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 Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 12:09 pm
 Tabloid Bunk
The wooden floor was spotless and the carpet in other sections of the small house was so well groomed that the phrase “you could eat off of it” leapt to mind, only for a second, before he drew his attention away mid-gag. Shoes polished and neatly set beside the front door on the wooden floor (they could never touch the carpet and neither could anyone else’s filthy shoes), slacks and shirt hung out back on the line to dry.
All picture frames were straightened and symmetrical, pillows at just the right comfort level due to continuous fluffing and all of the chairs were pushed in just right. Silverware and any other utensils were put into their proper places, drawers straightened to reflect more symmetry and any door to a room he wasn’t using was closed.
10:45PM
Combing his hair, Alfons stood in his wash room with his back to the mirror. If he watched himself comb, he would find something to nit pick about it and his schedule would be thrown off. This was one of the times he thought it best to simply not deal with the possibility. If he could avoid anything interrupting his time frame, he would be better off.
How embarrassing would it be to speak to Ezekiel the next day and tell him he had a panic attack from seeing that his short, curly hair refused to cooperate as it would always refuse him and anyone else with such hair? It just wasn’t worth it. A quick sponge bath followed, faster than a real one and fitting right into his fifteen minutes of cleanliness. The sheer idea of him having newspaper ink on him was just as gag inducing as him even joking about eating off of his carpet.
10:59PM
His blankets were drawn on one corner of the bed in as perfect a triangle as anyone could get. It was as though Alfons had pulled them out and ironed them into perfection. Socks off, glasses in their case at the side table and into his sleepwear, Alfons pulled the covers over himself at exactly 11:00, just like every night.
The knocking on his door roughly twenty minutes later, however, was not part of his schedule.
At first he’d thought he had imagined it as he drifted into sleep, but this was proven wrong as another few knocks, louder, came from the front of the house. This was not a dream, not a delusion and yes, someone was destroying his time frame.
Reaching over to cut the light on his side table on, he took a moment to let himself breathe. Just a few seconds ago he was on the fringe of sleep, on schedule, but now something was up, something definitely not right. Reminding himself of how clean his house now looked due to all of the hard work he did every day, Alfons stood up and moved over to the front door. One look through the peep hole told him enough and he opened the door, letting it snap on the chain lock.
”Alfons!”
And he slammed the door back in his associate’s face.
He was certain the man was standing there in stunned silence, and Alfons was mimicking the act as he stared blankly at the peep hole. Dodge, of all people, coming to his home on a work night at--what time was it? One look at his clock and he felt his heart sink. Eleven twenty-seven. Not only was he off schedule but he was off schedule on an odd number!
More knocking, this time it sounded frantic, ”Alfons! …Alfie!”
Another second or two of name calling and Alfons opened the door again, the exact same amount. Only his eyes were visible as he rested his face against the door frame, all of the electric lights in his house turned off for the night except for in his room.
”What do you want, Dodge? Do you know what time it is?”
”Eleven twenty-seve--”
”Exactly! Eleven twenty-seven! What the hell are you doing here?”
The brunette brought his hand to his face, leaving it there for a moment before pointing to the bulky camera around his neck, ”You’re our fact checker, right?”
”What of it?”
”I got an idea for a story. There’s no way I can get you to check it at the office, though, it would be impossible.”
”And obviously this has something to do with getting me up in the middle of the night.”
”Yes! Honestly, Alfons, I swear I wouldn’t do this to you unless it was a good reason.”
”I’m waiting for a good reason,” he still hadn’t opened the door anymore, leaving the chain lock in so he could quickly slam it shut on Dodge if he tried to enter or, conversely, drag him outside.
The comment seemed to almost make Dodge laugh but he caught himself, cleared his throat, and continued on by gesturing a hand behind himself, ”You know all of those stories about the Deith Forest, right?”
Once again, the door was slammed.
Clearly, Mr. Abram Jacobs was insane. Perhaps he needed to see Ezekiel more than Alfons did. There wasn’t time to debate that, however. Once again, as he looked at the clock, he caught an odd number and cringed. It just got later and later, cutting more and more into his sleep hours. At this rate, he would still be awake by midnight and only get a total of five hours. Sure, he usually worked off of six, but that one hour less would destroy him.
”I’ll make it worth your while, Alfons, I promise!” his voice was muffled by the closed door.
”No, you won’t!”
That seemed to have shut the man up. After a few minutes of waiting for the clock to turn over to an even number, Alfons looked back at the peep hole and couldn’t help but smile at the absence of the photographer. Victorious, he turned around and made his way back to his lit room. Just as he was in the clear, however, there was a slap against one of his windows and he leaped back against a wall.
”If we get this story, and I’m right, we would be gods at the Atlas! You could be given your own closed office instead of a cubicle, Alfons!”
A closed office? His own, personal space that he actually had control over? Sure, they would allow him some personal affects at the small cubicle which mostly encompassed photos by every single person, but that was nothing compared to what he could do to an office. A home away from home?
After silently staring Dodge down for a few moments, the blond motioned back towards the front door with his thumb and made his way over to it once he was sure the other had. The door was opened fully this time and, after a very brief conversation, Alfons made his way back upstairs and began getting dressed.
This was so unorthodox; the time, the details, everything. The only thing that was keeping him from panicking had to be the thought of his own office. What would he be promoted to if he was an editor and fact checker now and this idea panned through? Better yet, he thought as he laced up his shiny black shoes, what was the story in the first place?
”I don’t even think there’s anything in there,” Dodge explained as he came outside, locking up his door four times before he was satisfied, ”We always hear stories about people disappearing in there, right? What if they just get lost or fall into a hole or something?”
”What if we do?”
”Don’t worry, I ran it by the boss. If we’re not back in three days, we’ll be presumed dead,” he slapped Alfons lightly on the back as if this statement was reassuring.
Using their bicycles, the two made their way to the edge of Aimes. It surprised Alfons that there was still a ferry running this late between Aimes and Amies but he wasn’t going to question it. In fact, he had specifically left his pocket watch at home so he wouldn’t be constantly checking the time when he knew it would always be on a damn odd number. The ride across the water seemed to drag on for hours but he knew otherwise--damn stars and their ability to tell time as well as a clock, he could see exactly how much time had passed based on their position and it had only been about thirty minutes.
Docking, they boarded their bikes again and began the ride, using every main street and direct route they could. The one good thing about going out so late was that there weren’t any late riders, the streets were completely clear of horses and buggies, and they were allowed to peddle as fast as they could manage. Dodge was always ahead of him, of course, being the reckless one. Alfons wouldn’t be surprised if he flipped over into a ditch.
What cloud cover there had been was clearing as they neared and the moon’s lighting was providing an excellent guide to the dark forest. Trees so tall they were made for giants, a canopy so dark it hid the foulest secrets. Both of them skidded to a halt on its edge and Alfons felt a sick, bubbling feeling in his stomach. This was bad, a terrible idea. Why had he been conned into doing this? For a personal office? With a door? If he really wanted a damn door so badly, he could add a curtain to the cubicle! No one would care!
”What’s the proof that there is anything?” his voice shook while trying to see the tops of the trees.
”No one’s ever come out.”
”And the proof that there isn’t?”
”No one’s ever come out,” he walked his bike over to a tree and propped it beside the trunk.
Lovely. Just bloody perfect.
”Just how far are you planning on taking us?”
A shrug.
If there wasn’t anything in those woods, Alfons would kill Dodge himself.
As they entered, leaving their bikes against the nearest normal sized tree, any light from the moon was immediately snuffed out. Its alternate name, Dark Forest, wasn’t an embellished one in the slightest. The trees were so huge and tall that they blocked all light. Alfons was certain that, even if they waited until sunrise, it would stay dark as pitch in the Deith.
A thick fog permeated the forest floor, making what was already difficult to see beneath them impossible. Regularly, both Alfons and Dodge would trip on a rock or a twig. Of course, after, they froze right up as some twig snapped far off from them, as if in response.
It seemed to go on like this forever but now he really couldn’t see just how much time had passed. It was almost like the entire forest was stuck in its own time frame, trapped or frozen within itself, and had absolutely no relation to the world surrounding it. The feeling struck Alfons hard and he had to take a minute to calm himself, Dodge patting his shoulder as his hyperventilation lessened.
On and on they went, attempting to follow a straight line towers the left side of the wood, just along the edge. Thankfully, Alfons thought, the b*****d wasn’t dragging them both dangerously far into the wood but, perhaps, just being inside it at all was a danger in and of itself. Maybe it didn’t have any dangerous monsters in it but what if there was a curse on the place and the real reason no one ever came out was because they were doomed to walk through it for the rest of their lives or until they dropped dead? They would never find the others that had disappeared, either, but just continue on, forever, even as spirits.
Once that thought passed through his mind, a nearby sound made him wish it were true.
Grunts, howls, crashing and tearing. Something, possibly multiple things, was fighting or, worse, eating. The two of them were frozen in place, listening, waiting. They could see any of it but every few seconds there would be a nasty sound or a pained wail, the noise liquid made when splattering against something. His breathing wasn’t able to sustain itself and he felt dizzy, knees landing roughly against the soft earth. Vision fading, Alfons barely felt himself fall to the ground.
