leave everything!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency. "We have to get to the RV now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, we sprang into action. Emma snatched Amelia's hand, her grip tight and resolute, while I scooped up our precious daughter into my arms.
“My bear,” she screamed and picked up her new toy, her tiny hands clung to the worn bear with an intensity that belied her tender age.
The campfire, once a symbol of warmth and tranquility, was abandoned in an instant as we sprinted toward the sanctuary of the RV.
The world around us blurred into a frenzy of motion as our legs carried us with desperate urgency. Fear propelled us forward, fueling our determination to reach safety. With each pounding heartbeat, the roar grew louder, its ominous resonance seemingly at our heels, a predator closing in on its prey.
Finally, we reached the welcoming embrace of the RV, its sturdy frame offering a semblance of refuge from the unknown terror that lurked beyond. I swiftly deposited Amelia onto the seat, her wide eyes reflecting the same mixture of fear and relief that mirrored our own.
As I fumbled with the keys, my hands trembling with a cocktail of adrenaline and anxiety, I spared a glance back at the abandoned campsite. The darkness swallowed our belongings, the remnants of our interrupted evening left behind as a haunting reminder of the inexplicable menace that had disrupted our peaceful retreat.
With a trembling hand, I inserted the key into the ignition, the engine roaring to life in harmony with the echoes of the unknown creature outside. The RV became our fortress, its metal walls shielding us from the terrors that lurked beyond.
As we peeled away from the once idyllic campsite, the wailing roar echoed in the distance. Our hearts raced in unison, our breaths coming in jagged gasps as we sought solace in the sanctuary of the rolling vehicle.
With a trembling hand gripping the steering wheel, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, urging the RV to accelerate. The vehicle responded with a surge of power, propelling us forward with a newfound urgency. The engine roared in unison with the thundering beat of my heart, creating a symphony of adrenaline-fueled chaos.
As the wheels churned beneath us, the surrounding trees became a blur of green and brown, their branches reaching out like ghostly specters in our wake. The world outside the windows shifted in a dizzying dance, a kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses and fleeting shadows.
The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting elongated shadows that flickered and danced upon the passing foliage. Each passing plant and tree seemed to contort and twist in the ethereal glow, their distorted forms morphing into grotesque silhouettes of their former selves.
A heavy silence settled within the RV, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic whoosh of the rushing wind. Our breaths remained caught in our chests, suspended in a shared state of shock and disbelief. The weight of what we had witnessed hung in the air, a chilling reminder that the boundaries of our world were not as fixed as we had once believed.
The scene we had left behind in the forest haunted our thoughts—a glimpse into a realm far removed from our own, something demonic, something that defied explanation. The image of that otherworldly roar and the malevolent presence it implied lingered like a scar etched into our memories, forever imprinted upon our souls.
Minutes stretched into agonizing hours as we raced along the winding road, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Our collective relief remained just out of reach, overshadowed by the lingering unease that clung to us like a specter. The distance between the forest and the main road seemed interminable, every curve and bend in the road prolonging our escape.
Finally, the familiar sight of the main road materialized before us, a beacon of respite in the darkness. As the RV merged onto its paved embrace, a collective sigh of relief cascaded through the cabin. The weight that had burdened our shoulders began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of safety and security.
Yet, despite the relief that washed over us, the memory of the demonic encounter refused to dissipate as we were heading home. We knew that what we had witnessed in the depths of the forest would forever remain a haunting enigma, a testament to the boundless mysteries that lurk on the fringes of our understanding.
With weary bodies and restless minds, we arrived back at the familiar sanctuary of our home. The weight of the night's harrowing encounter clung to us like a heavy shroud, making the simple act of finding solace in sleep an arduous task. We all slept in the same bed that night. Tossing and turning beneath the covers, we battled against the remnants of fear that lingered within the recesses of our thoughts.
Morning finally broke through the darkness, casting its tentative rays of light upon our weary faces. The sun's gentle warmth filtered through the curtains, offering a glimmer of respite from the lingering shadows of the night. We emerged from our sleep-deprived haze, grateful for the sanctuary that our home provided.
Gathering around the breakfast table, our shared silence spoke volumes. We sought solace in the simple act of breaking bread together, a familiar routine that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the lingering unease. No words were spoken of the night's horrors; instead, we focused on the mundane tasks of the morning, the clinking of cutlery and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as a comforting backdrop to our collective attempt at healing.
As the day unfolded, we busied ourselves with the routine tasks, finding solace in the familiar rhythms. Dusting shelves, tending to neglected plants, and tidying up the remnants of the night's chaos became acts of therapy, a means of grounding ourselves in the reassuring normalcy of domesticity.
The weight of exhaustion settled upon our shoulders, and we allowed ourselves moments of respite as the day wore on. Sunday, a day of rest, offered a reprieve. We retreated to the cozy corners of our home, seeking solace in the embrace of soft couches and plush pillows.
As the hours slipped away, a quiet calm enveloped our home. The once-turbulent waves of fear and uncertainty settled into a gentle ebb and flow. Laughter and conversation, began to permeate the air, intermingling with the familiar sounds of a household in motion.
As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow through the living room window, we settled down in front of the TV, seeking solace in laughter and lightheartedness.
I reached for the remote control, ready to immerse ourselves in the comedic world of a streaming service, when something caught our attention. The TV screen flickered to life, displaying the urgent and captivating headlines of the news. A mixture of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension filled the room, prompting me to pause and leave the news channel playing.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, delivering the shocking report of a missing family. My wife leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the TV, her voice trembling with concern. Amelia, her eyes wide with curiosity, leaned closer to the TV, her Teddy bear still clutched tightly in her arms as she was listening to the newsreader.
“This is a breaking news update on a harrowing incident that has shaken the community to its core. The Hudson family, who embarked on a seemingly routine hiking trip into the serene depths of the nearby forest several weeks ago, has tragically met a devastating fate. Today, authorities have confirmed the discovery and identification of their camper van and remains, a discovery that has left investigators, medical examiners, and locals alike in a state of shock and disbelief. The process of identifying the bodies was nothing short of a nightmare for the dedicated team of forensic experts. The unimaginable horror that unfolded in those woods rendered their task exceptionally challenging. Their bodies, torn apart by an unknown and unimaginable force, presented investigators with an enigma that defied explanation. Their positions were grotesquely twisted, their injuries inexplicable and mind-boggling. According to the investigators, an unknown force seriously damaged their RV as well. Medical examiners, renowned for their expertise, were left dumbfounded as they grappled with the mysterious circumstances surrounding this tragic event. The sheer brutality of their demise left them searching for answers that seemed to lie just beyond their reach. The bite marks, enormous in size and ferocity, left on the bodies only added to the perplexity of the situation. Astonishingly, DNA testing revealed that these bite marks belonged to an unidentified creature, sending shockwaves of fear and disbelief through the community. The repercussions of this shocking revelation have reverberated throughout the town, leaving residents on edge and gripped by a pervasive sense of fear and uncertainty. The once serene forest, a place of solace and tranquility, now holds untold horrors that have shattered the peace and shattered the lives of the Hudson family. Authorities advise everyone not to go into the forest until they find out what happened and what killed the family.”
As the newsreader went on we all stopped eating our popocorn.
“In light of these disturbing developments, it is my duty to advise against venturing into the forest at this time. The safety and security that once accompanied our tranquil natural surroundings have been shattered, replaced by an aura of uncertainty and fear. Folks, we cannot ignore the evidence before us, the evidence that points to an unknown and terrifying presence within those woods. I understand the allure of nature's embrace, the desire to explore, to seek solace, and to reconnect with the world around us. However, in this moment, I implore you to prioritize your safety and exercise caution. The risk is simply too great, and the consequences too dire to ignore. I urge you to remain vigilant, to report any suspicious activities or unusual occurrences to the authorities immediately. Your eyes and ears are our greatest assets in keeping our town safe. Together, we can overcome this darkness and restore a sense of security to our beloved community. In the coming days and weeks, we will keep you updated on the progress of our investigations,” the country sheriff said to the reporter.
"According to the ancient tales of our indigenous tribes," the newsreader's voice reverberated with a solemn tone, "the depths of this forest are said to be haunted by a sinister entity known as the Black Beast." As the words hung heavy in the air, the camera panned over the tranquil landscape, capturing the rustic charm of a small Indian village nestled amidst the wilderness. Suddenly, the screen flickered to life, revealing the weathered visage of an elderly Indian man, his eyes bearing the weight of centuries-old wisdom.
"The Black Beast," the elder's voice resonated with a mixture of reverence and dread, "has cast its shadow over these lands for generations." His weathered hands gestured emphatically as he spoke, as if summoning forth the very essence of the creature from the depths of memory. "It is a creature of terror, a specter that prowls the heart of the forest, its presence a harbinger of doom."
The camera zoomed in, capturing every line etched upon the elder's face, each wrinkle a testament to the trials endured under the watchful gaze of the Black Beast. "We know not how it selects its victims," he continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resignation, "nor why it chooses to spare some while condemning others to a fate worse than death."
The picture went back to the studio again.
“As you have heard, these are just local legends of course. We will continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. Our hearts go out to the Hudson family and all those affected by this unimaginable tragedy. Please stay tuned for further updates as we strive to unravel the mysteries that lie hidden within the depths of our world,” the newsreader said and they showed some photos of the Hudson family.
The images on the screen showed their smiling faces, frozen in time. The thought that the camper van I saw in the forest was the crime scene of a brutal and unexplained murder not far from our camp, sent chills down on my spine. This was something I kept to myself. But we all thought about the same thing: the next ones could have been us.
2024.05.12 16:00 BrodogIsMyName Frontier Fantasy - Chap 38
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Edited by sensei WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Everything had gone exceptionally well for the farmer, despite the daunting task forced into her talons. Kegara had ordered her to begin a march east in search of the expected banished by sunrise—not alone, but in a group of fourteen others. She thought it was too many for such a task, and would assuredly catch the ire of the abhorrent; the more Malkrin present, the more creatures would pursue them…
It was a risk. One she was willing to take if her beloved was safe, but he pleaded for her to find a way to avoid it. Unfortunately, were she to stay, it would land her in the worst of Kegara's rage. The orange-skinned female would have been made a gruesome example for those who disobeyed, tied up in the center of the camp and… She did not wish to think of what ghastly fate would have awaited her.
So, in the dark of night, her and the baker’s plan of escape was struck. Perhaps it was foolish to leave their safety behind, but considering the blood-moon and forced orders, was it truly ‘safe?’ They would gather their pitiful belongings and set off in the direction of the previously ostracized members—the water worshiper, and four others. There was little hope of finding them, less so after the blood-moon, but with so few of them, there was still a chance they evaded the beasts and the warped oddities of the mainland altogether. Maybe if the field hand and her mate could find them, they could start their own settlement. At least, those were her thoughts when she set out…
Her initial reaction to being thrust into the open wilderness was nothing short of horror. Indistinct animalistic screeches, otherworldly hums, and unsettling creaks from trees sent chills down her spine throughout the night. Hazy shadows underneath the dim moonlight crawled like creatures, stalking… prowling around the mated pair. Every step she made was made in pure uncertainty, every pace bringing her further into an abyss of unseen nightmares. Maybe Kegara would not have punished her so severely… Maybe it would have been best to stay where it was safe.
But, she continued. She stayed strong. She had to.
They had already ventured too far, and it was her job to protect her love. Her tail wrapped possessively around his waist as he stuck close to her. Morning would break soon, and they would be far away from the brutish paladin… Free to start anew. It would be difficult, but the two of them were far from incapable of fending for themselves; they learned enough in the way of survival from their time on the mainland and their respective professions, despite both being from the Golden City.
- - - - -
They were able to survive the night, persevering well into the day by making crude implements and harvesting what they could. They had even managed to discover a large cave perfect for their habitation! It was dry and large enough for a fire, though it went deeper than expected. Food and cooking arrangements were their prerogatives, so they elected not to scour it any further as it would only be a waste of their time. They worked tirelessly until the sun set beyond the red expanse of trees. Her love busied himself with making the smooth gray walls into a home by gathering small resources and forming makeshift beddings, while she had gone out to hunt. By the luck of the Mountain God, she managed to bring back not one but two feathered creatures, each of which were more than plump enough to feed the mated pair for the evening.
Her aching feet patted against the grass, the blades poking her worn soles. The vegetation swayed from side to side in the weak breeze, almost appearing to celebrate her small victory with her. The cavern entrance came into view, its shape too small for her frills to fit under. The edges were covered in pinkish moss, giving it a distinct feel compared to the rest of the biome. Perhaps it was a sign of the Mountain God’s will for them to inhabit it. The moist malleable moss stretched further inside, resembling small veins inside the larger chasm.
She ducked underneath the mouth of the cave, appreciating the yellow reflections of an ongoing fire from within, each flick casting long shadows over every rock edge. Yet once she entered the homely cavity, the flames were the only thing present… Her eyes scanned the room for Baker, only finding an unused leafy bed, piles of edible berries, and a stack of wood. A shock of anxiety bolted up her spine, sharply settling on her frills like cold ice. Where was her mate?
She stepped forward, her webbed toes pressing into… liquid. Her eyes shot toward the ground, the orange-skinned female only now realizing how slick the floor really was. Viscous moisture clung to her leg, stretching across like mucus. The room was… dry before. Her initial thought that it was blood, but that was easily proven false by the thin film’s clear color. That did not ease her worries, however; her betrothed was still out of sight. Perhaps he left to forage, or was possibly looking for her?
A deadened wet thwack from further inside the cave echoed throughout the room, drawing her attention and causing her ears to perk up. Baker…?
She squinted down the black corridor, its sturdy stone now only reflecting the low howl of the cavern’s natural wind. Her eyes stayed locked on it as she slowly grabbed a makeshift torch and set it alight with the campfire. It had to have been her mate down there. Perhaps the tunnel curved so that she was unable to see his torchlight? What was he doing in the dark? Was he searching for something? Food perhaps?
She was already heading toward him before she considered any other possibility. Short drips accompanied her footfalls into the talon-width thick liquid that proliferated along the ground, grabbing onto her every time she raised her foot with a disgusting sucking noise. Her skin soon felt a similar spreading moisture from the humid cave, a low heat building up as she went. It would have been welcoming if not for the sick feeling that settled in her stomach.
The flickers of her torch illuminated the smooth cave walls and the ever-present pink moss that accompanied them. The ‘flora’ grew in volume and presence, stretching everywhere in random lines, often crossing and connecting with one another into larger segments. It eventually lost its fuzzy texture, only a moist reflective red taking its place. The way it almost appeared to… pulse in sync with the surrounding ambience only furthered the notion of veins and arteries…
A creeping sense of wrongness etched itself in her mind. Her ears slowly drooped down and her back hunched as her wide eyes failed to make out anything a pace or two in front of her. She scoured the blackness for anything and everything as the stone path ebbed and flowed, bringing her further down into the heart of Ershah.
thwack
A startling yet familiar noise halted her advance. She stepped back, swiveling her head around wildly to locate its source. Nothing made its presence known. There was only a permeating darkness within the… tunnel… She froze. When did the corridor become so large? Just before, she was able to stretch her arms to reach both sides of the walls, but now… Now it was open like the ocean, the blackness surrounding her entirely, obscuring… everything. She couldn’t see the entrance, nor the ceiling. Her pitiful torch illuminated the ground below her and nothing more.
Plip... Plip… Plip. The dripping continued, now suddenly an overbearing presence… like that of a predator’s breath riding down one’s neck.
Her breathing quickened, eyes widening. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Hesitant paces backward drew her into what she presumed was the direction she came from. It was no use. Further and further she went into the abyss, finding nothing but more of the tenebrous expanse.
The only true sense afforded to her was hearing… Every stifled breath, every wet footstep, and every flick of her torch felt deafening and… revealing. She was but a spark in the wider cavern, waving herself down as prey in the unseen eyes of what awaited her. Something could have been right behind her, and she would have been none the wiser… especially with no wall to guard her back…
A shiver ebbed through her frills. Would it be wise to suffocate her only flame to cover her presence? She stopped her palm from doing so, realizing that the fire was her only light. If its illumination perished, she would be trapped in the abyss with no way out… She needed to leave. She had to find the tunnel. It was—
“Fa…r...mer?” a voice croaked out, its intent shaky and bogged down in black tar.
Her shoulders stiffened, back straightening as she turned toward its direction. It was… Baker’s… but it felt uncanny… foreign. Was that even his? It had to be. M-Maybe he was harmed, too injured to move? Perhaps it was a broken frill? It would make sense. She had to find her mate… no matter how much his pained voice terrified her. That was why she was here in the first place…
The thickness of the viscous ground liquid increased as nervous footsteps brought her closer, the air around her getting warmer with each pace. She called out hesitantly, praying for a positive response.
“B-Baker? Are you there?”
Another wet, fleshy sound echoed through the large cavern, followed by a sickening crack. Then, his voice returned. It was much clearer this time, despite the aura of unsettling… distortion to it.
“Come… closer.”
Her steps were tentative, but she continued forward. Everything around her screamed something was amiss, but that painful string in her heart told her to never let her lover go. He was in pain. He was clearly suffering. Why should she ignore the one who warmed her heart with a simple smile just because she was perturbed by unproven nervousness?
Labored breaths filled her ears as she descended a small incline toward her mate. The shin-high murky liquid at the bottom was ignored, only becoming a small nuisance as her long strides carried her across the unknown fluid. Her motions caused it to sway in all directions, the ripples and turbidity preventing her from seeing what caused the squishy feeling beneath her feet. It smelled putrid, though not like that of rot… The scent was something she could not place, yet it was consuming with how it pierced her nostrils with its presence. It hardly mattered. She was close to him, she could feel his very presence in front of her. She could almost hear the breathing of…
Her torch lit up a rock… no… a figure. It was upright, but its head was pointing downwards. She couldn’t see the legs well, but she did notice how its… his familiar gray arms hung limply.
Baker!
Joy and anxiousness ran thick within her intent. “My dear! Are you okay? W-What has happened to you?”
She received no response for an unsettlingly long moment before his head shook… loosely… Like that of a puppet, reminding her of the black abyss that surrounded everywhere his body was not… It hid something.
“Come… Closer.”
“…W-What? No… M-My Dear… I…” In a moment of fear she raised her torch closer, illuminating everything.
Flesh surrounded him wholly, replacing his legs with undulating tubes and wet meat. Tendrils attached to his back, pulsing from their ceiling-bound origins. His limp arms moved slowly… falling… melting. The very skin slopped off onto into the pile of red beneath him with a sick thwack.
She jumped backwards, but the viscous liquid beneath her held tight. She couldn’t move. Her torch flickered and flared as she fumbled with her footing.
Lumps and nodules swelled from that thing’s chest, the very organs within rearranging. Deafening cracks and vile squelching echoed. The skin down his center slowly tore itself apart, strings of sinew breaking like twine to reveal malformed limbs within.
She ripped her legs from the grappling pond beneath, doing everything in her power to turn away.
But it was no use.
Bolts of force perforated her body. Agony seared every surface of her body.
The chest had burst open, sending several tendrils right through her. They squirmed and extended into her, moving like worms. They ripped and melded to her own flesh. Roaring pain flowed through her being like fire and lightning, consuming her wholly.
She screamed, but nothing escaped her lungs. Blood and tissue filled them. She needed to rip at the invading terror, but could not move. The red abomination pulled them for her; a sickening puppet of muscle.
Everything faded. No pain. No breathing. No sight.
The last thing she saw were the sockets in which her beloved’s gorgeous yellow eyes once laid, now replaced with pulsing meat.
She missed them… dearly.
\= = = = =
Several days of ridicule and a merciless sea voyage were sure to have an adverse effect on one’s mental state—being cast out of one’s own religion even more so. Some would perhaps cope with such by lashing out against those higher up the mountain than themselves. Others might resign themselves to prayer and labor, hoping to fit back into place within God’s graces. However, an exceptional case may change the way one perceives their circumstance.
The script-keeper and her village-mates were hardy people, having survived the worst of the Gods’ trials and then some—rogue waves from the water worshippers, grand storms from the Sky Goddess, and great famines brought from those who sinned before the Mountain God. They persevered through their community, pooling what little they had and relying upon one another to get through. She had seen it for fifty winters.
Now, eight of them have been stripped of those they became interdependent on, thrown forth into an uncertain abyss with only the clothes on their backs. Yet, by the luck of the Gods, the very shore they came upon happened to be owned by that of a diety-sent. Perhaps it was a sign from the Gods that there was hope for them yet…
And it took all of a singular night to prove that assumption correct. The four Malkrin that followed the star-sent freely regaled their struggles with the vile wilderness and the cruelty of the only other settlement before they met with the Creator. Their opinions on Kegara’s settlement were duly noted, but not taken to heart as they were just that: opinions. The script-keeper would have to see it for herself; feeble belief in the words of few should not sway the mind of someone, especially with her profession. Still, the stories of the abhorrent were taken much more seriously, since despite the confidence shared by the few females about defeating them, the elderly Malkrin could certainly see their ears droop in disquietude when the topic was broached. Furthermore, the other more elusive star-sent refused entirely to elaborate on her experience with the beasts when the paladin wrapped her into the conversation.
Fine new clothes, filling meals, and protective castles could only do so much… In the splendor and awe, the script-keeper understood it could only cover up the aching wounds each of the villagers had come here with. She knew the lumberjack quite well, commonly having to assist her with purchasing and selling items across the sea… the very same sea that now separated the woman from her mate. God knows how the wood-cutter felt now.
All the elder knew from the sparse conversations she had with the orange-skinned female was that she wished not to think of it anymore. To which, the harvester did just that, delving into the work allotted to her without a second thought, and basking in the benefits of the star-sent. Much was the same for the others from their island—their hopes of returning to the Land Kingdom having already been thoroughly sundered by the inquisitors. The script-keeper was not privy to everyone’s pains, but she knew they were similarly prepared to shelve them away in service of building themselves anew with this peculiar situation.
\= = = = =
Female Malkrin eat a lot. Seriously, all the meal boxes Harrison and Akula had prepared were ran through like crab rangoons at a buffet. There were a few left, but certainly not enough for dinner that night—and especially not for the winter, much to his displeasure. The engineer wasn’t looking forward to cooking anymore than he already had… But, he had a trick up his sleeve. Not only did the green fisherwoman know how to use the kitchen, but their little camp just so happened to have another who was experienced in the culinary arts.
Around the time they put their tools down for lunch, Harrison was approached by the pink-colored chef who was assisting with some of the masonry prior. He was apprehensive, yet his eyes were practically sparkling when he asked about the barbecue sauce, spices, and common vegetables. The engineer had a bit of time before he needed to get back to work, so he gave in. They conversed about it over their meal, the human explaining the ingredients and methods of making several types of dishes while the several Malkrin in attendance listened intently.
That was around the time he got the idea: why not have Akula teach the cook how to use the barrack’s kitchen? She was pretty reluctant to return to cooking… until he reintroduced her to her new sous-chef, giving her the task of overseeing the male’s modern culinary equipment and meat smoking tutorial.
Harrison didn’t know exactly why she seemed happier then. It could have been something about her prejudices, just having someone else to help her, or something… else… That didn’t matter to him. As long as the job was done, he was happy—especially since it meant he could focus on other projects.
Take the entire home they were building for example; it was practically completed by the time the chefs were sent off to make dinner. They were working on it since dawn—the engineer was still incapable of sleeping—digging the foundation behind the barracks, layering the brick walls, and getting the wooden supports down in record time. Having several extra Malkrin around made the labor requirement almost trivial, even if he needed to ensure they were doing the job right by constantly keeping a close eye on them. It also helped how eager some of them were to settle in with their tasks—the fisher twins and the lumberjack specifically.
The new arrivals were definitely a lot more lively than last night, that was for sure. They held onto caution in the morning, but that broke rather quickly after they got more accustomed to Harrison’s group and received basic clothing—literally just sturdy plaid shirts and black pants. Cera’s—the ceramist’s newly accepted name, created by Tracy’s shorthand of her profession—tendency to look out for the group also had a hand in the change from guarded acceptance to genuine and vocal appreciation. She did as much as she could to ease their burden by offering water or a helping hand whenever she and the lumberjack weren’t busy bringing wheelbarrows full of clay to the workshop. The two new males gladly accepted both, but the females were quite set on keeping their honor, completing their share of the work ‘with their own talons.’
Then, there was the juvenile. He didn’t want to force a kid to work, but the decision apparently wasn’t his. She quietly joined her older village-mates in hauling wheelbarrows full of bricks to and from the workshop. She didn’t seem upset nor did she seem too enthused about it. His singular attempt to persuade her otherwise was only returned with a terse shake of her head before she continued working. She didn’t like to show much emotion, that was for sure. Were all Malkrin teens like that, or was it because of her situation? Christ… the fact that she was sent to the mainland without her parents—or at all—rubbed him the wrong way. It was fucked, but at least she would be safe here… or as ‘safe’ as was possible.
That was the other job of the day: defense via the new fabricator. Tracy helped out a good bit with organizing and designing the second barracks for the first half of the day, thoroughly combing through the engineer’s ideas and ripping out the ‘brutalist’ and ‘soul-crushing’ lack of ‘real’ architecture. She inserted her own ideas, further backed up by the input of Craftsman’s prior experience, making for an admittedly more pleasant-looking layout of the house’s exterior and interior. It would end up looking vaguely like a white-brick colonial house, but with less ‘posh noble,’ instead making use of Germanic-style exterior wooden supports. It was just big enough to fit eight Malkrin-sized cots, space for movement between them, and all the basics such as lighting, airflow, and a little bit of storage on top—because, what was a building without storage? Luckily for the tradeswoman, it hardly used any more resources than his original plans, so he allowed it.
After that, Tracy realized there wasn’t much else for her to do, so she returned to their other project. The technician did well in assembling the most basic parts, working well throughout the day to complete the forging and welding components. Again, having someone else to do help with a job that big was a massive blessing, cutting off hours of time he would have had to slave away in the workshop.
Hours of time that he was able to use for overseeing the now-completed barracks, simultaneously teaching the Malkrin and getting a feel for how to best utilize their strengths with a substantial amount of help from the craftsman. The male did a bang-up job at explaining tasks and concepts to the others. Much better than Harrison was able to. Once more, it was a job the engineer was more than happy to let someone else take off his hands. The olive-colored Male was perfect for the job anyway, having the technical know-how and experience explaining similar things to Malkrin back on the islands, so the pioneer trusted the task to be completed with little issue.
Now, the day was finally reaching a close, ending with the settlement eating their dinner by the fire. There were a few more benches made to give everyone a seat. That meant the radius had to be extended somewhat, but that wasn’t anything a bigger fire couldn’t fix. Plus, the alien’s intent meant that he could still hear clearly from anyone around the pyre.
The muted sounds of silverware clanking against meal boxes and plates were muddled by the constant breeze. The flames lazily flickered in all directions, casting shadows along the flowing grass, each person in attendance being doused in a mellow orange. The Malkrin conversed with one another over their meals, each sitting in pairs on the furniture. Shar was out on guard patrol, so Tracy ended up taking the seat beside him. It was a bit of a surprise given how much she preferred to stay in the workshop, but he didn’t mind her taking a break—she deserved it. If anything, it should have been him on the fabrication floor, picking up where she left off.
“…Hey…” Tracy’s soft, worried voice took him from his thoughts.
“Hm?” He lazily looked down at the shorter woman beside him, her legs swinging as they couldn’t quite reach the ground.
She worriedly raised her brows. “You alright, dude? You’ve had some major bruised eye action going on all day. Did you even get any sleep? I didn’t even see you when I woke up.”
“No, I actually didn’t—” He held up a palm, stopping the technician’s troubled response. “—but it’s more because of that potion… thingy… Cera gave me. I don’t feel tired at all.”
Her face contorted in confusion, the shadows cast by the fire’s glow emphasizing it further. “The… potion…? Oh, yeaaaah, right. It was supposed to help you with dizziness, I think, but it also prevents you from feeling tired. How does it even feel? Like taking an energy drink, or something else?”
He held out his arm, tracing a finger along it. “I just feel like I’ve got pins and needles all along my skin… and I don’t feel like sleeping. That’s it really, so sort of like taking a bunch of caffeine.”
Her brows dropped in faux-annoyance. “That can not be healthy for you. Have you checked up on yourself with the scanner? If not for that, then at least the radiation? Maybe the fuzzy stuff is from all those grays of radiation you received?”
“I did… I did, don’t worry. The scanner had nothing besides the usual, so I guess it was just a good bit of caffeine or something… I don’t know. It’ll probably wear off soon, though.”
She nodded, returning her gaze to the fire. Her voice mellowed, just barely loud enough to reach his ears. “Good. The aliens were worried sick about you, yesterday, ya know—Shar ‘specially… and so was I…”
He hardly heard that last part, barely able to piece it together seconds after she muttered it. He wasn’t trying to make them worried, it was just a part of being on this planet. Every day was a new close call. The first blood moon, that pink monster, the workshop ambush, the second blood moon, and now the anomaly field all terrified him, haunting his very dreams with brief flashbacks of those sights and sounds. Though, they all served to teach him, forcing him to stay on his toes and never stay complacent… Which was something he was doing now.
He had plans in the works already—the new fabricator being the crux of at least half of them—but what could he do currently? How could he prepare? Or, at the very least, what could he do to advance the group further?
Their day-to-day jobs had already been discussed, plans for a new wood storage building were already made, and his work on the printer was cut out for him tonight… Okay. Well, what could he prepare for in the future? Defense? Of course, now that people were going to be out doing their own jobs, they would be too spread out to protect everyone at once.
There were two components to any solution for that problem: reconnaissance and protection. The first was self-explanatory. If he had, say, a few dozen drones scouting around where people were, it would take a lot of the surprise out of random swarms. That would give people time to either return to the castles… modules… or prepare themselves to take the bugs on. That led him to the second part. Firearms help to kill spider-crabs, but are also pretty dangerous in the wrong hands… He was more than willing to trust the Malkrin he knew with guns to defend themselves, but he couldn’t just start handing them out to strangers. Maybe in time, though. There were always other means of protection, anyway; Kegara’s camp was apparently alive and well, despite practically being from the stone ages.
Cera, Akula, and Shar were most certainly getting some firepower, that was for sure. He’d have to think about what sort of weapons would suit them. That also brought up the current metal deficit… and his gunpowder was running out quite quickly…
That was definitely something he wanted to get on before the next blood moon. He wanted to revisit that metal cave he saw when the paladin and the fisherwoman got cornered by three colossi. He hadn’t analyzed the chunk of ore he hacked off yet—he’d been pretty damn busy—so it was about time he figured out whether or not he had a nearby source of metals. It would be a damn blessing if it was aluminum or iron, despite only being a surface deposit. No matter what it was, it was sure to be of use.
Then there was the gunpowder issue. The last time he checked, there was enough to last him for at least the next blood-moon, but it wasn’t enough for several other firearms, especially if he wanted anything automatic. There were three main ingredients—potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal—which were essential for the production of any explosives. Charcoal was already solved for them, and potassium nitrate could practically be made out of thin air and water, considering they were right by an ocean. Bless the Ostwald process and acid-base neutralization.
The only real issue was sulfur… Christ, natural elements sucked. Either he had to deal with excessive organic recycling of amino acids… or go and mine the stuff directly, and there weren’t any obvious volcanic deposits or fault lines around. Neither of those methods sounded great.
Again, that would have to come later. He needed that fabricator done first and foremost. Then he could deal with the assorted problems that followed it and, well, every other compiling issue. Material harvesting tools, automatic defenses, larger fortifications, and radio-protectant armor were but a few of the big-ticket items on his mind.
Cera’s concoction was still running through his veins anyway, so he might as well finish the printer while he was at it. It looked like he wasn’t sleeping tonight either.
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Hard work. Good company.
submitted by BrodogIsMyName to HFY [link] [comments]
Edited by sensei WaveOfWire
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Everything had gone exceptionally well for the farmer, despite the daunting task forced into her talons. Kegara had ordered her to begin a march east in search of the expected banished by sunrise—not alone, but in a group of fourteen others. She thought it was too many for such a task, and would assuredly catch the ire of the abhorrent; the more Malkrin present, the more creatures would pursue them…
It was a risk. One she was willing to take if her beloved was safe, but he pleaded for her to find a way to avoid it. Unfortunately, were she to stay, it would land her in the worst of Kegara's rage. The orange-skinned female would have been made a gruesome example for those who disobeyed, tied up in the center of the camp and… She did not wish to think of what ghastly fate would have awaited her.
So, in the dark of night, her and the baker’s plan of escape was struck. Perhaps it was foolish to leave their safety behind, but considering the blood-moon and forced orders, was it truly ‘safe?’ They would gather their pitiful belongings and set off in the direction of the previously ostracized members—the water worshiper, and four others. There was little hope of finding them, less so after the blood-moon, but with so few of them, there was still a chance they evaded the beasts and the warped oddities of the mainland altogether. Maybe if the field hand and her mate could find them, they could start their own settlement. At least, those were her thoughts when she set out…
Her initial reaction to being thrust into the open wilderness was nothing short of horror. Indistinct animalistic screeches, otherworldly hums, and unsettling creaks from trees sent chills down her spine throughout the night. Hazy shadows underneath the dim moonlight crawled like creatures, stalking… prowling around the mated pair. Every step she made was made in pure uncertainty, every pace bringing her further into an abyss of unseen nightmares. Maybe Kegara would not have punished her so severely… Maybe it would have been best to stay where it was safe.
But, she continued. She stayed strong. She had to.
They had already ventured too far, and it was her job to protect her love. Her tail wrapped possessively around his waist as he stuck close to her. Morning would break soon, and they would be far away from the brutish paladin… Free to start anew. It would be difficult, but the two of them were far from incapable of fending for themselves; they learned enough in the way of survival from their time on the mainland and their respective professions, despite both being from the Golden City.
- - - - -
They were able to survive the night, persevering well into the day by making crude implements and harvesting what they could. They had even managed to discover a large cave perfect for their habitation! It was dry and large enough for a fire, though it went deeper than expected. Food and cooking arrangements were their prerogatives, so they elected not to scour it any further as it would only be a waste of their time. They worked tirelessly until the sun set beyond the red expanse of trees. Her love busied himself with making the smooth gray walls into a home by gathering small resources and forming makeshift beddings, while she had gone out to hunt. By the luck of the Mountain God, she managed to bring back not one but two feathered creatures, each of which were more than plump enough to feed the mated pair for the evening.
Her aching feet patted against the grass, the blades poking her worn soles. The vegetation swayed from side to side in the weak breeze, almost appearing to celebrate her small victory with her. The cavern entrance came into view, its shape too small for her frills to fit under. The edges were covered in pinkish moss, giving it a distinct feel compared to the rest of the biome. Perhaps it was a sign of the Mountain God’s will for them to inhabit it. The moist malleable moss stretched further inside, resembling small veins inside the larger chasm.
She ducked underneath the mouth of the cave, appreciating the yellow reflections of an ongoing fire from within, each flick casting long shadows over every rock edge. Yet once she entered the homely cavity, the flames were the only thing present… Her eyes scanned the room for Baker, only finding an unused leafy bed, piles of edible berries, and a stack of wood. A shock of anxiety bolted up her spine, sharply settling on her frills like cold ice. Where was her mate?
She stepped forward, her webbed toes pressing into… liquid. Her eyes shot toward the ground, the orange-skinned female only now realizing how slick the floor really was. Viscous moisture clung to her leg, stretching across like mucus. The room was… dry before. Her initial thought that it was blood, but that was easily proven false by the thin film’s clear color. That did not ease her worries, however; her betrothed was still out of sight. Perhaps he left to forage, or was possibly looking for her?
A deadened wet thwack from further inside the cave echoed throughout the room, drawing her attention and causing her ears to perk up. Baker…?
She squinted down the black corridor, its sturdy stone now only reflecting the low howl of the cavern’s natural wind. Her eyes stayed locked on it as she slowly grabbed a makeshift torch and set it alight with the campfire. It had to have been her mate down there. Perhaps the tunnel curved so that she was unable to see his torchlight? What was he doing in the dark? Was he searching for something? Food perhaps?
She was already heading toward him before she considered any other possibility. Short drips accompanied her footfalls into the talon-width thick liquid that proliferated along the ground, grabbing onto her every time she raised her foot with a disgusting sucking noise. Her skin soon felt a similar spreading moisture from the humid cave, a low heat building up as she went. It would have been welcoming if not for the sick feeling that settled in her stomach.
The flickers of her torch illuminated the smooth cave walls and the ever-present pink moss that accompanied them. The ‘flora’ grew in volume and presence, stretching everywhere in random lines, often crossing and connecting with one another into larger segments. It eventually lost its fuzzy texture, only a moist reflective red taking its place. The way it almost appeared to… pulse in sync with the surrounding ambience only furthered the notion of veins and arteries…
A creeping sense of wrongness etched itself in her mind. Her ears slowly drooped down and her back hunched as her wide eyes failed to make out anything a pace or two in front of her. She scoured the blackness for anything and everything as the stone path ebbed and flowed, bringing her further down into the heart of Ershah.
thwack
A startling yet familiar noise halted her advance. She stepped back, swiveling her head around wildly to locate its source. Nothing made its presence known. There was only a permeating darkness within the… tunnel… She froze. When did the corridor become so large? Just before, she was able to stretch her arms to reach both sides of the walls, but now… Now it was open like the ocean, the blackness surrounding her entirely, obscuring… everything. She couldn’t see the entrance, nor the ceiling. Her pitiful torch illuminated the ground below her and nothing more.
Plip... Plip… Plip. The dripping continued, now suddenly an overbearing presence… like that of a predator’s breath riding down one’s neck.
Her breathing quickened, eyes widening. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Hesitant paces backward drew her into what she presumed was the direction she came from. It was no use. Further and further she went into the abyss, finding nothing but more of the tenebrous expanse.
The only true sense afforded to her was hearing… Every stifled breath, every wet footstep, and every flick of her torch felt deafening and… revealing. She was but a spark in the wider cavern, waving herself down as prey in the unseen eyes of what awaited her. Something could have been right behind her, and she would have been none the wiser… especially with no wall to guard her back…
A shiver ebbed through her frills. Would it be wise to suffocate her only flame to cover her presence? She stopped her palm from doing so, realizing that the fire was her only light. If its illumination perished, she would be trapped in the abyss with no way out… She needed to leave. She had to find the tunnel. It was—
“Fa…r...mer?” a voice croaked out, its intent shaky and bogged down in black tar.
