my cabin

Up, up Evoee Mountain.

My Cabin

Give two, cross.

         A cavernous stretch of a canyon was plowed into the snow. The icy winds and leaves fought overhead. The brigade of pines on either side took up arms against the assault of hurled air. Caw Caw Caw.. The snickering crows took off in a shudder before the reverberating clashing metal.


         In a great yelp, it was dead. A great hammer slammed against the dash, furious of the machine's treachery. Hopping out in a crunch, the snow-swept man wrestled to the back against the onslaught. Peeling the trunk open, he wiggled his hand through the piles of equipment, feeling the cold rubber of a neglected chainsaw blade.


         Pushing it aside, the persistent hand pulled, revealing a dim gas lamp. In a twirl, the lamp lazily gleamed from a long slumber. He twisted to his side, planting his booted-feet hard into the soft ground.


         Slow steps echoed against the rough wind. Caw caw caw. Crows perched themselves on the wooden dike, peering intently as the shape wrestled on ahead. The glistening light carved a circle in the warmth for only a moment.


         A great blast. Two coins bounced in the rusty bucket. The crows hustled off again into the dog-fight above. Nothing remained to block the sign. "Give two, cross.", It whispered meekly.

Chapter One: I really don't like you.

         "I really don't like you" That was the third time today I heard that. "Well if you don't like me, then you can just complain over there!" My hand waved violently at the nearest thicket of dry vines. The wind howled above, punctuating my remark. He looked slightly upset. "I was joking! I'd never say I didn't like anyone!" He held up his arms, palms facing me in an attempt to appear innocent.


         "I'm perfectly fine, I have warm blood." The "warm blood" was muffled slightly as I wrapped my face with my velvet scarf. "Plus, your jacket smells." The path ahead stretched on for what seemed like forever, or at least as far as the wave of snowflakes allowed.


         I whimpered to myself. Why couldn't I have my glasses? I shot a dirty look at the circle rimmed spectacles I was gripping. These don't even fit me! How could I mistake them? My frozen arm barely resisted the urge to hurl them into the ever-consuming snow.


         "Tom" was taking long strides to my side. The musty jacket he was previously offering was now covering his shivering shoulders. "If the wind is coming from the North that means we have to be going south, right?" A howl echoed behind us, and a great blast nearly toppled us both forward. Tom held onto his hat for dear life while he went crooked. We steadied ourselves as the gust died, looking at each other and letting out a worried laugh. "I think the wind just hates us. We're going in circles." Tom lowered his messy head a little. Chortling hurriedly, I muttered "That wasn't sarcasm- I really do feel like we've been here before.."


         My gloved hands were violently rubbing against each other while Tom pondered out-loud. "Mr Bill saw you last right? That means he knows we're missing, so maybe we should just stay put?" I squinted my eyes in a futile attempt to make eye contact, "Mr Bill thinks I went home, it'd take days for anyone to realize I've gone. If we stay here I won't have any fingers left." I exhaled my shaky warm breath onto my screaming palms.


         I thought to myself that somewhere behind all that storm was old Mr Bill laying down on his bed, with one of those old sleepy caps and a shotgun in his hand. It'd be a funny idea if it hadn't been the way he was dressed a couple hours ago. I sighed to myself. How I miss that heater.


         Shaking it off, I noticed that Tom slowed down to a crawl with a few steps. Finally, he stopped softly. He was now angled to our left. Hugging myself, I turned too. There stood a lonely wall of weathered and crumbling gray bricks slowly growing out of the ground. It ran as far as the path went, so who knows how long it was.


         "Civilization?" Tom chimed. "Maybe in the gilded age..." I retorted. I knew I was right. "Berry" has to be the only person crazy enough to live in an eternal storm of snow and wind, and I almost envy his determination to live alone.


         The tracks which we had been following were now half-buried by fresh flakes. By then, I desperately wanted to cry and kick all the snow away. Tom let out a slight smile and chortled "Hey, that guy only had like a four minute head start. I'd eat my tongue if he already made it to his homeless encampment."


         As we pressed on, I could only feel the creeping onslaught of ice worsen as the obscured sun set. The sky was slowly turning from a light playful gray to a foreboding dark charcoal. Hiding behind the low clouds, I could still make-out the sharp upturn of the towering mountain, while it was howling and laughing at us small-ings. Look at them, twisting and turning like a meek twig against the storm.

Bill

         "You did it again Alfred, you did it again". Supine on his red wooly sheets, Bill had one outstretched palm over the soft fur of his only roommate, Alfred. After years of what seemed futile to many, Bill had taught Alfred to carry his gun from the squat cabinet in the living room all the way to his king-sized bed.


         It was a late night for Bill, the sun was already setting. He yawned greatly while stretching out his sprawling arms. That Dorlin girl really had a lot to ask about, he thought while grinning, pleased. After a swig from a fat carton of hot coco, he hugged his rifle, and turned the metal dial on the lamp. Now in comfortable darkness, he thought no more that night.