It felt like a second and an eternity all at once.
The sounds were still there, getting louder, and Dodge was shaking him, trying to pull him to his feet. He managed it, for a few moments, but Alfons weight pressing against the other’s chest caused a click, whirr, and a bright flash.
Everything fell silent and still.
Even a stray leaf drifting down from the canopy seemed to take a pause so as not to interrupt the terrible situation that was about to explode forth.
This was the worst idea ever, and now they were going to die because of it.
Huge, lumbering feet slammed against the earth and began stampeding towards them. Only with a second to spare did Alfons right himself and take off in one direction, Dodge in the other. It didn’t matter where he was going at this point, he couldn’t feel anything of the area; his ears were ringing so loud anything else was drowned out, he felt completely numb and his heart was up in his throat, head feeling like it was going to explode from the amount of adrenaline.
Suddenly, the ground stopped being so straight and dipped sharply, causing him to collide with a tree and roll down the steep hill. It didn’t even matter that he was getting dirt in his mouth or muddy water up his nose as he crashed into a shallow pool. Not taking a second to recuperate, he pulled himself out and crawled towards a nearby hole. His fingers squelched into the wet dirt and he found himself rolling limply, yet again, though this time it wasn’t as steep.
Alfons landed with a quiet “oof” at the bottom, face down, and slowly began spitting out the grime. He could still taste it, no matter what he did. It could have been an hour, it could have been five minutes, time was a mystery to him as he laid there silently. No longer could he hear the intimidating steps of… whatever those things were.
Perfect proof that Dodge was an idiot, whatever the case.
Once he was certain that his limbs wouldn’t fall off or his brain wouldn’t leak out of his nose (because this would make him and the floor even filthier), he peeled himself away from the cool stone interior and managed to look around. The fog from above was seeping into the cavern and there were weak cinders of a fire that was snuffed, the remains of it thrown about as if there had been a scuffle. Everything was made of either rock or wood but it seemed like someone had actually been living in this place, whatever it was.
A small, white-ish rock was placed beneath one of the walls while another rock seemed to act as a stool beside it. The wall was covered in scraggly doodles, no doubt from the rock itself; there was a full moon, a gigantic wolf, a strange devil-creature that was much smaller than it and even things he couldn’t describe, they were so otherworldly. One last thing did catch his eye, though, shoved into a corner on its side. Part of it was gleaming despite the lack of light and he dragged himself over to pull it out.
Blue glass, light as anything, and it was beautifully blown. A true work of dedication and craftsmanship he had rarely seen. However, the thing was positively filthy. Even in the midst of the life threatening situation, he couldn’t pull himself away from how disgusting this poor bottle was, what a state it was in, and to have been left in such a place. This was definitely something he would need to speak to Ezekiel about… if he managed to make it out of this place at all.
Holding tightly to the bottle for reasons he couldn’t and didn’t want to comprehend, he managed to get himself out of the cavernous ditch and stood in front of the filthy pond again. Terrible as it was, the idea had struck him that his scent would be thrown off if he’d get covered in the stuff. Life, death or cleanliness? Life and cleanliness, of course! Once he got back out, he would find the nearest inn and bathe there. Yes, he would pay to take a bath after this horrible experience.
Briefly, he wondered if his associate was alright. If he was even alive. If he was, and unharmed, he would be sure to beat his skull in with his own camera.
A long soak on all sides and he was off, clutching at the hillside to return to where they were. Nothing looked familiar but he slowly followed what he thought was the trail. It was sheer luck that he managed to see it, the tiniest speck of light in the distance. Still, there were noises following him and he could feel eyes on him every time he made the slightest motion but they didn’t pursue, not then. As he returned to their bikes, he noticed he was limping. A twisted ankle he was only aware of after the threat had passed. Just as well, one of the bike’s was missing--his own. It seemed Dodge was alive and kicking but didn’t bother to check which mode of transportation was truly his, the wanker.
Returning home would wait. He peddled into the nearest town, shoving the bike down against the inn’s building and stepping inside. Alfons was awarded with looks, cringes, and being spoken to as if he were mentally retarded but he still ordered a room, paid for the night, and went up. He and the bottle had some washing to do. 
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 12:12 pm
You're a Quack The night had been long.
Alfons could still taste the soap around his mouth and, most especially, in it. The fall into the pond had gotten muck all on his face and very nearly down his throat--he didn’t allow that, thankfully--but there was definitely a swampy taste in his mouth for the duration of his return to town.
The bottle, the only thing in that forest that was naturally meant to be clean, he had to take it with him, and he did. It sat on the bedside table just beneath a lamp. Its blue glass was almost hypnotizing in a sense; Alfons would constantly pass it a glance, no matter what he was doing, as if it had been looking at him and he’d only just felt its eyes. Occasionally he would cradle it, try to peak into the dark glass and see what was inside.
All that seemed to be in the thing was a clump of hair, which disgusted him but he didn’t dare open it and remove it. Touching dead hair that came from who knows where? He didn’t mind cutting his own hair or anything like that, but when it was another’s, they could forget it, especially if it was mysterious like this.
After giving his clothes a good soak in the tub and hanging them to dry at the window, he began to dress himself. They were still a little damp but he’d done the best he could with what he had and they were very nearly spotless. If he couldn’t manage to get them as clean as they had been before the romp through the forest after returning home, he would likely throw them out.
Before even thinking about going home, though, there was something else he needed to do. Something far more important that was becoming all the more imperative as he felt his right eyelid twitch ever more violently.
For a few moments, he searched all through the room but the only other item he had brought was the bottle. Once pocketed, he straightened the room even better than it had been when he’d first arrived. The actions were calming and he felt the tick weaken somewhat because of it, but eventually there was nothing more to clean and if he scrubbed the windows anymore he would break them. Taking that as a note to leave, he grabbed the room key and moved down the stairs to the lobby.
It seemed, once clean, he was unrecognizable as there were no sneers or nasty remarks this time, and the woman behind the counter was far more cordial than she had been the night before. It didn’t make him smile but it did please him.
Once outside again, he was not so pleased. Eyes narrowed on the spot he had left Dodge’s bicycle, now empty. He should have locked it up or, heaven forbid, brought it inside with him. Despite this, he felt some vague sense of relief; though he would now have to catch a train to get to the ferry, he could at least revel in the idea that Dodge was getting some comeuppance thanks to his stupidity.
More money wasted at the train station and it took him the longest time to get there on foot, but he settled himself down on the cleanest bench he could find and awaited the steamy transport’s arrival. The wait wasn’t very long, thankfully, and the interior was nice, almost decorative but not with too much flare. He appreciated it, even going so far as to stroke the upholstery of the seats. The bottle didn’t seem too comfortable in this setting, As strange as that sounds… It was as if it refused to cooperate with him and “get comfortable”, as it were, which in turn didn’t allow him to stay comfortable for very long.
Still, Alfons endured the rest of the train ride and was thankful he wouldn’t have to walk for a while, as the ferry would take another lengthy chunk of time to cross the waters and get him back to Aimes.
Midday, the sun was becoming antagonistic, especially on the water. It would spike Alfons in the eye, gleam off of the bottle just right, make the deck of the ferry too hot. Eventually, he was forced to undo his tie and take a few of the buttons out of his shirt, but the sea breeze was also counteracting the heat and he eventually found a comfortable medium.
Nausea hit him as the ferry halted; he never quite did get his “sea legs” and he found it difficult to balance once back on dry land. Still, he fought on. There was something he had to do, something very important. The man was on a mission, a mission that was very close by the port.
”Ezekiel?” he rapped at the door, counting four times total, aloud. No response, so he tried again, a bit louder, ”Ezekiel. One-two-three-four.” A small sound from behind the door caused him to take a few steps back and stand at attention; shuffling, foot steps, yes, those were promising noises. The straight face of his doctor as he opened the door to greet him nearly made Alfons topple, then and there. Such relief and simultaneous resentment.
For a moment, he looked Alfons over, violet eyes scanning the blond. Alfons just stood straight as anything, though his breathing had gotten more labored. Apparently that was a clue and the green haired man stepped to the side, allowing him entry.
”We don’t have a session today, Alfons. …You look terrible.” Alfons couldn’t see the man’s expression as he crossed the carpeted room but he was certain he was smirking slightly.
Sitting on the loveseat propped against a wall, he set the glass bottle on the coffee table in front of him. Putting on a poker face, he looked up at his doctor and pointed to the item. ”Do you know what this is?”
”How could I possibly?” a definite smirk as he took up an arm chair.
”It came from Deith Forest.”
A stony silence followed and Ezekiel’s smirk was lost. His eyes locked on to the bottle, narrowed, widened, settled and then found their way back to his patient. ”…I’m not sure I understand. This bottle is from the forest but… are you telling me you went in the forest?”
”Exactly.”
The seriousness of the situation was cut like a knife as Ezekiel leaned forward, covered his mouth with a hand and laughed. Through it, Alfons managed to pick up a few words that made his expression turn sour. Once the man had calmed down enough, he made a quip about professionalism and Ezekiel straightened back up.
