My back feels like it belongs to an old man. Sleeping on the hard forest floor was not ideal, and I'm as cold as a refrigerator.
The mouse stood watch all night while I slept. It was pretty clear she didn't trust me much. We'd covered the coals of the fire with dirt to cool them down, just enough so I could lie on them for a bit of warmth. But now that I'm awake, there's no sign of her.
Her cloak still hangs on the tree, so maybe she'll be back.
I get up, brushing dirt off my arms and my butt. Putting on my dirty, still-damp socks is pure torture. The slimy, gritty feeling as they slide on makes me want to puke.
My club jacket is finally dry. The heat from last night's fire definitely helped. It's still chilly and dark outside, but the sun is getting ready to peek over the horizon.
I pull on my clothes and start my morning fencing warm-up: push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, footwork drills, stretches—the usual.
Birds chirp around me, filling the forest with their early songs. It reminds me of camping trips with my dad, back when I was younger. Simpler times.
Still no sign of the mouse.
Then—
A sharp crack of a branch echoes through the trees.
Everything goes still.
Even the birds stop singing.
A man steps out from the trees.
He looks rough around the edges—shaggy beard, sun-worn skin, clothes that were unusual but clearly overworn. Big guy, too. His maroon shirt clings tight to his broad frame.
In his left hand, he's holding one of those handheld pipe-gun things.
"Dakka diri dramnkha srata?"
He speaks, but I don't understand a word of it.
"Sorry, I don't know what you're saying, sir."
"Gah!"
He groans and waves a hand, gesturing for me to come closer.
"I'm good. I'll stay right here, thanks."
He rummages in his pocket—then pulls out something familiar.
My breath catches.
That necklace… That's hers.
That's the mouse's.
"Where did you get that?!"
He raises the pipe gun, aiming it straight at me. Then gestures again, more urgently, for me to come over.
The look on his face makes one thing clear—if I run, he's not going to miss. And even if I do manage to escape, I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere. That girl is the only key I have to possibly getting back home.
Reluctantly, I trudge forward. His eyes narrow—he's running out of patience.
I clutch the waistband of my pants like letting go might kill me.
The man towers over me like a statue as he presses the cold barrel into the small of my back.
Fight him?
Yeah… right. That's not happening.
We've been walking for about four hours, stopping only once for a snack break.
He carries a pouch of dried meat strapped to his left hip. The crazed bastard actually offered me some—with a smile on his face, no less. I declined, obviously. His smile looked like it could crack a hundred mirrors, and judging by his dental hygiene, I can only imagine what his breath smells like.
A log house sits alone in the woods.
The windows are nailed shut, and claw marks are dug deep into the walls and door.
Who the hell lives like this? All alone, out here?
He opens the heavy wooden door. It creaks on its hinges.
Inside, the house is pitch dark. Hollow.
Only one thing greets us—a thick, sour stench. The reek of rot. Of dead, decaying animals.
The big man rummages through one of the many pouches on his waistband, pulling out some kind of tool—about the size of a cigarette box. It's hard to make out in the dark.
"Fffft."
A small flame flickers to life.
He lights a lamp sitting on a nearby shelf.
The dim glow casts weak light across the room, but it's still dark—dark as a cave.
He shuts the door behind us, pushes a key into the lock, and bolts it closed.
From a distant corner of the room, I hear faint breathing.
The man moves around, lighting more lamps hung along the walls. The windows are completely boarded up—wooden planks hammered so tightly together, not even an ant could slip through.
Was it to keep me in…
Or to keep something else out?
Either way, this guy's a total nut job.
In the center of the room sits a table. At the far end, a figure is seated. He's dressed in a fancy red suit, but his face is hidden in shadow. The soft orange hue of the lamps makes it hard to see jack shit.
The sound of breathing continues—but it's not coming from the man at the table.
Below the table.
It's coming from below the table.
I kneel down, hand gripping the edge.
A faint glow—so faint it's easy to miss—seeps through the cracks between the floorboards.
What is that?
I lean closer. That purple glow…
A heavy hand drops onto my shoulder.