Chapter 2: I Think I See a Fox

         We were enclosed now. The tall pines which were waving at us from a distance now bare their prickly grin, and that accompanying brick wall eventually passed right back into the ground, leaving us alone with nothing but the black vegetation. Here and there, however, I could still make out hidden peaking stones. We could follow this bread trail all the way home, I thought somberly.


          Without the sun, it felt dire. My attempts to thaw myself by kicking up and down on the hard snow were in vain, it was too bitter and dark. The only noise other than the cyclone around us were the air-bombing pinecombs, ditching their tree posts. Ducking here and there, I could barely even see the snow falling, save for the few flakes that landed on my red nose.


         The higher we got, the colder it did also. The circular view of what we can make out around was enclosing upon us in a shroud of darkness and a wave of obscurity. We would have no sense of direction without the angled toes embedded in the blanket, pointing to some far off place unknown to us.


         With a great plop, something quite invisible hit my head. I yelped. It fell softly into the snow by my foot, it was a pine cone. Now vindicated, every chance it took to stay behind I responded by giving it another hearty kick. Deeper and deeper into the forest it went.


         My companion paid no mind to my pine cone. Tom stopped trying to keep conversation long ago, and was now concerned with covering his blue face. The only times he peeked from his cover was whenever he was unsure we were still following the true path. It was getting easier and easier to miss the large footprints for a few feet, before coming along them again.


         My face perked up a little when I noticed new markings in the snow, entwined with the drowning ones we were familiar with. They pitter-pattered lightly, following along. I wasn't sure if Tom noticed.


         I looked up as the path turned slightly, and now we were heading uphill. The white tall grass which previously had only outlined us now began to grow tall where our feet trudged. Tripping here and there, we could hardly make out what remained of our lifeline ahead.


         The hill wound up and up while we waded through the cold brush and snow. The trees here weren't pine, but dusty dying beach. Their rough logs pointed high into the cloudy black sky.


         After what seemed miles of walking, the hill smoothed, and we could go no higher. Up here, the snow was up to our waists, and my legs were quivering. A couple kid-sized boulders circled the outcropping.


         Tom let out a sigh of despair, "We went with the wrong track." I wasn't looking at him. My scarfed head was tilted while angling at the other attendant of this scenic overlook.


         Sitting on top of one the white dusty boulders was a red fox, its sparkling white eyes glistening through the waves of flakes. "I think I see a fox" escaped with a steamy exhale from my lips. Quivering silently while locking eyes with the shadowed critter, I thought "Maybe it understands us. Maybe it'll lead us to its warm den and feed us fox hot co-co..."


         The fox jumped behind the rock while I shifted my weight onto my other leg. I was unaware that, deep buried under the snow, lived a steep decline off the side of the hill. The hours of snow pile-up simply covered up against this hidden hard side. With another great blast of flurries against my body, I was shoved off the hilltop.


         All at once, my feet desperately sled against the loose white coverings before my feet grabbed at all. My elbow struck hard against a stone as I tossed and turned through some biting bramble, flying down. I felt the warm dribble of blood be squeezed from my fresh cuts as I hit the rocky side over and over again.

Chapter 3: Second Star Forever

         I rose out of the me-shaped hole after a minute or two. Rubbing my head, I noticed the stars had been revealed behind the clouds. At least a little bit of good news, I thought. It was still dark, but everything now had a slight white-ish glow. From what I could figure out, I was in a field, or a valley of sorts. Behind me rose that hill I fell from, but in front of me, for about a mile, was unknown open land. The flat ground ascended and descended a bit, like a frozen ocean waving up and down. Dead twisting bushes were splattered all around me. It was mostly silent, but overhead I could listen to the single howls of tired blasts hurling into the creaky pines just across this white field.


         A little ways in-front of the pines was, what I thought to be, a telephone pole. Not like the wooden-ones you see on the side of the road but those... tall metal ones with a million arms. The thick cables channeled out both behind me and in front of me, heading somewhere deep in the forest that I couldn't see. It rose higher than most of the pines, even more than some of the oldest and tallest trees.


         My body still screamed at me from my tumble. Sighing, I collapsed, my legs spreading out in-front of me. I must've looked pretty funny, like I just slid down a fun slide. These prickly vines broke my fall, I guessed. I lifted my aching arm, feeling the deep nicks embedded in my arm. Quivering, I tried to wipe away some half-frozen blood dripping from my ripped coat. Once it came to me that there was nothing I could do to nurse my wounds, I gave up altogether. Scanning around, I spotted some of my belongings half-sunken into the snow. I carefully picked up my camera in front of me, I was afraid it was injured. Turning it around in my hand, I simpered meekly once I realized that it too survived the fall.