Her shoulders stiffened, back straightening as she turned toward its direction. It was… Baker’s… but it felt uncanny… foreign. Was that even his? It had to be. M-Maybe he was harmed, too injured to move? Perhaps it was a broken frill? It would make sense. She had to find her mate… no matter how much his pained voice terrified her. That was why she was here in the first place…
The thickness of the viscous ground liquid increased as nervous footsteps brought her closer, the air around her getting warmer with each pace. She called out hesitantly, praying for a positive response.
“B-Baker? Are you there?”
Another wet, fleshy sound echoed through the large cavern, followed by a sickening crack. Then, his voice returned. It was much clearer this time, despite the aura of unsettling… distortion to it.
“Come… closer.”
Her steps were tentative, but she continued forward. Everything around her screamed something was amiss, but that painful string in her heart told her to never let her lover go. He was in pain. He was clearly suffering. Why should she ignore the one who warmed her heart with a simple smile just because she was perturbed by unproven nervousness?
Labored breaths filled her ears as she descended a small incline toward her mate. The shin-high murky liquid at the bottom was ignored, only becoming a small nuisance as her long strides carried her across the unknown fluid. Her motions caused it to sway in all directions, the ripples and turbidity preventing her from seeing what caused the squishy feeling beneath her feet. It smelled putrid, though not like that of rot… The scent was something she could not place, yet it was consuming with how it pierced her nostrils with its presence. It hardly mattered. She was close to him, she could feel his very presence in front of her. She could almost hear the breathing of…
Her torch lit up a rock… no… a figure. It was upright, but its head was pointing downwards. She couldn’t see the legs well, but she did notice how its… his familiar gray arms hung limply.
Baker!
Joy and anxiousness ran thick within her intent. “My dear! Are you okay? W-What has happened to you?”
She received no response for an unsettlingly long moment before his head shook… loosely… Like that of a puppet, reminding her of the black abyss that surrounded everywhere his body was not… It hid something.
“Come… Closer.”
“…W-What? No… M-My Dear… I…” In a moment of fear she raised her torch closer, illuminating everything.
Flesh surrounded him wholly, replacing his legs with undulating tubes and wet meat. Tendrils attached to his back, pulsing from their ceiling-bound origins. His limp arms moved slowly… falling… melting. The very skin slopped off onto into the pile of red beneath him with a sick thwack.
She jumped backwards, but the viscous liquid beneath her held tight. She couldn’t move. Her torch flickered and flared as she fumbled with her footing.
Lumps and nodules swelled from that thing’s chest, the very organs within rearranging. Deafening cracks and vile squelching echoed. The skin down his center slowly tore itself apart, strings of sinew breaking like twine to reveal malformed limbs within.
She ripped her legs from the grappling pond beneath, doing everything in her power to turn away.
But it was no use.
Bolts of force perforated her body. Agony seared every surface of her body.
The chest had burst open, sending several tendrils right through her. They squirmed and extended into her, moving like worms. They ripped and melded to her own flesh. Roaring pain flowed through her being like fire and lightning, consuming her wholly.
She screamed, but nothing escaped her lungs. Blood and tissue filled them. She needed to rip at the invading terror, but could not move. The red abomination pulled them for her; a sickening puppet of muscle.
Everything faded. No pain. No breathing. No sight.
The last thing she saw were the sockets in which her beloved’s gorgeous yellow eyes once laid, now replaced with pulsing meat.
She missed them… dearly.
\= = = = =
Several days of ridicule and a merciless sea voyage were sure to have an adverse effect on one’s mental state—being cast out of one’s own religion even more so. Some would perhaps cope with such by lashing out against those higher up the mountain than themselves. Others might resign themselves to prayer and labor, hoping to fit back into place within God’s graces. However, an exceptional case may change the way one perceives their circumstance.
The script-keeper and her village-mates were hardy people, having survived the worst of the Gods’ trials and then some—rogue waves from the water worshippers, grand storms from the Sky Goddess, and great famines brought from those who sinned before the Mountain God. They persevered through their community, pooling what little they had and relying upon one another to get through. She had seen it for fifty winters.
Now, eight of them have been stripped of those they became interdependent on, thrown forth into an uncertain abyss with only the clothes on their backs. Yet, by the luck of the Gods, the very shore they came upon happened to be owned by that of a diety-sent. Perhaps it was a sign from the Gods that there was hope for them yet…
And it took all of a singular night to prove that assumption correct. The four Malkrin that followed the star-sent freely regaled their struggles with the vile wilderness and the cruelty of the only other settlement before they met with the Creator. Their opinions on Kegara’s settlement were duly noted, but not taken to heart as they were just that: opinions. The script-keeper would have to see it for herself; feeble belief in the words of few should not sway the mind of someone, especially with her profession. Still, the stories of the abhorrent were taken much more seriously, since despite the confidence shared by the few females about defeating them, the elderly Malkrin could certainly see their ears droop in disquietude when the topic was broached. Furthermore, the other more elusive star-sent refused entirely to elaborate on her experience with the beasts when the paladin wrapped her into the conversation.
Fine new clothes, filling meals, and protective castles could only do so much… In the splendor and awe, the script-keeper understood it could only cover up the aching wounds each of the villagers had come here with. She knew the lumberjack quite well, commonly having to assist her with purchasing and selling items across the sea… the very same sea that now separated the woman from her mate. God knows how the wood-cutter felt now.
All the elder knew from the sparse conversations she had with the orange-skinned female was that she wished not to think of it anymore. To which, the harvester did just that, delving into the work allotted to her without a second thought, and basking in the benefits of the star-sent. Much was the same for the others from their island—their hopes of returning to the Land Kingdom having already been thoroughly sundered by the inquisitors. The script-keeper was not privy to everyone’s pains, but she knew they were similarly prepared to shelve them away in service of building themselves anew with this peculiar situation.
\= = = = =
Female Malkrin eat a lot. Seriously, all the meal boxes Harrison and Akula had prepared were ran through like crab rangoons at a buffet. There were a few left, but certainly not enough for dinner that night—and especially not for the winter, much to his displeasure. The engineer wasn’t looking forward to cooking anymore than he already had… But, he had a trick up his sleeve. Not only did the green fisherwoman know how to use the kitchen, but their little camp just so happened to have another who was experienced in the culinary arts.
Around the time they put their tools down for lunch, Harrison was approached by the pink-colored chef who was assisting with some of the masonry prior. He was apprehensive, yet his eyes were practically sparkling when he asked about the barbecue sauce, spices, and common vegetables. The engineer had a bit of time before he needed to get back to work, so he gave in. They conversed about it over their meal, the human explaining the ingredients and methods of making several types of dishes while the several Malkrin in attendance listened intently.
That was around the time he got the idea: why not have Akula teach the cook how to use the barrack’s kitchen? She was pretty reluctant to return to cooking… until he reintroduced her to her new sous-chef, giving her the task of overseeing the male’s modern culinary equipment and meat smoking tutorial.
Harrison didn’t know exactly why she seemed happier then. It could have been something about her prejudices, just having someone else to help her, or something… else… That didn’t matter to him. As long as the job was done, he was happy—especially since it meant he could focus on other projects.
Take the entire home they were building for example; it was practically completed by the time the chefs were sent off to make dinner. They were working on it since dawn—the engineer was still incapable of sleeping—digging the foundation behind the barracks, layering the brick walls, and getting the wooden supports down in record time. Having several extra Malkrin around made the labor requirement almost trivial, even if he needed to ensure they were doing the job right by constantly keeping a close eye on them. It also helped how eager some of them were to settle in with their tasks—the fisher twins and the lumberjack specifically.
The new arrivals were definitely a lot more lively than last night, that was for sure. They held onto caution in the morning, but that broke rather quickly after they got more accustomed to Harrison’s group and received basic clothing—literally just sturdy plaid shirts and black pants. Cera’s—the ceramist’s newly accepted name, created by Tracy’s shorthand of her profession—tendency to look out for the group also had a hand in the change from guarded acceptance to genuine and vocal appreciation. She did as much as she could to ease their burden by offering water or a helping hand whenever she and the lumberjack weren’t busy bringing wheelbarrows full of clay to the workshop. The two new males gladly accepted both, but the females were quite set on keeping their honor, completing their share of the work ‘with their own talons.’
Then, there was the juvenile. He didn’t want to force a kid to work, but the decision apparently wasn’t his. She quietly joined her older village-mates in hauling wheelbarrows full of bricks to and from the workshop. She didn’t seem upset nor did she seem too enthused about it. His singular attempt to persuade her otherwise was only returned with a terse shake of her head before she continued working. She didn’t like to show much emotion, that was for sure. Were all Malkrin teens like that, or was it because of her situation? Christ… the fact that she was sent to the mainland without her parents—or at all—rubbed him the wrong way. It was fucked, but at least she would be safe here… or as ‘safe’ as was possible.
That was the other job of the day: defense via the new fabricator. Tracy helped out a good bit with organizing and designing the second barracks for the first half of the day, thoroughly combing through the engineer’s ideas and ripping out the ‘brutalist’ and ‘soul-crushing’ lack of ‘real’ architecture. She inserted her own ideas, further backed up by the input of Craftsman’s prior experience, making for an admittedly more pleasant-looking layout of the house’s exterior and interior. It would end up looking vaguely like a white-brick colonial house, but with less ‘posh noble,’ instead making use of Germanic-style exterior wooden supports. It was just big enough to fit eight Malkrin-sized cots, space for movement between them, and all the basics such as lighting, airflow, and a little bit of storage on top—because, what was a building without storage? Luckily for the tradeswoman, it hardly used any more resources than his original plans, so he allowed it.
After that, Tracy realized there wasn’t much else for her to do, so she returned to their other project. The technician did well in assembling the most basic parts, working well throughout the day to complete the forging and welding components. Again, having someone else to do help with a job that big was a massive blessing, cutting off hours of time he would have had to slave away in the workshop.
Hours of time that he was able to use for overseeing the now-completed barracks, simultaneously teaching the Malkrin and getting a feel for how to best utilize their strengths with a substantial amount of help from the craftsman. The male did a bang-up job at explaining tasks and concepts to the others. Much better than Harrison was able to. Once more, it was a job the engineer was more than happy to let someone else take off his hands. The olive-colored Male was perfect for the job anyway, having the technical know-how and experience explaining similar things to Malkrin back on the islands, so the pioneer trusted the task to be completed with little issue.
Now, the day was finally reaching a close, ending with the settlement eating their dinner by the fire. There were a few more benches made to give everyone a seat. That meant the radius had to be extended somewhat, but that wasn’t anything a bigger fire couldn’t fix. Plus, the alien’s intent meant that he could still hear clearly from anyone around the pyre.
The muted sounds of silverware clanking against meal boxes and plates were muddled by the constant breeze. The flames lazily flickered in all directions, casting shadows along the flowing grass, each person in attendance being doused in a mellow orange. The Malkrin conversed with one another over their meals, each sitting in pairs on the furniture. Shar was out on guard patrol, so Tracy ended up taking the seat beside him. It was a bit of a surprise given how much she preferred to stay in the workshop, but he didn’t mind her taking a break—she deserved it. If anything, it should have been him on the fabrication floor, picking up where she left off.
“…Hey…” Tracy’s soft, worried voice took him from his thoughts.
“Hm?” He lazily looked down at the shorter woman beside him, her legs swinging as they couldn’t quite reach the ground.
She worriedly raised her brows. “You alright, dude? You’ve had some major bruised eye action going on all day. Did you even get any sleep? I didn’t even see you when I woke up.”
“No, I actually didn’t—” He held up a palm, stopping the technician’s troubled response. “—but it’s more because of that potion… thingy… Cera gave me. I don’t feel tired at all.”
Her face contorted in confusion, the shadows cast by the fire’s glow emphasizing it further. “The… potion…? Oh, yeaaaah, right. It was supposed to help you with dizziness, I think, but it also prevents you from feeling tired. How does it even feel? Like taking an energy drink, or something else?”
He held out his arm, tracing a finger along it. “I just feel like I’ve got pins and needles all along my skin… and I don’t feel like sleeping. That’s it really, so sort of like taking a bunch of caffeine.”
Her brows dropped in faux-annoyance. “That can not be healthy for you. Have you checked up on yourself with the scanner? If not for that, then at least the radiation? Maybe the fuzzy stuff is from all those grays of radiation you received?”
“I did… I did, don’t worry. The scanner had nothing besides the usual, so I guess it was just a good bit of caffeine or something… I don’t know. It’ll probably wear off soon, though.”
She nodded, returning her gaze to the fire. Her voice mellowed, just barely loud enough to reach his ears. “Good. The aliens were worried sick about you, yesterday, ya know—Shar ‘specially… and so was I…”
He hardly heard that last part, barely able to piece it together seconds after she muttered it. He wasn’t trying to make them worried, it was just a part of being on this planet. Every day was a new close call. The first blood moon, that pink monster, the workshop ambush, the second blood moon, and now the anomaly field all terrified him, haunting his very dreams with brief flashbacks of those sights and sounds. Though, they all served to teach him, forcing him to stay on his toes and never stay complacent… Which was something he was doing now.
He had plans in the works already—the new fabricator being the crux of at least half of them—but what could he do currently? How could he prepare? Or, at the very least, what could he do to advance the group further?
Their day-to-day jobs had already been discussed, plans for a new wood storage building were already made, and his work on the printer was cut out for him tonight… Okay. Well, what could he prepare for in the future? Defense? Of course, now that people were going to be out doing their own jobs, they would be too spread out to protect everyone at once.
There were two components to any solution for that problem: reconnaissance and protection. The first was self-explanatory. If he had, say, a few dozen drones scouting around where people were, it would take a lot of the surprise out of random swarms. That would give people time to either return to the castles… modules… or prepare themselves to take the bugs on. That led him to the second part. Firearms help to kill spider-crabs, but are also pretty dangerous in the wrong hands… He was more than willing to trust the Malkrin he knew with guns to defend themselves, but he couldn’t just start handing them out to strangers. Maybe in time, though. There were always other means of protection, anyway; Kegara’s camp was apparently alive and well, despite practically being from the stone ages.
Cera, Akula, and Shar were most certainly getting some firepower, that was for sure. He’d have to think about what sort of weapons would suit them. That also brought up the current metal deficit… and his gunpowder was running out quite quickly…
That was definitely something he wanted to get on before the next blood moon. He wanted to revisit that metal cave he saw when the paladin and the fisherwoman got cornered by three colossi. He hadn’t analyzed the chunk of ore he hacked off yet—he’d been pretty damn busy—so it was about time he figured out whether or not he had a nearby source of metals. It would be a damn blessing if it was aluminum or iron, despite only being a surface deposit. No matter what it was, it was sure to be of use.
Then there was the gunpowder issue. The last time he checked, there was enough to last him for at least the next blood-moon, but it wasn’t enough for several other firearms, especially if he wanted anything automatic. There were three main ingredients—potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal—which were essential for the production of any explosives. Charcoal was already solved for them, and potassium nitrate could practically be made out of thin air and water, considering they were right by an ocean. Bless the Ostwald process and acid-base neutralization.
The only real issue was sulfur… Christ, natural elements sucked. Either he had to deal with excessive organic recycling of amino acids… or go and mine the stuff directly, and there weren’t any obvious volcanic deposits or fault lines around. Neither of those methods sounded great.
Again, that would have to come later. He needed that fabricator done first and foremost. Then he could deal with the assorted problems that followed it and, well, every other compiling issue. Material harvesting tools, automatic defenses, larger fortifications, and radio-protectant armor were but a few of the big-ticket items on his mind.
Cera’s concoction was still running through his veins anyway, so he might as well finish the printer while he was at it. It looked like he wasn’t sleeping tonight either.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Hard work. Good company.
2024.05.11 21:41 Saturdead This is not my arm
One would’ve thought I’d be used to this by now – typing with one arm. It takes time to get used to; especially when you’ve spent most of your life in front of a keyboard. Muscle memory digs deep.
A few years ago, I was in a car accident. I was going 60 down an empty road, coming home from a long day of overtime, when some kind of animal came charging out of the woods. Trying to avoid a collision, I swerved off the road. My front left wheel got caught in a ditch, sending the entire vehicle careening off the road; only to smash into the trunk of an ill-placed black walnut tree, driver’s side first.
I have this vague memory of blinking lights and vague shapes in the distance. I was so cold. But at the same time, it was so unreal. I couldn’t even understand what had happened.
I was brought into emergency surgery. My left arm was, literally, hanging by the thread of my jacket. It had come off clean by the socket.
According to the surgeons, I was lucky. Most of my shoulder was intact, so it became a matter of salvaging what they could. The cut had been clean. I did suffer some whiplash damage to my neck and lower back, but considering I could’ve easily died or gotten paralyzed, losing an arm was considered “mild”.
Looking back at it, I am inclined to agree. Considering what could’ve gone down, I was damn lucky. Still, in that luck, I wished I could’ve gotten just a tiny bit luckier. See, I had this gold ring that I’d been given by my later mother. A simple thing with the engraving of a musical note on the inside – a memento of our shared love of music. We played Louis Armstrong at her funeral.
That ring disappeared in the accident. Somehow, that’s what bothered me the most. My arm could be reattached. It could heal. But that little memento was just gone.
What followed was a long period of intense physical therapy, medication, and painful readjustments. It took weeks before I could even move my fingers again, and when I did, it felt like pushing your nerves through an unwashed garlic press. It was this stunning chemical-level kind of pain. The kind where your body just shuts down, begging you to stop.
But over time, I started to get over it. Small movements started to get better. I could tie my shoes. Press the space bar. Hold a knife. I wasn’t about to juggle anytime soon, or play the piano, but I could get by.
Soon enough, I got back to work.
People were glad to see me. I wasn’t gonna be able to work at full capacity in my usual role, but I could still sit in on meetings. I won’t bore you with the details, but most of my work relies on answering e-mails, proofreading, and translation. It’s pretty technical stuff that requires a lot of pitter-patter on keyboards.
At one point, I was stuck in a particularly drawn-out meeting between two clients that we were facilitating. I was there mostly as an observer (to fill the seats), but I was supposed to weigh in if something related to my department came up. Of course, it didn’t, but I still had to act interested. My colleague was trying to draw up a compromise between the two parties, laying out terms and conditions. Meanwhile, I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the day to be over.
Looking over to my side, I noticed something odd. I wasn’t just holding the coffee cup with my left hand; I was stroking it with my index finger. Sort of like how you’d scratch a wary cat under its chin.
It was a strange sensation. I was looking at my own arm, my own hand, and I couldn’t feel what was happening. I couldn’t feel the ceramics tapping against my finger, or the twitch of the nerve as it contracted and extended. It was just happening. An involuntary twitch, perhaps.
But it didn’t feel like it. It felt intended, somehow.
A few similar events took place that day. Grabbing the bathroom door for a little too long. Knocking over desktop decorations. Suddenly letting go of my jacket as I was about to head home. It was just little things. I was still having trouble even using my arm in the first place, so these quirks didn’t bother me too much.
A friend of mine was giving me a ride home. I wasn’t at 100% yet and sitting behind the steering wheel felt like inviting disaster. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat, nodding off as the trees passed me by with a steady rhythm; causing me to blink.
A noise pulled me back. The driver said something, but I wasn’t paying attention. Turning to him, I excused myself.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” the driver repeated.
I looked over. My left hand was wrapped around the parking brake, as if ready to pull. I forced myself to let go.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sorry, I don’t… it’s nothing.”
“Right,” he nodded. “Just… don’t do that.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, no. Sorry.”
That night, I was exhausted. It felt like my lungs had been robbed of breath. I felt weak and trembling. I was cold, yet feverish. Famished, but without an appetite. I went to bed early, faceplanting into the pillow.
I had horrible nightmares, none of which I can remember. I kept waking up over and over, not being able to discern dream from reality. My bed was soaked with cold sweat, sending shiver after shiver up my spine.
By the early hours of the morning, a stray ray of sunshine burned my eyes open. I was lying on my side, looking towards the window, leaning on my left shoulder.
The fingers of my left hand were moving on their own. And not just moving, but bent in every which way; as if lacking bones. They were vibrating, shuddering, like wounded worms fearing a predator.
I grabbed my hand, and my fingers were back to normal. I could move them as usual. For a moment, I was doubting what I’d seen. It was one thing to experience oddities, but that was unreal. I must’ve laid there for half an hour, just expanding and contracting my hand, begging my body to work with me.
“Enough of this,” I begged. “Please. Enough. Please.”
I clapped my hands, cracked my fingers, and ran them through my hair. It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?
A couple of weeks passed without any serious peculiarities. I could even work a little. There were a few of oddities, like unknowingly grasping a warm cup, or my fingers pointing in all directions when in contact with cold water. Just strange little things that I could easily get control of.
That was, until one morning at work. We were out of coffee, so I was making myself a cup of tea instead. As the water came to a boiling point, I accidentally spilled some on my arm.
The reaction was immediate.
My arm whipped out to the side, throwing the pot across the room. For a moment, my arm looked like it didn’t have any bones; rippling like a skin-covered liquid. It made me think of it not as a part of me, but as an alien thing attached to my shoulder.
And for a brief moment, in the blink of a heartbeat, I could see my fingers grow and shrink. Fingernails throbbing, like a cat throwing up a hair ball.
Suddenly, it stopped. Looking back, I could see one of my co-workers watching me from the other side of the room. She must’ve heard the crash.
“You alright?” she asked.
“Yeah, just got a burn,” I sighed. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be fine.”
She side-eyed the broken pot on the other side of the room and nodded. Not entirely convinced.
As soon as she left, I looked down on my hand as if shying away from a wild animal. It was alien to me. It was something… other. A twitch was one thing, but this was downright unnatural.
Coming home that night, I had a weekend ahead of me. I ran my symptoms through a couple of online services. While there are a few ways the human body can trick itself, like the alien hand syndrome, or phantom pains, this was different. Physical properties do not rapidly change. Then again, maybe I was imagining it?
I decided to do something crazy. An experiment. I wanted to recreate what’d happened in the break room.
I boiled up some water and poured it into a cup. I held my left hand over my sink, grabbing the cup with my right. I stood there, trying to calm myself. I wasn’t insane. This was a rational thought that I had to play out in order to eliminate an outlandish possibility.
I prepped a cold pack and ran the tap. Then, taking a deep breath, I poured some of the boiling water on my left hand.
Twelve fingers.
My hand split into twelve fingers, lined with raw, open wounds. My wrist rolled, like a cobra fixing its eyes on a prey animal. This was no longer an arm – it was a nest of flesh-colored snakes.
My mind blanked. I fell backwards, smacking at my arm as if trying to kill it. I couldn’t feel a thing. It’s as if all sense of touch ended at my shoulder. I crawled backwards on the floor, trying to wave my arm away, but it clung to me like a parasite fixed on my shoulder.
Seconds later, a searing pain ran up my arm. Looking down on my hand, it looked as it always had. It was just a hand with a burn. I could barely feel it through the pounding in my chest. Every noise in the room was overshadowed by my pulse.
I ran my hand under a tap and wrapped a cold pack around the wrist. It wasn’t a bad burn, but it wasn’t nothing.
I did some research, looking up news from around the time my accident took place. There were a couple of reports, but nothing out of the ordinary. A domestic call, a brawl at a local restaurant, a couple of missing pets. There were a couple of other reports, but they were short and didn’t lead anywhere. A mention of a couple disturbances. Some idiot blasting music in a parking lot.
But there was one more thing I noticed. In one of the reports covering my accident, there was a picture of the car. There was spatter of the blood on the hood, with something meaty stuck in the grille – as if I’d hit an animal.
That caught my interest. I couldn’t remember hitting anything, so what the hell was that about?
The next day, my arm was acting up even worse. It kept going cold, as if circulation was cutting in and out. Before heading out, I wrapped it up in bandages. Partly because of the cold sensation and partly because I just didn’t trust it. There was no way to tell what could happen, or why.
I managed to get a hold of the owner of the junkyard where my trashed car had been towed. I went over there early in the day, just before the fog cleared.
Now, this was long after the car had been crushed and stored, but it was the only lead I had. An older woman greeted me at the gates, letting me in. We had a short chat about the accident as she showed me around, ending up at a stack of metal that could hardly be recognized as anything. The only thing to even hint at my car being in that pile was a thin slice of colored metal from one of the doors.
I dug around there for about 20 minutes; all while being observed by this old woman.
“Yeah, won’t find much,” she said. “If the police didn’t get it, the insurance folks did.”
“Been a lot of people digging around?”
“Not a lot, nah,” she said, shaking her head. “But you ain’t the first.”
And she was right. There wasn’t a drop of blood, or bone, or anything. It was just scrap metal in a pile of even more scrap metal. I was wasting my time.
But as I was about to leave, I noticed something. I hadn’t thought about it, but I could see the old woman was wearing a ring. It looked like a wedding ring at first, but she was wearing it on the wrong finger. I pointed to it.
"You found that?"
"What about it?" she asked.
"It’s got a tune engraved on the inside, right? Like, a, uh… music note?”
There was no response. She just looked at me and sighed. Turns out, I was right. She gave it back.
She’d found it near the hood of the car the night they brought it in. Grabbing it was just a spur of the moment thing, and since no one had come asking for it, she’d kept it. I was a bit annoyed, but mostly relieved that I got it back. But the question remained, how had that ended up at the hood of the car?
“There was all kinds of gunk just kinda hanging there,” she said. “Figured it was an animal.”
“And you’re sure that’s where you found it?”
“Sure as sure can be, yeah.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable thought forming in the back of my head. There was no way for that ring to go from my broken arm on the driver’s side to a pile of meat stuck in the grille of the car.
But the proof of it had been in front of me all along. I had worn that ring for 12 years. There was a permanent indent on my finger.
Looking down at my left hand, there was no such indent.
This wasn’t my arm.
As soon as that thought settled in my mind, I could feel the arm twist and turn. Hadn’t it been for the bandages, there’s no way to tell what it would’ve done. It squirmed and pulled against me, thrashing like a dying fish on land. The old woman just looked at me.
“You alright? Want me to call someone?” she asked.
“I-I… I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”
I had to get to the bottom of this. I hurried out of there as fast as I could.
It was getting late in the afternoon when I got back home. Grabbing an old backpack and a couple of painkillers, I was about to head right back out. But a thought hit me. Maybe it wasn’t as abstract as I thought. Maybe it wasn’t just a feeling – maybe something was really there.
Looking down at my arm, I could feel it stirring, just within my control. Something sleeping, waiting to spring into action. With my right hand on the front door, I stopped, and spoke out loud.
“Whatever you want, just… don’t,” I asked. “Don’t.”
There was no response. No stirring. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, I packed one more thing into my backpack. Just in case. A hail Mary.
Making my way to the scene of the accident, it was impossible to tell anything had ever happened there. I could barely even make out the place where I swerved, or where my wheel got caught in the ditch. I found the general area in the field where my car had spun out of control, and from there it was easy to find the tree I’d smashed into. It was still there.
I spent hours going over it all. Following the path the car had taken, starting from that tree, and working my way back. There was nothing there. Nothing new. It was all just gravel, weeds, and pavement. What had I expected? A signed confession?
As the sun dipped behind the clouds, I could feel a cold wind coming on. I’d lost track of time.
As I turned back, there was a sudden cramp in my arm. A shock of pain crept up my spine, spreading throughout my body like a spider’s web. I could feel my left arm throbbing against the bandage wrap. Something was wrong.
I was in the middle of the field. I could see for miles in every direction. Cars passing by in the distance. Wet grass staining my pants all the way up to my knees. And this one cold wind, cutting straight through my clothes. I shivered, but my left arm didn’t.
Taking a step back towards where I came from, another shot of pain struck me. This one tripped me, sending me face first into the grass. It knocked the air out of my lungs.
I rolled over on my back, gasping for breath. My left hand was creeping up my stomach like a spider with a meaty tail. It stopped over my face, tapping the bridge of my nose with the index finger. I couldn’t feel a thing. Moving to push it off, it instead struck back; grasping my right hand in return.
“Stop,” I wheezed as I sat back up. “Just stop. Stop this.”
But it didn’t. I just sat there. A wounded man holding his arms.
I struggled back and forth for well over half an hour. Getting back on my feet, only to get knocked back down. By the time I’d made my way back to the road, I looked like I’d been hiking for miles. My hair was a mess, and my clothes were covered in grass and mud. I had a handprint across my face, like I’d smacked myself.
I’d trusted myself with a short drive to get there, but I wasn’t sure about going back. It felt reckless to get behind a wheel in my state. Still, I couldn’t just walk all the way back home, and having it towed would be a pain in the ass.
I got back in my car while I thought about it, wiping myself off with a towel from my backpack.
It’d gotten dark outside. The overcast didn’t help, I could almost taste the rain. I contemplated my options and figured that if I kept it slow and only used my right arm, I could carefully make my way home. I put the keys in and turned on the headlights.
There was an elk standing in front of my car.
It sniffed the hood of my car curiously, then proceeded to stare me down. I was just surprised. I got a good look at it. There was something wrong with one of its hind legs – it lacked fur, and there was a sort of spreading baldness reaching halfway up the side of the body.
My arm was slowly rising on its own, as if looking over the dashboard. The elk recoiled, as if in pain, and set off in a troubled three-legged gallop. It disappeared into the woods.
Looking down at my arm, a stray thought hit me.
Was this spreading too?
I painstakingly made my way back home. I dropped my backpack in the hallway, locked my front door, and collapsed into the shower. I was exhausted.
I stood in the shower for about half an hour, looking down at my mother’s ring. I was wearing it on my right hand now, but it just didn’t feel the same. That wasn’t where it was meant to be. Still, it was nice to have it back. Whenever I turned the ring a little, I could feel the engraving against my skin. It was a little gesture I did when I was anxious, as a reminder that it was still there.
I got dressed and ready for a slow evening at home without any further drama. My arm wasn’t acting up. But as I passed through the hallway, something didn’t feel right.
At first, I couldn’t say what it was. Maybe the hum of an old lamp, or some air duct acting up. I wasn’t sure, but it was something. It had to be. I stepped up to the front door.
There used to be a light coming from the hallway outside. That light was always on, and there should be a little light coming in through the peephole. But there wasn’t. Had a fuse blown? I had a closer look.
There was someone just outside my door.
A click.
My left hand had unlocked the door.
The door flung open, knocking me back. A tall silhouette, close to seven feet tall, pushed its way into my apartment. It was dressed in a sort of black poncho, covering its face with layers of bandages. A single frog-like eye stared me down as it pushed forward.
I scrambled backwards on the floor. It was fast. Damn fast. It stepped forward and reached for one of my legs, but I managed to pull away in time. I got back on my feet, barely managing to pull my left arm along. It was trying to grab a hold of something, as if to slow me down.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision I grabbed a lamp from the windowsill, throwing it across the room. The intruder ducked, then came at me again. I ducked under, just in time, and headed for the door.
As I reached the front door, my left arm tried to force it shut. I fought against myself to get out, but it was useless. The door was shut and locked, and my left hand refused to budge. The seven-foot-tall shape came around the corner, slowly approaching. I had to think of something. Anything.
My backpack. It was right there.
I had packed a couple of things earlier. A towel, some bandages, painkillers, and a water bottle. But I’d also packed some lighter fluid. Seeing as how my left arm had reacted so violently to boiling water, I had this stupid idea that the prospect of a straight-up fire would do something even worse to it.
It didn’t seem so stupid anymore.
I grabbed the lighter fluid and sprinkled it on my left arm. The tall shape stopped, seemingly reacting to the smell of it.
I wanted to say something, but all that came out were empty breaths. We were like animals, circling each other, waiting for one to make the first move. I emptied the lighter fluid, grabbing a box of matches. I held the box with my mouth, and a triplicate of matches in my hand. I spilled the rest on the floor.
For a moment, we just looked at one another. A single inhuman eye peeking through the bandage wraps. The vague shape of four, maybe five extremities at its side. How many arms did this thing hide under the poncho?
A flash of realization came to me. This is what I had almost hit with my car.
And with that, I lit the matches. It leapt at me, but it was too late.
The moment the open flame touched the skin on my left arm, it detached. The open nerves just let go of me, and the thing fell off my body. It squirmed on the floor like a dying animal, grasping at whatever its fingers could reach.
Adrenaline forced me out the door. A heartbeat behind me, the seven-foot-tall figure scooped up my burning arm and pushed past me. Within seconds, it was gone – leaving me with an open wound in the stairwell, smelling of lighter fluid.
One of the neighbors called for help. I didn’t even notice how much blood I was losing, but it was bad. They sent me back into emergency surgery; this time without an arm to reattach.
It was deemed that the wound was self-inflicted. A result of some stress-induced psychosis. I wanted to agree, but I saw what I saw. I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I lived this. This wasn’t any other life but mine.
I’ve since learned to live with a full prosthetic. It’s not much, but I can trust it, and I can wear my mother’s ring the way it was supposed to be. It’s starting to make an indent on the synthetic skin.
I don’t like to think about what would’ve happened if I’d let that thing stay on. But just a couple of weeks ago, I got an answer. I was stuck in traffic, looking out over the fields, when I saw a group of elks in the distance.
One of them had no fur.
None at all.
submitted by Saturdead to nosleep [link] [comments]
A few years ago, I was in a car accident. I was going 60 down an empty road, coming home from a long day of overtime, when some kind of animal came charging out of the woods. Trying to avoid a collision, I swerved off the road. My front left wheel got caught in a ditch, sending the entire vehicle careening off the road; only to smash into the trunk of an ill-placed black walnut tree, driver’s side first.
I have this vague memory of blinking lights and vague shapes in the distance. I was so cold. But at the same time, it was so unreal. I couldn’t even understand what had happened.
I was brought into emergency surgery. My left arm was, literally, hanging by the thread of my jacket. It had come off clean by the socket.
According to the surgeons, I was lucky. Most of my shoulder was intact, so it became a matter of salvaging what they could. The cut had been clean. I did suffer some whiplash damage to my neck and lower back, but considering I could’ve easily died or gotten paralyzed, losing an arm was considered “mild”.
Looking back at it, I am inclined to agree. Considering what could’ve gone down, I was damn lucky. Still, in that luck, I wished I could’ve gotten just a tiny bit luckier. See, I had this gold ring that I’d been given by my later mother. A simple thing with the engraving of a musical note on the inside – a memento of our shared love of music. We played Louis Armstrong at her funeral.
That ring disappeared in the accident. Somehow, that’s what bothered me the most. My arm could be reattached. It could heal. But that little memento was just gone.
What followed was a long period of intense physical therapy, medication, and painful readjustments. It took weeks before I could even move my fingers again, and when I did, it felt like pushing your nerves through an unwashed garlic press. It was this stunning chemical-level kind of pain. The kind where your body just shuts down, begging you to stop.
But over time, I started to get over it. Small movements started to get better. I could tie my shoes. Press the space bar. Hold a knife. I wasn’t about to juggle anytime soon, or play the piano, but I could get by.
Soon enough, I got back to work.
People were glad to see me. I wasn’t gonna be able to work at full capacity in my usual role, but I could still sit in on meetings. I won’t bore you with the details, but most of my work relies on answering e-mails, proofreading, and translation. It’s pretty technical stuff that requires a lot of pitter-patter on keyboards.
At one point, I was stuck in a particularly drawn-out meeting between two clients that we were facilitating. I was there mostly as an observer (to fill the seats), but I was supposed to weigh in if something related to my department came up. Of course, it didn’t, but I still had to act interested. My colleague was trying to draw up a compromise between the two parties, laying out terms and conditions. Meanwhile, I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the day to be over.
Looking over to my side, I noticed something odd. I wasn’t just holding the coffee cup with my left hand; I was stroking it with my index finger. Sort of like how you’d scratch a wary cat under its chin.
It was a strange sensation. I was looking at my own arm, my own hand, and I couldn’t feel what was happening. I couldn’t feel the ceramics tapping against my finger, or the twitch of the nerve as it contracted and extended. It was just happening. An involuntary twitch, perhaps.
But it didn’t feel like it. It felt intended, somehow.
A few similar events took place that day. Grabbing the bathroom door for a little too long. Knocking over desktop decorations. Suddenly letting go of my jacket as I was about to head home. It was just little things. I was still having trouble even using my arm in the first place, so these quirks didn’t bother me too much.
A friend of mine was giving me a ride home. I wasn’t at 100% yet and sitting behind the steering wheel felt like inviting disaster. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat, nodding off as the trees passed me by with a steady rhythm; causing me to blink.
A noise pulled me back. The driver said something, but I wasn’t paying attention. Turning to him, I excused myself.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” the driver repeated.
I looked over. My left hand was wrapped around the parking brake, as if ready to pull. I forced myself to let go.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sorry, I don’t… it’s nothing.”
“Right,” he nodded. “Just… don’t do that.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, no. Sorry.”
That night, I was exhausted. It felt like my lungs had been robbed of breath. I felt weak and trembling. I was cold, yet feverish. Famished, but without an appetite. I went to bed early, faceplanting into the pillow.
I had horrible nightmares, none of which I can remember. I kept waking up over and over, not being able to discern dream from reality. My bed was soaked with cold sweat, sending shiver after shiver up my spine.
By the early hours of the morning, a stray ray of sunshine burned my eyes open. I was lying on my side, looking towards the window, leaning on my left shoulder.
The fingers of my left hand were moving on their own. And not just moving, but bent in every which way; as if lacking bones. They were vibrating, shuddering, like wounded worms fearing a predator.
I grabbed my hand, and my fingers were back to normal. I could move them as usual. For a moment, I was doubting what I’d seen. It was one thing to experience oddities, but that was unreal. I must’ve laid there for half an hour, just expanding and contracting my hand, begging my body to work with me.
“Enough of this,” I begged. “Please. Enough. Please.”
I clapped my hands, cracked my fingers, and ran them through my hair. It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?
A couple of weeks passed without any serious peculiarities. I could even work a little. There were a few of oddities, like unknowingly grasping a warm cup, or my fingers pointing in all directions when in contact with cold water. Just strange little things that I could easily get control of.