”Alfons. Psychotic tendencies don’t follow the pattern in your neurosis, they’re not a symptom. So, would you mind explaining to me what your Obsessive Compulsive a** was doing in Deith Forest?”
”I’m sure I’ve spoken to you about Dodge before; Abram Jacobs? Works for the Atlas with me. He thought he had a story about the Deith Forest but me, being the fact checker, had to go with him on it. He thought he was smarter than everyone else who were certain there were things in the forest, nasty, dangerous things. They were right.”
”You’re not hurt?”
”No,” he scoffed, ”That’s not the point. He dragged me in there, we were attacked! Chased by these… these huge things! I could have been killed!”
”…Which… is why you have this bottle?” he scratched the back of his head, ”I’m not following, how is this thing important, at all?”
Alfons leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. The bottle, the damn bottle. He didn’t have any bad wounds on him, nothing more than a few scratches and bruises which could have been acquired by anything, not specifically going into that damned forest and getting tossed about like a rag doll by gravity. The bottle was the only evidence that what had occurred last night was real, the only concrete thing in what could be considered “reality” of that night.
His hearing was weaving in and out and he heard Ezekiel say his name a few times but he didn’t look up, didn’t open his eyes. He could hear his heart beat drowning out everything else, feel it going a mile a minute, make breathing difficult as if it were closing off his throat.
The bottle! That damn bottle, why!? Why did he have to pick it up? It needed picking up, that was why. Its existence would have been wasted in there, whatever existence a bottle has.
”Alfons!”
He felt Ezekiel’s hand on his back just as he fell forward, head bang against the coffee table and jostling the bottle but not knocking it over. The swiveling sound it made as it adjusted itself was like a growl, like one of those growls. His head hit the floor just as it stopped spinning.
The next thing he knew, he was laying down, the fabric of the couch cooling him down. His heart wasn’t beating as fast, though his breathing was still a bit shoddy, and his head wasn’t swimming. One glance to his left and he shuddered; the bottle was staring at him, and so was Ezekiel.
”I’m going to bum a carriage in a bit, take you home.”
That was probably a good idea. Back at home, in an area where he had absolute domain and control, he could keep the bottle without it staring at him like a hungry wolf. The suggestion calmed him considerably and he sank back into the couch, closing his eyes.
”Going to be staying with you for a couple of days.”
Alfons’ eyes shot open.
”Don’t you dare.”
”You’re my patient, but you’re also my friend. One of the only friends you’ve got. Remember that,” he stood up and moved over to another section of the house. Alfons could hear running water for a few seconds before he returned, filled glass in hand. ”Look at it this way; you’ll have a specter in the house to clean and cook for you while you get all the rest you can. I’m going to talk to your boss, too, about you taking a week off.”
”A week!?” he shot up but met roughly with Ezekiel’s hand on his chest, getting pushed back as quickly as he’d sat up. ”I can’t be gone for a week! I-I’ve already had my schedule mucked up, I need that schedule. Please, Ezekiel, I can’t do that, I can’t have that break,” he could feel it all building up again.
He shook his head and held the glass out for Alfons to take, which he did after a few seconds of bleary-eyed staring, ”You need rest, is what you need. Look, I’ll go down to see if we can’t get you some natural calming remedies, like some teas or incense, things like that. We’ll make it work and then once you’re back to normal, I’ll leave, and you can have your schedule again. It’ll work out, I promise.”
Alfons wasn’t reassured but he took a few sips of the water, anyway. Listening to someone talk always calmed down a panic attack, he wasn’t sure why. A distraction? Most likely; all concentration was centered on that person rather than the coming pain and activity, it cleared the mind and made it hold on to normalcy. At least there would be that company, should he have an attack at home. Typically, he had to sit it out, generally curled up on the floor, feeling like he was dying. Occasionally, he would black out during them, like just a short while ago, but mostly he was conscious and very aware of what was going on.
Those were always the worst.
”…Alright. Fine.”
A sly smirk returned to the man’s face, ”I’m glad I have your approval. I would have done it, regardless.”
Joy.
After a while of waiting, a horse drawn buggy was called up. Ezekiel had Alfons wrapped in a thin sheet he could cling to and kept the bottle with him, rather than giving it to the blond. He told Alfons he thought it better if he didn’t see it again until they reached his home, so he could keep as calm as possible. Alfons was certain he could still feel its “eyes” on him, however, and he kept himself against the nearest window, watching the people and cobbles pass by.
It was nearing evening now and the sun was dim, but there was still a lot of hustle around the docks. Several flocks of seagulls squawked at them and took flight when they were interrupted in the middle of the street and a few sickening plops were heard on the top of the cart. He hoped, for the sake of the poor man, that the driver hadn’t been hit.
A sigh left him as the cart slowed in familiar territory and he caught a peek of his front door. Ezekiel stepped out first and assisted Alfons out, paid the driver and then began raiding Alfons’ pockets for the key. He found it quickly and lead the way, leaving Alfons feeling ill and thoroughly violated. These feelings were quickly swept away with contentment; everything was just as he had left it before leaving with Dodge. He couldn’t be certain what, if anything, he had expected to be different, but the similarity of it all, the uniformity, eased his mind like nothing else.
Quickly, he moved himself to his sofa and sat down, resting back. He listened as Ezekiel entered his kitchen, jostled about some drawers--the sound made him cringe--and brought out some pans. It didn’t take too long for a delicious smell to come wafting through the house and he realized he hadn’t eaten a bite the entire day; his stomach promptly awoke with a raging torrent and felt as if it might eat itself out of starving spite.
Once a bowl was set in front of him, he uttered a quiet “thank you” and dug right in. Soup, garlic bread and a cheese sandwich. All good things that would temporarily satiate him, and he actually was grateful to Ezekiel for doing such a thing.
”While you eat, I’m going to go have a word with your boss. If you’re still hungry when I come back, I’ll make you more, but there’s some more garlic bread in the kitchen for now. Rest up,” he patted the blond’s shoulder and exited.
Alfons wasn’t sure how long he would be gone or how long it had even been when he finished the food. Despite how hungry he was, he had been very particular to only get any crumbs on the plate that had the sandwich and bread and any spills were right back into the bowl. Ezekiel had called it, though, he was still hungry. Unwrapping himself from the sheet, he took the plate and meandered into the kitchen. He took a few moments to look through his cabinets and drawers to see if anything was amiss besides the missing items but Ezekiel had done well and took care not to mess anything up.
Good man. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Making his way back, nibbling a bit of the bread over the plate, he stopped short, freezing his entire body in place. There was a tiny bit of shine, just a small line of it, on the wooden floor. As if something wet had dragged itself across the planks, it seemed to start from the door and continued on to the sofa, maybe the table.
Swallowing hard, he nearly choked on a larger piece of bread than he’d intended but slowly made his way around the other side of the sofa. There, in the middle of his soup bowl, was a small little thing; a tiny black shell curled around it, pale skin with such tiny limbs and bright blue adornments that looked like leaves. A snail. A nasty, disgusting, terrible snail had gotten into his house, made a mess, and was now sitting in his soup bowl, sipping at the remnants.
Carefully, Alfons began walking backwards, making sure not to make a noise on the wood. He set his plate down on the white tiled counter and looked around for something, anything, to kill it with. There was the large soup ladle Ezekiel had used, still in the pot. Squishing the thing? Well, he wasn’t planning on using that bowl ever again, after this, and he would end up throwing the ladle out, too, but the thing was invading his home! Invading his privacy, his cleanliness, destroying the very staples he lived by.
It had to be killed.
Pale fingers wrapped around the handle and silently lifted the utensil out. As he moved, he held it like a bat, tip toeing his way back to the area. It was a snail, no matter how slow he was, it wouldn’t move any faster. He could still see it, finished with the soup residue he had left, now slowly trying to slime its way up the other side of the bowl.
For a moment, it looked as though it didn’t see him, but as he lifted the ladle and hovered it over the filthy creature, it turned and looked at him with beady eyes. So small, black and… he wanted so badly to describe them as malevolent, give it a horrible look and squish it, but it just stared at him like a baby. With the light reflecting off of them, it almost looked like the thing was about to cry and he stood completely still, unable to make the right motion and slam the ladle down on it.
As he faltered, the front door’s lock clicked and it swung open. Ezekiel didn’t notice at first, speaking about how his boss was a sourpuss and should be more considerate to his employees. Once he was aware of the situation, however--staring first at the snail and then wide eyed at Alfons--he moved over and grabbed the ladle right out of his hands, ”Don’t kill it, you idiot.”
”Why the hell not!?” the motion of him losing his killing tool caused Alfons to flop back onto the couch, looking positively dejected.
”Because it’d be worse off for you if you did, especially on the table. …Besides, I like animals and you’re not touching this one. If this happens again, you’re going to put it outside, you inconsiderate t**t.”
Perfect doctor/patient decorum.
”Fine! Then put that one outside so I can clean its mess!”