         I stared back up, and tilted my head a bit at something odd. Both the pole and mountain were in a perfect line with each other. I could almost mistake the large tower for being on top of the far peak. You could tip-toe across those lines all the way up there, I thought.


         It took me a minute to muster the strength to stand back up. Shaking, I rose slowly above my saving-bush and patted it on its spiky back. "Tom..."" I yelled out, uncertain if he could hear me. Was he still on the hill or did he run down for me? I couldn't even see the top of the hill...How far could I have fallen?


         Taking in a heavy inhale, I bellowed out "Tom!". I grabbed my chest in pain while I heard it echo back once and then twice from behind me. Holding my face, I lamented "I can't make it back up that hill like this." I'll just have to stay here and try to keep warm... Oh but my jacket's ruined... Maybe I could try to start a fire? It's hard to think with my head pounding. Forget that, I can barely even hear the pounding with all these bugging chirps.


         Chirping, chirping from the trees. I turned, curious. Fluttering above me passed a couple hurrying sparrows, screaming to each other. I followed them with my eyes until my attention was grabbed again. Caw caw caw.. Slinging my head back, a whole "murder" of crows soared past, following the sparrows. Chasing them? My question went unanswered as more squawking and cackling arose from the deep woods. A wailing cacophony rushed past me. Geese, finches, ducks, cardinals, titmice, starlings, and a few hawks...these were the ones I could identify before I ducked my head.


         Right where my head used to lie, a clumsy goose dashed past, slapping the top of my head with its silky feathers. Violently rubbing a couple of them out my hair, my eyes were still locked up to the sky. The great mass thinned while the disorganized squawking faded softly. The last magpie scuttered past my head, struggling to aim straight in the wind. Its silhouette fluttered against the clouds for only a minute, then vanished. Part of the black now like the others.


         Silence. I sniffed. For a little, at least, I had company. Staring up at the stars, I wondered... Did my screaming spook them? Did my fall confuse them? "Human!" "Human!" they were shouting, fearful for their lives. They must've been. Different birds don't flock together like that- at least I don't think so. Oh, it's too quiet without them. Now it was just me and black crooked trees which loomed ahead. But, no longer did their branches creak in the wind. Now, all they did was stand still against the white speckled sky. A singular brisk gust rustled through the pines here and there. Not from the north, but this time, from the east.


         On the ground, between each sprouting log, laid complete darkness. These doorways shivered a bit from the lone gust, shifting this way and that. They were a-ways-away, but it all felt so close. I felt as if I was knocking on those doors.


         Standing up slowly, I held my arms and backed up a twinge. I need to get as much between me and that as possible, I thought. My steps sounded timid in the cold snow, slow and quiet. My steamy breaths dissipated almost as quickly as they exited from my puffing mouth.


         A bush moved. It was still so hard to see, especially because I didn't have my glasses, but I was dead-sure a bush moved. I was certain it moved. It was one of the bushes which still had charcoal-leaves clinging to its skeleton. I was sure it slid, It slid across only a prick of inches. The bottom of the plant eluded me, obscured by the snow which jetted out in-front of it. It looked like a boat, sailing across the ocean water.


         My backward steps became more frantic. My sight was locked straight ahead, still scrutinizing that bush. Mr Bill always said to never turn your back on a wild animal, it'd think you were prey. I looked an awful lot like prey. I laughed anxiously at my wounded arm.


         If I ever were to trip again, I'd cut off my foot. My heel struck a conniving arch-root hidden deep in the dim snow. I fell backwards so fast I didn't have time to grab anything to soften my fall. Slam. The back of my head smacked against another root as I dropped. I let out a cry, then scrambled a bit. My head shot back up. The bush was inching, inching, inching. So far away. My hand shakingly reached into my bag. I hadn't a clue what compelled me to grab my camera. By now it was a reflex, I guess.


         At once, It was off. The dark shape shot over the meek incline which blocked it from my sight before. In a morbid way, its pursuit interested me. It was a cross between sprinting and scrabbling. By the time it had cleared a handful of yards, It interested me no more. I surged up and slammed my fists into the ground as I sling-shotted back towards the hill. Choking on my own breath, I propelled myself up to the foot of the incline. No, it was too steep- slashing my head behind, I wretched as the billowing frame barreled ever-closer.


         My feet pounded against the ground, tripping and sliding this way and that. Quickly wrapping around the hill, I leapt through an outgrowth of shriveled trees and shivery weeds. It wasn't just behind me now, It was on-top of me, I just knew it. Mere seconds after I rushed through the branches, I heeded the cry of splintering wood as it darted along my fresh-cut path in the snow.


         The ground dipped now, and I slid along on my side, my face burrowing in my arm. I listened horribly to the cracks and rustles rushing after me. My aching back skated across the snow, and I quickly darted back up. I struck a hard left against a slanted log, into a tight crevice between two ridges of a rock wall. My lungs were deflating, and my blood was thinning.