I look up.
The lantern in his other hand lights up a familiar, awful smile.
If you could even call it a smile.
Only a few teeth remain in his mouth, and the ones that do look like wet woodchips.
The man pulls me to my feet and shoves me into one of the wooden chairs. He lights a candle on the table, then gestures for me to stay put.
The soft flicker of the flame finally reveals the face of the man in the red suit.
He looks ancient—like he could be my grandfather. His eyes are as lifeless as stone. His mouth hangs open.
Chunks of meat are stuffed inside, wedged in like someone forced them there.
I scoot my chair back from the table.
"What the fuck."
I whisper it, but the words feel loud in the silence.
The big, brawny man who sat me down walks to a cupboard and pulls out three plates. He places them neatly on the table—one for me, one for the corpse across from me, and one for himself.
In the far back of the room, a stone fireplace flickers.
He stirs a pot hanging over the fire. Some kind of stew.
Whatever it is, it's not going in my mouth. No matter how hungry I get.
The smell of the stew, mixed with the stench of rotting flesh, turns my stomach.
The man's footsteps thud heavy against the floorboards. He carries the metal pot like it weighs nothing.
THUD!
He slams it onto the table.
I flinch.
Using a ladle, he serves the rotting corpse first. Then me. Then himself.
My eyes flick to the door. If I want to get out of here, I'll need his key. Lock him inside.
Maybe if I wait for him to fall asleep…
"Fadet shitei!" he yells with a grin, grabbing a handful of stew and shoving it straight into his mouth.
My stomach turns.
A piece of meat trickles down his beard as he eats, slow and messy. When he finishes his plate, he walks over to the old corpse and starts shoving stew into its mouth—stuffing it deep down its throat. Chunks spill out, plopping onto the table with wet splats.
I can't take it anymore.
I twist to the side and vomit onto the floor, coughing hard as my head spins.
The man turns toward me, face suddenly serious. Slowly, he pulls his hand out of the corpse's mouth.
The floorboards creak as he rises to his feet.
THUMP.
The sound comes from beneath the table.
The man's hard glare falters, replaced by a flicker of concern.
He drops to his knees, reaching under and unlocking a hidden latch. With a slow pull, he opens a trapdoor in the floor. The smell of rot—stronger now, thicker—pours out.
Bears?
The basement is packed wall to wall with what looks like dead bears. But not any kind I've ever seen. These things have six legs and ears like bobcats.
And lying on top of them—
It's her.
The girl. The mouse.
Her tattoos glow faint purple, lighting up the shadows. Her eyes flicker open, and she tries to push herself up.
A wooden ladder, connected to two metal hooks bolted into the floorboards, unfolds into the dark basement. I watch from the edge as the man climbs down. The ladder creaks under his weight—any heavier, and I swear it'd snap in half.
The mouse manages to get to her feet for a moment but collapses almost immediately.
Something's not right with her.
Before I can even reach for the ladder, the fat geezer unlatches it from the hooks. He folds it up and tucks it under his arm.
From a pouch on his waistband, he pulls out some kind of powdery substance.
The mouse crawls toward him, dragging herself down the pile of those weird bear-things. The man kneels beside her.
Suddenly, she lunges—snatching his wrist with a grip so tight it looks like she might snap it in two.
"YAAAAHHOUCH!" the man yelps, dropping the latter to the floor and flinching as he flicks the powder into her face.
Her eyes roll back. Her grip loosens.
She crumples to the floor.
I step away from the edge of the basement.
If I can find something sharp, I might have a fighting chance.
I scramble through the cupboards. Ceramic plates. Bowls. If I break one, I might be able to get a sharp edge—but it'd be too loud.
No silverware. No utensils. Nothing useful.
But wait—he made that stew. What did he use to cut the meat?
He must've had a knife. Maybe he carries it on him.
I scan the room, eyes darting, searching for any clue. A trickle of sweat slides down my cheek.
If he always keeps everything on him… then maybe…
My gaze shifts to the old man in the red suit.
I plug my nose as my hand digs around in one of the side pockets of the red suit.
Nope. Not here.