Ezekiel didn’t respond at first, staring tentatively at the snail, its two front limbs touching at the tip as if it were praying, tiny eyes locked on Alfons. ”No.”
The reply was simple. ”Yes.” Ezekiel just shook his head and knelt down in front of the table, holding his hand out. The snail seemed startled but quickly slithered its way to him and sat itself down, clinging to one of his fingers.
”I’m not putting it outside, and neither are you. You’re going to keep it. It’ll be a new form of therapy, one you probably need much more than you think.”
Keep it? Keep it? That thing, staying in his house? Making a royal mess over everything? ”No, I’m not doing that. I’ve agreed to let you be here for a week but if you’re going to be doing this to me, you can get the hell out of here, Dr. Sykes. I’ll find someone else.”
Ezekiel didn’t seem intimidated, setting the ladle down on the table and brushing one of his fingers against the snail. ”You don’t have many friends, Alfons. Hell, you hardly let yourself know other people enough to even be considered acquaintances. You need this, I know it. Some sort of connection, the responsibility of taking care of another person.”
For some strange reason, the bottle jumped to mind, but they were not the same thing. “Taking care” of an inanimate object was infinitely easier and, in his mind, more fulfilling, than taking care of another living being, especially one that’s intelligence was significantly below his own.
”You’ll do this,” he continued, ”Because I’m listing it as an official remedy. Doctor’s orders. I’ll supply the habitat, you supply the care. It won’t be sliming anything else up but its own tank.” Suddenly, Ezekiel’s expression turned grave and he glared at Alfons, gently cupping the snail between both of his hands, ”Don’t even think about ‘forgetting to feed it’, either. If you let it die, I’ll stick my foot so far up your a**, you’ll throw up breakfast.”
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 12:14 pm
The Picture As Alfons sat at his desk at a dauntingly late hour of eleven o’clock in the morning, he glared down at his empty work space. Normally, he would be in a cubicle right then, looking over various sheets of paper and then correctly reworking them on his typewriter.
There were no familiar clicks, whirs or dings present now, only a large and intimidating silence.
Ezekiel was downstairs, setting up the habitat he had promised to get for the snail. It was a large glass bowl, probably for a goldfish or something similarly simple to care for. He lined the bottom with sticks, leaves and a bit of mud. Alfons had accepted this as long as it was not going to leave the bowl and its environment did not come from his lawn.
Still, he found himself disgusted by the very idea. A pet was always messy, no matter what it was. You had to clean up after it, even for a simple fish; feed it, change its water. Surely he would have to change the thing’s dirt and leaves at some point, they were dead as it was, no matter how green they appeared, and he was going to have to do it regularly.
It had been three days into the week thus far and those had been spent in unending fury. The dear doctor would not let him to do much of anything besides rest, hardly even allowed him to clean at all.
This b*****d will be the death of me, he assured himself, one corner of his eye twitching as he looked sourly around the still room. It almost seemed as though time had halted without a schedule and he was stuck in this timeless box with a ridiculous doctor, a snail and a bottle that was intimidating him (why?) but outside he could see movement, activity, time passing freely as it were meant to.
It was absolutely maddening.
The days continued to pass as such, and by Saturday, Alfons was at his wits end. If there wasn’t total silence between the two, then there was a great deal of shouting and the blond had yelled himself hoarse. Ezekiel, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on the activity, whether it was antagonistic or not.
He hadn’t let the house go to shambles, cleaning up after himself and a little here and there but never to the extent Alfons applied and it was destroying him. Dark bags were beginning to appear under his eyes and he wondered if he would ever get a decent amount of sleep. All possibilities of a schedule, by and large, had been shattered with Ezekiel Sykes’ presence and the only thing keeping Alfons from toppling over the edge was that tomorrow was the last day.
Ezekiel had stepped out for a short while to fetch groceries and he took the time the man was gone to begin mopping the floors, even getting on his hands and knees for the wood floor and sponging it.
The bottle watched him dispassionately but he pressed on, determined to ignore its steely gaze. Another set of eyes were on him, as well, but those were decidedly less intimidating; the small black beads of the snail were locked on his back as he shuffled around the floor. It seemed to have made itself right at home in the bowl, dangling itself upside down on one of the thicker sticks near the top. Thankfully, it hadn’t attempted to escape since being put in there.
Eventually, Alfons’ sponging found its way to the glass of the bowl and the snail gripped to the stick with its tiny forelimbs for extra balance.
A deft little explorer, aren’t you, he idly mused, noticing the animal had mixed the leaves up at the bottom into some form of nook rather than the carpeting it had been.
It struck him that, regardless of his willingness (or, in his case, unwillingness) to keep a pet, he couldn’t rightly keep calling it things such as “the snail” or, less kindly, “it”. For a moment, it seemed they were on the same wavelength as it righted itself and slithered down the stick to its self-made house, peeking out at him when he stopped the monotonous circular motion with the sponge.
”I’ve never named anything before. At least, nothing sentient,” Alfons slumped and pulled himself away from the bowl, sitting on the couch beside it. It was the only thing on the small side table, diagonal from the coffee table which had become the bottle’s temporary home. One of the snail’s antennae twitched. ”I’m definitely not going to call you something stupid like… “Blue”.” Names based on physical traits for pets were horribly unimaginative, in his opinion, and he openly detested animals by the name of “Spot” or the like.
No, if he was going to even have the minutest chance of accepting this snail into his home, he was going to give him a good, strong and fitting name. One of proper eloquence that it would be unmistakable as named by another.
The bold voyager began mulling around the bowl again, sliding here and there and always leaving a glistening trail.
”Ferdinand.”
It came out very abruptly but that was his decision. Ferdinand changed its direction and pulled itself up the side of the bowl facing Alfons. The name was decidedly masculine, though he had no idea what gender the snail was or even if snails did, in fact, have genders. He had heard of some frogs being able to change their sex on a whim so why not snails? Weren’t worms all technically hermaphrodites, as well?
He caught himself talking about this just as he heard Ezekiel unlock the door and he rushed back upstairs, not wanting to deal with the man.
Sunday came.
Sunday went.
It was a surprisingly fast day for what he was anticipating next and Ezekiel took his leave around three o’clock that afternoon, leaving a detailed list of instructions on how to care for Ferdinand and a small book from the local library all about snails. Alfons looked over the list several times, attempting to figure a time to set aside just for his attention to Ferdinand.
Mentally, he amended his schedule so that his free time following work was reduced to being between five and six-thirty and Ferdinand’s care would take up the last remaining fifteen or so minutes of four o'clock.
With that decided, he had to kill another hour and fifteen minutes before he could begin his cleaning regimen. Now that Ezekiel was out of his hair, Alfons decided the best course of action was to pretend that the entire week had simply not occurred, which would mean he had found and accepted Ferdinand of his own will and he had similarly dealt with his problems revolving around the Deith Forest.
The rest of the day was filled with back tracking until eleven, at which point he was simply too exhausted to think any more and fell asleep within seconds.
Fast sleep did not work as well as he had hoped in integrating himself to his schedule, and he awoke at 5:01AM. Alfons attempted to continue on as normal but the lost minute nagged at him, making him recall terrible statistics about how many years a human wastes on sleep. Relief swept over him when he checked the time after coming out of the shower and it was familiar, down to the second. The rest of his routine went by smoothly and, by 6:45, he was completely ready to get back to editing people’s horrible writing and their ridiculous “facts”.
A second long glance was passed his only remaining companions, the bottle and Ferdinand, and he decided the snail would be able to handle the bottle, possibly even better than himself.
The walk to the Aimes Atlas building was as short as he remembered. Though it had only been a week, it felt like an eternity and he collided roughly with his chair, leaning back with a heavy sigh.
”So, there you are.”
Alfons’ hands clamped to the edge of his deck before he slowly swiveled himself around. There stood Abram Jacobs, Dodge, with a small cast on his wrist.
”We got a shot of the Deith Forest. Not of the things, though, so we can’t really work it into the story.”
”What story? Your hypothesis was wrong.” That came out more antagonistic than he’d intended.
Dodge shrugged and pulled it out of his pocket, handing it to the editor.
It was black and white with no discernable shapes present, the flash being the only source of light in the photo as even the foliage had blocked out the moon. At one of the corners, Alfons thought he saw an angular hook, like one of the thing’s claws, but decided it was a trick of the light. There was literally nothing in the photo besides black and some light, likely being a shot of Alfons’ own shirt due to how the two of them were standing.
Handing it back, Alfons softened his expression to something that might be mistaken for sympathy, ”Well, it’ll make a good personal story, at any rate.”
Dodge gave him a stiff nod, though it was accompanied by a genuine smile. He turned, about to return to his own workspace, but stopped and turned back to Alfons.
”You rode my bike back home, right? I didn’t realize until I got home that I had yours.”
An awkward sound of errr left Alfons for a second as he recounted the events after leaving the forest, this time without collapsing. ”You can go ahead and keep mine. I don’t plan on riding a bike ever again.” He would stick to that, too. Anything to keep him from traveling too far.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 12:19 pm
 A Seafarer He`s Not
Alfons & Ezekiel
Oxiin & Inge
Alfons asks Ezekiel to go with him to the Town Square in case anything goes wrong. They meet up with a man too young to have a son and his strange child who shares the man's fear of the bottle; maybe Alfons isn't so crazy after all?