         The shape didn't need to follow my path to catch up, I realized. It was shepherding me. It shot along the edge of the ledge to my right with a knowing precision. The bramble shook and exploded into twigs as it rammed through them at a horrible speed. It was now not only directly to my side, but higher.


         Up ahead, an odd-looking wooden arch grew into my view. Wedged between the rock walls, it was a simple brown and was crooked into the earth, ringing my canyon path. My brain was just clinging onto anything more than my impending detriment, I thought. Although I was panicking beyond any panic I've had before, I felt an odd reason to just run through that arch. It must be a sanctuary. It must save me.


         As I sprinted through the doorway, the tidal wave of broken branches flew off of the ledge and landed in front of me. Shielding my eyes from the splintering, an explosion of hurled-snow shot through the air. In this deserted rocky crevice, it was only a shivering me and the burly beast's outline against the far starry-sky


         And an outline was all that I could make out. And with that shape, all that I could muster inside my screaming mind was "sharp" and "pointy". A forest of thick wild hair shot out of its dirty scalp, reaching nearly to the ground behind it. Its black clothes were torn and ragged, waving in the bitter breeze. Slouched a strain, it still emanated over me with towering ease. The silhouette gave the impression of a burning campfire, but, if the flames devoured light and horribly burrowed itself in darkness. Its eyes were the only features of the soul. It hardly moved, save for its broad shoulders raising and lowering with slow painful repeats. Panting? Had it lost its breath?


         I couldn't run anymore, my beaten and bruised body wouldn't let me. I cried a bit while I covered my face. I really wasn't quite sure why I did that. It wouldn't really do anything to protect me.


         With a hearty crunch of snow, It slided to the left. Shifting its scraggly head, It stared at me with a look I can't quite describe. Its eyes barely shone through the dim dark abyss with a glimmer of contempt or curiosity as its inky black form dissipated into the rough rock-wall just behind my view. A couple seconds passed, nothing. It was gone.


         A flicker of warmth tapped my shoulder from behind. As I turned, a circle of orange light glistened through the fissure, turning sideways to fit through the slit. At the epicenter of this wave of light barreled a familiar burly man, trudging through the snow with heart in his steps. Structured in this man's palm hung an illuminating lamp. He gestured to me. My tortured legs unlocked, and I ran towards him.

No More Birds

         There's a beast billowing out there tonight. Faster than any man I'd seen, even faster than many a battered horse. It's rushing through brush and shrub, through trees and the weeds, hurdling, hurdling through the snow. News, It's thinking.

Chapter 4: American Architecture

         "It's a bit tacky to have a painting of yourself." I remarked between two sips of my lukewarm soup. Here I was, sitting comfortably on an ornate wooden chair and wrapped in a red-checkered quilt while conversing with the wooden wall across me "Impressionism? Romanticism? Baroque-ism? Whatever it is, it makes you look skinny."


         The wall was composed of thick planks of wood, strikingly nailed together as they reached for the high ceiling. Lightbulbs and candles were stuck upon the collar-beams as they striped above, lighting up a petite circle-of-a-window higher than the doorway to my right. And even more to the right, past that window, lay this wall. Adorning that wall were a multitude of pictures and paintings, including the foremost and my current favorite.


         The painting was depicting a man, a rather content man, who was making earnest eye contact with me. With two knowing blue eyes and short-cut blonde hair, he stood slightly to the side in companionment. Only a couple strands of his golden hair reached for his red-cheeked face. He looked young, but definitely older than me, probably a thirty-something. The painting was old too, the blue suit he was wearing was now a dull teal, and his skin a pale-beige. How would he react seeing his home like this, I wondered. Either cry or laugh.


         It was only a couple hours before when Berry hoisted me up onto his puffy back and waded through the sea of snow, saving me from the biting cold. I got my first good glimpse at this building after a couple minutes of my bumpy ride. Back then, I wasn't really sure this cabin could stand the extra weight of us stomping on its toothpick floor, but I've modestly been proven wrong. I was surprised, even though it looked like half was caved in, inside it's oddly spacious or even "quaint" in a way.


         I haven't seen much of this place. Berry just promptly sat me down, made me some soup, and declared to me sternly "Warm up." At the time I wasn't much in the condition to disagree, but now I've become jumpy and restless. Tom worries me so much, and I'm not the only one. Berry nearly shouted at me when I whispered into his scraggly ear "my friend is out there." while he was wrapping me up in his dusty quilt. Throwing on his jacket, he dashed out in a hurry, assuring me in passing that nothing serious would happen to Tom. Except, of course, maybe a little shaken-up. Berry wasn't too well versed in other people's health, I assumed.