That was, until one morning at work. We were out of coffee, so I was making myself a cup of tea instead. As the water came to a boiling point, I accidentally spilled some on my arm.
The reaction was immediate.
My arm whipped out to the side, throwing the pot across the room. For a moment, my arm looked like it didn’t have any bones; rippling like a skin-covered liquid. It made me think of it not as a part of me, but as an alien thing attached to my shoulder.
And for a brief moment, in the blink of a heartbeat, I could see my fingers grow and shrink. Fingernails throbbing, like a cat throwing up a hair ball.
Suddenly, it stopped. Looking back, I could see one of my co-workers watching me from the other side of the room. She must’ve heard the crash.
“You alright?” she asked.
“Yeah, just got a burn,” I sighed. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be fine.”
She side-eyed the broken pot on the other side of the room and nodded. Not entirely convinced.
As soon as she left, I looked down on my hand as if shying away from a wild animal. It was alien to me. It was something… other. A twitch was one thing, but this was downright unnatural.
Coming home that night, I had a weekend ahead of me. I ran my symptoms through a couple of online services. While there are a few ways the human body can trick itself, like the alien hand syndrome, or phantom pains, this was different. Physical properties do not rapidly change. Then again, maybe I was imagining it?
I decided to do something crazy. An experiment. I wanted to recreate what’d happened in the break room.
I boiled up some water and poured it into a cup. I held my left hand over my sink, grabbing the cup with my right. I stood there, trying to calm myself. I wasn’t insane. This was a rational thought that I had to play out in order to eliminate an outlandish possibility.
I prepped a cold pack and ran the tap. Then, taking a deep breath, I poured some of the boiling water on my left hand.
Twelve fingers.
My hand split into twelve fingers, lined with raw, open wounds. My wrist rolled, like a cobra fixing its eyes on a prey animal. This was no longer an arm – it was a nest of flesh-colored snakes.
My mind blanked. I fell backwards, smacking at my arm as if trying to kill it. I couldn’t feel a thing. It’s as if all sense of touch ended at my shoulder. I crawled backwards on the floor, trying to wave my arm away, but it clung to me like a parasite fixed on my shoulder.
Seconds later, a searing pain ran up my arm. Looking down on my hand, it looked as it always had. It was just a hand with a burn. I could barely feel it through the pounding in my chest. Every noise in the room was overshadowed by my pulse.
I ran my hand under a tap and wrapped a cold pack around the wrist. It wasn’t a bad burn, but it wasn’t nothing.
I did some research, looking up news from around the time my accident took place. There were a couple of reports, but nothing out of the ordinary. A domestic call, a brawl at a local restaurant, a couple of missing pets. There were a couple of other reports, but they were short and didn’t lead anywhere. A mention of a couple disturbances. Some idiot blasting music in a parking lot.
But there was one more thing I noticed. In one of the reports covering my accident, there was a picture of the car. There was spatter of the blood on the hood, with something meaty stuck in the grille – as if I’d hit an animal.
That caught my interest. I couldn’t remember hitting anything, so what the hell was that about?
The next day, my arm was acting up even worse. It kept going cold, as if circulation was cutting in and out. Before heading out, I wrapped it up in bandages. Partly because of the cold sensation and partly because I just didn’t trust it. There was no way to tell what could happen, or why.
I managed to get a hold of the owner of the junkyard where my trashed car had been towed. I went over there early in the day, just before the fog cleared.
Now, this was long after the car had been crushed and stored, but it was the only lead I had. An older woman greeted me at the gates, letting me in. We had a short chat about the accident as she showed me around, ending up at a stack of metal that could hardly be recognized as anything. The only thing to even hint at my car being in that pile was a thin slice of colored metal from one of the doors.
I dug around there for about 20 minutes; all while being observed by this old woman.
“Yeah, won’t find much,” she said. “If the police didn’t get it, the insurance folks did.”
“Been a lot of people digging around?”
“Not a lot, nah,” she said, shaking her head. “But you ain’t the first.”
And she was right. There wasn’t a drop of blood, or bone, or anything. It was just scrap metal in a pile of even more scrap metal. I was wasting my time.
But as I was about to leave, I noticed something. I hadn’t thought about it, but I could see the old woman was wearing a ring. It looked like a wedding ring at first, but she was wearing it on the wrong finger. I pointed to it.
"You found that?"
"What about it?" she asked.
"It’s got a tune engraved on the inside, right? Like, a, uh… music note?”
There was no response. She just looked at me and sighed. Turns out, I was right. She gave it back.
She’d found it near the hood of the car the night they brought it in. Grabbing it was just a spur of the moment thing, and since no one had come asking for it, she’d kept it. I was a bit annoyed, but mostly relieved that I got it back. But the question remained, how had that ended up at the hood of the car?
“There was all kinds of gunk just kinda hanging there,” she said. “Figured it was an animal.”
“And you’re sure that’s where you found it?”
“Sure as sure can be, yeah.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable thought forming in the back of my head. There was no way for that ring to go from my broken arm on the driver’s side to a pile of meat stuck in the grille of the car.
But the proof of it had been in front of me all along. I had worn that ring for 12 years. There was a permanent indent on my finger.
Looking down at my left hand, there was no such indent.
This wasn’t my arm.
As soon as that thought settled in my mind, I could feel the arm twist and turn. Hadn’t it been for the bandages, there’s no way to tell what it would’ve done. It squirmed and pulled against me, thrashing like a dying fish on land. The old woman just looked at me.
“You alright? Want me to call someone?” she asked.
“I-I… I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”
I had to get to the bottom of this. I hurried out of there as fast as I could.
It was getting late in the afternoon when I got back home. Grabbing an old backpack and a couple of painkillers, I was about to head right back out. But a thought hit me. Maybe it wasn’t as abstract as I thought. Maybe it wasn’t just a feeling – maybe something was really there.
Looking down at my arm, I could feel it stirring, just within my control. Something sleeping, waiting to spring into action. With my right hand on the front door, I stopped, and spoke out loud.
“Whatever you want, just… don’t,” I asked. “Don’t.”
There was no response. No stirring. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, I packed one more thing into my backpack. Just in case. A hail Mary.
Making my way to the scene of the accident, it was impossible to tell anything had ever happened there. I could barely even make out the place where I swerved, or where my wheel got caught in the ditch. I found the general area in the field where my car had spun out of control, and from there it was easy to find the tree I’d smashed into. It was still there.
I spent hours going over it all. Following the path the car had taken, starting from that tree, and working my way back. There was nothing there. Nothing new. It was all just gravel, weeds, and pavement. What had I expected? A signed confession?
As the sun dipped behind the clouds, I could feel a cold wind coming on. I’d lost track of time.
As I turned back, there was a sudden cramp in my arm. A shock of pain crept up my spine, spreading throughout my body like a spider’s web. I could feel my left arm throbbing against the bandage wrap. Something was wrong.
I was in the middle of the field. I could see for miles in every direction. Cars passing by in the distance. Wet grass staining my pants all the way up to my knees. And this one cold wind, cutting straight through my clothes. I shivered, but my left arm didn’t.
Taking a step back towards where I came from, another shot of pain struck me. This one tripped me, sending me face first into the grass. It knocked the air out of my lungs.
I rolled over on my back, gasping for breath. My left hand was creeping up my stomach like a spider with a meaty tail. It stopped over my face, tapping the bridge of my nose with the index finger. I couldn’t feel a thing. Moving to push it off, it instead struck back; grasping my right hand in return.
“Stop,” I wheezed as I sat back up. “Just stop. Stop this.”
But it didn’t. I just sat there. A wounded man holding his arms.
I struggled back and forth for well over half an hour. Getting back on my feet, only to get knocked back down. By the time I’d made my way back to the road, I looked like I’d been hiking for miles. My hair was a mess, and my clothes were covered in grass and mud. I had a handprint across my face, like I’d smacked myself.
I’d trusted myself with a short drive to get there, but I wasn’t sure about going back. It felt reckless to get behind a wheel in my state. Still, I couldn’t just walk all the way back home, and having it towed would be a pain in the ass.
I got back in my car while I thought about it, wiping myself off with a towel from my backpack.
It’d gotten dark outside. The overcast didn’t help, I could almost taste the rain. I contemplated my options and figured that if I kept it slow and only used my right arm, I could carefully make my way home. I put the keys in and turned on the headlights.
There was an elk standing in front of my car.
It sniffed the hood of my car curiously, then proceeded to stare me down. I was just surprised. I got a good look at it. There was something wrong with one of its hind legs – it lacked fur, and there was a sort of spreading baldness reaching halfway up the side of the body.
My arm was slowly rising on its own, as if looking over the dashboard. The elk recoiled, as if in pain, and set off in a troubled three-legged gallop. It disappeared into the woods.
Looking down at my arm, a stray thought hit me.
Was this spreading too?
I painstakingly made my way back home. I dropped my backpack in the hallway, locked my front door, and collapsed into the shower. I was exhausted.
I stood in the shower for about half an hour, looking down at my mother’s ring. I was wearing it on my right hand now, but it just didn’t feel the same. That wasn’t where it was meant to be. Still, it was nice to have it back. Whenever I turned the ring a little, I could feel the engraving against my skin. It was a little gesture I did when I was anxious, as a reminder that it was still there.
I got dressed and ready for a slow evening at home without any further drama. My arm wasn’t acting up. But as I passed through the hallway, something didn’t feel right.
At first, I couldn’t say what it was. Maybe the hum of an old lamp, or some air duct acting up. I wasn’t sure, but it was something. It had to be. I stepped up to the front door.
There used to be a light coming from the hallway outside. That light was always on, and there should be a little light coming in through the peephole. But there wasn’t. Had a fuse blown? I had a closer look.
There was someone just outside my door.
A click.
My left hand had unlocked the door.
The door flung open, knocking me back. A tall silhouette, close to seven feet tall, pushed its way into my apartment. It was dressed in a sort of black poncho, covering its face with layers of bandages. A single frog-like eye stared me down as it pushed forward.
I scrambled backwards on the floor. It was fast. Damn fast. It stepped forward and reached for one of my legs, but I managed to pull away in time. I got back on my feet, barely managing to pull my left arm along. It was trying to grab a hold of something, as if to slow me down.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision I grabbed a lamp from the windowsill, throwing it across the room. The intruder ducked, then came at me again. I ducked under, just in time, and headed for the door.
As I reached the front door, my left arm tried to force it shut. I fought against myself to get out, but it was useless. The door was shut and locked, and my left hand refused to budge. The seven-foot-tall shape came around the corner, slowly approaching. I had to think of something. Anything.
My backpack. It was right there.
I had packed a couple of things earlier. A towel, some bandages, painkillers, and a water bottle. But I’d also packed some lighter fluid. Seeing as how my left arm had reacted so violently to boiling water, I had this stupid idea that the prospect of a straight-up fire would do something even worse to it.
It didn’t seem so stupid anymore.
I grabbed the lighter fluid and sprinkled it on my left arm. The tall shape stopped, seemingly reacting to the smell of it.
I wanted to say something, but all that came out were empty breaths. We were like animals, circling each other, waiting for one to make the first move. I emptied the lighter fluid, grabbing a box of matches. I held the box with my mouth, and a triplicate of matches in my hand. I spilled the rest on the floor.
For a moment, we just looked at one another. A single inhuman eye peeking through the bandage wraps. The vague shape of four, maybe five extremities at its side. How many arms did this thing hide under the poncho?
A flash of realization came to me. This is what I had almost hit with my car.
And with that, I lit the matches. It leapt at me, but it was too late.
The moment the open flame touched the skin on my left arm, it detached. The open nerves just let go of me, and the thing fell off my body. It squirmed on the floor like a dying animal, grasping at whatever its fingers could reach.
Adrenaline forced me out the door. A heartbeat behind me, the seven-foot-tall figure scooped up my burning arm and pushed past me. Within seconds, it was gone – leaving me with an open wound in the stairwell, smelling of lighter fluid.
One of the neighbors called for help. I didn’t even notice how much blood I was losing, but it was bad. They sent me back into emergency surgery; this time without an arm to reattach.
It was deemed that the wound was self-inflicted. A result of some stress-induced psychosis. I wanted to agree, but I saw what I saw. I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I lived this. This wasn’t any other life but mine.
I’ve since learned to live with a full prosthetic. It’s not much, but I can trust it, and I can wear my mother’s ring the way it was supposed to be. It’s starting to make an indent on the synthetic skin.
I don’t like to think about what would’ve happened if I’d let that thing stay on. But just a couple of weeks ago, I got an answer. I was stuck in traffic, looking out over the fields, when I saw a group of elks in the distance.
One of them had no fur.
None at all.
2024.05.10 18:53 Conscious-Dingo4463 1976. Buick Electra Park Avenue
 | submitted by Conscious-Dingo4463 to classiccars [link] [comments] |
2024.05.09 21:37 hoggersbridge Engines of Arachnea: A Science Fantasy Epic [Chapter 7: Divine Engine]
The Amits had taken their time. They knew that victory was assured, and so had set about feasting. But eventually they had worked up enough of an appetite to make the final push.
Once more they rushed through a storm of bullets. They disintegrated as the twelve-pounder discharged a cluster of grapeshot, faltered, then charged again. Claws ripped at the broken stone, reaching and grasping. A man was seized by his locks of hair and pulled through the gap; his screams cut short as his body toppled backwards, missing its head. Bayonets jostled and found their mark in pale flesh as pistols rang out in the tight confines and set Rene’s ears ringing.
“Get back!” shouted the engineers, “You’ve done your best! We’ll take it from here!”
The wall of detritus had begun to buckle beneath the weight of the enemy. The engineers brought out the red plunger and ran the wire to the final batch of charges. These were strapped to every major column and support in the room. They were to be buried alive, to deny the enemy their final victory.
The first Amit clawed its head through. It was impaled on half a dozen blades and hurled back. Then the second burst in and bathed a man head to toe in its corrosive juices, melting him down to bare red musculature in seconds. The monsters scrambled into the breach with reckless abandon, and the slaughter began.
The engineer was killed, brained by an axe before he could blow the charges. Crawling across the floor, battered and bruised by the trampling feet of the melee, Rene found the box and pried it from his dead hands. With a final whimper he closed his eyes and depressed the plunger.
Sometime later Rene awoke with a throbbing head. Absently he wondered if the afterlife was supposed to hurt this much, but then he felt a cold film of cave water touch the side of his face, and reluctantly accepted the fact that he was alive.
The chamber was gone. All about him were strewn great slabs of ceiling, under which various limbs protruded. Beside him, Prota had been buried beneath wreckage, her pendant flung clear. Absently he reached over and pocketed it.
His pants were wet; water was streaming through from somewhere. Through a gap in the huge slump of debris at the entrance he made out shadows moving against the torchlight, and heard sounds of them doing unspeakable things.
He dragged himself upright and cried out a second time in misery and pain. Immediately he regretted that action, as a milky white eye came up to the gap and looked about hungrily. It spotted him and tapped its feet against the stone in excitement. A horde of scuttling figures flitted into view. There was a scuffling sound as they began to dig at the obstruction. He groaned, and looked about him for a weapon, anything with which to end his life quickly and in relatively less anguish. Then he saw it.
The chamber had collapsed, and in doing so a broken pillar several tons heavy had knocked against the impenetrable eastern wall, the one that Admiral Prota’s workmen had been chipping carefully at for a year. It had smashed through the obstruction, and now its great bulk held up the fragile archway. More importantly, an opening had appeared. One that looked just the right size for a child to crawl through. Cave water streamed from the rent, lapping at the bodies of the slain. Behind him the Amit shuddered with delight, spitting torrents of acid against the stone in order to get through to him faster.
He went into the crawlspace and found it was a tight fit. He tried flattening his belly. When that didn’t work, he removed the tattered remnants of his sealant suit, and barely managed to squeeze inside.
He emerged into a cool tunnel. Motes of dust millennia old swirled placidly in the still air, lit by glowing phosphorescent mushrooms that lined the damp walls. Water wet his toes as he stumbled painfully along.
The floor was even and polished to a mirror sheen. Across the chamber was an odd doorway, ovoid in shape. He went over to it, searched in vain for a doorknob, then chuckled and gave up. He felt an absence of fear and knew that his lifting spirits had something to do with this place being exposed to the outside atmosphere. He had at best a few hours left to live. He shrugged and peered about him in the murk.
These tunnels sloped down below the open eastern section. If he could reach a ventilation shaft, there was a chance he could live. Assuming of course that he found a mask sometime soon. He had lost his at some point in the brawl. Thankfully he still had the compass. He took it out but watched in disbelief as the needle began to spin like a top. Cleary whatever magnetic anomaly that had plagued the expedition had returned with a vengeance. Shaking his head, uncertain now of everything, Rene wandered aimlessly, a pale and bloodied specter haunting the alien hallways.
Graceful alcoves surrounded him, with effigies sheltered beneath them and primitive paintings upon their curved surfaces. He looked at the closest one. Though the style was surreal and the language foreign, he understood the symbols well enough.
For they were those of ancient scripture.
The war in heaven. Two great armadas clashed in the depths of the void, lances of searing red heat and spheres of anti-matter dancing between their silver prows. The battle raged the length of an entire wall, a lurid display of mythical carnage. He saw a thousand worlds set alight by the conflagration, whole systems burning like tinder, fuel to the madness and the pain.
In its wake, emptiness. The next alcove showed a galaxy bereft of life, the charred husks of planets circling their dying suns, drained of energy in the apocalyptic conflict.
He saw the Fleet emerge, three small ships, together containing all that remained from the great dying: the ancestor--gods of the primordial dawn. They searched long and hard, travelling from one blasted hellscape to the next in search of lasting refuge.
And so at long last they found Arachnea, a virgin planet untouched by strife. They came to sow life in its bleak hollows, to make a home for their children, a peaceful place far from the ravages of a war so ancient they themselves had forgotten its cause. Then they set their Divine Engines to work. The Amit had carved effigies of these machines out of lumps of azure marble. Rene touched their smooth flanks, admiring at the workmanship. They were shaped like squat little men, with massive hands and domelike heads. Where they had walked, the earth had moved aside for them. They carved the channels with their feet, flattened the hills with blows from their fists. They dredged up fountains of molten lava and shaped them into a thousand bejeweled islands. They wove giant webs of glass as strong as the pillars of the earth and stretched them out across the sky to shield the world from the jealous eyes of the twin suns, Raelu and Sardec.
It was in the course of their work the Divine Engines shattered a mountain and unearthed the Amit, the first true inhabitants of Arachnea. They had arrived centuries before the ancestor—gods. The painting showed the Amit stumbling out of a rent in their tunnels, hands held up against the sunlight that no longer scorched their pale, waxen skin. The first thing they saw in their brave new world was a towering behemoth of burnished metal, wreathed in fire and smoke. In terror they had fallen to their knees before it, begging for their lives.
Rene nodded. All of this was familiar. He walked over to the next depiction, expecting to see the ancestor--gods recoiling in disgust, then swiftly recovering and obliterating the insectoid creatures with deadly rays of light, driving them scuttling back into their foul hollows beneath the earth. For it was written that the Amits were the offspring of vague, unholy sorceries, and could only know evil. Indeed, the war in heaven had been fought over similar themes. They could not be suffered to live. But what he saw instead shook him to his very core.
The ancestors came down from their mighty steeds, lifted the Amit to their feet, and embraced them. Quickly Rene ran through the rest of the alcoves, mind raging against the truths he now saw before him. From then on, the work deviated from scripture so much so that he could only piece together their meaning with difficulty.
The ancestor--gods debated among themselves as to what to do with the Amits. This was not the first time they had come across life other than their own, and it was clear that this time they were cautious in their approach. Some advocated for bringing the race to total extinction, but most agreed that best way forward was a peaceful coexistence, reasoning that they had much to learn from the Amits, who had survived the conditions of Arachnea for millennia without the need for terraforming. The ancestor--gods felt guilt over stealing Arachnea from its original inhabitants and wished to make amends. And so a bargain was struck between the races.
The Amits would allow the ancestor--gods to make changes to the world. To correct the tilt of its wayward axis, to vent huge plumes of inert gases from the hot womb of the earth and to seed life forms from long-dead Terra. In return, Man would change the Amit as well. They would grant them strength and cunning, broods beyond number, and bodies hardened against pain and suffering so they too could be as the gods were.
The plan proceeded towards fruition. Both sides were content as the final pieces of the great work fell into place. But unknown to Man and Amit alike, the specter of war had never really left the Fleet. It had hidden away in dark holds within the hearts of men, and there it had whispered of want and of desire, of the beauty of the virgin world and the lust to claim it.
Some of the ancestor--gods resented their share in the great work. They chafed at the fact that they, the superior beings, had to deal with their vassal Amits like equals, exchanging their powers for the mere right to live on the planet that they had rightfully settled.
And so they began to snuff out the Amit in their millions, burning them out of their homes with heat rays that swept clean entire colonies.
Soon two sides were at each other’s throats. The honorable ancestors who had kept to their word fought a bitter war against their prideful kin amidst the ruin of their unfinished works. In the skies at night, the Amit watched as the madness unfolded, as stars appeared and vanished overnight, and great balls of flame came bursting down through the void to crash into the broken earth. At last, as their weapons lay spent and broken, they then turned the Divine Engines against one another. Once the instruments of peace and creation, they soon tore the landscape apart with the fury of their duels, trading blows that sent impacts shuddering deep into the scorched earth.
The Amit were afraid, and betook themselves to the deep places, where the wrath of the gods could not find them. But this was to be their doom. Eventually the changes wrought in the bodies of the Amit made them strong and durable enough the endure the apocalyptic conditions of the surface. But as the ancestor--gods fought and died on the surface in cataclysmic struggle, their magic died with them. The Amit themselves became trapped, betrayed by their own changing flesh. They became unable to revert to their previous forms, and so were forevermore consigned to lives of darkness in their lairs beneath the earth.
Now, Arachnea was unsuitable for both man and Amit alike. The ancestor--gods had become madmen, so overtaken by their hatred for each other that they had cast themselves back into a dark age from which there would be no return.
The Amits emerged into the gloomy wreckage of their planet and starved. Until, that is, they came upon the remnants of a battleground. Huge forces of men had clashed and died, leaving their bodies to rot upon the cold ground. In their desperate hunger, the Amits began to eat.
And they found the meat of the gods to be good. That war, a holy act most strange and terrible, had filled their bellies with meat, this they understood. That gods themselves judged war to be a just course of action was evident. And since all that remained of the gods were a race of thieves and murderers, it was judged that to make war upon them was both just and good.
Rene came to the last alcove. It depicted the final resting place of the Divine Engines, whom the Amit had buried beneath the mountains out of fear, sealing them away from the surface so that they would never again walk the earth.
A great square plaque of shining steel and copper was laid into the stone. To the Amit it was only a mark of some kind, a symbol whose meaning was long forgotten, but Rene felt an odd connection to it. He traced its edges with a blood-stained hand, and realized it was not a square, but a rectangle, and one whose dimensions he faintly recognized.
He took out Prota’s pendant and pressed it into the crevice.
There was a hiss of pneumatics as the great square door to his side gave way. Light fixtures hummed into life through powers unknown. He stepped gingerly into the soft glow.
“Greetings Ensign,” came a disembodied female voice, “Welcome to the Topographical Oversight and Reconstruction Unit (T.O.R.U.). What are your commands?”
A Divine Engine. The Amit had found it and built an entire civilization around it. This behemoth, this secret mountain of metal was what his compass had been steering towards all this time. A giddy sensation flowed through him. In his stupor he passed his hands in front of his face, examining the lines of his palms and the action of his fingers.
A nimbus of light played over him, reading his gestures.
“Command noted. Activating neural pairing.”
The door closed shut with a creak behind him. Steel pinions reached out and wire nodules grasped him, ran painlessly through his eye sockets and into his brain. All at once he could feel the machine coming to life after its long dormancy, reactors coils thrumming with an ancient power that would not be denied.
He straightened his back.
The outpost fell away from him in a cloud of dust and rubble. He strode forward, kilometers tall, a shining colossus of star-metal. He glanced down, saw the multitudes of the Amit streaming about the shattered mound. He watched them for a moment, saw them waving their arms in speechless terror at the sudden apparition.
For the first time, he pitied them. They were unaware of their own savagery, of their own hideousness, even. They did not know the doom that awaited them, of the lengths the Fleet was prepared to go in order to secure its final victory.
But there was nothing that could be done. Mankind could no more change themselves than could the Amit. Rene felt the weight of history bearing down upon his shoulders. Though a different world and a separate time, the same inexorable force drove them towards the same tired conclusion.
But perhaps the sooner it was over, the better. He lifted his foot and brought it down. Once, twice, three times until nothing was left moving below. Then he swung away, the ground quaking beneath him.
So, it was through humanity that the Amits had come to know of war? Well then, today he would show them that they had much left to learn. He turned northward, a god astride the earth, and lumbered towards Mound Euler.
Link to 1st chapter here: 1st chapter on HFY
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
submitted by hoggersbridge to HFY [link] [comments]
Once more they rushed through a storm of bullets. They disintegrated as the twelve-pounder discharged a cluster of grapeshot, faltered, then charged again. Claws ripped at the broken stone, reaching and grasping. A man was seized by his locks of hair and pulled through the gap; his screams cut short as his body toppled backwards, missing its head. Bayonets jostled and found their mark in pale flesh as pistols rang out in the tight confines and set Rene’s ears ringing.
“Get back!” shouted the engineers, “You’ve done your best! We’ll take it from here!”
The wall of detritus had begun to buckle beneath the weight of the enemy. The engineers brought out the red plunger and ran the wire to the final batch of charges. These were strapped to every major column and support in the room. They were to be buried alive, to deny the enemy their final victory.
The first Amit clawed its head through. It was impaled on half a dozen blades and hurled back. Then the second burst in and bathed a man head to toe in its corrosive juices, melting him down to bare red musculature in seconds. The monsters scrambled into the breach with reckless abandon, and the slaughter began.
The engineer was killed, brained by an axe before he could blow the charges. Crawling across the floor, battered and bruised by the trampling feet of the melee, Rene found the box and pried it from his dead hands. With a final whimper he closed his eyes and depressed the plunger.
Sometime later Rene awoke with a throbbing head. Absently he wondered if the afterlife was supposed to hurt this much, but then he felt a cold film of cave water touch the side of his face, and reluctantly accepted the fact that he was alive.
The chamber was gone. All about him were strewn great slabs of ceiling, under which various limbs protruded. Beside him, Prota had been buried beneath wreckage, her pendant flung clear. Absently he reached over and pocketed it.
His pants were wet; water was streaming through from somewhere. Through a gap in the huge slump of debris at the entrance he made out shadows moving against the torchlight, and heard sounds of them doing unspeakable things.
He dragged himself upright and cried out a second time in misery and pain. Immediately he regretted that action, as a milky white eye came up to the gap and looked about hungrily. It spotted him and tapped its feet against the stone in excitement. A horde of scuttling figures flitted into view. There was a scuffling sound as they began to dig at the obstruction. He groaned, and looked about him for a weapon, anything with which to end his life quickly and in relatively less anguish. Then he saw it.
The chamber had collapsed, and in doing so a broken pillar several tons heavy had knocked against the impenetrable eastern wall, the one that Admiral Prota’s workmen had been chipping carefully at for a year. It had smashed through the obstruction, and now its great bulk held up the fragile archway. More importantly, an opening had appeared. One that looked just the right size for a child to crawl through. Cave water streamed from the rent, lapping at the bodies of the slain. Behind him the Amit shuddered with delight, spitting torrents of acid against the stone in order to get through to him faster.
He went into the crawlspace and found it was a tight fit. He tried flattening his belly. When that didn’t work, he removed the tattered remnants of his sealant suit, and barely managed to squeeze inside.
He emerged into a cool tunnel. Motes of dust millennia old swirled placidly in the still air, lit by glowing phosphorescent mushrooms that lined the damp walls. Water wet his toes as he stumbled painfully along.
The floor was even and polished to a mirror sheen. Across the chamber was an odd doorway, ovoid in shape. He went over to it, searched in vain for a doorknob, then chuckled and gave up. He felt an absence of fear and knew that his lifting spirits had something to do with this place being exposed to the outside atmosphere. He had at best a few hours left to live. He shrugged and peered about him in the murk.
These tunnels sloped down below the open eastern section. If he could reach a ventilation shaft, there was a chance he could live. Assuming of course that he found a mask sometime soon. He had lost his at some point in the brawl. Thankfully he still had the compass. He took it out but watched in disbelief as the needle began to spin like a top. Cleary whatever magnetic anomaly that had plagued the expedition had returned with a vengeance. Shaking his head, uncertain now of everything, Rene wandered aimlessly, a pale and bloodied specter haunting the alien hallways.
Graceful alcoves surrounded him, with effigies sheltered beneath them and primitive paintings upon their curved surfaces. He looked at the closest one. Though the style was surreal and the language foreign, he understood the symbols well enough.
For they were those of ancient scripture.
The war in heaven. Two great armadas clashed in the depths of the void, lances of searing red heat and spheres of anti-matter dancing between their silver prows. The battle raged the length of an entire wall, a lurid display of mythical carnage. He saw a thousand worlds set alight by the conflagration, whole systems burning like tinder, fuel to the madness and the pain.
In its wake, emptiness. The next alcove showed a galaxy bereft of life, the charred husks of planets circling their dying suns, drained of energy in the apocalyptic conflict.
He saw the Fleet emerge, three small ships, together containing all that remained from the great dying: the ancestor--gods of the primordial dawn. They searched long and hard, travelling from one blasted hellscape to the next in search of lasting refuge.
And so at long last they found Arachnea, a virgin planet untouched by strife. They came to sow life in its bleak hollows, to make a home for their children, a peaceful place far from the ravages of a war so ancient they themselves had forgotten its cause. Then they set their Divine Engines to work. The Amit had carved effigies of these machines out of lumps of azure marble. Rene touched their smooth flanks, admiring at the workmanship. They were shaped like squat little men, with massive hands and domelike heads. Where they had walked, the earth had moved aside for them. They carved the channels with their feet, flattened the hills with blows from their fists. They dredged up fountains of molten lava and shaped them into a thousand bejeweled islands. They wove giant webs of glass as strong as the pillars of the earth and stretched them out across the sky to shield the world from the jealous eyes of the twin suns, Raelu and Sardec.
It was in the course of their work the Divine Engines shattered a mountain and unearthed the Amit, the first true inhabitants of Arachnea. They had arrived centuries before the ancestor—gods. The painting showed the Amit stumbling out of a rent in their tunnels, hands held up against the sunlight that no longer scorched their pale, waxen skin. The first thing they saw in their brave new world was a towering behemoth of burnished metal, wreathed in fire and smoke. In terror they had fallen to their knees before it, begging for their lives.
Rene nodded. All of this was familiar. He walked over to the next depiction, expecting to see the ancestor--gods recoiling in disgust, then swiftly recovering and obliterating the insectoid creatures with deadly rays of light, driving them scuttling back into their foul hollows beneath the earth. For it was written that the Amits were the offspring of vague, unholy sorceries, and could only know evil. Indeed, the war in heaven had been fought over similar themes. They could not be suffered to live. But what he saw instead shook him to his very core.
The ancestors came down from their mighty steeds, lifted the Amit to their feet, and embraced them. Quickly Rene ran through the rest of the alcoves, mind raging against the truths he now saw before him. From then on, the work deviated from scripture so much so that he could only piece together their meaning with difficulty.
The ancestor--gods debated among themselves as to what to do with the Amits. This was not the first time they had come across life other than their own, and it was clear that this time they were cautious in their approach. Some advocated for bringing the race to total extinction, but most agreed that best way forward was a peaceful coexistence, reasoning that they had much to learn from the Amits, who had survived the conditions of Arachnea for millennia without the need for terraforming. The ancestor--gods felt guilt over stealing Arachnea from its original inhabitants and wished to make amends. And so a bargain was struck between the races.
The Amits would allow the ancestor--gods to make changes to the world. To correct the tilt of its wayward axis, to vent huge plumes of inert gases from the hot womb of the earth and to seed life forms from long-dead Terra. In return, Man would change the Amit as well. They would grant them strength and cunning, broods beyond number, and bodies hardened against pain and suffering so they too could be as the gods were.
The plan proceeded towards fruition. Both sides were content as the final pieces of the great work fell into place. But unknown to Man and Amit alike, the specter of war had never really left the Fleet. It had hidden away in dark holds within the hearts of men, and there it had whispered of want and of desire, of the beauty of the virgin world and the lust to claim it.
Some of the ancestor--gods resented their share in the great work. They chafed at the fact that they, the superior beings, had to deal with their vassal Amits like equals, exchanging their powers for the mere right to live on the planet that they had rightfully settled.
And so they began to snuff out the Amit in their millions, burning them out of their homes with heat rays that swept clean entire colonies.
Soon two sides were at each other’s throats. The honorable ancestors who had kept to their word fought a bitter war against their prideful kin amidst the ruin of their unfinished works. In the skies at night, the Amit watched as the madness unfolded, as stars appeared and vanished overnight, and great balls of flame came bursting down through the void to crash into the broken earth. At last, as their weapons lay spent and broken, they then turned the Divine Engines against one another. Once the instruments of peace and creation, they soon tore the landscape apart with the fury of their duels, trading blows that sent impacts shuddering deep into the scorched earth.
The Amit were afraid, and betook themselves to the deep places, where the wrath of the gods could not find them. But this was to be their doom. Eventually the changes wrought in the bodies of the Amit made them strong and durable enough the endure the apocalyptic conditions of the surface. But as the ancestor--gods fought and died on the surface in cataclysmic struggle, their magic died with them. The Amit themselves became trapped, betrayed by their own changing flesh. They became unable to revert to their previous forms, and so were forevermore consigned to lives of darkness in their lairs beneath the earth.
Now, Arachnea was unsuitable for both man and Amit alike. The ancestor--gods had become madmen, so overtaken by their hatred for each other that they had cast themselves back into a dark age from which there would be no return.
The Amits emerged into the gloomy wreckage of their planet and starved. Until, that is, they came upon the remnants of a battleground. Huge forces of men had clashed and died, leaving their bodies to rot upon the cold ground. In their desperate hunger, the Amits began to eat.
And they found the meat of the gods to be good. That war, a holy act most strange and terrible, had filled their bellies with meat, this they understood. That gods themselves judged war to be a just course of action was evident. And since all that remained of the gods were a race of thieves and murderers, it was judged that to make war upon them was both just and good.
Rene came to the last alcove. It depicted the final resting place of the Divine Engines, whom the Amit had buried beneath the mountains out of fear, sealing them away from the surface so that they would never again walk the earth.
A great square plaque of shining steel and copper was laid into the stone. To the Amit it was only a mark of some kind, a symbol whose meaning was long forgotten, but Rene felt an odd connection to it. He traced its edges with a blood-stained hand, and realized it was not a square, but a rectangle, and one whose dimensions he faintly recognized.
He took out Prota’s pendant and pressed it into the crevice.
There was a hiss of pneumatics as the great square door to his side gave way. Light fixtures hummed into life through powers unknown. He stepped gingerly into the soft glow.
“Greetings Ensign,” came a disembodied female voice, “Welcome to the Topographical Oversight and Reconstruction Unit (T.O.R.U.). What are your commands?”
A Divine Engine. The Amit had found it and built an entire civilization around it. This behemoth, this secret mountain of metal was what his compass had been steering towards all this time. A giddy sensation flowed through him. In his stupor he passed his hands in front of his face, examining the lines of his palms and the action of his fingers.
A nimbus of light played over him, reading his gestures.
“Command noted. Activating neural pairing.”
The door closed shut with a creak behind him. Steel pinions reached out and wire nodules grasped him, ran painlessly through his eye sockets and into his brain. All at once he could feel the machine coming to life after its long dormancy, reactors coils thrumming with an ancient power that would not be denied.
He straightened his back.
The outpost fell away from him in a cloud of dust and rubble. He strode forward, kilometers tall, a shining colossus of star-metal. He glanced down, saw the multitudes of the Amit streaming about the shattered mound. He watched them for a moment, saw them waving their arms in speechless terror at the sudden apparition.
For the first time, he pitied them. They were unaware of their own savagery, of their own hideousness, even. They did not know the doom that awaited them, of the lengths the Fleet was prepared to go in order to secure its final victory.
But there was nothing that could be done. Mankind could no more change themselves than could the Amit. Rene felt the weight of history bearing down upon his shoulders. Though a different world and a separate time, the same inexorable force drove them towards the same tired conclusion.
But perhaps the sooner it was over, the better. He lifted his foot and brought it down. Once, twice, three times until nothing was left moving below. Then he swung away, the ground quaking beneath him.
So, it was through humanity that the Amits had come to know of war? Well then, today he would show them that they had much left to learn. He turned northward, a god astride the earth, and lumbered towards Mound Euler.
Link to 1st chapter here: 1st chapter on HFY
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
2024.05.08 10:28 OverheadDoorLeague4 Overhead Door League City
 | https://preview.redd.it/gnvcleyxx5zc1.png?width=490&format=png&auto=webp&s=c2d85bcd330e040d605d45dfe6df93b95165439b submitted by OverheadDoorLeague4 to u/OverheadDoorLeague4 [link] [comments] https://overheaddoorleaguecity.com/ 281-317-0192 Welcome to our company's website. We are League City's top provider of Overhead Garage Door Repair and Service. We install new doors and fix existing overhead doors. We pledge to use only the best supplies, hire the best technicians, and satisfy our customers. Also, Overhead Door League City, Texas, provides round-the-clock emergency assistance. Our League City business has always been run and controlled by families. Your happiness is our main priority. Furthermore, our organization offers high-end brands of items and services. We are available when you call! This holds true for all types of garage cases—new and old. We are confident that if you are pleased with League City's services, you will contact us once more and recommend us to your friends and family.We are grateful for your business as usual. Services: Garage Door Repair, Garage Door Opener, Garage Door Spring, Garage Door Installation, Opener Installation, Opener Repairs, Garage Door Parts, Remote Replacement, Cable Replacement Brands: Chamberlain, Genie, Liftmaster, Craftsman, Clopay, Torsion , Amarr, Garador, Linear, Sears. Locations: 77058, 77511, 77539, 77546, 77565, 77573, 77574, 77598 Payment Methods: Visa, Cash, MasterCard, Discover, American Express. BUSINESS HOURS: From 08:00 AM To 11:00 PM Garage Door Repair, Garage Door Opener, Garage Door Spring, Garage Door Installation, Opener Installation, Opener Repairs, Garage Door Parts, Remote Replacement, Cable Replacement |
2024.05.05 22:25 Own_Lychee_2243 Sears Service Center
Are there any Sears Service Centers any more in this state? My husband has a tool that's broken and needs repair or replacement. They're still supposedly honoring the lifetime whatever thingy for Craftsman stuff. It's not Lowe's.