------ "That was pretty rude," Ezekiel scoffed, looking over his shoulder at the cafe the two men had just exited. He could still make out the forms of Inge and Oxiin clearly in the window, the both of them looking rather disheveled and confused about the whole ordeal.
"Not my problem. Wouldn't have even had to say anything to them if the kid wasn't clinging to me." he left the fact that the child seemed as frightened of the dreaded bottle as he was unsaid, figuring Ezekiel would just brush it off as being in his mind rather than fact, even though he had vaguely spoken about it with the child.
He heard his green haired companion sigh beside him but didn't respond, just reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver watch on a chain. It was getting late anyway, dusk would be hitting soon.
"...You're not going to keep the bottle for me, are you?" A yes was desired, badly, but he knew it wasn't to be. Ezekiel didn't baby him like his other patients, he knew the man too well, they knew each other like the back of their own hands.
Ezekiel made a small, dismissive sound and began digging in his pockets. The blond averted his gaze, glowering in the opposite direction and felt the cool glass chill his palm. Without even glancing at it, he shoved it into the opposite pocket housing his watch and the two continued on. "I'll have a lot of work to do for the next few days. If you feel the need, check up on me during the weekend or something."
This was both an offer and an order. Not willing to admit it, Alfons wasn't above getting lonely here and there, but more so recently he would feel more alone than ever with the bottle present. It was a gripping and often crippling feeling, that he was the last man on earth while instilled with that fear.
"Maybe. I'm pretty busy this week, too. You're not my only patient, you know. I have to remind you of that a lot." Of course Ezekiel had to remind him often, he had barely ever seen the man with a patient other than himself. "But the weekend. Maybe. I might be able to come over on Sunday or something. We'll see what happens."
Dauntingly inflexible as always.
The rest of their walk was performed in silence, passing between groups of people who were chatting about this and that, mostly the weather and how suddenly it had started raining, then stopping. Pointless chit chat, Alfons always hated that. With him mentally criticizing everything he saw or heard on the way back to his street, the time seemed to fly by in a manner of seconds. Ezekiel said his curt good-bye, still attempting to make Alfons feel some remorse for leaving the two at the cafe.
It wasn't working, and it never would. Alfons slammed his door in response, not saying good-bye to his doctor. When annoyed with the man, he would ignore any friendship they had and pretend they were strictly doctor and patient. Ezekiel was used to this by now and that was usually the sign for him to back off. He was usually good about that.
He gave Ferdinand a short, curious glance--the snail appeared to be asleep--before ascending the stairs to his bedroom and removing the bottle from his pocket. Not looking at it while setting it down was impossible, he had to set it so it wasn't too close to the edge of his desk but also made it look and act like a real decoration, just in case anyone visited and he had to show his home off.
At that moment, it didn't feel very frightening, but it had already instilled that feeling in him far too often for him to second guess it. The cold, dark blue of the glass was almost calming, reminiscent of night, but he could still sense some sort of caution around it.
"Don't you start feeling uncomfortable, now," he chastised the bottle but then frowned at himself for looking like a loon in doing so. Alfons promptly left the room without another word or look to the bottle.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 12:30 pm
Eyes Are the Windows to the Soul Four forty-six, the dark door was pushed open and a not-so-disheveled looking blond male stepped inside, locking the door behind him. Ferdinand greeted him by exiting his shell and sliming up the side of the glass, making a circle around its perimeter. It was time for the snail to have his section of Alfons’ schedule.
It had taken some work but he managed to snip a small chunk between when he got home and dinner for his “pet”, as it were, but the more he tended to it the more it came to be a silent companion. Perhaps Ezekiel had been right; Alfons could speak to Ferdinand about anything and everything and the snail wouldn’t judge or retort, it would just smile blindly at him with its beady eyes and occasionally wiggle its front appendages as if accepting the conversation.
Procuring rubber gloves and a bowl from the kitchen, he retreated to the backyard to be away from prying eyes while he exhumed leaves and twigs, some of those crab apples that fell in his yard from the neighbor’s tree as well as some fresh dirt to replace the old. The dirt was more like mud from the recent storm but it would dry up and be nice for the snail to worm its way around in. As the habitat was changed about, Ferdinand took to hanging upside down on the edge of the glass, watching Alfons’ hands at work. Finally he dropped a crab apple in and the snail slimed its way toward the bitter fruit.
He took a minute to wash the rubber gloves off in his sink and setting them aside before continuing on with his schedule, cleaning up the entire house from floor to ceiling until just before six-thirty and then it was time for dinner. Ferdinand had taken a large chunk out of the crab apple, considering it was the same size as he, but Alfons just watched him slip back into his shell to sleep the meal off before making his own.
A simple meal of potatoes and pasta followed, the regular vegetable only deal for him. Dodge would often mock his choice of diet, finding one without any meat to be very unmanly, but Alfons found it to be quite a healthy way of life for himself so the usual response was “bite me” or some other nasty vernacular. The meal went by quickly and he found himself using what free time he had before bed reading and rereading what he had succeeded in producing at work that day.
It was a strange, coincidental story that Dodge had discovered; at one of the local Oddity Zoo’s over in Amies, there had been an imp that nipped off one of its feeders hands. In tandem, another of the animals seems to have just disappeared entirely. For some reason, the scenario reminded him a lot of the bottle and he took a moment to think back as to what had been done with it. Ezekiel had taken it with them to the bulletin board and after that weird exchange with the child who could feel its intimidating presence as well as he, Ezekiel dropped he and it back off at home before taking his own leave. That’s right, it had been placed back up in his room.
The papers were smacked on their side against the coffee table, giving a loud thunk. Ferdinand retreated to his shell momentarily before squirming out again and watching Alfons pack up his things and move to the upstairs for bed. Time had flown and it was already late. Everything was sorted for the night and Ferdinand would have some food for tomorrow, as well, leaving Alfons little to worry about. The bottle was sitting at his desk, far from his bed where he could easily ignore it after the light was turned out.
Changed into pajamas, he pulled the covers over himself and shuffled in. Click went the light and the room was enveloped in darkness, just as it should be. The blinds were drawn, covering the glowing white of the full moon. Even so, the bottle managed to reflect the world’s natural satellite but Alfons was not privy to this. Instead, his eyes were wide open and staring into nothing thanks to a creaking sound downstairs.
A quiet thud broke all silence and then repaired it just as quickly. Most likely just the house settling, nothing more, and Alfons rolled himself over.
Red eyes.
A terrified yell erupted from his lungs and he tore off his bed coverings, clawing at the wooden floor. At first, he made for an exit but it became clear in seconds where the eyes were coming from. All that staring had finally taken a physical form instead of just presenting itself mentally. The bottle really was looking at him and the eyes were glowing with menace, amplified by the dark that surrounded them both. Downstairs, the thud became creaks and sounded frantic, getting closer. Alfons righted himself and lunged for the desk, wrapping his hand around the bottle to cover the eyes and chucked it toward the door, hoping to be met with the sound of shattering glass.
Nothing. The eyes flew and hovered momentarily, and then closed.
”WHY WON’T YOU LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE?!”
”BECAUSE YOU KEEP DOING s**t LIKE THIS!”
Alfons stopped, frozen stiff.
”If you would stop for two goddamn seconds, you could think ‘Hey! This bottle bother me! Why don’t I throw it the hell away instead of pushing myself into a spiral depression and insanity!’ but no, you keep it and complain about it!”
Ezekiel continued on, listing reasons why Alfons was being idiotic while neither of them could see each other. Even though Alfons knew his expression couldn’t be seen, he still staring slack jawed at his doctor, doe eyes as wide as saucers. Was he really doing this? Here? Now?
”You know you almost hit me in the face with this damn thing, you and your fake a** psychosis could have given me a concussion and--”
”WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!” a delayed reaction, Ezekiel was the one to stop this time as Alfons advanced with uncharacteristic menace, ”Get the hell out of here right now so I can do exactly what you’re preaching about! This bottle is trying to drive me insane and it’s right in your hands, LOOK AT IT!” With a flourish, Alfons pointed angrily toward Ezekiel’s clenched hands around the bottle.
The doctor’s tanned fingers parted and the bottle settled against his palm--blank.
Alfons all but deflated, arm going numb and falling as if it were suddenly paralyzed. His legs felt limp and crumpled, sending him to his knees. The dark was blurring into something without any shapes; he could at least see the outlines after a few minutes but now there was nothing, just an endless black filled with the occasional weak sob. It really was trying to drive him insane, making it seem like he was hallucinating.
”It was there… I swear it was there…” His breathing was becoming labored.
A short moment of silence passed before Ezekiel knelt down and reached toward the blond, opening his mouth to say something reassuring or, perhaps, even apologetic but Alfons leapt back as a throaty growl came forth instead. The searing red eyes were piercing through the darkness again and as his vision cleared through abrupt droplets, he could see something else. Something new.