         It wasn't the cold that worried me so, it was the idea of that snow-thing grabbing Tom with its icy paws and dragging him off to who knows where. I can't stand the thought. Berry said very little about the snow-thing while he warmed me up, but what he did was short and just to calm my nerves. "It's not a predator, it doesn't hunt." He phrased. "It didn't hurt you, It didn't want to hurt you." It's always so hard to read his expression with that forest of a beard, I'm not even sure if he was certain. But he left with no more words, and now I'm just alone with the blue-eyed-guy and my soup.


         Rising up to a stand with my shoulders covered with the quilt, I walked over to the exposed hallway which jetted out from the door. There a cabinet lay, tilting to the side on its weak limbs and holding up a few small portraits and a couple electrical tools. Carefully pushing aside a big pair of pliers, I took a good-look at the pictures hiding behind. There were three of them, displaying a woman and two kids in rounded black frames. Blue-eye's family, I figured. There they were, smiling in front of a much more pristine cabin on a not-so-snowy day.


         After a while the pictures bored me, so I tip-toed back over near my seat, passed the brick fireplace, and wiped off the tall frosty window. Now it was official, we were on the mountain. I could only look so far down before hitting the tree line, but I still could make-out that the clouds were almost kissing the ground.


          For a second, I was confused. Out the window, the cabin seemingly glowed, lighting up the white area around it with an orange glimmer. I held my head and recalled my trek here with Berry, even while half-conscious, I still understood how odd this house looked. Semi-caved in, two bay windows, three dormers, and even a little tower-like section that rose to an observing third floor, it gave almost the impression of a collapsed wooden castle. But then, there was something even more alien to me- the whole house was covered in fire-y lanterns. Hanging from every window, every portico, and wooden beam, they were lit so bright they almost gave the illusion of daylight around. In a forest of dying trees, this house looked living and growing.


         Touring back to my soup, there was a derelict-looking door just behind my warm seat. It was a brown wooden one, like almost everything else in the house, and splitting on the bottom. Down there, it grimaced with a mouth full of sharp teeth, snarling at me as I stepped over. Grabbing its cold knob, I wrestled it open with a great "Scratchhh.."


         A small rectangular window lit up a long but skinny room in front of me. Like the exterior, this room was close to being desolate and collapsing. The wall to my right just wasn't quite finished, and exposed wooden beams served as jail-house bars. It was dark past them, but they vaguely revealed the shape of a rusty boiler. What really interested me, however, was the sheer amount of writings pinned to the walls around me. Mostly sticky notes, they dotted every wall and floor across the room. Sketched upon them were what seemed to be weird words and unknown symbols, looking like red gibberish to me. The only places the notes didn't touch was a heavy looking trapdoor erected further down the room.. It reminded me of a tornado shelter door you see on the outside of country-houses.


         My skin jumped as I heard the front door slam just a little ways behind me, and I scrambled out the skinny-room in an attempt to appear innocent. I'd hate for Berry to think I was snooping around, I already do it too much at home...


         Luckily, Berry was heeding me no attention. His great mass was turned away from me as he was shoving a can of soup into Tom's hand, while giving him a stern stare through his bristly eyebrows. I sighed, Tom looked quite a bit more red, his clothing looked hard and solid, maybe shaking a bit, but he himself was spotless. His snowy hat fluttered to the floor as I rushed up to him and punched him in the gut.





         

Chapter 5: Prohibition Soup

         "I'm sorry..." Squeezed out of his panting lips while he winced and grabbed his stomach. I shouted at him, "You didn't come looking for me! I was attacked by a weird- hairy thing!" Tom's head instinctively slid slightly to Berry, who was hunched over my bag and messing with something I couldn't see. Shaking my head a little, I let out "No not him. What're you doing with my bag?" Berry's square frame turned towards me, a blue and brown camera in his big paws. He tossed it back to me while huffing "It's blurry." "Of course it is, I was being chased!" I wailed back, clenching my fists. Tom spoke up, "I don't want to butt in but I had no idea where you fell off to I really-" Fiddling around with my camera, I pulled up the last image I took and absently added "It's fine." It came out a little more cold than I wanted, but my full attention was hooked onto my glowing screen.


         In the lobby, Berry had thumped over to a second wooden chair across from mine. It sank, burdened a bit as his body fell onto it. He must be exhausted, I thought. In his rigidity beckoned years of labour. Between me and Tom, he must've hiked so much tonight.


          Looking up from my traumatized camera, I asked "You live here?" I got a peak of his tired-eyes as his hairy head rose slightly to face me "Yes...?", his scraggly beard grumbled. "What about him?" My blanketed arm raised and pointed towards the blue-eyed portrait. Berry turned slowly to behind himself, like he had forgotten it was even there. "Heart attack," he mumbled.