Yes, there is still a Sears store in Braintree and they couldn't help.
Yes, at this point it would be easier to just buy a new one, but just humor him...
submitted by Own_Lychee_2243 to massachusetts [link] [comments]
Yes, there is still a Sears store in Braintree and they couldn't help.
Yes, at this point it would be easier to just buy a new one, but just humor him...
2024.05.05 17:07 WorldAwayTweedy There is a customer none of us are allowed to serve.
I work at the Lone Star Diner, off the road from Carson City to Reno. Diner name has of course been changed for obvious reasons–more on that later.
Why do I work at the Lone Star Diner, off the road from Carson City to Reno? Well because, kind stranger, my life plans didn’t work out. Generally, if you’re caught working at a diner past college–specifically, one in the middle of nowhere, it might mean that things aren’t going so hot.
But still, why this diner? Why Lone Star specifically?
I’m aware you probably aren’t actually asking these questions, but I nonetheless believe they deserve a response.
Of all of the diners in the world, what makes Lone Star so special is…
The pay.
The pay is fucking great.
There are maybe ten other diners within a 30 minute drive from where I live. Most of them average out to a little over minimum wage.
Meanwhile, Lone Star is whipping up a mean $50/hr.
And that hourly rate is due to one, single, solitary reason, no matter what anyone tells you.
Because of him.
My first day on the job was fine, more or less? I’d worked customer service before, so I felt like I could run with the strange surprises that came unique to diners. I was able to adapt to the inconsistency of the rules pretty quickly. Unwritten rules like–some areas in the restaurant need to be spotless at all times; others, boss lady couldn’t give less of a shit about. Serve customers quickly! But not too quickly, asshole. Customers here don’t actually like it when you show up too fast. Give them some time to feel the floor under their boots, to miserably stare ahead, and mourn what could’ve been. Y’know, diner stuff. They’re here because they want to be alone. Pardon the contradiction.
Of course, vaguely defined, ‘whispered only by ghosts’ rules extended to the cooks as well. If you were, somehow, secretly, celebrity chef Marco Pierre White in the flesh, your mandate was to keep your damn prowess to yourself. Your job is to make the classics as decently as possible. Not bad, but not amazing. Just poor enough to be really good–that’s what the customers are here for.
As the weeks unfolded, I rose, or I suppose–crouched–to the occasion quite well. You want intentional, pinpoint precision mediocrity? You’ve come to the right person. Most of the patrons just wanted coffee and brunch, brought to them at medium speed, with a semi-predictable cadence of waiter or waitress check-ins afterwards. Done, done, and done.
Not one for subtlety, one day I finally decided to ask my boss the question in the middle of a shift. I didn’t want to ruin a good thing by doubting it, but fuck me if I wasn’t a little curious. Not a full ‘look’ at the gift horse’s mouth, more of a skeptical side-eye…
“Why $50/hr?”
She didn’t even look up from her task at the register, methodically counting out bills. “Said it on your first day, ya gotta be good at following the rules. And when it’s an important rule? You’d better be damn well perfect. High expectations here.”
I made a face. “Right. High expectations.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“No ma’am, I guess, I just,”–Why did I even speak up?–“I just think you’re running a really cool operation here. Cooler than you might realize. It’s still work, but the whole thing seems… fair?”
Christ, my waffling skills were abysmal. Add that to the list of intentional mediocrity! Booyah.
She looked up from her duties and shot me a stern look. “I don’t run this ship. And following the rules here means that you take care of yourself.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I am your employer, sure, and I’ll pay you well to be here, sure, but you should be aware–there is plenty more going on here than just you and this diner.”
She glanced down at her watch, then sighed. “I usually save this speech for the end of the month, but you already caught me halfway through it. So, the Cole's notes: if you don’t think you have it in you to follow instructions clearly, without protest, and without asking too many questions, then you should leave. Quit. No harm, no foul. A week’s worth of pay on the house.”
The conversation sputtered shortly after that. I tried to find an opening to ask more about what she meant, but she was closed off to the topic moving forward.
And you know what? That was fine–if she wanted me to put my head down and just do the work, I could do that.
And work I did. And things were good. Mundane small talk with the customers was fun, my coworkers were friendly, and I was getting paid well. I’d found a place to park the failures of my life. A place to build from.
It must’ve been a Saturday, I think, when I first noticed him. An occupied seat in the far corner of the diner. No idea how long he’d been sitting there and waiting, though he certainly looked patient. I had the strange inkling that he’d been left hanging for quite some time, though I couldn’t actually remember seeing him enter.
Brown corduroy shirt. Short hair. Mid 50s, it seemed. A reasonably calm smile. Normal looking dude.
I started making my way out from the back and headed towards him.
Immediately, I felt a tight grip on my arm–
It was Melanie, my boss, with a forceful clutch–enough to make me drop my notepad. Her fingers tightened around my forearm, sharply pinching my skin.
“Important rules,” she said.
“What?”
“You ‘member our chat about rules? Well this is the most important one. Okay?”
“Okay…?”
“That man, over there, in the corner.” She motioned to the man who had caught my attention– sitting upright, hands softly clasped together, coy smile across his face. “You don’t go up to him. You don’t say a word to him.”
“But he’s… a customer?
Her hold intensified–she was hurting me. Almost as if she was taking out some sort of unseen anger on me.
“I’d like to ask you right now to be smart enough to not ask questions and just follow instructions. You don’t go to his table, you don’t talk to him. You can look at him. You can shout across the room at him if you’d like–though I can’t imagine why you’d ever need to do that. But you do not approach him, and you do not take his order.”
“Or…?”
A sharp exhale through the nose, a shake of the head, and a glare from my manager. “It’s different every time. But, it ain’t pretty.”
I watched him from the short distance I’d been afforded. It was hard not to. She did too.
Unlike the other customers here, I didn’t get a sense that he was here to be alone, to reminisce, or to take part in the comfort ritual of a lackluster Eggs Benedict over rye. Instead, I had the sense that he was just… curious. Mild-mannered, content, but curious.
My shift ended not too long after, so I didn’t actually get a chance to watch him leave. Regardless, the experience of seeing him and learning about the rule he was connected to left a bizarre, dampening feeling on my mood.
I liked my job. I liked coming home and unwinding. I didn’t mind being in the middle of nowhere.
It felt nice to look up at the empty sky filled with stars. To see them shimmer and shine, and even occasionally shoot across. I made a wish that things in my life would stay simple.
___________________
I started to get a sense of his cadence. He’d usually show up once a month.
The rare times I got to see him, I’d try to squeak in the odd question to my boss. Questions like, ‘Who is he?’, ‘Where does he come from?’, and ‘Has anyone spoken with him?’–all mechanically met with ‘I don’t know,’ ‘I don’t know,’ and ‘If you’re scared, you’re welcome to quit.’
Then, as fate would have it, one day boss lady fell incredibly ill. My coworkers and I had to convince her to go home midway through her shift, her sickness falling, uncomfortably, within the usual 1-3 day window at the end of the month when our ‘customer’ would typically appear.
And of course, there he was, right after she went home.
To my benefit, the other waiters and waitresses working the rounds were well aware of his presence and knew exactly what to do whenever he arrived. All of them knew to steer clear of him.
Nevertheless, driven by a foundational curiosity that I just couldn’t shake, I used this opportunity to go for it. I shouted a single thing across the floor, knowing Melanie wasn’t there to chide me–
“Hello sir! What brings you here?” I asked him.
He turned his head from his fixed position in his seat and put a hand to his ear. Clever.
“I said, what brings you here?” I called out again, a few notches louder this time, garnering some odd looks from our Thursday patrons.
To my surprise, he spoke back. I’m not sure why I was expecting his voice to carry the tone of some twisted, demented demon–maybe the fear Melanie had instilled in me? The man sounded exactly how he looked.
“I’m sorry dear,” he said, “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re saying. Can you come over here and ask me again?”
Nope. I was good.
“And I don’t mean to be rude, about the service,” he continued, “But it feels as if no one has taken my order for quite some time now.”
I let the exchange end there, diverting my attention back to the other guests. As always, he’d eventually disappear without fanfare, without the clatter of the entrance bell or any sight or sound of his steps across the diner floor, our backroom conversations about him remaining dreadfully short while he was there–just: ‘He’s here,’ and ‘He’s gone,’ and the odd, when we really needed to say it, ‘I feel really weird about this.’
It took me a while to understand where my brazenness to address this strange middle-aged man came from. In truth, I was just afraid. His presence and all of the questions tied to his being at our diner were disrupting this otherwise great arrangement that I felt I had. It seemed right, in the moment, to stand at the very edge of my bravery and say something to him. Of course, now that he was gone, I just felt worse.
The next week, I was invited to something pretty interesting at work.
I generally have a good amount of visibility into what Melanie, ‘boss lady,’ does on a daily basis. The only element that remained elusive was her bi-weekly check-in with a particularly sharp-dressed agent-looking-fella. There was a pretty consistent presence of state troopers, agents, and similarly uniformed men and women dropping into the diner, though I seldom paid it mind beyond simply noticing it.
Midway through wiping down the tables, only an hour or so into my shift, Mel swung by and said:
“Hey, want you in the meeting with the big boss, if you have a few.”
The big boss? “Uh, sure. Yeah. Coming. Just uh, if you don’t mind me asking, who is–”
She let her eyes speak her unwritten rules to me: ‘questions’ equals ‘generally bad’. Thank you for the reminder, ma’am.
We maneuvered to a backroom and sat at a table. Across from us, already seated, was a man in a sharply tailored suit with a subtle earpiece in–the aforementioned agent. The table was littered with a small, messy stack of notes, papers, and documents.
He made it a point to size me up, staring me down uninterrupted, like a deer to headlights, no concern at all about how awkward he was making it for me.
Then, he turned to Melanie.
“How long she been here?” he asked her in his gruff Western drawl.
“Six months,” she said.
“Y’trust her?”
“I trust her. Yes.”
He let his eyebrows say ‘If you say so’ then went on with it.
“Alright, so, apparently y’had a visit from the wandering man last week. You,” he said, motioning to Melanie, “were out. But you,” attention now shifted to me, “weren’t. Give me the lowdown.”
The wandering man?
The agent caught the confusion in my eyes.
“Jesus, you’ve told this girl nothing, haven’t you?” he said to Melanie.
“Sir, I know it sounds weird,” she said, “But I personally feel as if the man is almost, I don’t know, drawn to curiosity. Like, maybe the less I say to those not already in the know, the bett–”
“Wandering man,” the agent cut her off, “Is our nickname for the fella that sits in the corner of your fine little establishment. Or should I say, the state’s fine little establishment.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“That’s correct. The state’s. Congratulations, ma’am, you’re part of a government operation. The wandering man, not just a cutesy little nickname but our legal definition of this tricky little problem, is a phenomenon we discovered many years ago. At the time, he’d just walk the desert landscape, chatting up unsuspecting strangers with bizarre questions. Everything fine, all hunky-dory. A little weird, sure, but nothing illegal. However…”
However…?
“Sometimes… things would happen because of him. Bizarre things. Grizzly things.”
I could see Melanie groaning, concerned at the picture being painted. Would this pique my curiosity?
“Have you guys, y’know, taken him in for…” I almost wanted to cut off my own stupid question, but he ran with it–
“Nope. Not because we don’t want to, but rather, because it… might not be safe.”
The cozy mental image I’d held of this diner was starting to fracture.
“We have reason to believe that he’s a visitor,” he said.
“From…?”
___________________
I didn’t attend another debrief after that.
Not because I was barred, mind you.
Rather, I just didn’t want to know anymore. My gut no longer held curiosity. There was just a low, aching dread there now.
The agents and troopers–spaced out and seated amongst the eatery–were now just a glaring reminder of what my dingy diner job really was.
The government cavalry would mostly show up around the end of month window the wandering man was set to arrive in. When he’d appear, they wouldn’t do much more than examine him from their distant tables, subtly scribbling notes into notebooks.
He’d always act the same. He would just sit there. He wouldn’t give them, or us–the diner employees–much to go on.
Speaking of employees, I remembered something Melanie told me after my first month of working here–that the worker turnover at this diner was incredibly high. Knowing at the time what everyone got paid, it made absolutely no sense to me.
Now, seven months into the gig, alongside a completely new set of cooks, waiters, and waitresses from when I’d first started, I’d seen firsthand just how true her statement was. None of the leavers claimed as much, but I’m sure the underlying premise of who the diner was really for became subconsciously clear to them during their time here. And it probably didn’t sit all too well with them.
I stayed. But not because of the pay. I’m actually not sure why I did.
We had a new cast of rookie employees now. The ones who understood the vague terms of the situation, just as Melanie, I, and all former employees did, stuck around. Those who couldn’t reconcile the situation with their inherent curiosity, naturally filtered out.
And then there was Malcolm.
It was only his first week. He was a keener. Mega-keener. He’d bulldozed through a giant list of tasks and was already asking for the next batch of work to chew through. Anything he could get ahead of, anything he could step in for, anything he could learn, he was on it. He wanted to be as helpful, helpful, helpful as humanly possible. I think the salary of the role, for a guy his young age, was just too alluring for him.
For our part, Melanie and I tried our best to get him to pace himself.
We were both giving the spiel now. By this point, we’d more or less perfected it.
“There are things about this diner that are strange. Rules you will have to follow and not think about. Rules that are concrete, immutable, and non-negotiable, like gravity.”
He nodded. At that moment, I really believed he was internalizing my words.
“And if that doesn’t work for you, and if you don’t think you can take care of yourself, then you shouldn’t work here,” I continued.
There was always a visceral feeling in my stomach whenever I saw the wandering man in the corner during the same week that we were onboarding new staff. I’m sure Melanie felt it too.
On those days, Mel and I would both work the till, and if we saw anyone coming out from the back, we’d stop them. With a simple grab of the arm.
Malcolm stepped out, and I did just that–a rough grasp of his forearm, just like Melanie had done to me when I’d first started. He recoiled in surprise.
”Remember that little chat about rules we just had?” I said.
He nodded meekly, as if he was already in trouble.
I pointed to the man seated at the far table in the brown corduroy shirt, staring straight ahead, with–what I believed at the time–no real reason to be here, and I said, “You will not, under any conditions, serve that man. Don’t go up to him, don’t talk to him. Pretend he doesn’t exist.”
Malcolm lifted the garbage bag he was holding in his left hand. In my nervousness, I hadn’t actually clocked what he was stepping out for.
“Just doing garbage duty, ma’am,” he said. “But, understood.”
And then he left out the front door with his usual swagger. The dumpster wasn’t as close as we would’ve liked so I appreciated his willingness to take on this duty so soon into his employment.
I turned back to observe the wandering man. We had a crowd of agents in attendance that day, scattered about the restaurant.
The man wasn’t one to speak up often. Today was an interesting exception.
“Officers,” he said, “If you have any questions, feel free to join me at the table to ask them.”
The agents around the room reacted mainly with snickers.
“Seriously, if you come sit with me, I’ll be happy to spill it all. Truly.”
Even more laughs. But no one bit.
And yet he continued, pointedly. “I know you’re curious, I know you take notes, I know you talk about me, I know you built this establishment for me, I know you–”
As I reconciled the fact that this was the most words I’d ever heard him string together in succession, I heard the chime of the bell–a door had opened.
Malcolm was dusting his hands as he entered through the diner’s side door. A door which was situated right beside the table the wandering man was seated at.
It all happened so fast. And yet, it played out in front of me excruciatingly slowly, as if there was a moment–a single solitary second–where I could’ve stepped in.
The wandering man dropped any pretext of an exchange with the agents, stopping his sentence midway and adopting a completely new demeanor. He played the role of a low, miserable, tired man and said, “30 visits, terrible service every time,” in a pathetic tone just as Malcolm walked by.
Malcolm, instinctively, plucked a notepad out from his chest pocket and turned his head to face the man.
“Hey, I got you chief, I can have ‘em ring something up for you, what are you–”
And then Malcolm froze in place.
And the wandering man’s expression turned Cheshire cat wide. His neck alternated between tensing and fluttering, with what seemed to be undeniable excitement.
The man started getting up from the table, and then, immediately–
Both of them were gone.
Malcolm and the wanderer had vanished out of existence entirely.
The insanity of the moment was interrupted by the coded language I heard blared over a megaphone: nonsensical agent-speak that has been seared into my memory forever.
“Alert Level Black. Wandering target has compromised a civilian. I repeat, civilian has been compromised.”
And that was that.
Melanie quit in the days after.
She wasn’t mad at me.
She told me she always knew she’d leave after the tenth disappearance. Why that specific milestone was required, I have no clue.
All I could do from that point was continue to work. On my commutes home, or during lunch breaks, I would look up at the stars, and put out the wish that Malcolm be brought back home. Back from wherever he’d been taken.
The debrief with the agents brought me no solace. The exchange with them was simple and short. ‘Where was he taken to?’, answered with ‘He’s gone now.’
With a perpetual dagger in my soul now, I had only the smallest of silver linings, if you can even call it that.
A lesson.
The lesson that I needed to be even more watchful. Even more diligent. And on days when the wandering man was visiting–the only server at the diner. No exceptions.
I knew the agents weren’t happy about that. None of them said it to me explicitly, but I could tell that they would learn something new about him every time he whisked someone away after a mistake was made. It was a weird, Darwinian set-up they had created. We were a zoo they could use to learn more about a specific animal. A specific entity. A specific visitor.
No dice. They’d just have to watch him sit now. Or wait for him to do something different.
I waited for the three day stretch at the end of the month that he usually appears in. Things were quiet up until that point.
When he finally showed up, it wasn’t what I expected.
For the first time ever, I saw the wandering man walk right through the front door.
In the dead of night, at the tail end of my shift.
I was at the till, paralyzed, as he took step after step to close the distance.
And then, he was right there. Standing in front of me.
And I was sure, absolutely sure, that I was going to die.
He smiled.
“Don’t worry. I have my own little set of rules I play by,” he said.
I didn’t say a word. This was no man’s land right now.
“I know you’ve been curious about me. I’ve admired it from the moment you first spoke up to address me. Cautious curiosity is a great thing to see in someone. Especially in such a reckless species.”
Please. Please just go.
“I’d like to answer a question about why I’m visiting. I’m sure you’d like to know why I’m here, right?”
I’m not curious anymore. I swear I’m not.
He laughed. “The answer is really, painfully simple. This little game, this little charade I’m playing. It is just so unbelievably, fun.”
Please don’t kill me. Please.
“You truly have a wonderful planet. I will return again soon. Promise. Give me a month, maybe two this time.” A sincere, kind smile delivered with kind eyes. “I’ll come back with a new game.”
And then he was gone.
It took me a minute to realize that there was a cake box sitting on the counter beside me. Maybe it was there the whole time he was speaking to me. Maybe it materialized right after he left.
I opened the box to find Malcolm’s severed head, a blank expression on his face, sitting on a bed of poorly and confusingly organized flowers. Almost as if there was an intention to create a floral arrangement, but no understanding of what something like that would look like.
On top of the horrific display, written in an almost childlike handwriting, was a note that read “I brought him back, just like you wished.”
The worst thing about being trapped at a diner, in the middle of nowhere, is that you realize that there really is nowhere else to run to.
Every single part of our planet is blanketed by stars, by open sky.
Someone could drop in anytime.
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Why do I work at the Lone Star Diner, off the road from Carson City to Reno? Well because, kind stranger, my life plans didn’t work out. Generally, if you’re caught working at a diner past college–specifically, one in the middle of nowhere, it might mean that things aren’t going so hot.
But still, why this diner? Why Lone Star specifically?
I’m aware you probably aren’t actually asking these questions, but I nonetheless believe they deserve a response.
Of all of the diners in the world, what makes Lone Star so special is…
The pay.
The pay is fucking great.
There are maybe ten other diners within a 30 minute drive from where I live. Most of them average out to a little over minimum wage.
Meanwhile, Lone Star is whipping up a mean $50/hr.
And that hourly rate is due to one, single, solitary reason, no matter what anyone tells you.
Because of him.
My first day on the job was fine, more or less? I’d worked customer service before, so I felt like I could run with the strange surprises that came unique to diners. I was able to adapt to the inconsistency of the rules pretty quickly. Unwritten rules like–some areas in the restaurant need to be spotless at all times; others, boss lady couldn’t give less of a shit about. Serve customers quickly! But not too quickly, asshole. Customers here don’t actually like it when you show up too fast. Give them some time to feel the floor under their boots, to miserably stare ahead, and mourn what could’ve been. Y’know, diner stuff. They’re here because they want to be alone. Pardon the contradiction.
Of course, vaguely defined, ‘whispered only by ghosts’ rules extended to the cooks as well. If you were, somehow, secretly, celebrity chef Marco Pierre White in the flesh, your mandate was to keep your damn prowess to yourself. Your job is to make the classics as decently as possible. Not bad, but not amazing. Just poor enough to be really good–that’s what the customers are here for.
As the weeks unfolded, I rose, or I suppose–crouched–to the occasion quite well. You want intentional, pinpoint precision mediocrity? You’ve come to the right person. Most of the patrons just wanted coffee and brunch, brought to them at medium speed, with a semi-predictable cadence of waiter or waitress check-ins afterwards. Done, done, and done.
Not one for subtlety, one day I finally decided to ask my boss the question in the middle of a shift. I didn’t want to ruin a good thing by doubting it, but fuck me if I wasn’t a little curious. Not a full ‘look’ at the gift horse’s mouth, more of a skeptical side-eye…
“Why $50/hr?”
She didn’t even look up from her task at the register, methodically counting out bills. “Said it on your first day, ya gotta be good at following the rules. And when it’s an important rule? You’d better be damn well perfect. High expectations here.”
I made a face. “Right. High expectations.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“No ma’am, I guess, I just,”–Why did I even speak up?–“I just think you’re running a really cool operation here. Cooler than you might realize. It’s still work, but the whole thing seems… fair?”
Christ, my waffling skills were abysmal. Add that to the list of intentional mediocrity! Booyah.
She looked up from her duties and shot me a stern look. “I don’t run this ship. And following the rules here means that you take care of yourself.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I am your employer, sure, and I’ll pay you well to be here, sure, but you should be aware–there is plenty more going on here than just you and this diner.”
She glanced down at her watch, then sighed. “I usually save this speech for the end of the month, but you already caught me halfway through it. So, the Cole's notes: if you don’t think you have it in you to follow instructions clearly, without protest, and without asking too many questions, then you should leave. Quit. No harm, no foul. A week’s worth of pay on the house.”
The conversation sputtered shortly after that. I tried to find an opening to ask more about what she meant, but she was closed off to the topic moving forward.
And you know what? That was fine–if she wanted me to put my head down and just do the work, I could do that.
And work I did. And things were good. Mundane small talk with the customers was fun, my coworkers were friendly, and I was getting paid well. I’d found a place to park the failures of my life. A place to build from.
It must’ve been a Saturday, I think, when I first noticed him. An occupied seat in the far corner of the diner. No idea how long he’d been sitting there and waiting, though he certainly looked patient. I had the strange inkling that he’d been left hanging for quite some time, though I couldn’t actually remember seeing him enter.
Brown corduroy shirt. Short hair. Mid 50s, it seemed. A reasonably calm smile. Normal looking dude.
I started making my way out from the back and headed towards him.
Immediately, I felt a tight grip on my arm–
It was Melanie, my boss, with a forceful clutch–enough to make me drop my notepad. Her fingers tightened around my forearm, sharply pinching my skin.
“Important rules,” she said.
“What?”
“You ‘member our chat about rules? Well this is the most important one. Okay?”
“Okay…?”
“That man, over there, in the corner.” She motioned to the man who had caught my attention– sitting upright, hands softly clasped together, coy smile across his face. “You don’t go up to him. You don’t say a word to him.”
“But he’s… a customer?
Her hold intensified–she was hurting me. Almost as if she was taking out some sort of unseen anger on me.
“I’d like to ask you right now to be smart enough to not ask questions and just follow instructions. You don’t go to his table, you don’t talk to him. You can look at him. You can shout across the room at him if you’d like–though I can’t imagine why you’d ever need to do that. But you do not approach him, and you do not take his order.”
“Or…?”
A sharp exhale through the nose, a shake of the head, and a glare from my manager. “It’s different every time. But, it ain’t pretty.”
I watched him from the short distance I’d been afforded. It was hard not to. She did too.
Unlike the other customers here, I didn’t get a sense that he was here to be alone, to reminisce, or to take part in the comfort ritual of a lackluster Eggs Benedict over rye. Instead, I had the sense that he was just… curious. Mild-mannered, content, but curious.
My shift ended not too long after, so I didn’t actually get a chance to watch him leave. Regardless, the experience of seeing him and learning about the rule he was connected to left a bizarre, dampening feeling on my mood.
I liked my job. I liked coming home and unwinding. I didn’t mind being in the middle of nowhere.
It felt nice to look up at the empty sky filled with stars. To see them shimmer and shine, and even occasionally shoot across. I made a wish that things in my life would stay simple.
___________________
I started to get a sense of his cadence. He’d usually show up once a month.
The rare times I got to see him, I’d try to squeak in the odd question to my boss. Questions like, ‘Who is he?’, ‘Where does he come from?’, and ‘Has anyone spoken with him?’–all mechanically met with ‘I don’t know,’ ‘I don’t know,’ and ‘If you’re scared, you’re welcome to quit.’
Then, as fate would have it, one day boss lady fell incredibly ill. My coworkers and I had to convince her to go home midway through her shift, her sickness falling, uncomfortably, within the usual 1-3 day window at the end of the month when our ‘customer’ would typically appear.
And of course, there he was, right after she went home.
To my benefit, the other waiters and waitresses working the rounds were well aware of his presence and knew exactly what to do whenever he arrived. All of them knew to steer clear of him.
Nevertheless, driven by a foundational curiosity that I just couldn’t shake, I used this opportunity to go for it. I shouted a single thing across the floor, knowing Melanie wasn’t there to chide me–
“Hello sir! What brings you here?” I asked him.
He turned his head from his fixed position in his seat and put a hand to his ear. Clever.
“I said, what brings you here?” I called out again, a few notches louder this time, garnering some odd looks from our Thursday patrons.
To my surprise, he spoke back. I’m not sure why I was expecting his voice to carry the tone of some twisted, demented demon–maybe the fear Melanie had instilled in me? The man sounded exactly how he looked.
“I’m sorry dear,” he said, “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re saying. Can you come over here and ask me again?”
Nope. I was good.
“And I don’t mean to be rude, about the service,” he continued, “But it feels as if no one has taken my order for quite some time now.”
I let the exchange end there, diverting my attention back to the other guests. As always, he’d eventually disappear without fanfare, without the clatter of the entrance bell or any sight or sound of his steps across the diner floor, our backroom conversations about him remaining dreadfully short while he was there–just: ‘He’s here,’ and ‘He’s gone,’ and the odd, when we really needed to say it, ‘I feel really weird about this.’
It took me a while to understand where my brazenness to address this strange middle-aged man came from. In truth, I was just afraid. His presence and all of the questions tied to his being at our diner were disrupting this otherwise great arrangement that I felt I had. It seemed right, in the moment, to stand at the very edge of my bravery and say something to him. Of course, now that he was gone, I just felt worse.
The next week, I was invited to something pretty interesting at work.
I generally have a good amount of visibility into what Melanie, ‘boss lady,’ does on a daily basis. The only element that remained elusive was her bi-weekly check-in with a particularly sharp-dressed agent-looking-fella. There was a pretty consistent presence of state troopers, agents, and similarly uniformed men and women dropping into the diner, though I seldom paid it mind beyond simply noticing it.
Midway through wiping down the tables, only an hour or so into my shift, Mel swung by and said:
“Hey, want you in the meeting with the big boss, if you have a few.”
The big boss? “Uh, sure. Yeah. Coming. Just uh, if you don’t mind me asking, who is–”
She let her eyes speak her unwritten rules to me: ‘questions’ equals ‘generally bad’. Thank you for the reminder, ma’am.
We maneuvered to a backroom and sat at a table. Across from us, already seated, was a man in a sharply tailored suit with a subtle earpiece in–the aforementioned agent. The table was littered with a small, messy stack of notes, papers, and documents.
He made it a point to size me up, staring me down uninterrupted, like a deer to headlights, no concern at all about how awkward he was making it for me.
Then, he turned to Melanie.
“How long she been here?” he asked her in his gruff Western drawl.
“Six months,” she said.
“Y’trust her?”
“I trust her. Yes.”
He let his eyebrows say ‘If you say so’ then went on with it.
“Alright, so, apparently y’had a visit from the wandering man last week. You,” he said, motioning to Melanie, “were out. But you,” attention now shifted to me, “weren’t. Give me the lowdown.”
The wandering man?
The agent caught the confusion in my eyes.
“Jesus, you’ve told this girl nothing, haven’t you?” he said to Melanie.
“Sir, I know it sounds weird,” she said, “But I personally feel as if the man is almost, I don’t know, drawn to curiosity. Like, maybe the less I say to those not already in the know, the bett–”
“Wandering man,” the agent cut her off, “Is our nickname for the fella that sits in the corner of your fine little establishment. Or should I say, the state’s fine little establishment.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“That’s correct. The state’s. Congratulations, ma’am, you’re part of a government operation. The wandering man, not just a cutesy little nickname but our legal definition of this tricky little problem, is a phenomenon we discovered many years ago. At the time, he’d just walk the desert landscape, chatting up unsuspecting strangers with bizarre questions. Everything fine, all hunky-dory. A little weird, sure, but nothing illegal. However…”
However…?
“Sometimes… things would happen because of him. Bizarre things. Grizzly things.”
I could see Melanie groaning, concerned at the picture being painted. Would this pique my curiosity?
“Have you guys, y’know, taken him in for…” I almost wanted to cut off my own stupid question, but he ran with it–
“Nope. Not because we don’t want to, but rather, because it… might not be safe.”
The cozy mental image I’d held of this diner was starting to fracture.
“We have reason to believe that he’s a visitor,” he said.
“From…?”
___________________
I didn’t attend another debrief after that.
Not because I was barred, mind you.
Rather, I just didn’t want to know anymore. My gut no longer held curiosity. There was just a low, aching dread there now.
The agents and troopers–spaced out and seated amongst the eatery–were now just a glaring reminder of what my dingy diner job really was.
The government cavalry would mostly show up around the end of month window the wandering man was set to arrive in. When he’d appear, they wouldn’t do much more than examine him from their distant tables, subtly scribbling notes into notebooks.
He’d always act the same. He would just sit there. He wouldn’t give them, or us–the diner employees–much to go on.
Speaking of employees, I remembered something Melanie told me after my first month of working here–that the worker turnover at this diner was incredibly high. Knowing at the time what everyone got paid, it made absolutely no sense to me.
Now, seven months into the gig, alongside a completely new set of cooks, waiters, and waitresses from when I’d first started, I’d seen firsthand just how true her statement was. None of the leavers claimed as much, but I’m sure the underlying premise of who the diner was really for became subconsciously clear to them during their time here. And it probably didn’t sit all too well with them.
I stayed. But not because of the pay. I’m actually not sure why I did.
We had a new cast of rookie employees now. The ones who understood the vague terms of the situation, just as Melanie, I, and all former employees did, stuck around. Those who couldn’t reconcile the situation with their inherent curiosity, naturally filtered out.
And then there was Malcolm.
It was only his first week. He was a keener. Mega-keener. He’d bulldozed through a giant list of tasks and was already asking for the next batch of work to chew through. Anything he could get ahead of, anything he could step in for, anything he could learn, he was on it. He wanted to be as helpful, helpful, helpful as humanly possible. I think the salary of the role, for a guy his young age, was just too alluring for him.
For our part, Melanie and I tried our best to get him to pace himself.
We were both giving the spiel now. By this point, we’d more or less perfected it.
“There are things about this diner that are strange. Rules you will have to follow and not think about. Rules that are concrete, immutable, and non-negotiable, like gravity.”
He nodded. At that moment, I really believed he was internalizing my words.
“And if that doesn’t work for you, and if you don’t think you can take care of yourself, then you shouldn’t work here,” I continued.
There was always a visceral feeling in my stomach whenever I saw the wandering man in the corner during the same week that we were onboarding new staff. I’m sure Melanie felt it too.
On those days, Mel and I would both work the till, and if we saw anyone coming out from the back, we’d stop them. With a simple grab of the arm.
Malcolm stepped out, and I did just that–a rough grasp of his forearm, just like Melanie had done to me when I’d first started. He recoiled in surprise.
”Remember that little chat about rules we just had?” I said.
He nodded meekly, as if he was already in trouble.
I pointed to the man seated at the far table in the brown corduroy shirt, staring straight ahead, with–what I believed at the time–no real reason to be here, and I said, “You will not, under any conditions, serve that man. Don’t go up to him, don’t talk to him. Pretend he doesn’t exist.”
Malcolm lifted the garbage bag he was holding in his left hand. In my nervousness, I hadn’t actually clocked what he was stepping out for.
“Just doing garbage duty, ma’am,” he said. “But, understood.”
And then he left out the front door with his usual swagger. The dumpster wasn’t as close as we would’ve liked so I appreciated his willingness to take on this duty so soon into his employment.
I turned back to observe the wandering man. We had a crowd of agents in attendance that day, scattered about the restaurant.
The man wasn’t one to speak up often. Today was an interesting exception.
“Officers,” he said, “If you have any questions, feel free to join me at the table to ask them.”
The agents around the room reacted mainly with snickers.
“Seriously, if you come sit with me, I’ll be happy to spill it all. Truly.”
Even more laughs. But no one bit.
And yet he continued, pointedly. “I know you’re curious, I know you take notes, I know you talk about me, I know you built this establishment for me, I know you–”
As I reconciled the fact that this was the most words I’d ever heard him string together in succession, I heard the chime of the bell–a door had opened.
Malcolm was dusting his hands as he entered through the diner’s side door. A door which was situated right beside the table the wandering man was seated at.
It all happened so fast. And yet, it played out in front of me excruciatingly slowly, as if there was a moment–a single solitary second–where I could’ve stepped in.
The wandering man dropped any pretext of an exchange with the agents, stopping his sentence midway and adopting a completely new demeanor. He played the role of a low, miserable, tired man and said, “30 visits, terrible service every time,” in a pathetic tone just as Malcolm walked by.
Malcolm, instinctively, plucked a notepad out from his chest pocket and turned his head to face the man.
“Hey, I got you chief, I can have ‘em ring something up for you, what are you–”
And then Malcolm froze in place.
And the wandering man’s expression turned Cheshire cat wide. His neck alternated between tensing and fluttering, with what seemed to be undeniable excitement.
The man started getting up from the table, and then, immediately–
Both of them were gone.
Malcolm and the wanderer had vanished out of existence entirely.
The insanity of the moment was interrupted by the coded language I heard blared over a megaphone: nonsensical agent-speak that has been seared into my memory forever.
“Alert Level Black. Wandering target has compromised a civilian. I repeat, civilian has been compromised.”
And that was that.
Melanie quit in the days after.
She wasn’t mad at me.
She told me she always knew she’d leave after the tenth disappearance. Why that specific milestone was required, I have no clue.
All I could do from that point was continue to work. On my commutes home, or during lunch breaks, I would look up at the stars, and put out the wish that Malcolm be brought back home. Back from wherever he’d been taken.
The debrief with the agents brought me no solace. The exchange with them was simple and short. ‘Where was he taken to?’, answered with ‘He’s gone now.’
With a perpetual dagger in my soul now, I had only the smallest of silver linings, if you can even call it that.
A lesson.
The lesson that I needed to be even more watchful. Even more diligent. And on days when the wandering man was visiting–the only server at the diner. No exceptions.
I knew the agents weren’t happy about that. None of them said it to me explicitly, but I could tell that they would learn something new about him every time he whisked someone away after a mistake was made. It was a weird, Darwinian set-up they had created. We were a zoo they could use to learn more about a specific animal. A specific entity. A specific visitor.
No dice. They’d just have to watch him sit now. Or wait for him to do something different.
I waited for the three day stretch at the end of the month that he usually appears in. Things were quiet up until that point.
When he finally showed up, it wasn’t what I expected.
For the first time ever, I saw the wandering man walk right through the front door.
In the dead of night, at the tail end of my shift.
I was at the till, paralyzed, as he took step after step to close the distance.
And then, he was right there. Standing in front of me.
And I was sure, absolutely sure, that I was going to die.
He smiled.
“Don’t worry. I have my own little set of rules I play by,” he said.
I didn’t say a word. This was no man’s land right now.
“I know you’ve been curious about me. I’ve admired it from the moment you first spoke up to address me. Cautious curiosity is a great thing to see in someone. Especially in such a reckless species.”
Please. Please just go.
“I’d like to answer a question about why I’m visiting. I’m sure you’d like to know why I’m here, right?”
I’m not curious anymore. I swear I’m not.
He laughed. “The answer is really, painfully simple. This little game, this little charade I’m playing. It is just so unbelievably, fun.”
Please don’t kill me. Please.
“You truly have a wonderful planet. I will return again soon. Promise. Give me a month, maybe two this time.” A sincere, kind smile delivered with kind eyes. “I’ll come back with a new game.”
And then he was gone.
It took me a minute to realize that there was a cake box sitting on the counter beside me. Maybe it was there the whole time he was speaking to me. Maybe it materialized right after he left.
I opened the box to find Malcolm’s severed head, a blank expression on his face, sitting on a bed of poorly and confusingly organized flowers. Almost as if there was an intention to create a floral arrangement, but no understanding of what something like that would look like.
On top of the horrific display, written in an almost childlike handwriting, was a note that read “I brought him back, just like you wished.”