It's strange—the suit is surprisingly clean, aside from a few recent stains from the "meal." It's like someone changes and launders his clothes regularly.
My fingers fumble with the suit's buttons. Just like the big guy, this corpse has a utility belt of his own.
THUD!
I jump, heart skipping a beat.
Creaking footsteps echo from the basement below.
I catch the corpse before it tips over.
No knife. No damn knife. And I'm out of time.
I yank a pouch of powder from the corpse's belt and scramble to rebutton the red suit. My fingers shake as I try to line up the last button.
The footsteps grow louder.
My thumb slips again.
"Come on, get in there," I mutter.
The greasy top of the man's head rises into view.
I give up on the last button and hide the pouch of powder behind my back.
The man closes the basement door and crawls out from under the table.
His right arm looks injured from the encounter with the mouse—he cradles it gently in his other hand.
When he sees me, he drops the arm like a rag doll and flashes a crooked smile.
"Shakcall Duskari," he says, pointing down toward the basement.
"Sistemi soudi."
He pulls a gold coin from his pocket, holding it out to me, pride glowing in his eyes.
Then, he walks to the corpse.
I slowly back away, careful not to turn my back to him—no way I'm letting him see what I'm hiding.
He places the coin on the table and gently takes the corpse's hand in both of his.
"Hada hada ya maksiski da mali ya soudi!"
Tears well up in his eyes, spilling over—but he doesn't look sad.
They're tears of joy.
The joy drains from his face in an instant.
What replaces it is something darker—malice.
He gently presses the last button on the corpse's suit into place. Then he rises, turning his head toward me.
Oh shit.
I step back.
"FADAASHH!" he bellows, charging at me, his steps growing faster—heavier—with each stride.
His hand goes to his side, and he pulls out a knife.
So that's where it was.
He lunges, but stumbles mid-step, the blade grazing my arm.
I fall backward and, without thinking, hurl the pouch of powder into his face—plugging my nose just in time.
His eyes roll back.
He collapses on top of me.
The man is as heavy as a wild boar. His weight makes it hard for me to breathe.
Whatever kind of tranquilizer is in that powder—it's seriously potent.
My arm stings from the wound. Blood seeps through my shirt as I wiggle my way out from under the hog of a man.
I search the man, taking his knife, his utility belt, and the handheld pipe gun strapped to his back. I grab the key from his pocket, too.
I make my way to the basement, turn the latch, open the door, and unfold the ladder.
A wave of relief washes over me.
The mouse lies quietly on the cold floor beside the pile of bear-creature things.
The mouse's tattoos glow softly against the ground.
I sit beside her, resting a hand on her arm.
"Hey." I give her a gentle shake.
"Mouse!" I yell in her ear.
She's out cold. You could drop her from a plane and she'd still be snoring.
I shake her a few more times, but nothing.
The stench in the room hits me again, and my stomach lurches.
"We can't stay here."
I lift her naked body onto my back. It's awkward as hell, but I don't have much of a choice.
One hand grips the ladder while the other holds her against me. The cut on my arm burns—like it's tearing open all over again.
Her arm slips from around my shoulders. She starts to slide off my back.
I grab her wrist—but my grip slips.
SLAM!
The fall isn't far, but it definitely looks like it hurt.
I head down to check on the mouse.
First things first—you need some clothes.
I take off my club jacket and slip it over her. It's a little big, but it's better than nothing.
"Stay put. I'll be right back."
I climb the ladder, careful not to make too much noise.
The corpse in the red suit is still slumped over the table, face-first in the slop.
I unfasten his belt, take it, and head back toward the basement. The hog's snores echo through the house like thunder.
I wrap the belt tightly around the mouse's wrists. Then I use the larger waistband to strap her to my back. I hook her arms around my neck and start climbing the ladder.
It's not as hard as before, but the belt around our hips is starting to slip, and her arms are choking me a little.
Come on. Almost there.
We reach the top of the basement. I collapse onto my side, unfastening the belts.
The big man is still on his side, snoring in a puddle of drool.
If we're getting out of here, now's the time.