         For a while, Tom had taken a liking to his warm chicken-noodle soup and hadn't paid us any mind for the past couple minutes. But now, almost like he sensed the still-air, he hurried and inquired "Sorry to bother, but do you have anything to drink?" Berry lifted slowly from the chair while it creaked and screeched happily against the floor. In a couple slow steps, he marched to what I thought to be the kitchen, in the next room over. A deep hoarse voice emanated through the wall "Beer? Do you want beer?" He had walked back over to the doorway with a green glass bottle gripped in his hand. Staring at him for a few seconds, me and Tom turned towards to each other. "That's- illegal, we can't drink..? We're underage" I articulated. "Yeah, not since the prohibition....", Tom added. Berry's eyes didn't waiver a twinge, and he stared us for a few more seconds when the realization dawned on me. "Oh- you were joking.." I chuckled a bit while holding myself. Not a thing exited his lips as he stepped over and handed Tom the green bottle.


         As Tom sipped quietly, I stood towards Berry's silent mass. "Can I call someone now?", I inquired. Berry's bristly beard hardly wavered as he spoke, "There's no electricity here, or landmines." Glancing up, I pointed "There's lightbulbs...?" Berry slowly inspected the ceiling, and stoutly affirmed "Generator." Groaning, I slumped over and asked "Are you some kind of mountain-hermit? Don't you have a car or something?" Berry marched over to me, and I had to look ever upwards to see into his limp brown eyes as he growled "Don't have a car, I just walk." Groaning again, I retorted "Then I guess I have to walk home. I could find my way there anyway. Yeah, all I have to do is follow the weird stuff back down. That brick wall... those telephone lines and... that... arch?" I half mentioned those weird things in the hope they'd be answered, but all of a sudden he didn't seem to be in the mood for questioning.


         In a moment, there was a brief pause. Then a great swish as he suddenly crouched down starkly on top of me. His eyes stared deep into my soul with a shadowed look of worry. Grabbing my shoulders, he interrogated, "Did you pay? Did you pay for the bucket?" Caught off guard by the change of demeanor, I shakingly stared over to Tom. "Answer me!" He howled. "I never saw a bucket?" I quivered back, baffled.


         Releasing me from his grip, he backed away in cold displaced steps while violently rubbing his head. "I need to show you something." He whispered as he held his head. There was a curious look in his eyes as they found themselves aimed at the weirdly-decorated trapdoor room I had investigated earlier. My own eyes met Tom's as I mouthed "Bucket?" His silent response in return was a shrug, followed by a mouthed "Run away?" I shook my head.


         As he led us to the chipped door against the brown-planked wall, he took a slow gander behind himself, as if to check if anyone was spying on him. The only soul who met his gaze was blue-eyes, and that seemed to satisfy himself enough as he laid his hand on the knob. To my chagrin the beastly door was easily quelled into the corner by his strength.


         Tom looked concerned as the scribbly notes around the dark room met his gaze. Curious, he lightly tapped a hanging feather from the ceiling with his index finger as we walked past, his eyes wandering here and there as the feather glided behind us. Just ahead, to my surprise, Berry actually had a bit of trouble with opening the bulky trapdoor. Me and Tom reluctantly joined in on the battle, but only after sharing a quick glance at one another. Berry moved to the side as we wrestled upwards against the slab of gray wood and corroded metal, pushing upwards with our straightening legs. It raised slowly. With a soft Click the trapdoor locked into place, pointing upwards.


         The ladder the three of us climbed down on was terrifying. To me, one or two more trips would be all it would take before giving out and collapsing in on itself, plummeting the poor climber down into the bleak-stone basement.


         Luckily, it was not its time yet. Being the last one down, I was greeted by a dirty rock floor and an awe-struck Tom. While sneezing and peering around, "Catacombs" is what came to my mind. There was a modern-ish wooden ceiling, sure, and a rusty-derelict washing machine, but it looked close to some kind medieval torture chamber. It was one large room, divided here and there by incomplete walls made of gray stones haphazardly stacked on top of one another.


         Berry continued on ahead. He must come down here so often that he doesn't mind the moldy stench or concerning rotting foundations, I thought. My sneakers dampened against the puddled floor as I made slow and quiet steps behind them. Ahead there were only a few lightbulbs cascading a dim yellow glow below. They tagged-along with us as we crisscrossed through cardboard boxes and moth-eaten furniture.


          Timely, we hit the other end of the chamber. What was ahead of us took, what felt like, a couple minutes to process in my mind. I must have looked very strange with that dumbfounded look taking refuge on my face, gawking towards the amalgamation sitting squat ahead of me. It was even dirtier than the last. A couple mismatched closets and cabinets stood on either side, circling up against the brick wall in a disorderly arch. A single lightbulb casts a lemon-y filter against the cages.


         Cages, stacks of cages bound together by ropes and chains circling around the barred-pile, serpenting around the shapeless hollow form in the center. What crouched inside alluded me for a while longer. The shapes and forms didn't quite make sense to me.