The worst thing about being trapped at a diner, in the middle of nowhere, is that you realize that there really is nowhere else to run to.
Every single part of our planet is blanketed by stars, by open sky.
Someone could drop in anytime.
2024.04.29 19:11 Tigra21 Hunter or Huntress Chapter 188: Charitable Concessions
“Right. Tarp,” Saph muttered to herself as it became evident where the rather massive section of canvas had been hiding. Galaxer had been using it as harness padding, which was mostly due to there really being nowhere else to put it. Even folded in on itself twice it still covered all of the venerable dragon’s back.
“I still don’t get what you want that for? Don’t we have tarps? Actually, no, I know we have some. We used them for the logs and shit,” Pho complained, still not having worked out the purpose of a keep-dweller getting a few dozen square meters of stout waxed canvas.
Saph had to admit it looked to be quality stuff and brand new. It was laid out in the grass for inspection by the buyer, Ray walking along the sides of it, looking it over and passing Saph on her walk round.
“Sooo who is it for?” Saph questioned as she came by.
“Tiguan. For when it rains,” Ray answered meekly as she carried on.
“Ahr I see.”
“Wait, you got this for a dragon who is staying at a keep? Don’t they have a greeting hall?” Pho piped up again, clearly wanting to be heard today.
“Yes, but the floor is stone. It gets cold in winter. Also he gets to keep it. He told me about all the times he has had to sleep outside before. Now if he has this he could stay dry. Or have something nice to lie on.”
“Yes, it can certainly help make a campsite more comfortable,” Galaxer agreed, giving the woman a nod. “But it seems you know that already. Is that for Glira by chance?” he questioned, glancing towards where Saph and Fengi had set up the other tarp for Yldril, to give her some shelter from the rain.
“No, that is for our resident black dragon,” Saph clarified. “I believe she is currently napping in protest.”
“Ahr…” the dragon responded, glancing to Baron, the decorated war veteran. “A peculiar allocation of resources isn’t it, sir?” he asked, with what Saph thought to be humor in his voice.
Baron and Jarix had been sitting behind the line of dragonettes, waiting patiently and having a chat with the two new arrivals when they weren’t busy with all the unloading and various questions.
“It is indeed… but she is of the keep. We are not. If we wanted a tarp we best bring one ourselves,” the red dragon responded, calmly and seemingly not upset about the fact he was sleeping outside still.
‘Didn’t think of that,’ Saph cursed to herself. Glira had of course complained, but, well, she was a bit of an arse too. Baron though, he didn’t deserve worse hospitality than a slave. That wasn’t right.
“Maybe I should bring you one for next year old sport, if they let you out here again that is of course.”
“If they do not, then they best find a suitable replacement. We need every dragon currently on the island, and I doubt that is to change soon.”
“Right you are, well I suppose a lesser teacher will have to do for the recruits. I am sure they will find someone.”
Baron did raise an eyeridge at that comment but didn’t offer anything further.
“Right, okay, my question now. Why don’t you bring a tarp along if it is so nice ?” Pho tried again, glancing between the red and white dragons.
“It is heavy of course, and I do not plan on staying in the wilds any more than is needed. That and I have cargo to carry of course,” Galaxer deflected with a huff, not paying the young huntress much mind.
“Isn’t that gonna be a bit heavy for a dragon who’s supposed to fight then? I swear I’m not trying to be an arse here.”
‘Well you are failing there Pho,’ Saph grumbled to herself, as she watched Ray look down at the tarp, ears lowering slightly.
Saph knew getting something that big couldn’t have been cheap though. Perhaps the greenhorn did have a point. Tiguan couldn’t even be half the weight of Galaxer. But on the upside he didn’t have a shred of armor to wear, unlike Jarix and especially Grevi, so perhaps it would be fine. Might even make his harness a bit more comfortable. It hadn’t looked to Sapphire like the finest of work.
“I’m sure he will be fine. If luck would have it I’m sure he’ll be sticking around this island for some time. Then he can just leave it at whatever keep is closest to what he’s doing, isn’t that right you old grizzled veteran? You must have done that a few times, no?”
Ray’s ears did raise a little at the hopeful words as she looked to Baron.
“It doesn’t get any worse than he leaves it somewhere for a time if he is expecting battle, no. And I do not believe he has a place of his own in the city yet. If what Galaxer says is true and they have taken new recruits, then the shared stables would be quite packed indeed.”
“Oh yes, a fair few young and old. It seems news of the fighting on the frontier lit a few souls.”
“Indeed. Well in that case he might be most appreciative. Some privacy is always nice, even if it is only a clearing somewhere.”
“Oh that is good, I was worried for a moment there he wouldn’t like it,” Ray said happily, giving the tarp one last final glance. “It looks good too. I am very happy with it.”
“Well then I guess we can knock you off the list as well then. I will tell Carnige. Is this black dragon going to come and get it here?”
“Oh I hope so.”
“He will, ain’t no way he’s heading home for winter without swinging by to say hi. If he ain’t staying the winter that is,” Saph declared. She was quite confident in that statement all things considered. Tiguan was a big softy and Ylditz wouldn’t be able to stand the complaining if they didn’t.
“Very well, will you all put it away or should I take it up to the greeting hall when time allows?”
“Oh if you wouldn’t mind. I think it would be quite hard to get up the stairs.”
“Very well. Perhaps before dinner, I do seem to smell something quite lovely yes.”
“We have some stuff on the spits, yes. I hope you will like it. We know you have flown a long way.”
“Indeed, it is always rough doing such a long stint in one go, and I would hazard a guess we aren’t getting more than a few days here before heading home this time now are we?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure just yet Galaxer,” Saph interjected. “We did find something more down below which they are very busy with.”
“Of course you did. Well I am sure we shall hear more of that very soon. Did you hear that, Arch? More stuff down below,” Galaxer called out towards Arch, who seemed to have been having a conversation with Jarix upon being reunited. He did turn his head towards them to answer though.
“Well yes, there were two more vaults. Did they get them open?”
“Well, did you?” Galaxer questioned, looking down to Sapphire.
“Only the one.”
“Ahr, very well. Maybe a chance of a winter flight out here for the inquisition then, that should pay nicely.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
Tom looked about the library that was now filled with playing children, all having fun with their various new toys. The strange board game pieces were currently being used to depict soldiers around a keep made of wooden blocks, which Tom was quite sure the craftsman who made the set would have been appalled by.
Essy and Lothal had come up to oversee the kids after the unloading had been concluded and all the stuff had been stashed away wherever it was destined. Sadly that meant Tom probably couldn’t put off having that chat with Joelina much longer, though he was seriously considering putting it off till after dinner time. Sadly he had a feeling they might have a drink or two tonight, so that probably wouldn’t be such a great idea.
Vulzan had gone down to assist Arch, promising to bring up Tom’s box of stuff sometime later, after he was assured that they would read the letters he had given them today. The trader had brought it up a few times, so he had probably agreed to make sure Tom did indeed read them.
“I think the quality assurance department has declared the toys satisfactory, don’t you think, Jacky?”
“Well nothing has broken yet, so that’s good,” Jacky replied, stepping aside as a pair of kids came running by with red flags strapped to their tails. Said flags were more dragging along the floor than flapping in the wind, but Tom supposed they weren’t made for running speed.
“No, no, they are being very careful. I must say some of these things are very nice though,” Essy added as she arbitrated just how many pieces Revo and Hulunar could have so they could try actually playing said board game. This was met with vehement opposition from Kiran, who needed every soldier for his keep.
“True that. Well best of luck. I’ll go read the mail, shall we Jacky?” Tom questioned, resigning himself to just getting this over with.
“I suppose we shall, yes,” Jacky grumbled in reply, seeming less than pleased.
The two of them made their way out of the library, leaving the kids in the capable hands of Essy, Apuma, and Lothal.
“Probably best to read the letters first. Upstairs?”
“Let’s. If it says something we don’t like we can always burn it and pretend we didn’t get it then.”
“I somehow doubt that would work, but I suppose,” Tom half-sighed and chuckled.
The two of them made their way up to Jacky’s room as she got out the letters she had stashed away inside her breastplate. Tom shut the door behind them and Jacky laid down the letters on the bed so they could have the sun behind them to help read what they said.
“Right then, what are the chances some of this is good news?”
“About the same as Kalestine deciding that we have been working very hard and she’s going to send a herd of tirox marching past the front door,” Jacky replied as they both took a seat on the bed and Jacky took out her knife.
“You know, maybe Shiva will let you have that fancy one with the ruby in the hilt?” Tom tried in good humor as Jacky set about looking through the envelopes, presumably looking for the oldest.
“I wish. Can you imagine what she would do if I dropped it or something? Maybe for some special occasion.”
“Well, if it can sniff out deer hiding in the bushes then surely it’ll be fine. Are you in the habit of losing things in the forest?”
“It has been some time… but it has happened,” Jacky admitted a little sheepishly as she found what she was looking for and started opening one of the envelopes. Inside there was a folded up crisp white paper.
“Oh my, look at this stuff, it’s almost as nice as some of your paper.”
Tom just nodded, watching as she unfolded it, revealing an utter mess of what Tom could only guess was the equivalent of dragonette cursive. “Oh you have to be shitting me, what the hell is that?” he protested, looking at the nearly impossible to decipher scribbles.
“Fucking city dwellers,” Jacky agreed, squinting as she held the letter up a bit closer. “I guess I need to make Apuma proud.”
“If you could, yeah. I’ve got no chance.”
“Dear Tom. I hope this finds you well. -Oh you wish for that now- Since last we met I have formulated some questions for which I would like you to provide me with an answer. Send your reply via Vulzan if you are able… -What is she on about, she sent us a pair of those earrings?”
“I don’t know… is that it?”
“Well no we got questions you see,” Jacky replied, tapping the paper with the claw on her thumb.
“How do your people know of dragons? Why are infants thrown into pools of water? What is the point of a cat? Where do cars come from? Are they grown? Why is there music everywhere? Is it true that giving birth is truly the most painful thing in the world to a human? -It just goes oon and oooon. Look at this shit, she really fit it in here.” Jacky turned the letter around to Tom to see and it ruely was packed, line after line. “She ran out of space… oh no, bit on the back here. What is the meaning of the combat simulations displayed by the thinking machine, is it training? And why is it not take more seriously if it is? Are you tricking the children into accepting grueling training for more than 12 hours a day?”
“Oh my, yeah she’s in my younger years I guess… I used to love going to the swimming halls, you know… and I might have liked my computer a bit too much.”
“I never would have guessed.”
“Oh come on, it was good fun at the lake.”
“Get me warm water and then we are talking.” Jacky dismissed, looking back to the letter.
“We do have that actually.”
“Oooh.”
“Anyway, next letter please. I have a feeling this isn’t the end of the questions.”
“Yeah probably,” Jacky agreed, trimming the top of the second envelope with a claw and taking out the letter. “Oh she’s uhm… her writing is a bit worse on this one. Where are the ships that breach the heavens and the universe itself? I have seen movies and imagery of them, but never in your memories do they appear! Do they exist?! Are you from a backwards country without lance weapons and teleportation machines? And how were dogs produced from wolves!? I must know this!”
“Oh my… someone has been to the mental cinema I guess… Wait. I thought she already knew about what a movie was? I could have sworn she saw a movie in my memories.”
“Paulin did get to see one if I remember right. She must have told her all important Joelina about it.”
“Yeah…” Tom replied, thinking further on the implications of this. “She is definitely seeing more than I am too. I’ve only seen a few flashes of her childhood and younger days, though it seems to be slowly advancing towards the current time.”
“Maybe she can use her mind magic stuff to see more? I don’t know. I bet you a gold she’s trying to make the dreams worse, not better like us. Maybe it’s driven her a bit mental? Well, more mental.”
“I suppose so yeah… Another one,” Tom replied, gesturing for her to continue.
“Yup. Next one it is… Oh dear. Right.” Jacky squinted at the paper. Tom leaned over and confirmed that the letter was indeed a mess, complete with drips of ink and smudged out symbols. “I ha-have. Discovered. What a motion image is… -Well that’s good-. I understand the art of the computer’s hallucinations. They are not real. But rockets! Are rockets real Tom? Have your people visited the gods! Why is there only one god at the churches where you grew up? Yet there are other churches, the other gods are seen as alien, or different, why? Where are the gods Tom! Why are they disparate!... -Man, I think she’s about lost it.”
“Oh dear… Yeah, might need to clarify some things… And sweep some under the rug. If she’ll even believe me,” Tom said doubtfully, grimacing as he looked at the remaining letter. “Let’s get it over with, last one.”
“Right oh, let’s see what this one says… Oh… I think this one is for you.” She simply turned the letter around and showed the contents, big bold drippy latin letters—in Danish.
“SVAR MIG.”
“What does it say?” Jacky questioned, sounding a touch worried.
“Answer me… I’m guessing this is where she decided on sending those earrings.”
“Ahr yeah that would make sense,” Jacky agreed, glancing at the wooden box which contained the lone earring. “Wait, why did she bother leaving in the first letters when she sent this anyway?”
“I don’t know, why did she feel the need to put childrens toys in the same box as a suit of enchanted half-heretical armor and the blade of... what was he called again?”
“The second most wanted man alive”.
“Yeah that… I don’t think she’s doing so hot.”
“Think she’ll be very mad if you wait till tomorrow?”
“Probably,” Tom conceded as he slid the lid off the box, picking up the small silvery piece of jewelry. He took a deep breath, looking to Jacky. “Right, safeword is spaghetti. If I say it thrice in a row, take it off.”
“Right, sounds like a plan. Good thing Paulin isn’t here, right?”
“Yeah… actually,” he leaned in and whispered, “Go check the corridor, someone might be listening. Quietly.”
“You’re the quiet one,” Jacky complained as she got up, Tom picking up the earring and studying it in his hands.
It had fine intricate runes running along its surface in little channels. It was exquisite handiwork, that much he could tell. ‘And not cheap like we know.’
Jacky went up to the door and with a rapid jerking motion opened it, sticking her head out to glance down either corridor. “All clear…” She pulled her head back in and locked the door. “Put the damn thing on then. No promises I won’t fuck up your ear if I have to rip it off.”
“Rather that than something worse happening. I kinda wished I’d gotten to see more of her life before this.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jacky questioned as she sat down next to him on the same side where a hole had already been punched for the last time he had a crack at this sorta thing. “You always wake up, shaking, cold, crying, screaming or whatever the fuck might have happened that time. And you want more?”
“Well not that part… I guess she has already been through my memories once before, and not like she knows something about me I don’t… but still would be nice to know how the hell she ended up where she is. She knows that about me.”
“Or how her mentor’s knife ended up at Furlong keep.”
“That too… that too… maybe I’ll be able to ask.”
“You do that… now, get it over with.”
“Right.” Tom held the earring up to his ear and started to fiddle with it a bit. A bit turned into a while and soon enough Jacky grew impatient.
“Really? You can’t put on an earring?”
“It’s not like it’s something I do often. Damn thing is fiddly, don’t wanna break it either.”
“It’s mithril, it won’t just break. Here let me.”
Tom resigned himself to being helped as Jacky quickly put in the little thing and slid in the locking pin. “Right, there you go. Have fun I suppose.”
“Yeah yeah, try not to rip my ear off if I start making funny noises. Remember, safeword is spaghetti.”
“I got it.”
“Right, how was it? I close my eyes an-”
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Anyone seen Tom and Jacky? Dinner is almost ready,” Ray questioned as she came up the stairs from the kitchen into the grand hall where everyone was starting to congregate. Well, all of the dragonettes at least. The dragons had elected to eat all together down in front of the keep, rather than having one or two of them eat in the greeting hall.
That was all the dragons save for Yldril though. She was consigned to her awning and would get what was left over. That should still be a fair bit of food, and certainly better food than she got normally, but Saph doubted it would do much for her demeanor. Said demeanor was why she was consigned however; no one wanted to put up with her at a feast.
“No, we were told not to disturb them. I think they got something to do. They are up in Jacky’s room,” Saph replied on her way to sit down at the huntress table.
“Ahr okay… should I put something aside for them later?”
“That might be best. We don’t know how long they will be.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute then. Tell the others to start taking seats, we are nearly there.”
Saph just nodded and smiled as Ray turned back and hurried down the stairs, but a moment later Balethon and Herron came up said stairs with a spitted deer, which was to be their main course for the day. ‘Oh this should be lovely… Do I wanna try out some of the ham too today I wonder?’
As she sat down at the table it was pretty evident that most of the others had decided that yes, they would be trying out some of the interesting new things they got. It was rather hard to complain after whoever had sold you something had already left.
There had been a lot of chatting and a few good laughs as they all got settled in, and true to Ray’s word they were soon called up to come get their portions of meat and sides. It was good stuff. Someone had snuck in some extra herbs and spices either at the last minute or possibly used the last of old stores now that they knew resupply was coming.
They did have a few guests at the huntress table, namely Udanti and Tirox from Archeon’s crew. They were of course interrogated thoroughly for any news about how things had been going in the world at large.
Tirox spoke highly and with his usual brash bravado about tales of battles fought all along both the frontier and even some middling keeps. He did not seem worried in the slightest, relating victory after victory. Udanti seemed less enthused, and as the meal progressed hushed murmurs and gossiping began to spread among all the tables, as far as Saph could work out from where Udanti was sitting.
Darklings attacking middling keeps, or ring keeps as some would call them, like the one where she grew up. That could not be good. The darklings were growing bolder. Udanti had heard rumors that the guard had suffered losses too. Last time they had received much news of the war, there had been no mention of any defeats by the guard, only keeps raided or besieged. But according to Udanti, an entire combat wing of rookies had not been heard from for some time, and no one was being told what had happened to them.
Tirox didn’t think much of it. Maybe they were just holed up, and even if they had been lost it was only one wing of dragons. That was to be expected in war. By the time the dinner was more or less finished they had also all heard the rumors about Rashan. Bo and Pho had needed to be brought up to speed on just who that was, but everyone who had been with the keep before all this started knew well enough who that was and what this all meant.
“I guess Shiva is gonna need to try again to convince Tom to make that dragon killing cannon then?” Fengi questioned, seeming almost apathetic about it.
“Or something like it,” Essy echoed, nodding as she sipped a cup of a special tea she had bought.
“Don’t push him on that. I’m sure all the stuff we’re already doing will be plenty. There are so many other things he wants to do. Most sound like they would be good news for us too.”
“Yeah speaking of good news, miss silver streak, I heard you found someone special. Where is he at?” Udanti the archer questioned, seemingly wishing to change the subject as well.
“Oh Maiko? I don’t know actually?” Sapphire admitted, looking around to see if he was sitting at the guards table like he usually did, but there was no sign of him.
“I think he is with Yldril,” Fengi added, sipping the tea a little as well. “I’m sure he snuck her some food or something.”
“Maiko got a soft spot for a traitor dragon or something?” Tirox questioned with a huff, tilting his head.
“No, he’s trying to get on her good side. Might be handy one day,” Fengi answered plainly. “… And it might make her a little less insufferable.”
“Oh… I see, so it’s like a mission you put him on?”
Saph wasn’t sure this was something that should be discussed openly at the dinner table, but she wasn’t about to stop Fengi. At least not yet.
“Yes, don’t blab to the dragon about it. Then it won’t work. And her ears are good, remember that.”
“Oh… okay,” the male trader escort replied, looking at Fengi a little confused.
He likely remembered a far happier and more bubbly girl than who was sitting at the table now. Saph sighed to herself. These past months had been hard on Fengi. Very hard. Hopefully things would get better. Maybe they could do something about all that now. Then it clicked for Saph why Fengi might not be so cheery today. It wasn’t just that Yldril had been segregated around the back of the keep.
‘Maybe she got some bad news from those trying to find Dorae for her… Probably best not to bring that up here.’
“Oh yeah by the way, I heard some talk you got the hook up too, didn’t you Fengi?” Udanti questioned, once more trying to steer the conversation back to something positive, obviously not knowing that was a touchy subject.
Fengi put on a forced smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to show she at least appreciated the gesture. “I did… it’s been a little rough though with all this… stuff going on…”
“Ooooh riiight,” Udanti replied, seeming to catch on now. “I’m guessing he isn’t much for getting bossed around.”
Before Fengi could reply, Essy interjected. “Oh no, quite the opposite. He’s a right little knight so he is. But he is at times a bit of a… oh speak of the devil,” she carried on, her gaze carrying past Udanti to the young guard approaching the huntress table. Saph spied a familiar looking small box in the palm of one of his hands.
By the time he made it up to the table all heads were turned to look at the young man, which seemed to unnerve him just a touch, which was understandable to be fair.
“Hi uhm… Okay. So many more people hehe… Right,” he went, seeming to steel himself, Fengi turning around fully on the bench to face him. “I know what you think of me… that I’m a weak willed coward… I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better, but I can’t promise anything. Here,” he went, holding out the little box towards Fengi. “I know you don’t like flowers much… So I got you this instead.”
There was perfect silence at the table, especially from the trader escorts who had no clue what was going on. Fengi gingerly held out a hand and took the box, looking up at Unkai with a curious expression then down to the box as she opened it, revealing a beautiful pair of silver earrings with rectangular cut emeralds set in them.
“I hope you like them.”
Fengi stared at them for a moment, one hand going up to touch the plain copper ones she wore most days. Saph couldn’t actually remember, but she guessed Shiva had made them some time back. They were not overly remarkable, almost rugged looking by comparison to the new silver ones.
“I love them,” Fengi finally declared just as it seemed like Unkai was losing hope. Looking up at him she wore a far more genuine smile than before. “Though I could do with some flowers too one of these days. Those times were simpler.”
The guard let out a slight involuntary chuckle and nodded. “I think I can manage flowers.”
“You used to be quite good at picking out the prettiest ones,” Essy added in her motherly tone. “Maybe there are still a few who haven’t succumbed to the cold and rain.”
Fengi took one of the earrings out of the box and held it up to her ear, looking around at them all. “How do they look?”
“Elegant,” Saph said, nodding her approval. It was the truth. They weren’t overly ostentatious, and they wouldn’t have suited Fengi if they were. And who knew, with everything happening at the keep, she might find herself with a matching silver crown before too long. “Silver suits you.”
Fengi even let out a little giggle at that, putting it gingerly back in the box and looking back to Unkai, who had not moved a muscle, probably having run out of planning 30 seconds ago. And Fengi’s smile faded a touch. “I’m sorry but… I didn’t think to get you anything special…”
Unkai had seemed worried for a second as her smile had faded, but livened right back up as the reason was made plain. “Oh don’t worry about that…just try not to hate me. That will be plenty.”
Fengi’s smile faded a little further. “I don’t hate you, I’m sorry if you thought that.”
Saph and the others did exchange some glances. There could be no doubt they had been hard on the guy, but it did seem to have worked.
“No no, it is okay. I get it… I was a jerk… I might be again. But I’ll try not to be, okay?”
“I guess I’ll try not to be so scary… no promises either.”
‘Awww that’s nice,’ Sapphire mused to herself, a smile starting to grow. ‘Ooh I wonder if Maiko got me something?’
__________________________________________________________________________________
Righty oh, your medicin has been administered, I do hope you liked it, I did try my best to make it palatable. on the news front things appear to be going swimingly, so expect HoH to carry on as normal for many more months to come. We also got a bit more cool art, check it out if that's your sorta thing.
Till next time, take care.
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“I still don’t get what you want that for? Don’t we have tarps? Actually, no, I know we have some. We used them for the logs and shit,” Pho complained, still not having worked out the purpose of a keep-dweller getting a few dozen square meters of stout waxed canvas.
Saph had to admit it looked to be quality stuff and brand new. It was laid out in the grass for inspection by the buyer, Ray walking along the sides of it, looking it over and passing Saph on her walk round.
“Sooo who is it for?” Saph questioned as she came by.
“Tiguan. For when it rains,” Ray answered meekly as she carried on.
“Ahr I see.”
“Wait, you got this for a dragon who is staying at a keep? Don’t they have a greeting hall?” Pho piped up again, clearly wanting to be heard today.
“Yes, but the floor is stone. It gets cold in winter. Also he gets to keep it. He told me about all the times he has had to sleep outside before. Now if he has this he could stay dry. Or have something nice to lie on.”
“Yes, it can certainly help make a campsite more comfortable,” Galaxer agreed, giving the woman a nod. “But it seems you know that already. Is that for Glira by chance?” he questioned, glancing towards where Saph and Fengi had set up the other tarp for Yldril, to give her some shelter from the rain.
“No, that is for our resident black dragon,” Saph clarified. “I believe she is currently napping in protest.”
“Ahr…” the dragon responded, glancing to Baron, the decorated war veteran. “A peculiar allocation of resources isn’t it, sir?” he asked, with what Saph thought to be humor in his voice.
Baron and Jarix had been sitting behind the line of dragonettes, waiting patiently and having a chat with the two new arrivals when they weren’t busy with all the unloading and various questions.
“It is indeed… but she is of the keep. We are not. If we wanted a tarp we best bring one ourselves,” the red dragon responded, calmly and seemingly not upset about the fact he was sleeping outside still.
‘Didn’t think of that,’ Saph cursed to herself. Glira had of course complained, but, well, she was a bit of an arse too. Baron though, he didn’t deserve worse hospitality than a slave. That wasn’t right.
“Maybe I should bring you one for next year old sport, if they let you out here again that is of course.”
“If they do not, then they best find a suitable replacement. We need every dragon currently on the island, and I doubt that is to change soon.”
“Right you are, well I suppose a lesser teacher will have to do for the recruits. I am sure they will find someone.”
Baron did raise an eyeridge at that comment but didn’t offer anything further.
“Right, okay, my question now. Why don’t you bring a tarp along if it is so nice ?” Pho tried again, glancing between the red and white dragons.
“It is heavy of course, and I do not plan on staying in the wilds any more than is needed. That and I have cargo to carry of course,” Galaxer deflected with a huff, not paying the young huntress much mind.
“Isn’t that gonna be a bit heavy for a dragon who’s supposed to fight then? I swear I’m not trying to be an arse here.”
‘Well you are failing there Pho,’ Saph grumbled to herself, as she watched Ray look down at the tarp, ears lowering slightly.
Saph knew getting something that big couldn’t have been cheap though. Perhaps the greenhorn did have a point. Tiguan couldn’t even be half the weight of Galaxer. But on the upside he didn’t have a shred of armor to wear, unlike Jarix and especially Grevi, so perhaps it would be fine. Might even make his harness a bit more comfortable. It hadn’t looked to Sapphire like the finest of work.
“I’m sure he will be fine. If luck would have it I’m sure he’ll be sticking around this island for some time. Then he can just leave it at whatever keep is closest to what he’s doing, isn’t that right you old grizzled veteran? You must have done that a few times, no?”
Ray’s ears did raise a little at the hopeful words as she looked to Baron.
“It doesn’t get any worse than he leaves it somewhere for a time if he is expecting battle, no. And I do not believe he has a place of his own in the city yet. If what Galaxer says is true and they have taken new recruits, then the shared stables would be quite packed indeed.”
“Oh yes, a fair few young and old. It seems news of the fighting on the frontier lit a few souls.”
“Indeed. Well in that case he might be most appreciative. Some privacy is always nice, even if it is only a clearing somewhere.”
“Oh that is good, I was worried for a moment there he wouldn’t like it,” Ray said happily, giving the tarp one last final glance. “It looks good too. I am very happy with it.”
“Well then I guess we can knock you off the list as well then. I will tell Carnige. Is this black dragon going to come and get it here?”
“Oh I hope so.”
“He will, ain’t no way he’s heading home for winter without swinging by to say hi. If he ain’t staying the winter that is,” Saph declared. She was quite confident in that statement all things considered. Tiguan was a big softy and Ylditz wouldn’t be able to stand the complaining if they didn’t.
“Very well, will you all put it away or should I take it up to the greeting hall when time allows?”
“Oh if you wouldn’t mind. I think it would be quite hard to get up the stairs.”
“Very well. Perhaps before dinner, I do seem to smell something quite lovely yes.”
“We have some stuff on the spits, yes. I hope you will like it. We know you have flown a long way.”
“Indeed, it is always rough doing such a long stint in one go, and I would hazard a guess we aren’t getting more than a few days here before heading home this time now are we?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure just yet Galaxer,” Saph interjected. “We did find something more down below which they are very busy with.”
“Of course you did. Well I am sure we shall hear more of that very soon. Did you hear that, Arch? More stuff down below,” Galaxer called out towards Arch, who seemed to have been having a conversation with Jarix upon being reunited. He did turn his head towards them to answer though.
“Well yes, there were two more vaults. Did they get them open?”
“Well, did you?” Galaxer questioned, looking down to Sapphire.
“Only the one.”
“Ahr, very well. Maybe a chance of a winter flight out here for the inquisition then, that should pay nicely.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
Tom looked about the library that was now filled with playing children, all having fun with their various new toys. The strange board game pieces were currently being used to depict soldiers around a keep made of wooden blocks, which Tom was quite sure the craftsman who made the set would have been appalled by.
Essy and Lothal had come up to oversee the kids after the unloading had been concluded and all the stuff had been stashed away wherever it was destined. Sadly that meant Tom probably couldn’t put off having that chat with Joelina much longer, though he was seriously considering putting it off till after dinner time. Sadly he had a feeling they might have a drink or two tonight, so that probably wouldn’t be such a great idea.
Vulzan had gone down to assist Arch, promising to bring up Tom’s box of stuff sometime later, after he was assured that they would read the letters he had given them today. The trader had brought it up a few times, so he had probably agreed to make sure Tom did indeed read them.
“I think the quality assurance department has declared the toys satisfactory, don’t you think, Jacky?”
“Well nothing has broken yet, so that’s good,” Jacky replied, stepping aside as a pair of kids came running by with red flags strapped to their tails. Said flags were more dragging along the floor than flapping in the wind, but Tom supposed they weren’t made for running speed.
“No, no, they are being very careful. I must say some of these things are very nice though,” Essy added as she arbitrated just how many pieces Revo and Hulunar could have so they could try actually playing said board game. This was met with vehement opposition from Kiran, who needed every soldier for his keep.
“True that. Well best of luck. I’ll go read the mail, shall we Jacky?” Tom questioned, resigning himself to just getting this over with.
“I suppose we shall, yes,” Jacky grumbled in reply, seeming less than pleased.
The two of them made their way out of the library, leaving the kids in the capable hands of Essy, Apuma, and Lothal.
“Probably best to read the letters first. Upstairs?”
“Let’s. If it says something we don’t like we can always burn it and pretend we didn’t get it then.”
“I somehow doubt that would work, but I suppose,” Tom half-sighed and chuckled.
The two of them made their way up to Jacky’s room as she got out the letters she had stashed away inside her breastplate. Tom shut the door behind them and Jacky laid down the letters on the bed so they could have the sun behind them to help read what they said.
“Right then, what are the chances some of this is good news?”
“About the same as Kalestine deciding that we have been working very hard and she’s going to send a herd of tirox marching past the front door,” Jacky replied as they both took a seat on the bed and Jacky took out her knife.
“You know, maybe Shiva will let you have that fancy one with the ruby in the hilt?” Tom tried in good humor as Jacky set about looking through the envelopes, presumably looking for the oldest.
“I wish. Can you imagine what she would do if I dropped it or something? Maybe for some special occasion.”
“Well, if it can sniff out deer hiding in the bushes then surely it’ll be fine. Are you in the habit of losing things in the forest?”
“It has been some time… but it has happened,” Jacky admitted a little sheepishly as she found what she was looking for and started opening one of the envelopes. Inside there was a folded up crisp white paper.
“Oh my, look at this stuff, it’s almost as nice as some of your paper.”
Tom just nodded, watching as she unfolded it, revealing an utter mess of what Tom could only guess was the equivalent of dragonette cursive. “Oh you have to be shitting me, what the hell is that?” he protested, looking at the nearly impossible to decipher scribbles.
“Fucking city dwellers,” Jacky agreed, squinting as she held the letter up a bit closer. “I guess I need to make Apuma proud.”
“If you could, yeah. I’ve got no chance.”
“Dear Tom. I hope this finds you well. -Oh you wish for that now- Since last we met I have formulated some questions for which I would like you to provide me with an answer. Send your reply via Vulzan if you are able… -What is she on about, she sent us a pair of those earrings?”
“I don’t know… is that it?”
“Well no we got questions you see,” Jacky replied, tapping the paper with the claw on her thumb.
“How do your people know of dragons? Why are infants thrown into pools of water? What is the point of a cat? Where do cars come from? Are they grown? Why is there music everywhere? Is it true that giving birth is truly the most painful thing in the world to a human? -It just goes oon and oooon. Look at this shit, she really fit it in here.” Jacky turned the letter around to Tom to see and it ruely was packed, line after line. “She ran out of space… oh no, bit on the back here. What is the meaning of the combat simulations displayed by the thinking machine, is it training? And why is it not take more seriously if it is? Are you tricking the children into accepting grueling training for more than 12 hours a day?”
“Oh my, yeah she’s in my younger years I guess… I used to love going to the swimming halls, you know… and I might have liked my computer a bit too much.”
“I never would have guessed.”
“Oh come on, it was good fun at the lake.”
“Get me warm water and then we are talking.” Jacky dismissed, looking back to the letter.
“We do have that actually.”
“Oooh.”
“Anyway, next letter please. I have a feeling this isn’t the end of the questions.”
“Yeah probably,” Jacky agreed, trimming the top of the second envelope with a claw and taking out the letter. “Oh she’s uhm… her writing is a bit worse on this one. Where are the ships that breach the heavens and the universe itself? I have seen movies and imagery of them, but never in your memories do they appear! Do they exist?! Are you from a backwards country without lance weapons and teleportation machines? And how were dogs produced from wolves!? I must know this!”
“Oh my… someone has been to the mental cinema I guess… Wait. I thought she already knew about what a movie was? I could have sworn she saw a movie in my memories.”
“Paulin did get to see one if I remember right. She must have told her all important Joelina about it.”
“Yeah…” Tom replied, thinking further on the implications of this. “She is definitely seeing more than I am too. I’ve only seen a few flashes of her childhood and younger days, though it seems to be slowly advancing towards the current time.”
“Maybe she can use her mind magic stuff to see more? I don’t know. I bet you a gold she’s trying to make the dreams worse, not better like us. Maybe it’s driven her a bit mental? Well, more mental.”
“I suppose so yeah… Another one,” Tom replied, gesturing for her to continue.
“Yup. Next one it is… Oh dear. Right.” Jacky squinted at the paper. Tom leaned over and confirmed that the letter was indeed a mess, complete with drips of ink and smudged out symbols. “I ha-have. Discovered. What a motion image is… -Well that’s good-. I understand the art of the computer’s hallucinations. They are not real. But rockets! Are rockets real Tom? Have your people visited the gods! Why is there only one god at the churches where you grew up? Yet there are other churches, the other gods are seen as alien, or different, why? Where are the gods Tom! Why are they disparate!... -Man, I think she’s about lost it.”
“Oh dear… Yeah, might need to clarify some things… And sweep some under the rug. If she’ll even believe me,” Tom said doubtfully, grimacing as he looked at the remaining letter. “Let’s get it over with, last one.”
“Right oh, let’s see what this one says… Oh… I think this one is for you.” She simply turned the letter around and showed the contents, big bold drippy latin letters—in Danish.
“SVAR MIG.”
“What does it say?” Jacky questioned, sounding a touch worried.
“Answer me… I’m guessing this is where she decided on sending those earrings.”
“Ahr yeah that would make sense,” Jacky agreed, glancing at the wooden box which contained the lone earring. “Wait, why did she bother leaving in the first letters when she sent this anyway?”
“I don’t know, why did she feel the need to put childrens toys in the same box as a suit of enchanted half-heretical armor and the blade of... what was he called again?”
“The second most wanted man alive”.
“Yeah that… I don’t think she’s doing so hot.”
“Think she’ll be very mad if you wait till tomorrow?”
“Probably,” Tom conceded as he slid the lid off the box, picking up the small silvery piece of jewelry. He took a deep breath, looking to Jacky. “Right, safeword is spaghetti. If I say it thrice in a row, take it off.”
“Right, sounds like a plan. Good thing Paulin isn’t here, right?”
“Yeah… actually,” he leaned in and whispered, “Go check the corridor, someone might be listening. Quietly.”
“You’re the quiet one,” Jacky complained as she got up, Tom picking up the earring and studying it in his hands.
It had fine intricate runes running along its surface in little channels. It was exquisite handiwork, that much he could tell. ‘And not cheap like we know.’
Jacky went up to the door and with a rapid jerking motion opened it, sticking her head out to glance down either corridor. “All clear…” She pulled her head back in and locked the door. “Put the damn thing on then. No promises I won’t fuck up your ear if I have to rip it off.”
“Rather that than something worse happening. I kinda wished I’d gotten to see more of her life before this.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jacky questioned as she sat down next to him on the same side where a hole had already been punched for the last time he had a crack at this sorta thing. “You always wake up, shaking, cold, crying, screaming or whatever the fuck might have happened that time. And you want more?”
“Well not that part… I guess she has already been through my memories once before, and not like she knows something about me I don’t… but still would be nice to know how the hell she ended up where she is. She knows that about me.”
“Or how her mentor’s knife ended up at Furlong keep.”
“That too… that too… maybe I’ll be able to ask.”
“You do that… now, get it over with.”
“Right.” Tom held the earring up to his ear and started to fiddle with it a bit. A bit turned into a while and soon enough Jacky grew impatient.
“Really? You can’t put on an earring?”
“It’s not like it’s something I do often. Damn thing is fiddly, don’t wanna break it either.”
“It’s mithril, it won’t just break. Here let me.”
Tom resigned himself to being helped as Jacky quickly put in the little thing and slid in the locking pin. “Right, there you go. Have fun I suppose.”
“Yeah yeah, try not to rip my ear off if I start making funny noises. Remember, safeword is spaghetti.”
“I got it.”
“Right, how was it? I close my eyes an-”
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Anyone seen Tom and Jacky? Dinner is almost ready,” Ray questioned as she came up the stairs from the kitchen into the grand hall where everyone was starting to congregate. Well, all of the dragonettes at least. The dragons had elected to eat all together down in front of the keep, rather than having one or two of them eat in the greeting hall.