I fasten his utility belt over my shoulder like a purse and walk toward the door.
Outside, I hear something sniffing—an animal, low and wet—just beneath the door.
"SHiiiEEEEEK!"
A piercing shriek erupts from the creature outside.
"Shhhk, shhhkk."
The thick wooden door rattles. The sound of claws scraping across the wood sends shivers down my spine. The thing outside stalks the walls, scratching and testing for weakness in the structure.
This could take a while.
I sit in the stench, time dragging like hours. The creature circles the house, dripping with bloodlust.
The odds aren't looking great.
If that damn mouse woke up, I'm sure she could take it. I just hope she wakes up before he does.
"Uuughh."
The man groans, rolling onto his back.
The mouse stirs too, eyes fluttering open. She looks around groggily—then starts to close them again.
I scramble to her side, shaking her.
"If you're going to wake up, now is the time!"
Nothing.
Of course.
"Uuuuhhgggg…"
The man groans, pushing himself up onto one knee. His eyes lock onto me—sharp, focused, burning straight through me.
"Shkkk, shkkkk, shkkkkm, shkkk."
The creature claws at the door even more violently than before.
I grip the knife in my left hand, keeping it pointed at the man while my other hand slips the key from my pocket—ready to make a move for the door at any second.
Thump! Thump!
Somehow, he gets to his feet, staggering a little.
I carefully step over the mouse, who's barely conscious. She rolls onto her side, trying to push herself up—but she's too clumsy, too weak.
Hopefully, she can get herself up.
"Calm down," I say, motioning with one hand. "Let's work this out."
He doesn't answer.
His finger twitches.
Thump!
He takes a step toward me, closing the distance. His hand swipes at me—too fast—but he loses his balance.
Something yanks me back by the collar of my shirt. The wind from his swing brushes past my face.
I fall hard onto my butt.
The mouse stands over me, still looking dazed, but awake.
She stumbles forward, grabs the handle of the door, and rips it from its frame. With a grunt, she hurls it at the big man.
He catches it, but the impact knocks him backward. He crashes onto the floor.
"Tick, tick, tick. SHIEEEKK!"
At the open doorway, two glowing eyes pierce through the shadows. The creature steps into view—six legs, just like the ones in the basement.
It moves like a cat, slow and deliberate. Its beady eyes scan the room.
The man starts to cry, scrambling backward on all fours.
Goosebumps crawl up my arms. My heart pounds in my chest.
The bear-creature walks past the mouse and me, heading toward the man.
He scrambles across the floor to the corpse, frantically searching for something.
The powder?
So that's why he kept it on him.
Those bears definitely aren't the kind to go down from one shot.
My heart races as I inch toward the door—but the mouse grabs my wrist.
The beast stops mid-step, turning its head slightly. Sniffing.
The mouse points to the bear, then to her nose, then to my chest.
She's trying to tell me something.
Keeping her grip on my wrist, she calmly guides me toward the exit.
The man's sharp shrieks and the sound of tearing flesh echo behind us.
I don't look back.
I keep my eyes on the mouse's hand, letting her guide me.
As soon as we make it outside, she scoops me up like a sack of potatoes and tucks me under her arm.
It's night again. The stars burn bright overhead as she sprints through the forest.
It felt like I was in that dark cabin for days.
She weaves between the trees like they're standing still, occasionally stopping to examine the stars—as if they're whispering some great secret of the universe.
And before I know it, we're back at the shore.
It's scary how fast she is.
It took me four hours to walk to that cabin—and she made it back here in less than thirty minutes.
She sets me down like I'm a mannequin. Her fur cloak still hangs on the branch—right where she left it.
How the hell did she even know her way back?
Her eyes light up like stars when she sees it.
Then she turns around—smiling wider than the moon—and throws her arms around me in a hug that nearly kills me.
I hesitate for a second… but then I wrap my arms around her, gently.
The man's screams from the cabin are carved into my memory. I'll never forget those sounds for as long as I live.
I glance down at the mouse.
She's completely unbothered—like none of it ever happened.
I need to get home.
And I need to do it soon.