A dark, shadowy spectre wrapped itself around the bottle, growling and hissing. Its eyes burst open and they were the same burning red as those within the bottle itself. Now Ezekiel could see it, Alfons was sure as soon as he saw his doctor pale and drop the blown glass against the floor. It rolled lazily, the shadow creature growling angrily and retreating inside. A flurry of red eyes opened once it slipped back in, all looking like slits and gashes compared to the ones in the center. No matter where it rolled, those two were locked onto Alfons as if they were sizing him up.
Words began spewing senselessly from both men’s mouths as they shouted, fumbled, got up and lumbered around the room. They began turning on all the lights in the house, Alfons tripping several times. He was reeling, nausea creeping in quickly but he held it back. He couldn’t show weakness to the bottle when it was like this, it would destroy him for sure.
Light filled every dark corner of the structure and all was still. In the commotion, Ferdinand had awoken, created many slime trails all around the glass’s circumference and then stuck to one side, hiding in his shell. Alfons and Ezekiel had taken asylum within the upstairs restroom, quickly slamming the door shut. It was then that he was able to let go into the toilet, Ezekiel holding his hair out of his face. Alfons was certain the doctor’s silence was caused by embarrassment, shame, guilt at being wrong and saying those terrible and dismissive things. Once they figured out what was going on, the blond was assured compensation, of this he had no doubt.
”I don’t understand…” he sat himself on the edge of the bath tub while Alfons balled himself up beside the toilet. ”It’s… it’s just a bottle. Bottles can’t do that.”
Alfons scoffed with intense pessimism, the very sound denoting that he thought Ezekiel’s statement was one of sheer stupidity. ”It came from Deith Forest, obviously it’s not normal.” A faint shudder carried with his voice as he shivered against the porcelain throne. ”And you didn’t believe a word of it. No benefit of the doubt for ol’ Alfie, I see.”
”Do not get into that right now, that is exceedingly immature. You would have acted exactly the same way if I came to you with a bottle that scared me.”
For some time, the two bickered; minutes peeled away and it was likely a quarter of an hour before they realized the bottle was still out there. Regaining their composure, the two of them exited the bathroom together and began the long and slow creep toward Alfons’ room.
An ambush was what they were going for, the two bursting into the room with their hands up defensively and a loud shout, as if this would do a thing to intimidate the bottle into coming out of hiding. It was nowhere. It had rolled along the floor but was still in the open when they left, now it was just gone.
”Did… you?”
Ezekiel shook his head. He hadn’t seen it go anywhere, nor did he move it.
Now they were both at a loss. It could growl and stare, summon some sort of physical shadowy being, but could it move on its own? It hadn’t before, so what could have been causing it to act in such a way?
”It certainly knows how to creep people out… pulling this s**t on the full moon.”
Alfons’ eyes went wide as he began to grasp the situation. ”…I’m going to sleep downstairs tonight…” Ezekiel did a double take, nearly getting smacked in the face by Alfons’ hand as he waved the doctor out of the room. He locked his door behind him and descended the stairs before saying anything else. ”I might be able to get to it in the morning, if I’m understanding right. If it’s from the Deith Forest, maybe it actually does react to the full moon, which is why it’s doing this… If that’s the case, I’m going to take off work tomorrow and destroy my room to find it.”
Those words left a horrid taste in his mouth. He would have to take the next day off, too, just to put everything back together.
“Once I find it, I’m smashing it.”
Behind the closed door of Alfons’ room, in the recesses of dark underneath his bed, the bottle churned angrily on its side. A shadowy tendril pushed itself, first turning and then slanting to an upright position with a horrid growl. Even in the dark, with no natural light, the full moon glistened on its glassy surface. The miniature creature came forth again, reaching its small clawed paws up and slashing at the mattress above. A clean cut. More tendrils slithered out, grasping for the material. It hefted itself up, the bottle following with a dainty clink, and the tiny beast sandwiched itself within the mattress.
There it would stay, away from Alfons, Ezekiel, and the light.
Until it could be truly free.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 12:43 pm
Headlines!
(Dust Spin --> Child Quest*)
“Where have they gone? A chain of missing pets!” “Large dog sightings, a nuisance of a stray or big trouble?” “A howl of terror – the mystery continues!” “Paw print found: 12” wide!!!” “Man attacked by the mysterious hound!” “’We want it dead or alive,’ says council.” Headlines like this have been flooding across Amies’ tabloids recently as a mysterious black hound stalks the festival city’s streets. With reports describing it with fur as dark as pitch and hideous glowing red eye’s there’s something horribly familiar about the creature to Alfons. And there’s something else too. The reports are leading closer and closer to him – each sighting another street nearer. Could it possibly be? Has one of the creatures from that fateful eve in the forest come for the prey that had escaped the skirmish first time round?
*Please note, there's a minimum word requirement of 500 words for this quest.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:00 pm
Headlines! part one Chattering hens.
Two women on either side of him at the stand were talking about this and that, right into both of his ears. The background noise of the farmer’s market was enough to leave someone deaf if they stayed in the thick of it long enough, but the both of them were too much to even think over.
Alfons stood there at the middle of the stand, one large woman on his left and a skinny rail girl on his right, and in his hands was a melon. When he first chose this spot, he was attempting to weigh two melons against each other and test their density, flicking the outside to judge the sound they made. The one he was holding now was the ripe one of the decision, the one he wanted to buy, but the two women were making this infinitely difficult for him.
Occasionally, they would stop to just giggle and continue conducting their own melon tests, but as soon as Alfons opened his mouth to ask to make a purchase, they went off again. Their discussion was completely infantile and totally irrelevant; it didn’t involve work or recent financial troubles, but something Alfons was entirely dismissive of: romance. The swapping of spit and bodily fluids was enough to make the blond gag, always instilling in him an image as similar and disgusting as that fisherman wading through fish guts.
Why was he ‘blessed’ with such an imaginative and bold mind, able to conjure up the most disturbing images for himself?
Masochism, probably.
Just as the rail girl scoffed and began speaking of another outlandish adventure she had gallivanting with some unfortunate soul, he put his foot down.
”Will the both of you kindly shut your damn yaps?” it had started with a fairly kind tone, immediately descending into one filled with animosity. That breech in conduct had made him want to slam the melon down on the stand to emphasis his point, and it took every ounce of his strength not to in order to preserve the large fruit.
Both women gasped in abject horror, freeze framing to stare between themselves and then walking off without buying or taking a thing. As he leaned forward to make his purchase, he heard the large one stammer a “well I never” before fading off completely.
His victory granted him simultaneous relief and remorse. Though he disliked to think of anyone romantically, he still tried his best to be at least a little more polite around women and acting as he had was extremely uncouth. Even the owner of the stand thought so, snatching the money from Alfons’ hand with a scowl. …Or, perhaps he looked that way naturally, the way his mouth sagged seem to denote a life time of angry looks. Either way, he decided to get away from that particular stand as fast as he could and continue his shopping on a lighter note.
There were many a thing at the farmer’s market, but mostly imported food from Amies. Aimes being on the water, it wasn’t great farming territory and had to get most of its natural crops from its sister, only a short distance away across the water. Other venues were present, such as magazine racks with news from other areas and clothes that were one of a kind and hand knitted, that sort of thing. Regardless of the other draws, Alfons was on a specific food hunt as these markets were the only ones that had food suitable for him. What with the main food of Aimes being fish, he was barely able to function properly.
Vegetarians always had it hard.
Melon swinging noisily in its paper bag, Alfons passed one of the magazine racks and skimmed briefly. Nothing of interest presented itself so he continued on--only to double take and walk backwards toward it again.
A Howl of Terror - The Mystery Continues!
Where Have They Gone? A Chain of Missing Pets!
Paw Print Found, 12” Wide!
”We want it dead or alive,” Says Council
Large Dog Sightings, A Nuisance of a Stray or Big Trouble?
They were all referring to the same thing.
No accompanying photos but they were all the main articles, right on the front page. All the visual aid they had were hand drawn depictions, each one different from the last. One showed the best as an actual dog, foam dripping from its maw while another looked like something more akin to a yeti. Alfons couldn’t take any of it seriously and yet, at the exact same time as he was mentally debunking all of these tabloids and pegging them as trash, he kept thinking back to the bottle.
That horrid, nasty, detestable bottle that had gone missing but couldn’t manage to leave him alone at every turn. The slight bags forming beneath his eyes from nightmares creeping up after its disappearance could attest to that.
One last picture of a gigantic, shadowy beast pouncing on some poor unsuspecting human on one of the covers caught his eye before he tore himself away and continued to the stand selling corn.
After that terrible finding, he sped through his shopping like there was no tomorrow, stocking up more than normal but also limiting where he shopped. In the end, he had acquired an entire bag’s worth of corn, a few more melons, some apples, carrots and a large bag of grains. The walk back home was long but he succeeded and got himself there within the hour. There had been a delay in when they were required to come into work due to construction and he took that time to do some shopping he hadn’t had time for recently.
Now, however, was the time to arrive and so he straightened himself up, checked up on Ferdinand, and began the next trek.