That was all the dragons save for Yldril though. She was consigned to her awning and would get what was left over. That should still be a fair bit of food, and certainly better food than she got normally, but Saph doubted it would do much for her demeanor. Said demeanor was why she was consigned however; no one wanted to put up with her at a feast.
“No, we were told not to disturb them. I think they got something to do. They are up in Jacky’s room,” Saph replied on her way to sit down at the huntress table.
“Ahr okay… should I put something aside for them later?”
“That might be best. We don’t know how long they will be.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute then. Tell the others to start taking seats, we are nearly there.”
Saph just nodded and smiled as Ray turned back and hurried down the stairs, but a moment later Balethon and Herron came up said stairs with a spitted deer, which was to be their main course for the day. ‘Oh this should be lovely… Do I wanna try out some of the ham too today I wonder?’
As she sat down at the table it was pretty evident that most of the others had decided that yes, they would be trying out some of the interesting new things they got. It was rather hard to complain after whoever had sold you something had already left.
There had been a lot of chatting and a few good laughs as they all got settled in, and true to Ray’s word they were soon called up to come get their portions of meat and sides. It was good stuff. Someone had snuck in some extra herbs and spices either at the last minute or possibly used the last of old stores now that they knew resupply was coming.
They did have a few guests at the huntress table, namely Udanti and Tirox from Archeon’s crew. They were of course interrogated thoroughly for any news about how things had been going in the world at large.
Tirox spoke highly and with his usual brash bravado about tales of battles fought all along both the frontier and even some middling keeps. He did not seem worried in the slightest, relating victory after victory. Udanti seemed less enthused, and as the meal progressed hushed murmurs and gossiping began to spread among all the tables, as far as Saph could work out from where Udanti was sitting.
Darklings attacking middling keeps, or ring keeps as some would call them, like the one where she grew up. That could not be good. The darklings were growing bolder. Udanti had heard rumors that the guard had suffered losses too. Last time they had received much news of the war, there had been no mention of any defeats by the guard, only keeps raided or besieged. But according to Udanti, an entire combat wing of rookies had not been heard from for some time, and no one was being told what had happened to them.
Tirox didn’t think much of it. Maybe they were just holed up, and even if they had been lost it was only one wing of dragons. That was to be expected in war. By the time the dinner was more or less finished they had also all heard the rumors about Rashan. Bo and Pho had needed to be brought up to speed on just who that was, but everyone who had been with the keep before all this started knew well enough who that was and what this all meant.
“I guess Shiva is gonna need to try again to convince Tom to make that dragon killing cannon then?” Fengi questioned, seeming almost apathetic about it.
“Or something like it,” Essy echoed, nodding as she sipped a cup of a special tea she had bought.
“Don’t push him on that. I’m sure all the stuff we’re already doing will be plenty. There are so many other things he wants to do. Most sound like they would be good news for us too.”
“Yeah speaking of good news, miss silver streak, I heard you found someone special. Where is he at?” Udanti the archer questioned, seemingly wishing to change the subject as well.
“Oh Maiko? I don’t know actually?” Sapphire admitted, looking around to see if he was sitting at the guards table like he usually did, but there was no sign of him.
“I think he is with Yldril,” Fengi added, sipping the tea a little as well. “I’m sure he snuck her some food or something.”
“Maiko got a soft spot for a traitor dragon or something?” Tirox questioned with a huff, tilting his head.
“No, he’s trying to get on her good side. Might be handy one day,” Fengi answered plainly. “… And it might make her a little less insufferable.”
“Oh… I see, so it’s like a mission you put him on?”
Saph wasn’t sure this was something that should be discussed openly at the dinner table, but she wasn’t about to stop Fengi. At least not yet.
“Yes, don’t blab to the dragon about it. Then it won’t work. And her ears are good, remember that.”
“Oh… okay,” the male trader escort replied, looking at Fengi a little confused.
He likely remembered a far happier and more bubbly girl than who was sitting at the table now. Saph sighed to herself. These past months had been hard on Fengi. Very hard. Hopefully things would get better. Maybe they could do something about all that now. Then it clicked for Saph why Fengi might not be so cheery today. It wasn’t just that Yldril had been segregated around the back of the keep.
‘Maybe she got some bad news from those trying to find Dorae for her… Probably best not to bring that up here.’
“Oh yeah by the way, I heard some talk you got the hook up too, didn’t you Fengi?” Udanti questioned, once more trying to steer the conversation back to something positive, obviously not knowing that was a touchy subject.
Fengi put on a forced smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to show she at least appreciated the gesture. “I did… it’s been a little rough though with all this… stuff going on…”
“Ooooh riiight,” Udanti replied, seeming to catch on now. “I’m guessing he isn’t much for getting bossed around.”
Before Fengi could reply, Essy interjected. “Oh no, quite the opposite. He’s a right little knight so he is. But he is at times a bit of a… oh speak of the devil,” she carried on, her gaze carrying past Udanti to the young guard approaching the huntress table. Saph spied a familiar looking small box in the palm of one of his hands.
By the time he made it up to the table all heads were turned to look at the young man, which seemed to unnerve him just a touch, which was understandable to be fair.
“Hi uhm… Okay. So many more people hehe… Right,” he went, seeming to steel himself, Fengi turning around fully on the bench to face him. “I know what you think of me… that I’m a weak willed coward… I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better, but I can’t promise anything. Here,” he went, holding out the little box towards Fengi. “I know you don’t like flowers much… So I got you this instead.”
There was perfect silence at the table, especially from the trader escorts who had no clue what was going on. Fengi gingerly held out a hand and took the box, looking up at Unkai with a curious expression then down to the box as she opened it, revealing a beautiful pair of silver earrings with rectangular cut emeralds set in them.
“I hope you like them.”
Fengi stared at them for a moment, one hand going up to touch the plain copper ones she wore most days. Saph couldn’t actually remember, but she guessed Shiva had made them some time back. They were not overly remarkable, almost rugged looking by comparison to the new silver ones.
“I love them,” Fengi finally declared just as it seemed like Unkai was losing hope. Looking up at him she wore a far more genuine smile than before. “Though I could do with some flowers too one of these days. Those times were simpler.”
The guard let out a slight involuntary chuckle and nodded. “I think I can manage flowers.”
“You used to be quite good at picking out the prettiest ones,” Essy added in her motherly tone. “Maybe there are still a few who haven’t succumbed to the cold and rain.”
Fengi took one of the earrings out of the box and held it up to her ear, looking around at them all. “How do they look?”
“Elegant,” Saph said, nodding her approval. It was the truth. They weren’t overly ostentatious, and they wouldn’t have suited Fengi if they were. And who knew, with everything happening at the keep, she might find herself with a matching silver crown before too long. “Silver suits you.”
Fengi even let out a little giggle at that, putting it gingerly back in the box and looking back to Unkai, who had not moved a muscle, probably having run out of planning 30 seconds ago. And Fengi’s smile faded a touch. “I’m sorry but… I didn’t think to get you anything special…”
Unkai had seemed worried for a second as her smile had faded, but livened right back up as the reason was made plain. “Oh don’t worry about that…just try not to hate me. That will be plenty.”
Fengi’s smile faded a little further. “I don’t hate you, I’m sorry if you thought that.”
Saph and the others did exchange some glances. There could be no doubt they had been hard on the guy, but it did seem to have worked.
“No no, it is okay. I get it… I was a jerk… I might be again. But I’ll try not to be, okay?”
“I guess I’ll try not to be so scary… no promises either.”
‘Awww that’s nice,’ Sapphire mused to herself, a smile starting to grow. ‘Ooh I wonder if Maiko got me something?’
__________________________________________________________________________________
Righty oh, your medicin has been administered, I do hope you liked it, I did try my best to make it palatable. on the news front things appear to be going swimingly, so expect HoH to carry on as normal for many more months to come. We also got a bit more cool art, check it out if that's your sorta thing.
Till next time, take care.
Wiki and Art Gallery If you can't remember who someone is, want to read any of the side stories of fanfiction, or you just wanna watch some of the cool art that's been made for the story. Patreon If you want to help get more cool shit made consider joining the Patreon, you also get chapters two weeks ahead of time. HoH Subreddit if you want more stories from the HoH universe or are interested in writing something for this funny little world. Discord if you wanna have a chat about the story or just hang out First Previous Next
2024.04.29 13:25 gdfriendswoodtx Garage Door Friendswood TX
 | 281-305-3122 submitted by gdfriendswoodtx to u/gdfriendswoodtx [link] [comments] garagedoorfriendswoodtx.com We can assist you whether you're looking for a great bargain on a new door or need repair services. Our organisation employs a distinct, licenced business owner who provides Friendswood, Texas, with full-service garage installation and spring and opener repair. Within an hour, you will have better service at a better cost. The extremely skilled and informed technicians are kind and professional. Most importantly, we offer you satisfaction service seven days a week at the lowest price possible, wherever and whenever you need it. For both residential and commercial use, we provide a wide variety of overhead doors for sale and maintenance. Services: Garage Door Repair Garage Door Opener Garage Door Spring Garage Door Installation Opener Installation Opener Repairs Garage Door Parts Remote Replacement Cable Replacement Brands: Chamberlain, Genie, Liftmaster, Craftsman, Clopay, Torsion , Amarr, Garador, Linear, Sears. Service areas: 77089, 77546, 77548, 77549, 77598 . Payment Methods: Visa, Cash, MasterCard, Discover, American Express. Operating Hours: All Days From 08:00 AM To 11:00 PM https://preview.redd.it/84lg8kuelexc1.png?width=350&format=png&auto=webp&s=7f7c871f47b441b7166fc01089d64cb6c19a9a7e |
2024.04.28 01:37 Necessary_Project_64 Personal opinion
I am willing to bet that Rite Aid doesn’t survive past 2025 AT BEST. Here are my top 5 reasons why:
submitted by Necessary_Project_64 to RiteAid [link] [comments]
- They are selling the underperforming stores and scripts to CVS or Walgreens making their competitors stronger!!
- A weak company going in and out bankruptcy like this can only afford to pay its employees bottom dollar and will not attract top shelf talent. Therefore any new hires are people who have been passed up by other companies they interviewed with and settling for Rite Aid. The management is ready to sell off the remnants of the company to enrich their own pockets at the expense of store employees.
- Rite aid is in massive debt to creditors. Profits they earn will not be invested back into the company to improve stores or reward employees rather… profits will first be used to pay back interest… and corporate bonuses.
- Rite Aid is a pharmacy that happens to have a store NOT a store that happens to have a pharmacy (Walmart, Kroger, ShopRite, Giant Eagle, Meijer etc.) ALL THE PROFIT has to come from the pharmacy and unlike CVS who has a PBM (Caremark) they cannot get reimbursement rates that CVS gets. And NO: no one is coming to buy Nintendo Wii games of Denise Austin workouts or Dinty Moore canned stew two months away from expiration… nor will Thrifty ice cream or PawTown pet products save Rite Aid when Craftsman and Martha Stewart couldn’t save Kmart and Sears.
- Customer Perception… when customers/patients see so many closed Rite Aids or dirty Stores with bare shelves they’re going to associate the store with failure. Pizza Hut for example is in a similar situation where they’re more known for their decline in quality and their closed stores repurposed as other businesses rather than their goods and services.
2024.04.26 18:44 Jackreynolds7 Upgrade 2010 Club Car Precedent vs Swap 2020 EZ-Go RXV
So we recently did some work for a Golf Cart shop...roughly $5k worth. We discussed trading this work, doesnt matter what type, for some upgrades to my existing cart....a 2010 Club Car Precedent....only thing I have done to this is lift it with new tires....I know for a fact it will need new batteries/charger. But while in there....they mentioned swapping mine out for a 2020 EZ-Go RXV AC (not sure if that is standard or not). They took in a fleet of RXV's and he would modify it basically as I want. Nothing too crazy, but upgraded seats, make a bit faster, wheels, tires, obviously new batteries. Not really sure what I would do to the Precedent, but he said I could do a lot with the $$$ I had to mess with...was thinking, some gauges, new seats, new top, different color body, new steering wheel, led lights.
The guy I am working with has no real reason to push me either way and will be good doing whatever.
So my question is, without much knowledge or getting lost in the internet, which route should I take?
Thanks so much for the help!
submitted by Jackreynolds7 to golfcarts [link] [comments]
The guy I am working with has no real reason to push me either way and will be good doing whatever.
So my question is, without much knowledge or getting lost in the internet, which route should I take?
Thanks so much for the help!
2024.04.25 19:40 thecrikeycrapper MAZDA NEWSROOM｜Two all-new Mazda EV models revealed at Auto China 2024｜NEWS RELEASES
The Mazda EZ-6, unveiled today, is the first of a series of new electrified vehicles (new energy vehicles) developed and manufactured by Changan Mazda in cooperation with Mazda and Chongqing Changan Automobile Co., Ltd. (Changan Automobile), and will be launched in China by the end of 2024. In addition, the concept model Mazda 創 Arata, unveiled at the same time, is scheduled to be mass-produced as the second new electrified vehicle by the end of 2025 and introduced in the Chinese market.
The Mazda EZ-6 seems to be deviating from the driver-centric focus of Mazda by omitting buttons in favor of virtual screen buttons. In addition, capacitive button on the steering wheel have not really been effective. Most recently, VW ditched their capacitive steering wheel buttons and went back to actual buttons.
Hopefully, this sedan spawns a hybrid NA version.
submitted by thecrikeycrapper to mazda [link] [comments]
The Mazda EZ-6 seems to be deviating from the driver-centric focus of Mazda by omitting buttons in favor of virtual screen buttons. In addition, capacitive button on the steering wheel have not really been effective. Most recently, VW ditched their capacitive steering wheel buttons and went back to actual buttons.
Hopefully, this sedan spawns a hybrid NA version.
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2024.04.23 03:15 Sp1tefull Help find this please
 | I've already send at least $80 just on the first book :( submitted by Sp1tefull to romancenovels [link] [comments] Here is the blub: “Oh, baby,” someone moans. I reach the top of the stairs and more grunting and moaning sounds reach my ears. The sounds grow louder as I get closer to Daniel’s room. I reach out a shaking hand, and I turn the knob, pushing the door open. The sounds get exponentially louder, and my eyes widen at the crude sight in front of me. “Karley,” Daniel moans as my twin sister moans. “I can’t believe you!” I scream, making both of their heads snap up to look at me. My hand subconsciously goes to my stomach, and I cover my mouth with my other hand. “You’re both dead to me!” I yell, running out of the room. Hurt fills me, my heart pounding, as I run down the stairs, grab my purse, and run to my jeep. I can hear my sister and my boyfriend- or should I say ex-boyfriend- running after me, but I hop in my car and drive off. ———————— Harley Taking my glasses off, I rub my eyes before opening them again to see the two faint pink lines. Maybe… Maybe it’s a false positive. I grab the second test and find two pink lines again. Pregnant- one word I never thought I’d use before marriage. My parents raised a “good girl” who always got good grades and perfect marks. They wanted me to be the perfect little daughter. It seemed to be their only goal in life other than raising me to be a puppet, which is one reason I became a nurse. I did what I wanted because I love helping people. Now they’ll be beyond upset. Looking in the mirror, I sigh. My long blonde hair is up in a ponytail since I had thrown up this morning. I’m still in my pajamas, which are a tank top and a pair of cotton shorts. My blue eyes look a little hazy from being abruptly woken up, so I rub at them again. Blinking, I push my glasses back up my nose and fix them. I grab my phone, dial Daniel’s number, and bite my lip as the phone rings. It rings a few times then goes to voicemail. “Is it so hard to answer your phone?” I mumble, sliding it back in my pocket. He needs to know, though. Quickly, I get up and walk over to my closet, grabbing a sweater and pulling it on. I shove the pregnancy test into my pocket and run out of the house. I jump into my jeep and peel out of my driveway, turning a fifteen-minute drive into a seven-minute drive. When I pull up to Daniel’s house, I don’t see his car in the driveway, which is unusual because he should be home from work by now. Looking down at my phone, I find no missed calls or texts from Daniel. Again, I call him, but again, it goes to voicemail. “Daniel, hey. I have something I need to tell you, and it’s really important, like majorly important, so please call me back,” I say before ending the message. With a disgruntled sigh, I put my Jeep in reverse and begin to back out of Daniel’s driveway. Something in his bedroom window catches my attention, making me stop. Squinting, I stare at the second-story window and see a shadow pass by, and a second later, it passes again. Since he is home, I put the car in park and climb out. I straighten out my clothes and run my fingers over the test in my pocket, making sure the pregnancy test is still there. I force my feet to move despite the nerves bubbling in my stomach spike to new heights. Will he be happy? Does he even want kids? We only talked about it once, when we talked about marriage, but he was undecided, and nothing ever came from that conversation. We didn’t really talk about it again, and now, I’m kicking myself. I wouldn’t say that I’m in love with Daniel because he wasn’t exactly my top choice of a partner. My parents suggested we date because his parents and my parents are friends. When I turned twenty, four years ago, our parents set us up because we’d be a “suitable match.” He already has a job at my father’s Law Firm, and my parents love him. He is charming and handsome, but he doesn’t have much else going for him. Nonetheless, I’d like him to be there when the baby is born. To please my parents, I dated him. We fell into a comfortable relationship, but I have to admit that it’s kind of dull. We’ve been dating for four years. It’s the same things over and over: work, dinner, movie nights where he stays over, then repeat. Our relationship has gotten less intimate over the past few months, and I can’t help but think Daniel is tiring of me. Lately, he’s been busy with work. When I get to Daniel’s front door, I pull out the house key that I have and slide it into the lock. My hands shake as I turn the key and push the door open. “Daniel?” When I get no response, I set my purse on the table by the door and shut the door behind me. I make my way over to the stairs to my right and start climbing them. “Oh, baby,” someone moans. I reach the top of the stairs and more grunting and moaning sounds reach my ears. The sounds grow louder as I get closer to Daniel’s room. I reach out a shaking hand, and I turn the knob, pushing the door open. The sounds get exponentially louder, and my eyes widen at the crude sight in front of me. “Karley,” Daniel moans as my twin sister moans. “I can’t believe you!” I scream, making both of their heads snap up to look at me. My hand subconsciously goes to my stomach, and I cover my mouth with my other hand. “You’re both dead to me!” I yell, running out of the room. Hurt fills me, my heart pounding, as I run down the stairs, grab my purse, and run to my jeep. I can hear my sister and my boyfriend- or should I say ex-boyfriend- running after me, but I hop in my car and drive off. Glancing back, I see my sister and Daniel standing in the driveway, sheets and towels wrapped around them. Tears fill my eyes and I try to scrub them away, along with the anger and hurt rising in my chest. I push down on the gas pedal while wiping away more tears, and soon, blue lights fill my rearview mirror. A sob climbs up my throat as I pull over and lay my head on the steering wheel. Today is just not my day. I decide to sit there for a minute to make sure I’m okay to drive. I don’t want my emotions to overpower my driving, so I watch as the police officer drives away. With a sigh, I lay my forehead against the steering wheel and take a deep breath. I’m hurt and sad about the affair, but more than anything, I’m angry and disappointed; however, I should’ve seen this coming. My sister is prettier, less geeky, and more sensual than I am. There’s also the fact that Daniel has pulled away and spends more time ‘at work’ than with me. I should’ve known he wasn’t at work. Now that I think about it, I think Daniel’s always been more interested in my sister. When we’d be at my parent’s house for dinner, or a party, he’d hang around my sister more than me. I thought they were just friends since I was dating him, but no. I witnessed their ‘friendship’ today. I groan at the mental image that’s seared into my brain. I’ll never get that image out of my head. What now? Since Daniel doesn’t want me, I don’t think he’ll want the baby, and if he does, I won’t give him any say in this. He cheated on me with my sister. He won’t be seeing this baby even if he begs. No one needs someone like that in their lives. My phone rings, bringing me out of my thoughts. When I pull it out, I see Daniel’s name flashing across the screen. I scoff at his audacity and answer the call, “What do you want?” “Baby, please come back and let me explain,” Daniel begs, making me roll my eyes. Hurt tugs at my heartstrings, making my anger grow. “Why should I? You have my sister to warm your bed now, so Daniel, don’t call me again. Don’t text. Don’t show up at my house,” I tell him, surprised at how stern my voice is. “I want nothing else to do with you. Have a good life,” I growl, hanging up before he can reply. Throwing my phone in the passenger seat, I shift my Jeep into drive and head home. I can do this. I don’t need him. My sister also called, yelling at me for causing Daniel to break off their affair. She ranted like a crazy person, so I hung up on her. If anyone should be mad, it’s me. She was sleeping with MY boyfriend. Shaking my head, I stand from my recurring spot beside the toilet. I look in the mirror and pull my hair up into a messy bun. Picking my glasses up, I slide them on my face and look at myself. My face is pale from the morning sickness, but other than that, I look about the same. Today is my five-week mark, so I have an appointment with my OBGYN at ten. “Your blood work looks good, as do your vitals, and your growth looks good. I’ll send you with a suggestion of some prenatal vitamins to take. Make sure you stick to a healthy diet and avoid the foods I’ll list for you. You can make your next appointment with Sally at the front desk when you leave. If you have any problems or questions, you can email me or call the number on the card Sally will give you when you make your next appointment,” she tells me. “Thank you, Dr. Anya,” I tell her. She smiles and nods, motioning to the door. I might not have planned to get pregnant, but I’m going to give this baby the love I don’t get from my own parents. When I enter my house, I kick my shoes off at the front door and head upstairs. I reach my room and slowly peel my clothes off, walking straight to my bathroom. I grab a book on my way and turn the bath water. As the water runs, I plug my phone into the speakers, hitting shuffle. Now that music is playing and the tub is full, I turn the water off and slide in, holding the book up to where it won’t get wet. Laying back, I put the book to the side and lay my hands on my stomach. I’ve been around pregnant women before in the hospital, but this is different. This is my child. My baby. “Babe, you finally answered,” Daniel’s voice comes through the phone. “Are you ready to come back to me?” He asks when I don’t reply. I continue driving, keeping my eyes on the road. “I don’t want to speak to you, Daniel. You need to leave me alone,” I tell him and hang up the phone, not giving him a chance to reply. Setting my phone in the cup holder, I sigh. Didn’t he get that I don’t want to talk to him from the constant ignoring of his calls? Again, I sigh and scan the road. When I look ahead on the right side of the road, something catches my eye. The closer I get, the slower I go. “Oh, my gosh,” I gasp and pull over. Scrambling out of my jeep, I run over to the man. “Hey! Hey, are you okay?” I shriek, falling to my knees. The man is lying on this stomach, shirtless and bleeding. With all my strength, I push the man onto his back. “Hey, sir, please wake up,” I beg, trying to shake him awake, but he doesn’t budge. What is this man made of? Stone? I continue to attempt to pull him, but nothing happens. I push my glasses up my nose and try to drag the man again. After a minute, I take a break because I don’t want to hurt the baby. I pull again, and a groan erupts from the man. Immediately, I look down at him as he groans again. “What cha doin’, Lass?” The man asks, his accent thickening his words. Relief fills me at his waking. “Oh, my gosh, you’re alive!” I exclaim. “Thank God,” I squeak, putting my hand over my heart. The man blinks twice and groans again. “Lass, no’ so loud,” he mumbles. My hand flies to my mouth, and I release another squeaking sound. I move my hands to talk and glance at my surroundings. “Um, I was just… uh, you’re on the side of the road, so I was going to take you to the hospital,” I stumble over my words, sputtering from my shot nerves. “Can you stand?” I ask, knowing that I won’t be able to get him up on my own. The man lies on the ground for a second before nodding stiffly. “I can try.” I step back, giving him room, and he struggles to turn over. A grimace graces his face as he tries to get up, but he slumps to the ground with a moan of pain. Since he’s on the ground again, I hold out my hand and try to help him up. I think it should be okay as long as I don’t pull his whole weight up. “Come on, you can lean on me,” I tell him, looking down at him with worry. Why is he like this? Who did this to him? Is he a criminal? Did he get kidnapped and beaten? What happened? I really want to ask, but I think it should wait. “I’m taking you to the hospital where I work to get you looked at,” I tell him as we stagger towards my jeep. The man groans, making me look up. “No hospital,” he commands, his voice raspy and pained. What he’s asking goes against everything I learned as a nurse, but instead of doing what I should, I nod. Stopping beside the car, I pull open the passenger door and lean the seat back. I turn the man towards the door and nudge him in the direction. “Climb in.” He looks down at me, and I point, “Use the handle to pull yourself up.” I wait as he follows my instructions. He pulls himself up while I push on his back, hoping he doesn’t fall backward and crush me. Once he’s seated, I make sure he isn’t in the doorway before closing it. Swiftly, I move around to the driver’s side and get in. Before I pull away, I glance at the man and move a stray piece of my bangs out of my face. “Okay, since you said no hospital, I guess I will take you to my house,” I say, making him look at me. I stare at him for a second, before looking away. “Okay, Lass,” he says, his strong accent making my heart patter. If I was standing, I’m sure I would have fallen over. I watch as the man’s eyes fall closed. I silently drive to my house, letting the man sleep. He looks beaten to hell, like someone took a truck and ran him over… multiple times. Even with the bruises, dirt, and blood, I can see he’s beautiful. When he looked at me with those striking blue-green eyes, I felt like I’d melt. Who would do something like this? Not long after I start driving, I pull up to my house. I park as close to my front door as I can get and scramble to the passenger side door. Now, I just need to wake him. I shake his shoulder, hoping to wake him without hurting him, but he doesn’t wake. I shake him a second and third time, but still, he doesn’t wake. “Hello? Wake up. Please, please wake up,” I call out, shaking him again. He groans and shifts in his seat but doesn’t wake up. “Come on, mister, I need your help,” I plead. As soon as I say that, the man’s eyes snap open, and he looks around. A second later, his eyes fall on me, and he looks me over. “What happened? Are you okay?” He asks, his voice hoarse. I smile at his concern. He’s the one that’s injured; why is he concerned about me? Smiling at him, I hold my hand out. “I need your help because I can’t carry you. I need to take you inside to check your injuries,” I say. After staring at me for a second, he nods and pushes himself to his feet. The whole time he’s moving, he’s grimacing or cringing or groaning. He must be in a lot of pain because he’s not moving very much, shuffling and dragging his feet. Slowly, I lead the man up to my porch and inside. After closing the front door, I lead the man over to my living room and help him lean on the wall. “Stay here” I tell him. “I cannae go anywhere, Lass.” “Okay, I have the kit, so I will fix you up now,” I announce, walking into the room. The man’s eyes open and they find me. His eyes follow my every movement, watching as I walk over and kneel beside the couch. “I’m a nurse, so I promise I know what I’m doing. I think it would’ve been better to go to the hospital, but I understand that you didn’t want to- and I know that you don’t know me, but you don’t have to worry about me doing anything to hurt you, because if I wanted to hurt people, I wouldn’t have chosen to be a nurse, right? Ha. Well, I-” His hand comes up, covering my mouth and stopping my ramble. The man peers at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He removes his hand. Heat travels up my neck and into my cheeks as I blurt out, “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get nervous.” Nervous laughter bubbles out of me. Deciding to stay quiet, I grab a wash rag and pour water on it. I wipe at the cuts on his body. Out of habit, my lip finds its way between my teeth as I work. “I make you nervous, Lass?” I open my mouth a few times, not knowing what to say. I probably look like a fish, opening and closing my mouth so much. Stopping, I take a deep breath and answer. “Well, I did find you shirtless, bleeding, and beat up on the side of the road,” I answer truthfully. Looking down at him, I see a determined expression on his face. “You dinna have to be nervous about me, Lass,” he speaks up, taking my hand in his. I look down at our hands and then up at him again. “Why do you keep calling me that?” I question, feeling my forehead crease at the confusion. Pulling my hand away, I put the rag down. Next, I pull out a needle and stitching thread. While I work, I feel the man’s eyes on me. “You mean Lass?” He asks, and I nod. He chuckles, then groans in pain. Once he settles, he speaks again, “I dinna know your name.” I nod, and then my eyes widen. “Oh, my gosh! I totally forgot,” I shriek. He cringes. “My name is Harley Reed. I should’ve introduced myself earlier,” I tell him, babbling. The man nods and holds out his hand. “I’m Axel,” he introduces. I smile and put my hand in his, letting his large one engulf my much smaller one. I bite my lip and look at him for a second before speaking up. “I like your accent. Is that Irish?” I ask, thinking. “No, Scottish?” Axel laughs and nods. “Aye. Scottish,” he answers. My eyes widen, and so does my smile. I’ve never met a Scottish person before. Does that sound lame? Get back on track, Harley. “Cool. You need some stitches in this larger gash, along with the one on your arm, but the others I can just patch up,” I inform him, looking over the wounds I cleaned. Axel nods, and I glance at the wounds again. “Do you want some Aspirin or Advil or something for the pain?” I ask, concern filling me. I’m about to stitch him up, and I don’t want to cause him more pain. He shakes his head, and I know he wants me to go ahead. Jumping up, I run to the kitchen and gather ice into a rag, then rush back into the living room and kneel beside Axel. “This is going to be cold,” I warn him. I gently place the pack on his face. Once I know he’s got it, I move down to the cuts on his torso and body. As I stitch Axel up, I notice him wincing and gritting his teeth. His hands curl into fists, and he growls out in pain. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, continuing to stitch him up. I wish he’d taken the pain medicine. For some reason, seeing him in this much pain differs from seeing my other patients in pain. I feel it more. When I glance at him, he’s already staring at me. Heat climbs up and settles on my cheeks, so I look away. Why am I acting like a schoolgirl? “Sapphire,” his voice catches my attention. Looking up, I give him a questioning look. “What?” He motions with his hand for me to keep going, so I do, but I listen as he speaks. “Your eyes. They look like Sapphires,” he tells me. I glance at him again. I’ve never been good at taking compliments, especially from gorgeous men. Biting my lip, I continue looking down at his cuts. “Um, thank you.” To be honest, I like him very much and I also like his praise. I think I'll take good care of him. Want to read more chapters? Click the button below to continue reading "Sapphire" in our app. You'll access this book immediately after you open our app. |
2024.04.21 16:00 BrodogIsMyName Frontier Fantasy - Chap 36
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Co-Written by WaveOfWire
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Harrison’s thoughts slurred through uncertain consciousness as brief dreams passed him by. Visions and sensations blurred with reality, making him question whether he was awake or not. It settled when his senses finally returned—or at least the few that felt like showing up to the party.
He didn’t feel any pain. No, all he perceived was the minute reeling of vertigo and the weight atop his chest. Did he mention his flesh felt like liquid? Because that would certainly be a way to describe whatever was going on underneath his skin. There were short beeps piercing his ears, but those were drowned out by the heavy breaths nearby. Were those his own? He tried to open his eyes, getting viciously assaulted by light intense enough to make him reconsider ever using them again in return. His lesson was learned quickly, forcing him to rely on alternative measures.
One of his hands was rendered immobile by an unseen force, while the other pressed against cloth of some kind, the familiar texture serving to slow his racing heartbeat. It was definitely a sheet, but what kind? The last thing he remembered was reliving the worst hangover ever in the… workshop…? He could tell this wasn’t the fabrication floor; he couldn’t hear the printer’s hum or the inconsistent deadened ‘thump’ of that one malfunctioning wind turbine on the roof.
He took in a deep breath, picking out the different scents of the room. Isopropyl alcohol, vinegar, and… flowers… wafted through his nostrils, placing him in the med bay. That made sense. Now what about the pressure on top of him? He sluggishly moved his free limb to examine it, his liquified muscles not helping the motion one bit.
Well… there was… something there, and that was about all he could gather. His sense of touch was definitely dulled, and the shape was most certainly non-euclidean. He ran his digits all along the surface to no avail, feeling over every rigid edge and pliable extrusion, but the geometry simply could not be added up in his nauseous mind.
And then it started to grumble audibly and physically, creating vibrations throughout his chest as the noise settled into a… purr?
The burning lights seared his eyes, but the suffering had to be ignored. He needed to know what this… thing was! The pure white died down quickly, simmering into a hazed view of the room. His torso was host to… Damn, those spots in his eyes…
He squinted even further, making out the rough shape of a large head… with a muzzle… that was smiling.
Sharky.
Laying her snout on him.
Purring at his unintentional massage.
One that he had yet to stop.
Huh… were her horns always that big? They had to have been as long as his thumb, stretching out from in front of her two lines of frills.
She nuzzled into his nails, forcing him to scratch harder… When did he start scratching?
It was soothing, in a way, and he almost wanted to keep going, but his hand eventually stopped after a particularly nasty stint of nausea. A blazing orange eye opened as a consequence of his unintentional transgression, looking thoroughly upset and disgruntled. The Malkrin perked up after a moment, the pieces apparently clicking as she started standing—er, sitting up—straight from her spot beside his bed.
“Harrison!” She cupped his cheek with a calloused hand as another gripped his shoulder, her distraught yet relieved gaze tracing his face. She tilted his head to the side as gently as she could, scouring his features for signs of illness while ignoring how it made his head spin.
A disoriented smirk grew on him in spite of the dizziness. Her inspection must have proved satisfactory, because she let him go sheepishly when she noticed his mild discomfort, giving him a second to orient himself. He offered her a weak smile and cleared his dry, raspy throat. “Hey… What did I miss?”
“Goddess! I was so worr—d! You became so ill so quickly! I…” She exhaled slowly, shaking her head before proceeding. “Star-sent Tracy said you suff—ed from ‘radiation poisoning.’ I carried you from the workshop to here, and you were tre—ed with a tincture and medicine to reduce your pain. ”
The Malkrin fell quiet for a moment, her shoulders drooping as her expression took on a guilty quality. ”It has been some time since… I believe the sun should be sett—g by now. Are… Are you f—ling well?”
He raised a brow and brought a hand up to check his temperature. “I… think so? I’m dizzy, but besides that, I’m not too bad. So, radiation sickness? She used ‘rad-away,’ right? How bad was it? How many grays?”
“S-She has ch—ked up on you with the ‘scanner’ many times now, and has assured me of y—r health. I do not recall how many ‘grays,’ but yes, she made use of such a serum.”
Harrison let out a huff of sardonic bemusement. Thank God for the proliferation of nuclear energy and the subsequent rise of radiation research. “So… do we know why I was irradiated in the first place? What about you? Are you okay, Shar?”
Sharky frowned in disapproval. “It is you who was struck ill, d—rest Harrison… but yes, I am in g—d health. On your question of ‘irradiation,’ Tracy has her theories ab—t such, but that matters not. How bad is the dizzin—s? Does your head swell with pain? How about your abdomen? You purged your stomach before you fell unconsci—s. Are you hungry?”
“ I mean, I’m struggling to keep my focus straight here,” he grumbled. “Nothing else, though…”
She reluctantly eased up on her verbal prodding, shrinking again now that her immediate concern had been addressed. “It is a curi—s affliction, to be sure. I… feared the worst, but I am glad you have made even a partial reco—ry so quickly. And for your nausea, Tracy menti—ed such would occur… I know not how to deal with such, but…” She stopped mid-sentence, looking over her shoulder at something Harrison couldn’t see. “Actu—ly, here.”
“Uh… Okay…?” he responded curiously, still mulling over how he was somehow blasted with radiation, but Sharky… wasn’t?
The paladin grabbed a small wooden bowl and a piece of notebook paper from a metallic table nearby, handing him the note first. He took it and concentrated on the two drawings on it, trying not to cross his eyes in doing so. One of the pictures was of a bowl with several plants hovering above it, some of which were recognizable as local flora. The other image was a pretty detailed representation of himself drinking from a pot with an ‘X’ over a whirlpool above his head and another of his eyes constricting. So… what? No spinning? A focused gaze? It was something to help with nausea? That… that would be damn useful.
Sharky passed him the liquid next, holding it long enough for him to sit up properly… which unfortunately caused the world to turn even faster for him, necessitating another few seconds for the spike of dizziness to wear off. He waved off his caretaker’s concern and accepted the bowl, drinking with a little assistance from the paladin.
The fluid poured into his mouth and down his throat, soothing the worst of the dryness. It was room-temperature, with a taste that reminded him of black tea that’s been steeping for wayyy too long and a hint of… citrus? It wasn’t great, but he managed to down a good portion of it in one gulp, waiting a moment before attempting to down the rest, but his hands were stopped. The paladin softly pulled the bowl back closer to her chest. He was about to protest, but the gentle look of worry on her face reminded him he wasn’t drinking just tea, leaving him to sit there awkwardly.
“F—give me. Cera’s instructions were to not drink all of it…” Her head tilted away, looking toward the concoction within her grasp. Her words were then quiet, morose in a way. “…This is the furthest my protection can go.” She met his eyes once more, starin at him with guilt-strucken irises for a few long seconds. “I… I sh—ld have put myself in the way of the anomaly. If I had done as my trial orders, y— may not have become so sick…”
He gave her a dissatisfied huff. “Shar, don’t go apologizing for that. Stop thinking of these interactions like that—mulling over regretfully isn’t going to help. Plus, considering it was radiation, I don’t know what we could have done differently…”
“I und—stand.” Shar returned softly. “I only wish there was more I c—ld have done…”
…What could they have done differently? Could Sharky have actually blocked the radiation? Why wasn’t she sick at all? Hell, she was right there too, how could she not have been irradiated? He was just about to ask the paladin about it, the question right on his tongue, but the way her ears dejectedly folded against her head caused him to bite his tongue. It probably wasn’t something he should ask right now with her worried sick…
He cleared his throat, pointing toward the scanner. “Shar, can you…”
“The scanner?”
He nodded. The Malkrin turned to retrieve the requested item, a soft click of the device leaving its dock preceding the hand-held machine being quickly passed over. He gave himself a scan, the green glow of the medical implement hovering over his torso for a few seconds. It read the same things he was used to… and nothing more. Was that good? Maybe he should wait a few more minutes before trying again.
“So, where is everyone else?” he queried, though it was more out of the need to kill time than anything.
Sharky stared upward in thought. “Akula is still away, the mated pair have left… somewh—e… and the other star-s—t has left to complete her task deal—g with the fabricator.”