         The simple answer would be.... Almost a man. It almost had man-like arms but maybe... They were a bit too long. It almost had man-like feet, but maybe the toes were too skinny and too curved inward, like a rat. It almost had flesh, but what little it did have barely showed, and its skeleton pressed up against its undernourished pitch-black skin like it wanted to crawl out. It could pass for some-kind of creature but...But the face. The face wasn't almost anything. In my eyes, It had no face, just a... circle. The neck zig-zagged painfully for a bit, before sprawling out, swelling to shades of bone white and stone gray. Its fabriced mask was stitched together, webbing the different hues against one-another. The largest and most spindly of the stitches reached between the dot-like eyes, wrapping around the whole form. On all-fours, it squirmed against the ground, sometimes pitifully gripping onto the dark gray tunic or maybe potato sack that wrapped around its concave torso.


         My hands desperately grabbed my mouth as I shouted silently at the terrible sight. I was struck down by silence, the silhouette of a watery-eyed man breaking my view. "You need to leave the way you came."

Cloudy Skies over Longing

"I don't think that's those kids," Three dark shapes contrasted against the soft pure-white ground. "Of course it isn't. I never said that.", The second smallest of the three chirped. "Think a wolf did that?" He added. "Could've been a bobcat. But I'm not sure.", Spoke the badge-clad woman. "But it's odd." The red-faced man looked over, "Why?" Gloving her red hands, she remarked "Normally when they kill something, they eat it." The fox they were looking over had a sad look about it.

Chapter 6: The Snowman and The Dandelions

         "Snowman", what a thought. Who has time for that? I've only been here one night and I'm rushed out the door, no time at the least. Not the front door, the one in the basement. The other basement door shut- or slammed. He even has a hat- does anyone even wear hats? Well, I guess Tom does. It's hard to tell, I have to squint- I think that's the one he bought from me- or I guess, the store. That's how it was. It was a crack, a howl, then everything went away.


         Berry swiped his arm across a dusty table, piling mountain-supplies into a small patchy brown bag, a hurried look in his dark eyes. I had no reason to argue, he'd proven his point. I had very little to think of the cage. It didn't matter anyway, we were out in a rush. All I can feel now is my feet piercing through the high-blanket. At the time I thought about asking him why, but I'd rather not think about it. Right now I just need to go.


         We were running away from something. He didn't mention any of it, but I knew we were. After he showed us the crawly-thing, something rushed into the house, looking for us. Smashing pots, breaking glass, hurling furniture... I could hear it all in my mind. Berry was fast, but he wasn't quite sprinting. Long strides ahead carved a downward slope into the snow, which me and Tom cowered behind. My nose could faintly smell crunching leaves and brown grass under our feet as we marched against the grain.


         The day was dark, and the trees shivered along-side us. The great wind still howled from yesterday, but now it was single, and left alone. The snow faltered today, barely any flakes scuttered down, sometimes meekly flapping against my face as they weakly spiraled down. The pines here stabbed us with their prickly spines. I didn't mind the burning on my face, dribbling warm blood from the cuts.


         A disembodied and faint rustle shot into the sky to my left. "Give me your bottle.", I whispered into Tom's red ear. He looked curious, but still reached into his jacket-pouch. After a moment of digging, he finally held up the olive bottle in his solid-straight fingers. Grabbing it, I hovered it over my eye as I squinted with the other.


         The green circle closed-up on the far tree lines, sliding slowly along the puffy gray clouds. I circled and circled around, until I spotted little black dots spraying out of a small emerald forest across a sparse field. Birds, scattering away as a group, cackling at one another as they flew overhead.


         Lunging frontwards, I sporadically tapped Berry's shoulder. I shakingly darted out "I've seen that before!" as he slowly turned around to face me. He stared straight up, and in a moment his eyes widened. He silently hissed to me "Climb a tree.", and rapidly gestured to me and Tom. More clouds of birds exploded, this time closer.

         Hugging a log, I pressed up against it with my legs. My arms desperately grabbed onto loose bark. Ascending, the scene below me only got smaller and smaller, Berry himself becoming near-a-dot. You can trace a trail, according to where the birds were flying. Closer, and closer it got.


         I could see everything from here. This tree was a tall one, balding at the top and heavy at the bottom. Circles of others dit-dotted upwards, rising further above the enormous edge of the mountain. Snow piles here and there streaked the gray slivers pointing ahead. While scanning, my breaths were shallow and sparse. I had never been this high before. Tom was just under me, meeting my eyes in a tired gaze.


         Just below, I spotted it. The shape was hard to make out because of the avalanche around it, a cloud of snow, But it was certainly "it". Exploding in a wave of flurries, the barrelling cloud slammed into the tree. Grabbing on for dear life, the tree shook side-to-side from the blast.


         I couldn't see Berry behind the veil of the pines, and I didn't have the courage to look past the circling lion below. It was small, blurry, and hard to make out. But it was white, definitely white. Hard to distinguish from the ground. I hurled some pine-cones at it as it began to climb.