The headlines of the tabloids were still swimming fresh in his mind, swirling about like a cloud of gnats.
Aimes Atlas’ first floor was a wreck, people scattered everywhere and work being done. He barely noticed, though, going through the stair well completely absent minded of all things. His daze continued right to his cubicle; Alfons turned to enter it but was smacked in the chest with something large, rectangular and made of paper.
A magazine.
”Have you seen this?”
For a moment, he didn’t quite register the question and just stared between Dodge and the object he’d hit him with. Instead of picking up on the actual inquiry, he noticed that his associate’s wrist had healed.
”Cast’s off.”
”No, look,” he pulled the magazine away from Alfons and flipped through it, stopping in the middle and very nearly slapping him in the face with the front page article. ”They’re here!”
”Please, do not show me this,” he bopped the magazine in its spine, moving Dodge’s hands to close it involuntarily and then pushing past him to sit down. There was a lot of work to do to make up for the lost time this morning and he couldn’t do it right if he was distracted by dangerous, nasty things that could be going on a rampage after him.
Dodge scoffed indignantly, rolling the magazine between his hands. ”You’re not even going to look?”
He shook his head, pulling notes he had deposited in his desk side bag out and reading over them.
A dull flop sounded off next to him and he glanced over to see the magazine laying on its front, precariously hanging off the corner. Dodge had walked off by the time Alfons turned but he took the magazine and tucked it in his bag for the return home later that day.
It couldn’t have come soon enough.
Hours of monotonous typing on stories he didn’t care the slightest bit about, reading and rereading, revising every single page he was handed. Underlining mistakes for his own reference, circling others. His profession was a tedious one while behind the desk, and as much as he absolutely loathed it all, he much preferred the cubicle setting to getting out into the field as he would occasionally have to.
The day ended at its normal time and Alfons found himself silently thanking the gods for it not dragging out any longer.
As soon as he walked through his door, the tie was off, folded and placed in the hamper; his suspenders were lowered but his slacks not removed and he placed his bag right beside the couch. It was time to feed Ferdinand and fetch him a fresh setting while removing anything old, disgusting and rotted.
Protective gloves donned, he moved over to the bowl and watched as the snail did its usual slime trail up to the rim to get out of his way. Some crab apple cores were still in there, now blackened and foul smelling, and the leaves had browned and crumpled. The twigs were still alright but he decided to just give him an entirely new set up. Gathering was the same every time; chucking what he’d exhumed into the compose pile he’d started since acquiring the animal, grabbing fallen leaves and twigs from off the ground and plucking off some of the neighbor’s crab apples.
This had become routine.
Once everything was fresh, new, good smelling and changed out, Ferdinand seemed pleased. If he were a bird, Alfons was certain he’d be bouncing excitedly and cheeping like a small chick. Duty done, the gloves took their rightful place in the sink to soak until their next task and Alfons removed his shoes at the front door before setting himself along the couch to relax.
Work busied his mind, mental and physical work, and now that it was over he was finding it easy for his thoughts to drift back to unpleasant places. One in particular reminded him that there was a certain piece of information just waiting to be digested within his bag, sitting on the floor just beside his head.
Alfons grumbled in protest but positioned himself to comfortably pull the bag over the sofa and into his lap, opening and removing the magazine in question. This picture and headline was different from the ones he had read, more threatening: Man Attacked by the Mysterious Hound!.
Pleasant.
Its accompanying picture reminded him of the creature that escaped from the oddities zoo and he briefly pondered if these two creatures were one in the same. The thought eased his mind a little but not enough; it was still attacking humans and getting closer to their area. In fact, this man had been attacked right in Aimes rather than Amies. Whether it was after him or not, he could still get hurt as a bystander.
The article was short for a front pager, but Alfons had come to expect less substance from tabloids. They were, after all, useless trash without any base. Perhaps this was all a stint just to drag in readers, likely a retaliation for the Atlas’ genuinely interesting story about the oddities zoo. Jealousy causing back lash, it was an ugly thing within the media and ever present.
”As big as a horse,” Alfons read aloud skeptically, ”It lunged at me from behind my house last night. I had just gotten home from work…” he paused, suddenly slack jawed. The man that had been attacked, as shown by the accompanying photograph, was hauntingly familiar. So familiar, in fact, he remembered back exactly to when he had biked from the Deith Forest with the bottle and stayed at the inn.
Cruel irony.
The man that had been attacked was the owner of the inn. Alfons had washed himself and the bottle thoroughly upon entering, and now he was beginning to understand.
Before leaving the forest itself, he had planted himself in a dirty mud puddle and fled. The beast must have attempted to follow the scent of the forest as soon as it realized the bottle was missing, which stopped at the inn. After that, it was the scent of the inn that was the strongest and it attempted to track the bottle via that smell. It had been all over the both of them but the one that would smell like the inn the most would have to be its owner. So much time had passed now, though, and the bottle was smelling increasingly strong before its disappearance--like a mangy animal--it would be so easy to trace it back here if the beast really was on the hunt.
A flurry of motion and the magazine fell to the floor, crumpled. The couch nearly tipped over as Alfons leaped over it, lacking in the natural grace to do so without knocking anything down. He had to leave, he had to get somewhere safe… but leaving wasn’t safe. The house was the only thing protecting him from it and it was getting dark by now.
Close the windows, bar the doors, put anything and everything in the way of entry. If there was truly nothing and he was still alive by the morn, he would have difficulty leaving for work but he would risk it if it meant saving his neck.
The couch was pushed against the front door, the dining room table turned on its side and shoved in front of the long row of low windows. There was nothing he could do for the kitchen, nor the few rooms upstairs but he doubted the thing would climb a few feet since it was all technically the ground floor. Once inside, it would matter anyway, he would be dead.
Squeaking nearly made him jump out of his skin but it was only Ferdinand, squirming frantically on the side of his bowl.
”Yes, you, too…” Alfons breathed, clutching the bowl and taking it upstairs. His room would be bad, it wasn’t fortified in the slightest and he felt like it was tainted by the bottle to begin with. The bathroom was the better choice. While in there with Ezekiel when the bottle decided to flip them a giant, metaphysical “******** you”, he had felt considerably safer than anywhere else in the entire house.
Toilet seat down, Ferdinand sat on it and he in the tub with the curtain open only enough so he and the snail could see each other.
The silence that enveloped them was infinite.
Neither of them moved, barely even breathed for the next few hours. They all ticked by like years, seeming slower with nothing to do or look at and the only light being the darkening sky outside. It was black as pitch, now, no stars and broken only by the searing white of the full moon. On its last leg, the moon was going to begin its next cycle the following night and maybe then Alfons would have some peace.
Maybe then he could actually sleep without being plagued by horrible thoughts.
”Do you think its mocking me?” he glanced at the bowl and Ferdinand was staring back with its tiny black eyes. The bathroom light was reflected in them, but also something else. Squinting, he leaned out a little, noting the two red dots mirrored on both of Ferdinand’s eyes.
Before he had time to blink, his head was grabbed and everything went black. The pressure was intense, he could feel the beast’s giant claws all around his skull, squeezing, squishing, and then he was slammed against the porcelain. His arms flailed violently as his body slid down to the middle of the tub, clutching to the siding, the curtain, sections of it snapping off the curtain rod as he yelled incoherently. The pressure on his head was gone, he couldn’t feel any blood and there were no broken tiles in the tub or on the wall. Not even a crack.
Short of breath, Alfons slowly scanned his surroundings and found that the curtain was completely intact and nothing was wrong. Outside was dark, lit only by the full moon, clouds blanketing over any stars. Ferdinand was turned to face him, beady eyes locked.
It was the same.
He had fallen asleep and dreamt that beast attacked him and the entire situation was the same. Heart in his throat, he didn’t dare look to see if Ferdinand’s eyes were reflecting red but he slowly picked himself up and gazed into the wall-length mirror above the sink. Nothing. Just he and the snail.
To make sure the scenario was truly different, he opened up the shower curtain, closed the ones at the small window, opened the linen closet and wetted the floor in front of the door.
If the beast was going to try a sneak attack like that, he wouldn’t allow his dream to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:17 pm
Headlines! part two Darkest black with billowing clouds, it had grown ever darker as the night continued on. All of his lights were still on, as far as Alfons could tell, but they provided little solace. His bathroom haven was acting more like prison now; every few minutes, his eyes would droop and he would lean forward only to have his face stuck in the top of Ferdinand’s bowl, waking him.
He couldn’t fall asleep again, no matter how much his body needed it. Hours had passed since his initial nightmare and it was surely in the hours nearing dawn--when night was at its darkest. Peeking through the trees and his window was the moon, taunting him. It had grown more yellow as the night went on, clouds rarely covering it despite their number and thickness,. There was a definite gap from them around the moon that wasn’t appearing elsewhere in the night sky.
It was disturbing.
The only comfort he was finding at that moment was that the night would be ending soon. Even the fact he was truly not alone at that moment provided little reassurance, likely because his companion was a bloody snail instead of a sentient human.