He raised a brow at the couple’s disappearance but elected not to push the subject. “Akula is still gone? Wasn’t she supposed to be back before sunset?”
“I expect her to be back s—n, but I do not know if it is actually s—down or not. Forgive me.” She gave him a small frown.
“Stop apologizing…” He paused. “Wait, you haven’t been out yet?”
She shook her head, orange irises lighting up. “I have waited here for y— to recover. So no, I have not.”
He scratched at the back of his head, feeling a little bit guilty for inadvertently locking her down. “It’s not like I was going anywhere. I appreciate the company, but you didn’t have to sit here being bored to death, Shar.”
The paladin leaned in further. The flame in her voice increased alongside the pressure her tail put atop his waist. “Of c—rse I had to! What am I, if I am not by your side? Especi—ly if you are so ill. I have no gr—ter task than to see you in good health.”
He blinked, taken aback by how adamant she seemed. His stunned expression shifted to an uncertain avoidance of her gaze, a reluctant smile forming. “Thanks…”
Sharky stared for a few seconds before letting out the last of her indignation through a weary breath, settling back into her chair and loosening the crushing grip of her tail to a more gentle one. She folded her hands over her lap, fidgeting with her talons like she did any time she had more to say, though it eventually stopped, the Malkrin apparently deciding that the comfortable silence was enough.
The quiet atmosphere lingered for a while, neither of them having much else to do. That also meant the engineer was quickly starting to feel anxious. There was still a lot to do, after all, and Tracy shouldn’t be forced to do it all by herself just because he got a little sick. Plus, the sooner they had the new fabricator built, the sooner they could get some real defenses up. There were still some solar and wind energy kits that should be done printing too; those needed to be set up. That’d open up some extra power for fabrication, which should improve the efficiency of everything else. Actually, the longer he thought about it, the more things that needed him came to mind. Sure, some tasks could be relegated to the others, but he couldn’t be confident it was done right if he was stuck in bed, and he felt decent enough at the moment…
Yeah, screw this.
He pulled off the white sheet and slid his legs over the side of the bed.
“Harrison, w—t are you…? You must rest to rec—ver… A-Are you sure you sho—ld be…?” she rambled, reminding him that he had just speed ran acute radiation sickness recovery… or at least enough to feel ‘normal.’ He checked himself over once more, noticing the lack of dizziness when he swung his head from side to side. There wasn’t much in the way of his sense of touch, but that was fine—it was just the painkillers that went along ‘rad-away,’ right?
“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” he decided, slipping off the bed and stretching his limbs after gaining his footing. A short tingle ran through his veins in reaction to the movement, catching him off guard. It was like an off-brand version of when your leg fell asleep, just a lot weaker, and more like taking a little too much pre-workout—pins and needles included.
He ignored the unusual feeling running down his neck and through his limbs. If it was worth worrying about, then the scanner would have picked it up. The engineer shook off the discomfort and continued onward, appreciating the lack of nausea that would have gotten in the way otherwise. He grabbed the heavy vest full of equipment that sat beside the bed and slipped it on with a small bit of difficulty. There was work to do, and if he could set up additional energy production by the end of the night, it would be a huge jump forward for their little fabrication operation.
Sharky briskly made her way to his side, slightly hovering her arms around him as if he’d fall over at any moment. A small part of him wanted to protest to save his dignity, but kept his mouth shut. If it made her feel better, then he could deal with a bit of overprotectiveness.
The med bay door swished open, shocking an unexpected technician on the other side. Tracy jumped back with wide eyes, clenching her data pad to her chest, clearly not expecting his presence.
The other pioneer relaxed when she noticed who had startled her, though the tension quickly came back. She adjusted the grip on her tablet, stumbling over an attempt to compose herself. “Oh! H-Harrison? What’re you doing up? I… How… You, uh. You good, man?”
“Hey,” he returned curiously, the grumbling of his just-woke-up voice still present. Her short hair was messier than usual, her goggles failing to keep her locks from covering one of her eyes. It was in line with the dirtied white tank top and baggy mechanic’s pants she had on—no overalls for some reason. He shook off the inquisitive train of thought and took a step back to get out of her personal space. “Yeah, I’m feeling… fine.”
“Fine? Shouldn’t you be like… suuuuper nauseous?” She squinted in an incredulous stare, probing him for a lie.
He tilted his head with a shrug. “I took Cera’s mystery cocktail, and now I’m not… Apparently.”
Tracy maintained the scrutiny before letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I was just coming to check up on you.” She paused, glancing at the floor while biting her cheek sheepishly. “Do you mind if I just scan you… reeeal quick? Just in case?”
“Eh.” He blandly gestured at himself. “I just ran one on myself and it didn’t give anything out of the ordinary. I think I’m good.”
An uncomfortable frown crossed her face. “Mmmm… If you say so then. Whaddya think you’re doing now, though? You should still be in bed.”
“Too much to do for me to sit around twiddling my thumbs, so I figured I should get a start on setting up the turbines and solar panels,” he explained casually. “Those are already printed, right?”
She shot a glance at the Malkrin hovering behind him, but when she saw that there wasn’t any support to be gained from the devoted paladin, the woman opted to surrender the argument. “S‘long as you’re sure… But yeah, those are done. They were hogging up the fabricators’ queues, so I took ‘em out and stacked them by the printers. Figured I’d leave the rest to you since I don’t really know how to use ‘em.”
“Fair. Are you free to help me set them up? Actually, how far along are you with taking the fabricator apart?”
Tracy bobbed her head to the side, idly bouncing the datapad against her chest. “Everything’s torn out of the borked one; I’m just waiting for the new parts to print out now.”
That would explain the scent of burnt rubber coming off of her—no machine was stripped down without an issue or two. Still, that was a huge time sink just… completely taken off of his back. Wow. Who knew having someone else who actually knew their stuff would make life that much easier?
Harrison grinned. “That’ll save us a hell of a lot of time. Great thinking, Trace!”
“I-I just did what you asked me… It’s n-nothing…” She tilted her head down at the praise to hide the slight blush.
“Nope. None of that now.” He patted her on the shoulder fondly. “Don’t discredit yourself. You did a good job, and I appreciate the initiative. Take the praise, you deserve it.”
“T-Thanks,” Tracy murmured demurely, meeting his gaze again with a shy smile. Her eyes widened for a second when she noticed how close he was, the technician taking a step back and clearing her throat. “Should w-we go back, then? S-So we can set up the t-turbines, that is.”
The engineer raised a brow, checking with Shar to see if she thought the reaction was odd. All he got was a blank, if still worried, look in return. Just him then? He dismissed the thought and turned his attention back to the other human, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Of course.”
The group of three left the med bay for the other module. The sound of a shower queued Harrison into where the missing two Malkrin were. He quickly pushed any idle curiosity aside; there wasn’t any point in being nosey.
The tingle underneath his skin—presumably from the mystery concoction—continued as he crossed the sunlit hill. It could have been from the combination of drugs in his system, but he felt pretty damn energized for the time of day it was—maybe it was because he was unconscious for a few hours. It reminded him of those caffeine-fuelled nights at college—especially the part where the energy drink kicked in and set the studying off. It felt pretty good. Maybe he’d get a start on assembling the fabricator after connecting the external power?
A faint scent of melted plastic and burnt wires replaced the smell of fresh air when they entered the workshop, confirming his earlier suspicions as to where Tracy had been all day. True to her words, a pile of unfolded, metal cube-shaped boxes sat by the fabricators.
He looked up at his four-armed companion, assembling a plan for the operation ahead of him. “Alright, Shar, do you think you could grab some of those big universal cables in the corner over there? Just drag them to the cargo bay doors on the other side.” He turned to the tradeswoman, her hands fiddling with the strings on her pants. “And then Tracy—” The technician perked up. “—can you give me a hand with the kits?”
The paladin set off to complete her task while Tracy gave him a thumbs-up. He was outside the back of the workshop in a matter of minutes, unfolding a—technically temporary—power generator, pointing the once pale but now sun-tanned woman to where she had to lock the alloyed pieces. The maroon-colored Malkrin began hauling the rest of the cubes to them, offering assistance with assembling the higher components of the three-meter tall turbine between trips.
The ceramist and the craftsman eventually joined in their endeavors, having finished their lengthy shower. Harrison accepted the help readily, suppressing his bemused smirk as he directed them. Their assistance was greatly appreciated, and the male of the two seemed ecstatic to lend a hand, allowing them to set up every wind-powered dynamo and start on the solar panels. However, all the progress did bring up questions about the fisherwoman’s whereabouts. The sun was only a small chunk above the sea’s horizon, and there was no obvious sign of Akula’s net by the orange shore as far as he could see. He supposed she could have just gone up or down the beach to fish, but he was still a little worried about her disappearance. It bothered him enough to break away from the others and approach the crest of the hill to get a better look at where the grassy hill met the sands.
He pulled out a pair of simple binoculars from his hip, scanning where the slow tides met land. There wasn’t anything of note besides the sparse boulders and tangles of underwater flora draped across the beach. His inspection drew to where the tree line met the flanking rocky cliffs, their stone faces rising only a few meters above sea level.
He was about to give up when movement caught his attention. A singular silhouette appeared from behind the stone wall, easing the worst of his fears. It was definitely a Malkrin, and the outline of a familiar weapon paired with a full fishing bag told him exactly who it was. There wasn’t any sign of injury either, which meant Akula had likely just lost track of time, or maybe decided to fish a bit farther out and underestimated how long the trip back would take. Either way, she was safe. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding…
…Then another tense one immediately took its place.
He pulled away and scrubbed the lenses of the binoculars, snapping the vision ports to his eyes when he finished. No, it wasn’t a mistake; they were still there.
A small parade of other Malkrin followed behind the fisherwoman, making their way ever closer towards the modules he called home.
Shit. Was Akula leading them to him? Why? Were they hostile? Was she being forced to bring them here? What if they were from Kegara’s camp? Were they straight from the Land kingdom? Were these other ‘banished?’
The cold purple of the sunset cast shadows over their faces, obscuring their expressions into black uncertainties. He couldn’t gather anything from them. His legs were already pulling him away before he realized, the turn into a light jog resulting in him slamming face-first into a wall of pure metal. A hand shot up to soothe his pained nose, Shar’s apologetic voice covering the throbbing headache.
“Harrison! F-Forgive me. Are you al—ght?”
“Sharky?” He froze, forgetting his stinging face and lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. “Shit, uh, No. No, listen. There’s a group of Malkrin by the beach, and I need you to stay watch while I go grab the others.”
Her head tilted before his words visibly clicked in her mind. She pulled her shield off her back and nodded at him, her concern replaced by ironclad determination. “Underst—d.”
He wasted no time running back and informing the rest of what was happening. He urged them to stay inside the workshop and wait out whatever was about to go down. The two Malkrin understood and heeded his warning without protest, the ceramist giving him a solemn look before leaving. Tracy looked like she wanted to object, but he gave no room for arguing, nudging her into the building before she could get any ideas.
Even with everyone tucked away, he couldn’t help but worry. Although the module was already in a defensible location in case of the worst scenario, there was only one firearm between the three of them—he was a dumbass for not printing out more before. The spikes around the cargo bay doors were closed, which left only one entrance for them to watch, so that would have to do. He made a mental note to start properly arming the others after whatever the hell was happening was over.
The immediate concern now addressed, he shouldered his heavy weapon and returned to the stalwart paladin with steady strides, double-checking his ammo on the way there. As much as he would have liked to humor the possibility of the newcomers appearing with peaceful intentions, he knew he needed to be ready for whatever needed to be done—better to be a warrior in a factory than an engineer in war, or however that saying went. Something about the static pins and needles running across his skin and through his veins gave him conviction. It calmed his nerves and set him straight, clearing his mind of the nervousness that wanted to break in. By the time he saw the familiar silhouette of his paladin, he had set aside any remnants of hesitation.
His finger traced the trigger guard as he stepped up beside the four-armed guardian, her shield standing tall and unyielding, flanked by a pair of menacing spears. Akula had crossed much of the three hundred or so meters from the beach to the crest of the hill.
“Stop,” he ordered, raising his voice at the approaching band. They obliged, coming to a halt at about thirty or so meters away. There were eight of them, not including the leading green Malkrin. He counted five females and three males, based on height. Nervous postures paired with wary gazes at the paladin’s unwavering glare, the occasional glance being given to Harrison and his shotgun. One stood tall amidst the looks of uncertainty. The Malkrin’s yellow skin was darkened by the dusk, meeting Shar’s stare with an unflinching glower.
Akula took a single step forward, bowing her head while gesturing behind her with a free hand. “Greetings, Harrison. I have returned with not only the finest fish, but exiled laborers for the settlement.”
“Exiled laborers?” His brows furrowed in suspicion as he gave the group another look. “From where?”
The fisherwoman glanced back at her following. She spoke flatly, though he could sense a hint of irritation… or disgust. “They originate from the Land Kingdom, star-sent, having only just arrived by boat.”
His gaze crossed the anxious and exhausted looks of those down the hill from him. Some of their talons clicked together nervously. A few had stone-still tails, while others wrapped their fifth appendage around their waists or wrists. Every single garment of clothing on them had been either ripped or dirtied considerably; not to mention that those appeared to be their only possessions. Though, they looked ‘healthy,’ in spite of their impoverished items, if not a bit lean compared to the Malkrin he knew. So, what were they doing here? They were banished, right? They were supposed to work for that other settlement, ‘constructing a future on the mainland.’ They had no supplies to build any camp or even make the long journey to however far away Kegara’s camp was…
Harrison took in a deep breath, keeping his gun at low ready. “So, they just got here? Why bring them here?”
Her back stood even straighter, her brows narrowing in thin confidence. “I believed we would benefit from additional hands within our own settlement. They have professions that may prove useful to our needs.” She stepped to the side and gestured to the group behind her, pointing out each of the differently colored Malkrin individually. “Amongst their number, they have two fisherwomen to see to our food needs, a lumberjack for harvesting of wood, a guardswoman for our defense, a script-keeper, a cook to prepare meals, and a sewist for clothing. I am sure you would be capable of utilizing their positions excellently, Great Creator.”
‘Great Creator?’
He shook that thought away, focusing on Akula’s offer.
“That’s seven,” he stated forcefully. “What about the last?”
The banished stiffened. One of the males went to cover the short white-skinned female with shaking arms, while the yellow guardswoman stood tall behind the aforementioned Malkrin, her expression unmoving.
Akula’s uncertainly bled through a sharp inhale of hers. “T-That one does not possess an occupation that we know of… She is a… juvenile…”
A nasty pit formed in his stomach, pulling down caution to unveil a caustic, bubbling fury.
A… ‘juvenile?’ So, it wasn’t just a short female… but an actual… Here? They sent a fucking kid here? Nevermind the moral implications of how she arrived; the dire survival situation, roaming hordes of bloodthirsty monsters, and lethal anomalies were taxing to deal with for him, and he had advanced technology! They were just seven weaponless Malkrin! Hell, they were already scared out of their minds, and all they’ve done so far is meet him! How were they supposed to protect a kid when they’re pissing their pants from this? What *the fuck *were those Land Kingdom assholes doing?
He bit back the snarl threatening to curl his lips. There would be time to get pissed off later. For now, he needed to figure out what to do with… this whole situation. Specifically, the fact that there were eight people at his doorstep all of a sudden.
Akula was basically asking if he wanted to take them under his wing, right? But could he even trust them? They did look haggard, but there was no telling what they would do if given the opportunity to do… something. They were an unknown variable, plain and simple. Even if he did take them in without having to worry, where would he even house them? He wasn’t exactly swimming in free space aboard the modules. What about clothing and food? They were just getting by as it was! Assuming they figured that out, it still left the question of if they’d be willing to work for him. The base couldn’t support freeloaders, especially if they could actually be detrimental to getting things done. Besides, how did his status as ‘star-sent’ fit into what they thought about him—or even Sharky, a follower of the Sky Goddess? Was he going to be expected to mediate religious arguments, or was it going to blow up into something even bigger?
No matter how he thought about it, they just weren’t ready to take on people that he couldn’t be sure about. It would risk the lives of everyone back at the base… which meant he was going to send the refugees to their deaths…
Harrison bled off a sigh through his nose. He knew damn well by now that the Malkrin were people; he couldn’t just cast them off as giant beasts. Taking on more people was a huge slap in the face to the progress he was making, but doing nothing and seeing them off into the wilderness—where literal Human and Malkrin-eating monsters roamed day in and day out—with nothing but the rags on their back would weigh on his mind. A selfish perspective, maybe, but just as true.
Plus, if he was thinking about it logically, manpower would be essential going forward. He needed just about every resource under the sun—stone, iron, copper, tungsten, saltpeter, sulfur, clay, wood, plant matter, fish, and… The list goes on. It wasn’t like he had access to working robots or anything that could gather supplies and perform tasks outside the workshop. For as much as he disliked the idea, the Malkrin were a hearty people, and for the price of shelter, safety, and sustenance, they could do what his technology can’t—for now. Was that worth the price of needing to keep an eye on them?
Christ. Why was he the one charged with making this decision? His slow inhale and subsequent exhale overpowered any other meek noise in the elevated meadow.
“…Okay,” he sighed out, propping his shotgun on his shoulder. Stunned, uncertain stares lingered on him, only Akula opting to break the silence.
“…You would accept these new ones into our settlement?” she asked, apparently not expecting his minimalistic, though positive response. Odd, considering how everything she said made it seem like she wanted this.
“We’ll bring them in, yeah,” he confirmed, his voice a little warmer than before. “Do you mind fetching some meal boxes?”
“I… O-Of course, star-sent. As you command.” The green-colored fisherwoman blinked off her surprise, briskly past him and into the barracks. He followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight, leaving just him, Sharky, and the crowd of refugees on the hill. He was a lot less nervous about approaching them now, and not just because of his own firepower or the ten-foot tall armored, muscled, and taloned woman beside him.
“There’s no need to just stand there. Follow me, we’ll figure out everything else shortly…” He paused and considered their situation once more… Perhaps they were more reticent because of Akula. “Actually, first: are any of you hurt? We have the medical supplies to treat wounds and sickness.”
The Malkrin looked between themselves, the script-keeper stepping up as their speaker. “Beyond scratches of the skin, w-we are in adequate health.”
Harrison nodded and turned toward the barracks, already planning on asking someone to fetch some rubbing alcohol and bandages. He gestured for the others to follow him, which only took a few moments for them to comply. The yellow Guardswoman stood still, however, her glare appearing to try and pierce him. Then, the juvenile grabbed her wrist and softly pulled her, causing the taller female’s eyes to widen in an unexpected show of shock. She then averted her gaze, continuing with the rest of the new arrivals. Odd.
They stopped by the fire pit out front before anything else, Sharky being asked to keep watch over them as he grabbed Tracy, Cera, and the craftsman. Food, clothing, shelter, health, jobs… There was a lot to consider. One minute was all it took to make a decision as big as this, but there was no going back now. He was going to have to sacrifice tons of resources and energy for them.
All he could do now was hope that his efforts would bear fruit in the future.
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Late night, Late thoughts
submitted by BrodogIsMyName to HFY [link] [comments]
Co-Written by WaveOfWire
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Harrison’s thoughts slurred through uncertain consciousness as brief dreams passed him by. Visions and sensations blurred with reality, making him question whether he was awake or not. It settled when his senses finally returned—or at least the few that felt like showing up to the party.
He didn’t feel any pain. No, all he perceived was the minute reeling of vertigo and the weight atop his chest. Did he mention his flesh felt like liquid? Because that would certainly be a way to describe whatever was going on underneath his skin. There were short beeps piercing his ears, but those were drowned out by the heavy breaths nearby. Were those his own? He tried to open his eyes, getting viciously assaulted by light intense enough to make him reconsider ever using them again in return. His lesson was learned quickly, forcing him to rely on alternative measures.
One of his hands was rendered immobile by an unseen force, while the other pressed against cloth of some kind, the familiar texture serving to slow his racing heartbeat. It was definitely a sheet, but what kind? The last thing he remembered was reliving the worst hangover ever in the… workshop…? He could tell this wasn’t the fabrication floor; he couldn’t hear the printer’s hum or the inconsistent deadened ‘thump’ of that one malfunctioning wind turbine on the roof.
He took in a deep breath, picking out the different scents of the room. Isopropyl alcohol, vinegar, and… flowers… wafted through his nostrils, placing him in the med bay. That made sense. Now what about the pressure on top of him? He sluggishly moved his free limb to examine it, his liquified muscles not helping the motion one bit.
Well… there was… something there, and that was about all he could gather. His sense of touch was definitely dulled, and the shape was most certainly non-euclidean. He ran his digits all along the surface to no avail, feeling over every rigid edge and pliable extrusion, but the geometry simply could not be added up in his nauseous mind.
And then it started to grumble audibly and physically, creating vibrations throughout his chest as the noise settled into a… purr?
The burning lights seared his eyes, but the suffering had to be ignored. He needed to know what this… thing was! The pure white died down quickly, simmering into a hazed view of the room. His torso was host to… Damn, those spots in his eyes…
He squinted even further, making out the rough shape of a large head… with a muzzle… that was smiling.
Sharky.
Laying her snout on him.
Purring at his unintentional massage.
One that he had yet to stop.
Huh… were her horns always that big? They had to have been as long as his thumb, stretching out from in front of her two lines of frills.
She nuzzled into his nails, forcing him to scratch harder… When did he start scratching?
It was soothing, in a way, and he almost wanted to keep going, but his hand eventually stopped after a particularly nasty stint of nausea. A blazing orange eye opened as a consequence of his unintentional transgression, looking thoroughly upset and disgruntled. The Malkrin perked up after a moment, the pieces apparently clicking as she started standing—er, sitting up—straight from her spot beside his bed.
“Harrison!” She cupped his cheek with a calloused hand as another gripped his shoulder, her distraught yet relieved gaze tracing his face. She tilted his head to the side as gently as she could, scouring his features for signs of illness while ignoring how it made his head spin.
A disoriented smirk grew on him in spite of the dizziness. Her inspection must have proved satisfactory, because she let him go sheepishly when she noticed his mild discomfort, giving him a second to orient himself. He offered her a weak smile and cleared his dry, raspy throat. “Hey… What did I miss?”
“Goddess! I was so worr—d! You became so ill so quickly! I…” She exhaled slowly, shaking her head before proceeding. “Star-sent Tracy said you suff—ed from ‘radiation poisoning.’ I carried you from the workshop to here, and you were tre—ed with a tincture and medicine to reduce your pain. ”
The Malkrin fell quiet for a moment, her shoulders drooping as her expression took on a guilty quality. ”It has been some time since… I believe the sun should be sett—g by now. Are… Are you f—ling well?”
He raised a brow and brought a hand up to check his temperature. “I… think so? I’m dizzy, but besides that, I’m not too bad. So, radiation sickness? She used ‘rad-away,’ right? How bad was it? How many grays?”
“S-She has ch—ked up on you with the ‘scanner’ many times now, and has assured me of y—r health. I do not recall how many ‘grays,’ but yes, she made use of such a serum.”
Harrison let out a huff of sardonic bemusement. Thank God for the proliferation of nuclear energy and the subsequent rise of radiation research. “So… do we know why I was irradiated in the first place? What about you? Are you okay, Shar?”
Sharky frowned in disapproval. “It is you who was struck ill, d—rest Harrison… but yes, I am in g—d health. On your question of ‘irradiation,’ Tracy has her theories ab—t such, but that matters not. How bad is the dizzin—s? Does your head swell with pain? How about your abdomen? You purged your stomach before you fell unconsci—s. Are you hungry?”
“ I mean, I’m struggling to keep my focus straight here,” he grumbled. “Nothing else, though…”
She reluctantly eased up on her verbal prodding, shrinking again now that her immediate concern had been addressed. “It is a curi—s affliction, to be sure. I… feared the worst, but I am glad you have made even a partial reco—ry so quickly. And for your nausea, Tracy menti—ed such would occur… I know not how to deal with such, but…” She stopped mid-sentence, looking over her shoulder at something Harrison couldn’t see. “Actu—ly, here.”
“Uh… Okay…?” he responded curiously, still mulling over how he was somehow blasted with radiation, but Sharky… wasn’t?
The paladin grabbed a small wooden bowl and a piece of notebook paper from a metallic table nearby, handing him the note first. He took it and concentrated on the two drawings on it, trying not to cross his eyes in doing so. One of the pictures was of a bowl with several plants hovering above it, some of which were recognizable as local flora. The other image was a pretty detailed representation of himself drinking from a pot with an ‘X’ over a whirlpool above his head and another of his eyes constricting. So… what? No spinning? A focused gaze? It was something to help with nausea? That… that would be damn useful.
Sharky passed him the liquid next, holding it long enough for him to sit up properly… which unfortunately caused the world to turn even faster for him, necessitating another few seconds for the spike of dizziness to wear off. He waved off his caretaker’s concern and accepted the bowl, drinking with a little assistance from the paladin.
The fluid poured into his mouth and down his throat, soothing the worst of the dryness. It was room-temperature, with a taste that reminded him of black tea that’s been steeping for wayyy too long and a hint of… citrus? It wasn’t great, but he managed to down a good portion of it in one gulp, waiting a moment before attempting to down the rest, but his hands were stopped. The paladin softly pulled the bowl back closer to her chest. He was about to protest, but the gentle look of worry on her face reminded him he wasn’t drinking just tea, leaving him to sit there awkwardly.
“F—give me. Cera’s instructions were to not drink all of it…” Her head tilted away, looking toward the concoction within her grasp. Her words were then quiet, morose in a way. “…This is the furthest my protection can go.” She met his eyes once more, starin at him with guilt-strucken irises for a few long seconds. “I… I sh—ld have put myself in the way of the anomaly. If I had done as my trial orders, y— may not have become so sick…”
He gave her a dissatisfied huff. “Shar, don’t go apologizing for that. Stop thinking of these interactions like that—mulling over regretfully isn’t going to help. Plus, considering it was radiation, I don’t know what we could have done differently…”
“I und—stand.” Shar returned softly. “I only wish there was more I c—ld have done…”
…What could they have done differently? Could Sharky have actually blocked the radiation? Why wasn’t she sick at all? Hell, she was right there too, how could she not have been irradiated? He was just about to ask the paladin about it, the question right on his tongue, but the way her ears dejectedly folded against her head caused him to bite his tongue. It probably wasn’t something he should ask right now with her worried sick…
He cleared his throat, pointing toward the scanner. “Shar, can you…”
“The scanner?”
He nodded. The Malkrin turned to retrieve the requested item, a soft click of the device leaving its dock preceding the hand-held machine being quickly passed over. He gave himself a scan, the green glow of the medical implement hovering over his torso for a few seconds. It read the same things he was used to… and nothing more. Was that good? Maybe he should wait a few more minutes before trying again.
“So, where is everyone else?” he queried, though it was more out of the need to kill time than anything.
Sharky stared upward in thought. “Akula is still away, the mated pair have left… somewh—e… and the other star-s—t has left to complete her task deal—g with the fabricator.”
He raised a brow at the couple’s disappearance but elected not to push the subject. “Akula is still gone? Wasn’t she supposed to be back before sunset?”
“I expect her to be back s—n, but I do not know if it is actually s—down or not. Forgive me.” She gave him a small frown.
“Stop apologizing…” He paused. “Wait, you haven’t been out yet?”
She shook her head, orange irises lighting up. “I have waited here for y— to recover. So no, I have not.”
He scratched at the back of his head, feeling a little bit guilty for inadvertently locking her down. “It’s not like I was going anywhere. I appreciate the company, but you didn’t have to sit here being bored to death, Shar.”
The paladin leaned in further. The flame in her voice increased alongside the pressure her tail put atop his waist. “Of c—rse I had to! What am I, if I am not by your side? Especi—ly if you are so ill. I have no gr—ter task than to see you in good health.”
He blinked, taken aback by how adamant she seemed. His stunned expression shifted to an uncertain avoidance of her gaze, a reluctant smile forming. “Thanks…”
Sharky stared for a few seconds before letting out the last of her indignation through a weary breath, settling back into her chair and loosening the crushing grip of her tail to a more gentle one. She folded her hands over her lap, fidgeting with her talons like she did any time she had more to say, though it eventually stopped, the Malkrin apparently deciding that the comfortable silence was enough.
The quiet atmosphere lingered for a while, neither of them having much else to do. That also meant the engineer was quickly starting to feel anxious. There was still a lot to do, after all, and Tracy shouldn’t be forced to do it all by herself just because he got a little sick. Plus, the sooner they had the new fabricator built, the sooner they could get some real defenses up. There were still some solar and wind energy kits that should be done printing too; those needed to be set up. That’d open up some extra power for fabrication, which should improve the efficiency of everything else. Actually, the longer he thought about it, the more things that needed him came to mind. Sure, some tasks could be relegated to the others, but he couldn’t be confident it was done right if he was stuck in bed, and he felt decent enough at the moment…
Yeah, screw this.
He pulled off the white sheet and slid his legs over the side of the bed.
“Harrison, w—t are you…? You must rest to rec—ver… A-Are you sure you sho—ld be…?” she rambled, reminding him that he had just speed ran acute radiation sickness recovery… or at least enough to feel ‘normal.’ He checked himself over once more, noticing the lack of dizziness when he swung his head from side to side. There wasn’t much in the way of his sense of touch, but that was fine—it was just the painkillers that went along ‘rad-away,’ right?
“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” he decided, slipping off the bed and stretching his limbs after gaining his footing. A short tingle ran through his veins in reaction to the movement, catching him off guard. It was like an off-brand version of when your leg fell asleep, just a lot weaker, and more like taking a little too much pre-workout—pins and needles included.
He ignored the unusual feeling running down his neck and through his limbs. If it was worth worrying about, then the scanner would have picked it up. The engineer shook off the discomfort and continued onward, appreciating the lack of nausea that would have gotten in the way otherwise. He grabbed the heavy vest full of equipment that sat beside the bed and slipped it on with a small bit of difficulty. There was work to do, and if he could set up additional energy production by the end of the night, it would be a huge jump forward for their little fabrication operation.
Sharky briskly made her way to his side, slightly hovering her arms around him as if he’d fall over at any moment. A small part of him wanted to protest to save his dignity, but kept his mouth shut. If it made her feel better, then he could deal with a bit of overprotectiveness.
The med bay door swished open, shocking an unexpected technician on the other side. Tracy jumped back with wide eyes, clenching her data pad to her chest, clearly not expecting his presence.
The other pioneer relaxed when she noticed who had startled her, though the tension quickly came back. She adjusted the grip on her tablet, stumbling over an attempt to compose herself. “Oh! H-Harrison? What’re you doing up? I… How… You, uh. You good, man?”
“Hey,” he returned curiously, the grumbling of his just-woke-up voice still present. Her short hair was messier than usual, her goggles failing to keep her locks from covering one of her eyes. It was in line with the dirtied white tank top and baggy mechanic’s pants she had on—no overalls for some reason. He shook off the inquisitive train of thought and took a step back to get out of her personal space. “Yeah, I’m feeling… fine.”
“Fine? Shouldn’t you be like… suuuuper nauseous?” She squinted in an incredulous stare, probing him for a lie.
He tilted his head with a shrug. “I took Cera’s mystery cocktail, and now I’m not… Apparently.”
Tracy maintained the scrutiny before letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I was just coming to check up on you.” She paused, glancing at the floor while biting her cheek sheepishly. “Do you mind if I just scan you… reeeal quick? Just in case?”
“Eh.” He blandly gestured at himself. “I just ran one on myself and it didn’t give anything out of the ordinary. I think I’m good.”
An uncomfortable frown crossed her face. “Mmmm… If you say so then. Whaddya think you’re doing now, though? You should still be in bed.”
“Too much to do for me to sit around twiddling my thumbs, so I figured I should get a start on setting up the turbines and solar panels,” he explained casually. “Those are already printed, right?”
She shot a glance at the Malkrin hovering behind him, but when she saw that there wasn’t any support to be gained from the devoted paladin, the woman opted to surrender the argument. “S‘long as you’re sure… But yeah, those are done. They were hogging up the fabricators’ queues, so I took ‘em out and stacked them by the printers. Figured I’d leave the rest to you since I don’t really know how to use ‘em.”
“Fair. Are you free to help me set them up? Actually, how far along are you with taking the fabricator apart?”
Tracy bobbed her head to the side, idly bouncing the datapad against her chest. “Everything’s torn out of the borked one; I’m just waiting for the new parts to print out now.”
That would explain the scent of burnt rubber coming off of her—no machine was stripped down without an issue or two. Still, that was a huge time sink just… completely taken off of his back. Wow. Who knew having someone else who actually knew their stuff would make life that much easier?
Harrison grinned. “That’ll save us a hell of a lot of time. Great thinking, Trace!”
“I-I just did what you asked me… It’s n-nothing…” She tilted her head down at the praise to hide the slight blush.
“Nope. None of that now.” He patted her on the shoulder fondly. “Don’t discredit yourself. You did a good job, and I appreciate the initiative. Take the praise, you deserve it.”
“T-Thanks,” Tracy murmured demurely, meeting his gaze again with a shy smile. Her eyes widened for a second when she noticed how close he was, the technician taking a step back and clearing her throat. “Should w-we go back, then? S-So we can set up the t-turbines, that is.”
The engineer raised a brow, checking with Shar to see if she thought the reaction was odd. All he got was a blank, if still worried, look in return. Just him then? He dismissed the thought and turned his attention back to the other human, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Of course.”
The group of three left the med bay for the other module. The sound of a shower queued Harrison into where the missing two Malkrin were. He quickly pushed any idle curiosity aside; there wasn’t any point in being nosey.
The tingle underneath his skin—presumably from the mystery concoction—continued as he crossed the sunlit hill. It could have been from the combination of drugs in his system, but he felt pretty damn energized for the time of day it was—maybe it was because he was unconscious for a few hours. It reminded him of those caffeine-fuelled nights at college—especially the part where the energy drink kicked in and set the studying off. It felt pretty good. Maybe he’d get a start on assembling the fabricator after connecting the external power?
A faint scent of melted plastic and burnt wires replaced the smell of fresh air when they entered the workshop, confirming his earlier suspicions as to where Tracy had been all day. True to her words, a pile of unfolded, metal cube-shaped boxes sat by the fabricators.
He looked up at his four-armed companion, assembling a plan for the operation ahead of him. “Alright, Shar, do you think you could grab some of those big universal cables in the corner over there? Just drag them to the cargo bay doors on the other side.” He turned to the tradeswoman, her hands fiddling with the strings on her pants. “And then Tracy—” The technician perked up. “—can you give me a hand with the kits?”
The paladin set off to complete her task while Tracy gave him a thumbs-up. He was outside the back of the workshop in a matter of minutes, unfolding a—technically temporary—power generator, pointing the once pale but now sun-tanned woman to where she had to lock the alloyed pieces. The maroon-colored Malkrin began hauling the rest of the cubes to them, offering assistance with assembling the higher components of the three-meter tall turbine between trips.
The ceramist and the craftsman eventually joined in their endeavors, having finished their lengthy shower. Harrison accepted the help readily, suppressing his bemused smirk as he directed them. Their assistance was greatly appreciated, and the male of the two seemed ecstatic to lend a hand, allowing them to set up every wind-powered dynamo and start on the solar panels. However, all the progress did bring up questions about the fisherwoman’s whereabouts. The sun was only a small chunk above the sea’s horizon, and there was no obvious sign of Akula’s net by the orange shore as far as he could see. He supposed she could have just gone up or down the beach to fish, but he was still a little worried about her disappearance. It bothered him enough to break away from the others and approach the crest of the hill to get a better look at where the grassy hill met the sands.
He pulled out a pair of simple binoculars from his hip, scanning where the slow tides met land. There wasn’t anything of note besides the sparse boulders and tangles of underwater flora draped across the beach. His inspection drew to where the tree line met the flanking rocky cliffs, their stone faces rising only a few meters above sea level.
He was about to give up when movement caught his attention. A singular silhouette appeared from behind the stone wall, easing the worst of his fears. It was definitely a Malkrin, and the outline of a familiar weapon paired with a full fishing bag told him exactly who it was. There wasn’t any sign of injury either, which meant Akula had likely just lost track of time, or maybe decided to fish a bit farther out and underestimated how long the trip back would take. Either way, she was safe. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding…
…Then another tense one immediately took its place.
He pulled away and scrubbed the lenses of the binoculars, snapping the vision ports to his eyes when he finished. No, it wasn’t a mistake; they were still there.
A small parade of other Malkrin followed behind the fisherwoman, making their way ever closer towards the modules he called home.
Shit. Was Akula leading them to him? Why? Were they hostile? Was she being forced to bring them here? What if they were from Kegara’s camp? Were they straight from the Land kingdom? Were these other ‘banished?’
The cold purple of the sunset cast shadows over their faces, obscuring their expressions into black uncertainties. He couldn’t gather anything from them. His legs were already pulling him away before he realized, the turn into a light jog resulting in him slamming face-first into a wall of pure metal. A hand shot up to soothe his pained nose, Shar’s apologetic voice covering the throbbing headache.
“Harrison! F-Forgive me. Are you al—ght?”
“Sharky?” He froze, forgetting his stinging face and lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. “Shit, uh, No. No, listen. There’s a group of Malkrin by the beach, and I need you to stay watch while I go grab the others.”
Her head tilted before his words visibly clicked in her mind. She pulled her shield off her back and nodded at him, her concern replaced by ironclad determination. “Underst—d.”
He wasted no time running back and informing the rest of what was happening. He urged them to stay inside the workshop and wait out whatever was about to go down. The two Malkrin understood and heeded his warning without protest, the ceramist giving him a solemn look before leaving. Tracy looked like she wanted to object, but he gave no room for arguing, nudging her into the building before she could get any ideas.
Even with everyone tucked away, he couldn’t help but worry. Although the module was already in a defensible location in case of the worst scenario, there was only one firearm between the three of them—he was a dumbass for not printing out more before. The spikes around the cargo bay doors were closed, which left only one entrance for them to watch, so that would have to do. He made a mental note to start properly arming the others after whatever the hell was happening was over.