         Digging its fingernails and toes deep into the bark, It crawled up with a laissez-faire haste. The beady eyes stared straight ahead, never faltering against the held-steps. Digging crazily in my jacket-pocket, I pulled out a small note and crumpled it in my fist as It threw itself over a horizontal branch a few yards below.


         The photo I took just after my tumble didn't prepare me for what it looked like at all. Of course it was pure white in the photo, it was a fault of the lighting or lens. At the time I was sure its dotted mouth was dirt, speckled upon the screen. It only makes sense that its hair is solid. But I had no time to see further, it jumped.


         It screamed a little as I smashed the note into its black left eye. A glimpse of the red symbol engraved upon it flashed towards me as It fell backwards, desperately trying to grab upon anything. Its enraged arms waved violently, searching for anything to sink into to save it from the fall. Only a second before It completely slipped, Its cold iron grip clamped along my hanging foot. It felt as though it'd rip it off with only a whisper of more terrible strength. We fell alongside one another for a bit.


         The ground below us was brown and green, and I faintly heard twittering from the branches above as my body slammed into the hairy dirt- my legs hitting second, extending across the hard contour. Cloud of flying fuzzy seeds. A shallow puddle. A tinkling sun.

Second at Seven

         The white wooden sign faintly declares "Second at Seven", but no one here really knows what it means. Everyday for a year now, I've stared at that sign, and wondered, "Second at what? How can it be second?". And today, I've finally figured it out. The street, named Harbuckle, which the store is sprouted from, was previously named "Seventh" street. According to the archives, it was renamed after a serious construction project in 1948 or 49. The "second" part is pretty plain too, it's the second location of the "chain." That's so disappointing. I was hoping for something more interesting. This place really has nothing after all.


         Sighing, I limply closed the book while the refrigerators slightly hummed. Black and white photos flashed before my eyes, printed upon the shiny white paper. From what I can tell, barely anyone ever has read this book. I wouldn't be surprised if I was the only person to ever even have done so. Old as dirt but still somehow in pristine condition, I can even smell the printer. Very boring.


         "Do you know how to work that?" My voice hollered over at the struggling boy at the door. "It's a push-" I stated as he shamefully nodded and opened it with a little trouble. I've seen this guy a few times before, he's always dirty and up to something. The dust-pile was pretty lanky, and his face was slightly long too. A couple light gray bags lived under his green eyes and waved at me. On top, Palm-tree bunches of black hair grew out of his scalp. "Are you homeless?" I inquired, staring at him. "No...?" He whimpered, dusting his long gray jacket off. Shrugging, I flipped the book back open.


         Leaning my face in my hand, I hadn't even noticed he had walked up to me- until I heard the faint "What are you reading?" Sliding my hand off, I stared up at the guy who was now holding a tagged-hat and a bag of chips. "It's like a history book...." He beamed, "So like Abe Lincoln?" Shaking my head, I muttered "No like the history of Longing..." His red cheeks chuckled a bit, "Still means that Abe can be in there. I think I've seen him before." While still staring intently at my book, I leaned up a little, "Do you go to school here?"


         "No, I'm house-schooled- what's up with the glasses?" He inquired, messing with the bag of chips. "What about them..." I asked while my fingers wrapped around the rims. "They're like- gigantic." I stared intently at my reflection in the refrigerators, he was right. "These aren't my glasses.", I whispered. We paused for a moment. Tilting his head, he pondered "Then whose are they...?" I bit back, "How am I supposed to know?!" He still tilted his head.


         "I think I've seen a guy who wears glasses like that.", He added while I bagged his chips. "Really? What does he look like?" Taking both his arms, he gestured upwards and sideways while extending himself. "Oh him!', I realized. "He was here a couple hours ago! We must've switched our glasses by accident!" I figured that my boredom must've drowned out my worse-than-average sight, or at least we had very similar prescriptions. I'm not even sure if that's how that works. As I stared off in thought, he continued to explain. "I saw him walking away earlier when I was digging for pennies." Standing up, I grabbed my jacket and bag behind me. "Okay, let's go."


         Twinging back, I exhaled. Holding up the monochrome book by one hand, I revealed the contents of a page towards him. "Know this guy?" Squinting and leaning in, he said. "George.. George Washington-...Yeah I have no idea." Nodding my head a bit, I looked back at the page. He was stoutly dressed like George, and also had one of those powdery white wigs. "That's a cool looking book." He said, still staring at the white page. Shrugging, I handed it over. "You can take it, I hate it."


         As we marched outside and stepped onto the snowy cement, he began to stick his nose into the book's pages. He perked up here and there to ask me questions about history or to remember directions. I answered every time, I didn't mind history that much. The snow also gladly joined in on our conversation as we crunched and continued to snake in-between streets and houses.


         Finally, he stared up and turned towards me with a curious look on his face. "Wait, were you allowed to leave your job...?" As I spotted some huge footprints concave in the snow, I absently answered back "I don't care."