The immediate concern now addressed, he shouldered his heavy weapon and returned to the stalwart paladin with steady strides, double-checking his ammo on the way there. As much as he would have liked to humor the possibility of the newcomers appearing with peaceful intentions, he knew he needed to be ready for whatever needed to be done—better to be a warrior in a factory than an engineer in war, or however that saying went. Something about the static pins and needles running across his skin and through his veins gave him conviction. It calmed his nerves and set him straight, clearing his mind of the nervousness that wanted to break in. By the time he saw the familiar silhouette of his paladin, he had set aside any remnants of hesitation.
His finger traced the trigger guard as he stepped up beside the four-armed guardian, her shield standing tall and unyielding, flanked by a pair of menacing spears. Akula had crossed much of the three hundred or so meters from the beach to the crest of the hill.
“Stop,” he ordered, raising his voice at the approaching band. They obliged, coming to a halt at about thirty or so meters away. There were eight of them, not including the leading green Malkrin. He counted five females and three males, based on height. Nervous postures paired with wary gazes at the paladin’s unwavering glare, the occasional glance being given to Harrison and his shotgun. One stood tall amidst the looks of uncertainty. The Malkrin’s yellow skin was darkened by the dusk, meeting Shar’s stare with an unflinching glower.
Akula took a single step forward, bowing her head while gesturing behind her with a free hand. “Greetings, Harrison. I have returned with not only the finest fish, but exiled laborers for the settlement.”
“Exiled laborers?” His brows furrowed in suspicion as he gave the group another look. “From where?”
The fisherwoman glanced back at her following. She spoke flatly, though he could sense a hint of irritation… or disgust. “They originate from the Land Kingdom, star-sent, having only just arrived by boat.”
His gaze crossed the anxious and exhausted looks of those down the hill from him. Some of their talons clicked together nervously. A few had stone-still tails, while others wrapped their fifth appendage around their waists or wrists. Every single garment of clothing on them had been either ripped or dirtied considerably; not to mention that those appeared to be their only possessions. Though, they looked ‘healthy,’ in spite of their impoverished items, if not a bit lean compared to the Malkrin he knew. So, what were they doing here? They were banished, right? They were supposed to work for that other settlement, ‘constructing a future on the mainland.’ They had no supplies to build any camp or even make the long journey to however far away Kegara’s camp was…
Harrison took in a deep breath, keeping his gun at low ready. “So, they just got here? Why bring them here?”
Her back stood even straighter, her brows narrowing in thin confidence. “I believed we would benefit from additional hands within our own settlement. They have professions that may prove useful to our needs.” She stepped to the side and gestured to the group behind her, pointing out each of the differently colored Malkrin individually. “Amongst their number, they have two fisherwomen to see to our food needs, a lumberjack for harvesting of wood, a guardswoman for our defense, a script-keeper, a cook to prepare meals, and a sewist for clothing. I am sure you would be capable of utilizing their positions excellently, Great Creator.”
‘Great Creator?’
He shook that thought away, focusing on Akula’s offer.
“That’s seven,” he stated forcefully. “What about the last?”
The banished stiffened. One of the males went to cover the short white-skinned female with shaking arms, while the yellow guardswoman stood tall behind the aforementioned Malkrin, her expression unmoving.
Akula’s uncertainly bled through a sharp inhale of hers. “T-That one does not possess an occupation that we know of… She is a… juvenile…”
A nasty pit formed in his stomach, pulling down caution to unveil a caustic, bubbling fury.
A… ‘juvenile?’ So, it wasn’t just a short female… but an actual… Here? They sent a fucking kid here? Nevermind the moral implications of how she arrived; the dire survival situation, roaming hordes of bloodthirsty monsters, and lethal anomalies were taxing to deal with for him, and he had advanced technology! They were just seven weaponless Malkrin! Hell, they were already scared out of their minds, and all they’ve done so far is meet him! How were they supposed to protect a kid when they’re pissing their pants from this? What *the fuck *were those Land Kingdom assholes doing?
He bit back the snarl threatening to curl his lips. There would be time to get pissed off later. For now, he needed to figure out what to do with… this whole situation. Specifically, the fact that there were eight people at his doorstep all of a sudden.
Akula was basically asking if he wanted to take them under his wing, right? But could he even trust them? They did look haggard, but there was no telling what they would do if given the opportunity to do… something. They were an unknown variable, plain and simple. Even if he did take them in without having to worry, where would he even house them? He wasn’t exactly swimming in free space aboard the modules. What about clothing and food? They were just getting by as it was! Assuming they figured that out, it still left the question of if they’d be willing to work for him. The base couldn’t support freeloaders, especially if they could actually be detrimental to getting things done. Besides, how did his status as ‘star-sent’ fit into what they thought about him—or even Sharky, a follower of the Sky Goddess? Was he going to be expected to mediate religious arguments, or was it going to blow up into something even bigger?
No matter how he thought about it, they just weren’t ready to take on people that he couldn’t be sure about. It would risk the lives of everyone back at the base… which meant he was going to send the refugees to their deaths…
Harrison bled off a sigh through his nose. He knew damn well by now that the Malkrin were people; he couldn’t just cast them off as giant beasts. Taking on more people was a huge slap in the face to the progress he was making, but doing nothing and seeing them off into the wilderness—where literal Human and Malkrin-eating monsters roamed day in and day out—with nothing but the rags on their back would weigh on his mind. A selfish perspective, maybe, but just as true.
Plus, if he was thinking about it logically, manpower would be essential going forward. He needed just about every resource under the sun—stone, iron, copper, tungsten, saltpeter, sulfur, clay, wood, plant matter, fish, and… The list goes on. It wasn’t like he had access to working robots or anything that could gather supplies and perform tasks outside the workshop. For as much as he disliked the idea, the Malkrin were a hearty people, and for the price of shelter, safety, and sustenance, they could do what his technology can’t—for now. Was that worth the price of needing to keep an eye on them?
Christ. Why was he the one charged with making this decision? His slow inhale and subsequent exhale overpowered any other meek noise in the elevated meadow.
“…Okay,” he sighed out, propping his shotgun on his shoulder. Stunned, uncertain stares lingered on him, only Akula opting to break the silence.
“…You would accept these new ones into our settlement?” she asked, apparently not expecting his minimalistic, though positive response. Odd, considering how everything she said made it seem like she wanted this.
“We’ll bring them in, yeah,” he confirmed, his voice a little warmer than before. “Do you mind fetching some meal boxes?”
“I… O-Of course, star-sent. As you command.” The green-colored fisherwoman blinked off her surprise, briskly past him and into the barracks. He followed her with his eyes until she was out of sight, leaving just him, Sharky, and the crowd of refugees on the hill. He was a lot less nervous about approaching them now, and not just because of his own firepower or the ten-foot tall armored, muscled, and taloned woman beside him.
“There’s no need to just stand there. Follow me, we’ll figure out everything else shortly…” He paused and considered their situation once more… Perhaps they were more reticent because of Akula. “Actually, first: are any of you hurt? We have the medical supplies to treat wounds and sickness.”
The Malkrin looked between themselves, the script-keeper stepping up as their speaker. “Beyond scratches of the skin, w-we are in adequate health.”
Harrison nodded and turned toward the barracks, already planning on asking someone to fetch some rubbing alcohol and bandages. He gestured for the others to follow him, which only took a few moments for them to comply. The yellow Guardswoman stood still, however, her glare appearing to try and pierce him. Then, the juvenile grabbed her wrist and softly pulled her, causing the taller female’s eyes to widen in an unexpected show of shock. She then averted her gaze, continuing with the rest of the new arrivals. Odd.
They stopped by the fire pit out front before anything else, Sharky being asked to keep watch over them as he grabbed Tracy, Cera, and the craftsman. Food, clothing, shelter, health, jobs… There was a lot to consider. One minute was all it took to make a decision as big as this, but there was no going back now. He was going to have to sacrifice tons of resources and energy for them.
All he could do now was hope that his efforts would bear fruit in the future.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Late night, Late thoughts
2024.04.21 12:27 garagerepairrichmond Express Garage Repair
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2024.04.20 05:58 Clone2589 Question my drill smells like it's burning
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2024.04.15 05:06 critical_courtney [A Bargain for Wings] — Chapter Seventeen (sequel to The Fae Queen's Pet)
![[A Bargain for Wings] — Chapter Seventeen (sequel to The Fae Queen's Pet)](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/SDpIjnEwzRZP2e4XZGcTVumRMAEEcp-11QM35z86_IE.jpg "[A Bargain for Wings] — Chapter Seventeen (sequel to The Fae Queen's Pet)") | submitted by critical_courtney to redditserials [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/rtsl8mrk7kuc1.jpg?width=1410&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9da13f74166a41ab76d7b2dc36d278a0693a61a6 Previous Chapter My Discord Buy me a cup of coffee (if you want) Chapter Seventeen: I’d never been on a ship before. Sure, I’d watched a few at Naval Base Kitsap when I dated a girl serving her country. But it’s not like civilians are invited to come aboard. And those ships were much different than the Jolly Roger I now found myself inside of. The captain’s quarters were more spacious than I expected. Five glass lanterns hung lit throughout the cabin with most of the light concentrated on a large round desk in the center of the room. Captain Smee sat behind the desk in a plush red chair nailed to the floor. Behind him, large windows covered in red curtains tried to let in even more light. Smells of lumber and parchment filled my nostrils as I gazed around. To my left sat a large hammock and a chest of the captain’s personal effects. A small painting of a man with long charcoal hair and a hook for a hand hung near the entrance with several knives sticking out from it. The painting looked rather old and worn. If I expected squeaky floorboards when Smee set my birdcage down on the table, I came away shocked. His floor was quiet as a mouse with each step he took. The captain wasn’t rough in his carrying the cage, either. He didn’t swing it or jiggle things around so I’d fall into the bars. He carried it securely with a tight grip. I watched the man reach into his heavy oak chest, fetch a glass and a bottle with a “Captain’s Hooch” label, and stroll back to the table without eyeing me once. He poured himself a drink, took exactly two sips, and sighed. “You know, Sylva. Can I let you in on a secret? I hate this place.” That wasn’t the opener I expected from a captain who had every ability to torture and kill me for a book I didn’t possess. “Why?” I asked, daring to find my voice. Smee didn’t look upset at my asking. He just took another drink before answering. “Too many fucking birds. Everywhere I look, there are crows cawing through the trees, magpies hopping through the grass, and yes, ravens, that perch on every building, like they’re always watching. It leaves me feeling itchy and cramped. This is a big capital city, and I feel like I can’t take three steps without smelling or hearing those goddamn birds. It’s maddening.” I hadn’t really noticed that until Smee brought it up. But he was right. Whether it was jays, jackdaws, treepies, or nutcrackers, birds seemed to fill every inch of this city, regardless of the elves they flew over. “The Crocodile Court and Never Court aren’t like this. They’re smaller islands, and most of the birds were hunted to death years ago. You can actually find places of quiet. So you can understand why I’m eager to retrieve my king’s book and be on my way. The weeks I’ve tarried here have been more trying than anything else in my career as a captain, save for killing James and taking the ship, of course.” Smee turned his head sharply to the right and cracked his neck. “Yup. That’s the good stuff. Personally, I don’t give a rat’s ass about some old tome, Sylva. When you and Pann broke into the king’s library and smuggled it out, I found it rather amusing. But the Crocodile King, like many fae, is rather possessive of his treasure. So, I was forced to halt my efforts to seize the Never Court, and sent to retrieve the accursed book.” Gods, this book has inconvenienced more people than I imagined, I thought. Audibly gulping, I pondered what I would say. Would he believe that I used to be human? Could I tell him the book was in Washington? Would he even know where that was? “So, let’s have it, then. The Never Prince claims you stole the Book of Tevaedah from him and hid it, a brilliantly executed double-cross, a maneuver of which, I’m a big fan. Now, I could employ all manner of discomfort to make you tell me where it is. Gods know that I broke any number of James’ men, ripping out toenails, pouring liquid fire into their eyes, choking them with their own hair, etc. “But torture takes time to guarantee results. And I’m nothing, if not, a practical man. Therefore, I propose a simple bargain. Tell me where to retrieve the tome. And when I have it, I’ll dump you onto the docks, sail away, and our paths will likely never cross again. I’ll even pin the entire theft on Pann. How does that sound?” After how quickly Pann had given me up, that sounded like a pretty good deal. But if I told Smee where to find the book in the human world, would he send men to retrieve it? Sylva probably deserved to deal with that level of bullshit, but Blake certainly didn’t. And I was under no pretenses Smee’s men would make distinctions between ex-fairies and full-time mortals when it came to getting in the way of their job. Or maybe Smee’s men wouldn’t go to the human world. Could they even return to the mortal world? I guess that was a risk I’d have to take telling the truth. “Captain, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m not Sylva.” “Oh?” he asked, neither angry nor amused. He took another drink of his hooch while he waited for me to spin my yarn. “My name is Anola. I’m a former human that Sylva used the Book of Tevaedah to trade lives with. Two weeks ago, she interrupted my wedding and stole my body, dumping my soul into hers. Shortly after, Sylva tossed me down a hole in a tree, and I fell into Faerie. I assume she’s still living my life back in the mortal world and has the book there. But I can’t be sure as long as I’m here.” The captain leaned back and stroked his chin. “That’s an interesting tale, tiny piskie. I hear many stories sailing from port to port under the banner of the Crocodile King. This world is filled with much madness. And for a time, I found it entertaining. But I eventually came to realize madness is only ever really fun for the people on top. It tends to make life more difficult for underlings. That’s why I decided to stop being one.” “So you believe me?” Smee shrugged. “What you say is possible, I suppose. The book is supposed to be an extremely powerful relic made by a witch long since dead. Or, you could be yanking me. Seems the best odds I give it are 50/50, you’re speaking the truth.” My heart sank. What would he do if he decided I wasn’t telling the truth? Shaking the birdcage and throwing me into the iron bars would be just the start of what this man was capable of. Perhaps what I found most terrifying about Smee was his brand of evil was quiet and calculating. In the cartoon, his former boss was always portrayed as a loud, irate man who squandered every chance at defeating Pann due to his impetuous nature. Smee didn’t have that. If he wanted to be cruel, he simply would be. There’d be no need to make a show about it, whether he was hanging a man by his entrails or cutting out tiny pieces of a prisoner’s tongue every day until they broke. I opened my mouth to speak when my runeeye activated without warning, a loud popping noise filling the birdcage and sending a rattle of glamour that dispersed upon hitting an iron boundary. Looking at the iron cage around me, I saw natural glamour in the air poisoned by the very presence of this corrosive substance. The bars took on an extra visible layer of cruelty within my runesight, appearing less like wire and more like knotted coal and rust. Wait a minute, I thought. I’ve seen something like this before. Smee’s words snapped my attention back to the pirate captain. “That’s an interesting look. Are those tiny stars in your eye going to help you remember something else about the book’s location?” Smee asked, draining his glass. Before I could answer, a new vision spread before me, a chalkboard-sized ghostly parchment with scribbles that looked like my handwriting scattered everywhere. Words like “Kilgara” and “Raven Queen” hovered over lines that slowly connected paragraphs and other tiny pieces of information. I glanced at different pieces and found it hard to process the parchment as a whole. This felt like seeing medieval Jarvis lay out everything I knew about Faerie and my place in it so far. Tracing lines passed from Kilgara to Raven Queen and then circled the words “boon” and “Queen Bon-Hwa.” Details of bargains and favors I hadn’t considered passed before my eyes. Other words appeared in my periphery like “war” and “Fist of Kairn.” Everything intersected closer to the end where “chaos” became the biggest word of all. But it all started with the phrase “iron sickness.” “That’s a queer look you’re wearing, little elf. Are you looking at something my mortal eyes can’t see?” He sounded perfectly patient, but under his tone was a hint of malice that promised pain if I didn’t start making more sense soon. Curiosity could easily be replaced with animus. But amid all the words and information I saw on this. . . let’s call it a specter roadmap, one was noticeably missing. . . Smee. “You’re not a part of this story,” I said, my mouth feeling like it was on autopilot again, as it had been when I stood before Varella. “At least, not for much longer. You are an insignificant bump on the path to much more grand and troubling issues. Check your place, mortal. For the lakes and seas, you’ve called home, despite being an unwelcome guest, will soon be rid of you. Oh, he who plays at being a pirate captain, you will soon find yourself plucked from Faerie as a splinter from an agitated thumb.” Coughing and scratching my neck, I looked up to see Smee raising an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not a language I’ve heard spoken before. Would you care to enlighten me on how a human would speak in a tongue like that?” Instead of answering, I stared through the polished wood of Smee’s bedroom wall and found a massive concentration of glamour standing on the docks outside. The glamour writhed and twisted about like an impatient serpent. “Anola? Are you done speaking to me?” “There’s no need for us to continue talking. Queen Bon-Hwa is here.” The captain raised his eyebrow. “And how can you be sure of that?” Before he could ask a second time, a knock at the door interrupted our conversation. Smee grimaced. “Come in.” A shirtless man with skin the color of rice walked in through the door. His brown shorts were tattered, and a large scar ran across his ribs. Curly red hair bounced around him as he walked toward us. “What is it, Starkey?” “We found her, sir, exactly where you said. What do you want us to do?” Smee grinned, and I shivered as that calculating cruelty revealed itself in stronger form. His eyes seemed to grow while the captain pondered his options for whatever it was his crew had found. “Tied her up below deck. Remember those chains I told you to fetch?” “Aye, sir. I’ll see it done.” With that, Starkey turned to leave. Just before he exited the captain’s quarter, he turned back toward us. “Oh, and sir? The Raven Queen is standing on the docks outside our ship. She hasn’t said anything yet. But I thought you should know.” Smee glanced back at me before dismissing his crewmember. He thought for a moment while I dismissed my runeeye. My vision returned to normal, ghostly parchment fading from sight. “I suppose we should go have a chat with the queen, Anola. Perhaps she’s come to bargain for your life. Just as carefully as he carried my birdcage in, the captain lifted me from the table and started toward the docks. *** Outside the air was heavy as a thick layer of fog slowly pedaled into the port. Things grew hazy as I was able to spot the outline of other ships and the buildings of Perth but little else. The lake hid herself and her threats beneath a billowing cloud of ghosts. Queen Bon-Hwa stood on the dock with her arms crossed, most of her body hidden beneath a soft red cloak. Her crown remained visible despite the fog’s best efforts to hide everything. Captain Smee walked down a gangplank as the smell of lakewater and damp wood washed over me. He stopped about 15 feet short of the queen. “Well, your grace, it’s a surprise to see you here outside my humble vessel. Have you come to threaten me or sink my ship?” Bon-Hwa shook her head. “I’m not actually here for you, Captain Smee. I merely decided to take a stroll down to the docks to get some fresh air. Sometimes the palace can be a bit stifling. You’re the one who walked out here to greet me, yes? I didn’t summon you.” Smee grinned at that. “How’s that stained glass window in your throne room? I was so sad to see such a lovely work of art destroyed.” Bon-Hwa’s red-painted lips didn’t betray her with a grimace or even a small frown. She remained perfectly still, cloaked with an impartial expression befitting a ruler whose secrets had secrets. “There’s no need to worry yourself. Our artisans have repaired it and restored the window to its full glory. I sat beneath it just yesterday holding court.” “So, if you’re not here for me, can I assume this piskie of yours is free to remain in my. . . let’s call it. . . hospitality?” Bon-Hwa’s eyes glance down toward me. I did not plead for help but instead stood frozen, measuring my breaths so as not to feed the pirates with a display of fear. “It’s a curious thing. Our royal pet and apprentice arcanist leave the palace without so much as a note. And then one goes missing and the other appears in a birdcage under your very hand.” Smee shrugged. “That IS a curious thing,” was all he offered in the way of response. And before any more vaguely threatening words could be exchanged, a deafening boom rattled the harbor, displacing the stillness of its mist. A second later, a cannonball took out a chunk of the topmast on Smee’s boat. The Jolly Roger appeared to shutter and groan as wood splinters fell over us like rain, and a crew of pirates shouted and dove for cover. The captain’s previously calm demeanor faded as he turned to examine the damage to his ship. Another cannon fired in the distance, this time taking out a large window in Smee’s quarters. “What are you doing?!” Smee snapped at the queen, dropping my cage to the dock. I stumbled forward but managed to stop just before iron bars scorched my face. The queen cocked her head. “What do you mean? I’m simply out here to get some air.” “Bullshit. And the cannon fire tearing my ship to pieces?” Smee yelled. Queen Bon-Hwa merely rubbed her chin. “That IS a curious thing,” she said. A third boom in the distance echoed just before a cannonball killed Starkey, taking off most of his upper body and crashing into the railing. That last shot tore a large hole in the ship’s starboard side. “Captain! It’s the Scoundrel! I see their flag. The Scoundrel is firing upon us,” one of the crewmembers yelled toward Smee. He hissed and turned to glance into the fog as a smaller vessel came into view only briefly. The captain ran his fingers through his hair and swore. Then he swore again. But at last, an idea seemed to dawn on him as he turned to Queen Bon-Hwa with a look of fury. “You have pirates in your port. Why aren’t you attacking them?!” “I assure you, Captain Smee, if the pirates fire upon any part of my ships, docks, or city, I will unleash my full wrath upon them.” “We’re registered merchants docked in YOUR port! Your duty as queen compels you to offer us safe harbor and protection to do business so long as we’re anchored here.” Queen Bon-Hwa seemed to consider this before shrugging. “You’re right, Captain Smee. I do owe registered merchants docked in my city protection. Of course, vendors docked in Perth are also required to provide detailed cargo manifests, and I couldn’t help but notice you have yet to turn in any paperwork. As such, before you are issued merchant protections, I’ll need to board and inspect your ship to make sure you’re not carrying contraband. Will you surrender to my inspection?” I couldn’t help but grin and admire the woman who’d defeated a pirate in her port simply with words. And, perhaps, a shady message to some other pirates who owed her a favor. I watched Smee clench his fists and grind his boots into the wood below. Sweat broke out over his face as more cannon fire pelted his ship. “Captain! What are your orders?!” a panicked crew member called out. Smee swore again and stomped his foot. “Fine. It’s not like I’m leaving empty-handed. I will be departing at once, Queen Bon-Hwa. Thanks for your hospitality,” he said, turning to walk up the gangplank and mercifully forgetting all about my birdcage. “The pleasure is all mine. Safe sailing and smooth seas, captain,” Bon-Hwa said. The captain barked orders at his men who flew about the deck in a fury of activity. “Take us out, Damien! We’ll lose Captain Selena Karmen in the fog. Bank hard to the south. With enough distance, even her felinae huntress won’t be able to hit us.” I watched with Queen Bon-Hwa as the Jolly Roger took on more fire, returned a few shots that all vanished in the mist, and then faded from our site, just like the Scoundrel, which was, theoretically giving chase. Or maybe it was anchored just offshore. I couldn’t tell in all this fog. Bon-Hwa fished a brass letter opener from under her cloak and unlatched the door to my birdcage with it. I exited the accursed cage and flew up to her shoulder, taking care not to step on her silky black hair or the red ribbons trailing out from her hair. “Are you hurt, apprentice arcanist?” I shook my head. “Not really. I burned my hands. They’re throbbing a little, but Smee was surprisingly delicate with me.” Bon-Hwa looked me over closely and said, “He was a decent opponent for a mortal. We’ll have a healer take a look at your hands when we return to Featherstone.” I nodded. “Thank you, your grace. The, um, pirates who fired upon Smee? Were those the Scoundrels you asked my teacher to summon?” She nodded as we turned back toward the palace. “They are pirates who prey upon other pirates. Their captain also owed me a favor.” I nodded and found myself gazing at Bon-Hwa with renewed respect and maybe a little awe. Whether she said so or not, I wholeheartedly believe she came out here to guarantee my safe return. At least in part. She happened to glance over at me. “Something on your mind?” I shook my head, not wanting to sound like an idiot. The queen let out a small grin, and we returned to the palace where I was promptly tackled, hugged, kissed, and scolded by Barsilla. With the queen otherwise occupied, Barsilla and I flew back to her room where she proceeded to pin me against a wall. “What is it with you?! The dire crocs weren’t enough of a heart attack for me? You gotta get captured by pirates too?” she yelled. Her eyes blazed something fierce, but I could tell it was to cover her overwhelming joy that I’d returned safely. “I had Sierra with me,” I offered, fighting a smile. “A roasted potato would have been more reassuring company!” Barsilla yelled, tightening her grip on me. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help find Pann. Obviously, everything went to shit, but I made it back safe and sound.” Barsilla jabbed a finger in my face. “If you EVER do anything stupid like that again, I will have you leashed at my side at all hours of the day.” When she was finished yelling at me, Figaro took a turn growling and stamping her paw into the ground for several seconds, unloading her frustrations with my lack of planning. It was kind of adorable until she used that paw to pin me to the ground and huff for several minutes. I sighed. But then I remembered something important and turned to Barsilla once I was allowed to stand again. “I need you to take me to Featherbrooke,” I said. *** Flying before Varella, I couldn’t help but realize this entire mess in Faerie began with her attempting to kill me, believing I was a spy. And now, here I was, about to ask if she trusted me for something that might very well get me killed. Staring at the bedridden queen with my runeeye, I found it easily once more. The speck in her neck. “I see you’ve regained the use of your wings, little piskie. And I’ve been informed you are now an apprentice arcanist. It seems good fortune has found you at last,” Varella said. I didn’t want to do this. If she didn’t kill me, it was still going to be gross. “Your grace. I’ve also gained some use and control over my runeeye. And it has revealed to me what’s blocking your queensglamour from returning.” Varella fell silent. She turned to everyone in the room and said, “Leave us, please.” Vyzella, Kit, and Barsilla all did as she requested and shut the door. “You’re speaking much more boldly than the last time you stood before me,” Varella said. “What’s your theory on while I remain so weak? I’m interested to hear your diagnosis.” The queen spoke like she didn’t believe me at all. And I frowned, wondering if doing this was entirely necessary. Bon-Hwa seemed to be handling the throne better than I imagined Varella ever could. If it were up to me, I’d leave her in charge. I sighed. Recalling the parchment I saw in my runeeye and how important the words “Kilgara” and “iron sickness” were. In the coming war amid a destabilized Faerie, Varella’s strength would be needed to preserve this court. “Do you trust me?” I asked, pulling out a dagger Barsilla had hesitantly given me upon request. Varella’s grin grew sinister and downright horrifying, her eyes enveloping the very tone a dark queen of Faerie should carry. She sat in her bed, not moving an inch. “This just got interesting. Do I trust you? Not particularly. But it seems you’re set on a particular course of action. So I’ll give you 30 seconds to do whatever you’re thinking. And after that, if I don’t like your choices, I’ll kill you once and for all. How does that sound?” Trying not to let my heart rattle so loud that Varella would hear, I simply sighed again and nodded. “Go ahead, little piskie.” I flew over to her and landed on the bedridden queen’s collarbone. Steadying myself on her neck, I heard a low laugh escape her lips. Running my fingers over the tiny piece of iron embedded in Varella’s neck, I flinched. This was going to suck. Best get it over with, I thought, tightening my grip on the borrowed blade. I did my best to make a narrow cut in Varella’s neck, and she didn’t flinch or hiss in pain. Nor did she swat me. How many seconds did I have left? Too few to waste on counting. Gingerly reaching my fingers into the wound and trying not to barf as my stomach did exactly 12 flips, I sucked in a quick breath and braced myself for pain. Blood ran down the queen’s skin and onto my sandals and dress. Still, she did not flinch. I knew exactly when the fingers on my right hand made contact with the speck of iron. Searing pain raced up and down my fingers. It felt like I’d reached into a grill at a cookout and grabbed one of the hot coals. Only now instead of burgers cooking, it was the palm of my hand. The blood started to sizzle along with me as I braced my feet against the base of Varella’s neck. And for the first time, she gasped and grimaced. Not wanting to budge, the iron speck seemed to be actively resisting my pull, and the Raven Queen was starting to sweat as she clenched her fists against the comforter. Gritting my teeth and grabbing the speck even tighter, I screamed as molten magma threatened to melt through my palm and start roasting each bone in my fingers. “Get out, you fucking rock!” I yelled, grabbing my torched wrist and pulling with all of my might. With the sickening pop of a cyst bursting, I yanked the iron pebble free. It was a tiny thing, fitting into even my closed fist. But the pain was too much, and as I fell backward, I lost my grip on the spec. It landed on the floor and clattered over against the wall. By this time, the door burst open, and in walked Vyzella with wide eyes. I only caught a glimpse as I fell headfirst onto the bed, my hand still smoking. When I finally righted myself, I noticed my right hand was charred gray. If there’s one thing I miss about being human, I thought, hissing in pain. Glancing up at Varella with runeeye, I saw her queensglamour roar back all at once. Her eyes turned solid violet, and the queen’s back straightened. A wicked grin broke out across her face as she took a deep breath and muttered, “Yes. . . yes! That’s it!” With little warning, she suddenly stood, and I watched a tidal wave of violet glamour surge through her body like a shower that finally has a full hot water tank to draw from. The Raven Queen’s eyes finally returned to normal as Vyzella said, “It looks like you’re back in business, as the mortals would say.” She stretched while Vyzella went and fetched a bandage for her neck and tweezers to grab the speck of iron. Afterward, Varella picked me up and held me near her face. “Well done, Anola. It seems you’ve surprised me, after all. With my full strength returning, I can finally return to Featherstone.” “Happy to have been of service,” I said, still wincing as I held my hand. “I’m inclined to grant you a boon for your service here today. What favor would you ask of a fae queen?” I wanted to say lots of things. A fucking soaking tub for my hand. An apology for nearly killing me. An enchanted waffle cone that never ran out of strawberry ice cream. But as that ghostly parchment came to mind, and I thought back on the big picture my runeeye had been slowly revealing to me since my conversation with Captain Smee. Rolling the dice, I stared at the queen’s now-patient eyes and said, “What I want is for you to make Bon-Hwa queen all the time, not just when you’re incapacitated or away.” Vyzella audibly gasped, as did Barsilla who just flew into the room. Kit started laughing, and the cat’s chuckle filled the bedroom. But Varella merely narrowed her eyes. “I offer you a rare queen’s boon, and you want to use it for someone else? You understand this favor could be used to make you big again, right?” I looked over at Barsilla with a growing smile and said, “No thanks. It’d be really hard to kiss my girlfriend if I was big again. I chose a life here with Barsilla, the life of a piskie.” For the first time, I watched the librarian fae tear up and drop her clipboard and pencil. She covered her mouth with her hands and stifled a sob. Varella raised an eyebrow. “Even still. Why use your boon to benefit the second-most powerful fae in my court?” Turning to the Raven Queen, I shrugged. “I wasn’t aware using a boon required an explanation,” I said. “My reasons are my own, your grace.” Slowly nodding, Varella turned back to her left-hand lady. “Barsilla, take a note when you’re able. I want you to deliver an official decree to Bon-Hwa. She will no longer be known as queen-in-command. Henceforth, she’ll simply operate with the title of queen. She will continue to oversee the day-to-day queen’s business, and her authority will have no limits inside the Raven Court unless it directly conflicts with a decree from myself.” She turned to me again. “Consider your boon spent. I hope it was worth it, apprentice arcanist.” I slightly bowed my head. At that point, Varella looked around the room and realized someone important was missing. She frowned. “Where is my pet?” I flinched, images of Sierra being shot and falling through a window suddenly coming back to my mind. “Oh shit,” I gasped. “Anola?” Varella asked, looking closer at me. “Last I saw her, your grace, Sierra was shot with a mortal gun and a silver ball. Smee shot her, and then she fell backward through a window. I haven’t seen her since,” I said. Rage filled the Raven Queen’s face, and I felt the wind start to pick up outside as the cabin shook. “Barsilla, we’re returning to Featherstone at once. I want feathers and talons dispatched to search all of Perth. Nobody rests until my pet is found and returned to me.” A new voice at the door caused us all to turn. We found Bon-Hwa leaning against the doorframe with a scowl on her face. “I’ve just heard back from Ceras, my queen. There’s no sign of Sierra anywhere. We found a puddle of blood in the middle of some broken glass, but the werewolf hasn’t yet turned up.” The Raven Queen clenched her fists and ground her teeth. “Where is Lily? I demand to speak with my wing at once.” I landed on the bed and stood next to Barsilla, hoping to stay out of the queen’s line of sight. She was practically seething, and my heart was hammering watching her returning glamour storm and rage. “The spymaster was last seen boarding a boat in the harbor and heading toward the Scoundrel anchored out a way. I think we can conclude she’s already on Sierra’s trail and will find her.” Varella took a step toward the door and said, “I’m going after them.” But Vyzella caught her hand. “Var, listen to me. I know you’ve gotten some strength back for the first time in weeks, and you feel like a wrathful storm once more. But consider your subjects. If they see you reappear for the first time since news of Kilgara arrived, and you’re immediately flying off, it’ll send ripples of doubt and fear through your queendom.” I watched the Raven Queen stifle a snarl. “What would you have me do while my pet is wounded and away?” Bon-Hwa spoke directly enough that I flinched. “Trust that your spymaster will find and retrieve her. Return to the palace, clean up, and sit the throne for court tomorrow. Reinstate the confidence of your nobles who will then reinstate the confidence of your citizens. News from Faerie is grim right now. Courts are failing with many dissolving into civil wars and rebellions, exactly as the Fist of Kairn wanted. You want to make sure that doesn’t happen here? Announce to everyone you’re alive and ready to defend the Raven Court.” Taking several deep breaths, I watched the Raven Queen wipe her forehead. She gritted her teeth more but eventually released her fists. The queen had at last regained her strength, only to now lose her heart. And I watched her warring between telling Bon-Hwa to fuck off while she raced after her pet and understanding her responsibilities as queen. Varella looked to the floor, and I only heard her mutter a single word. “. . . Sierra.” Epilogue (Sierra) Everything on my left side hurt, my arms as well. Burning like I hadn’t felt since I grabbed Kit’s wine bowl and scorched the shit out of my fingers. Outside wherever I saw, I heard a deep rumble of thunder. And the floor swayed left and then right. Of course, I couldn’t move much for some reason. Whimpering and managing to open a single eye, I detected a single dim torch swaying from the ceiling. The smell of moldy bread and squishy potatoes filled the air around me as I fought not to hurl. “I think she’s waking up. Go get the captain,” a man said. I must have passed out for another few minutes before waking up again, realizing that the burning sensation on my arms wasn’t going away. I tried to move and found myself secured in place against a large wooden beam of some kind. A thin smoke made the room extra hazy. The smoke came from my smoldering flesh, courtesy of silver chains wrapped tight around me. “Fuck,” I coughed, a bit of blood and drool dripping down my chin. I’d have scars just above my elbows for the rest of my life. My collar, where I’d been shot, remained open and quite tender. How had it not healed? Right. . . silver ball in the pistol, I thought. Fucking pirates. A man’s voice spoke and drew my attention toward him. “There she is. I was worried you weren’t going to wake up. After two days of sailing, I figured you’d ask for water or food. But you’ve just been down here festering exactly where I left you,” Smee said. “You’re my consolation prize from the Raven Court. And I can only imagine what that bitch queen will offer to get you back. I’m sure the Crocodile King will get something nice.” Rage coursed through me, and I struggled against the chains. “You will address her as the Raven Queen,” I growled, eyes snapping open. I ignored the burning in my arms as the three or four pirates in the room laughed at me. “Calm down. You’re not going anywhere. Those chains are solid silver. We know how to deal with werewolves,” one of the pirates said. Smee grinned. “Truly not a bad consolation prize,” he mumbled. I grimaced and took in a shallow breath. Anger brought me back to the waking world, and I was ready to kill. I’d been shot, hogtied, and had to listen to these shitheads insult my queen. Enough was enough. A thought occurred to me as I pulled against the chains again. And I started to laugh, manically. The pirates laughed with me. And Smee, the only one who appeared to have any sense, asked, “What’s so funny?” “Well, you’ve bound me with silver chains, right?” “Correct. That sizzling of your flesh should make that pretty obvious. I guess there’s no intelligence requirement to be a royal pet,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “But no iron chains?” He narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “And how many men do you have on this ship?” “Nine,” he answered, scowling. “Why? Are you thinking about trying to attack us?” I shook my head. “Good. Because I’ve got enough to deal with right now. Fucking giant storm outside for starters. The waters leaving the lake you call home and entering the faesea can get pretty choppy sometimes.” I laughed again. “Relax, captain. I’m not thinking about trying to attack you. I already made up my mind to slaughter you all. I just needed to know how much help to call.” And as Smee flinched, I pulled deep on the chunk of queensglamour embedded in my wolfheart as I had while defending Featherstone. Primal rage quaked through me as I threw back my head and let forth an ear-piercing howl in the storage room I’d been imprisoned within. From the shadows of the room created by the swaying lantern, violet-eyed beasts took form. Rustling dark feathers betrayed their location as a dozen wolves growled in unison. “What in the name of hell are those?!” one of the pirates shrieked. “I call them my Black Feather Pack. Kill them all!” I barked as the wolves made of nothing but shadow and obsidian feathers rushed from all corners of the room and tore the pirates into pieces. Smee screamed until one crushed his throat, and I gave a feral cackle watching him bleed to death on the floor. Over the next few minutes, my wolves freed me, and we worked our way through the ship, killing every person in sight. The ship swayed violently to the left as another large clap of thunder rocked the boat. “Fuck, that’s loud,” I muttered, finding my way to the deck. Rain pelted my face, and the wind whipped my tattered clothing that had gone crusty with my blood over the course of two days. In the distance, I spotted a massive wave rising in front of the ship. It swallowed my vision as my heart sank, and I looked around for any sign of land. Finding none and hearing the deafening roar of the approaching wave, I thought of a George Clooney film, but the title eluded me. Looking desperately for the helm, I ran toward the tiller, only to find a single bloody hand remaining attached to the chipped, worn wheel. “In hindsight, I really should have spared at least one of the pirates to steer the ship,” I muttered. My black feather pack sat around me, waiting for another command. “I don’t suppose one of you knows how to steer a ship or navigate, do you?” I asked as the wolves cocked their heads to the side and whinged. I slowly nodded as that giant wave came crashing down upon the ship. “Well, fuck.” ________________________ Editor's note: This concludes A Bargain for Wings. Please stay tuned for news about book #4 in this series and my next book, a dark dragon romance, in the coming days. |