In all the hours he sat in the tub twitching, rocking to keep himself alert and awake, nothing had occurred. The silence was infinitely frightening by itself and so he had taken Ferdinand’s glass housing from the toilet and brought it into the tub with him to hug. His train of thought was to have it act as a security blanket. It didn’t work.
Alfons’ attention was constantly split between the bathroom window and the space beneath the door. When he had left it, the living room, dining room and kitchen lights were on. The only light on that wasn’t on the ground floor, however, was the bathroom. Briefly, he wondered if there were anything movable within the room he could block the door with as he had done to several places downstairs. The window was too small for anything to really get through, much less something with a foot-wide paw print, but the door was another story.
His house was old, likely flimsy, and the door wasn’t any more than about six inches wide. One well placed punch, kick or ram from the best and it would come crumpling down like a felled tree in a hurricane.
Pointlessly, he looked to the snail and pressed his finger to his lips before gingerly setting the bowl down in front of him. There was only one thing that could be moved and it was right above their heads. Alfons stood, pulling the curtain softly to one side and looked to the screws keeping it in place. It was long, more than half the length of the entire room, and if he could get it out of the holders then there would be no need for tools, so he set to work, pulling and maneuvering, trying every which way to release the pole. Some minutes later, there was success from one side and he nearly toppled out of the tub due to the sudden weight when it released completely.
Before anything, he removed the curtain itself from the rod and placed it diagonally across the door from one corner of the room to the other. The curtain would serve its own purpose as a sort of trap and he draped it over the rod, clipping its holdings to the frame of the door, as well as what he could do the rod itself. It wouldn’t quite act as a barrier but, if the beast was small enough, it would ram into the door, break it and smack against the pole, which would no doubt bend, and send him tumbling into the curtain to be caught.
A full proof plan it was not but, if things turned out well, he would be given a second or two to start fleeing. Ferdinand would have to stay behind, in such an event. He wasn’t fond enough of the little creature to risk his own neck for it.
Yet.
He sighed, relieved by his plan, however makeshift and ill-conceived it may have been, and looked back to Ferdinand for confirmation. The snail was hiding inside its shell.
”What’s the matter with you, then?” his first assumption was sleeping and he felt a pang of jealousy that the snail could be so simple minded to not be plagued with nightmares.
Clearly, however, this was an incorrect notion as the huge clamor downstairs provided a different reason.
Alfons was frozen stiff. It sounded as though a horse had just kicked a wall down on the lower level. Another loud crash confirmed the location--the kitchen--as the noise originated directly to his left.
Fear, intense fear as he had never felt in his entire life, no matter how many phobias he had developed or how terrible his neurosis was, this was nothing like that. The fear of death was overwhelming and he was certain he could already feel people walking over his grave. Shuddering, his shaky hands managed to get some of their feeling back to reach for the light switch and envelope his single room of safety in a black abyss.
Temptation struck after several minutes; whatever or whoever was downstairs was shuffling around like a lunatic, not bothering to mask their noise or be careful in the slightest. Several times he heard silverware crash to the floor as drawers were no doubt pulled from their holdings and plates smashed against the tile floor. It sounded now like the thing was in the front room, where his couch was now sitting as a blockade. Only now did he realize he had forgotten to do a thing with the coffee table and could have used it to help himself feel more safe in this room. The temptation, yes, temptation to look and confirm all of his fears.
With the light already off, he felt little apprehension in doing so but played around with the idea. To open the door would either mean certain death at the hands of the beast or becoming so terrified that he would simply drop dead on his own. This he knew, this he believed, but he couldn’t very well dance around it.
There was no escape.
Both hands slowly clamped around the door knob, pausing to make sure there was no change in the activity outside, and they turned so carefully that the door coming open couldn’t have been heard even in perfect silence. Without squeaking hinges, it seemed his obsessive nature could actually be a life saver.
Mess spewed out from the kitchen, forks, knives, gigantic messy foot prints. It all lead to a hulking shadow scuttling about the same piece of furniture he wished he had procured; the coffee table. Whatever it was, it was sniffing at the table like made, pressing its face against it and inhaling deeply only to take shorter, faster breathes elsewhere on it. Soon, it’s attention drifted elsewhere, to sniffing the air around the table.
It paused and Alfons flinched, pulling the door shut once again before it managed to spot him. He had seen it, though. Its red eyes.
The timing of his retreat could not have been better as his few stairs creaked under the beasts terrible weight. Sniffing sounds continued, first distant and then right under the door. Alfons shuffled backward, trying to be quiet, but it just kept trying to stick its nose further under. Another noise tore through the air like a gun shot and all other sounds ceased. It was further from him than the beast and it, too, seemed confused by the sound.
Colossal footsteps moved from his hide away as growling now accompanied the beast. The same noise came again, this time clearer--it was a ripping, tearing noise like from fabric. At first, it came out strained and there was a gap between them but it quickly picked up in frequency and was soon joined by not only the beast growling but also grunts.
All stealth either of the things had tried for between them was destroyed. Clashing, snarling, slamming, a fight had broken out and it was right in his house, in his bed room. Every sound of something breaking he could name; the lamp smashed against the floor, his dresser tumbling and crashing against the wooden boards, one of his windows shattered entirely while his desk crumpled under some monstrous weight. In the midst of it all, he could only think back to the forest again. It was exactly like the battle he and Dodge had interrupted, as fierce and as frightening.
This time, however, it ended with a yelp and a whimper.
One last thing fell loudly to the floor and the house shook from its force, but all was silent after.
Seconds, minutes, hours, Alfons couldn’t tell how long he stood in the dark, dumbfounded and too scared to step out. Only after he returned to full reality did he glance back at Ferdinand who was only just coming back out of his shell.
Did that mean it was safe?
Should it be chanced?
If he put it off and waited, they would both waste away in a s**t hole.
He grabbed the curtain and tore it away, letting it fall to the floor like trash. The decision may have been stupid but he was at least going to bring something, anything to try and defend himself with. Alfons’ fingers curled around the curtain rod as he pulled it away from its holding. It was all he had.
Without daring to turn on the light, he opened the door warily. His bedroom door, directly across the hall, had been destroyed as easily as he had surmised and was nearly in two pieces. In front of it, laying at the center of his room, was the hulking thing. His body was so numb he couldn’t even feel his heart beat but one look at his chest told him it was going a mile a minute, and so was his breathing. It was a wonder he hadn’t passed out from hyperventilation yet or had a panic attack, though he could feel his head swimming at the onset it went no further.
In his room, the beast was motionless, not even breathing. The closer he got, the more he noticed ripped tufts of fur, blood spattering the area, and his mattress ripped into pieces. Claw marks were strewn across it, fluff and springs sticking out angrily with dark flecks strewn about.
There, at his foot, was the yellow glass stopper of the bottle. Shards of it lay between chunks of mattress. It was broken, destroyed. In all the time he had taken to sift through his room, take it apart and put it back together he hadn’t even bothered to look inside his own mattress.
Light shifted outside, moonlight seeping in through the windows lining his bedroom wall and revealing the beast’s form. It was slightly exaggerated, not quite the size of a horse but the paws definitely looked as wide as advertised. It was simultaneously wolfish and like a bear, all black fur now shining in some places from wounds Alfons couldn’t place. Its hind legs were double jointed but seemed suited to both fours and two legged travel. Something else was strange, too: the way it was laying, it seemed like it had a third arm, one much smaller and possibly vestigial.
He was bracing completely for the beast to raise its head and issue a killing blow in one swift motion but nothing came. Finally, as he confirmed its death, the true reality swept over him and he crumpled to his knees. Something had killed it and either it had escaped or it was still in there with him.
The vibration of his collision with the floor stirred something.
Beneath the beast, the small, extra limb that had been as flat and lifeless as the rest of it suddenly turned rigid and dug its black claws into the wood, pulling back and curling some of the top layer with it.
He was not alone.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:19 pm
Headlines! conclusion Whatever had killed the thing was still in there, with him, trying to get out from under the felled creature.
Claws dug into the wood, one free arm attempting to pull the rest of it from beneath the hulking form. Slowly, inch by inch, it managed to free its other arm which mimicked its counterpart; tugging, pulling, twisting. When it was free up to its elbows, Alfons could hear labored breathing and soft grunts. Whatever it was sounded and looked much smaller compared to what it had killed.
That didn't make it any less dangerous.
Letting out a muted whimper, Alfons pulled himself to his feet, forgetting the curtain rod. The kitchen was open to him now and he had an assortment of knives, all of various lengths and sharpness. A meat cleaver would be perfect defending against such a creature and he resolved to fetch it.
Without turning to look back at the creature's progress, the blond rushed out of his bedroom, not forgetting to trip over the rod on the way out, and down the stairs. Up close, the damage to the kitchen was much less than it had sounded like but a peak into the next room over alerted him as to why--a large hole had been made in the wall where a window once was, paneling and glass strewn all about the floor. If he had more time to prepare, he would have begun fretting about prices for repairs but this was life or death!
He kicked away at the wrong utensils, an assortment of spoons open to him but utterly useless to his cause. For a moment, he tried to remember if he even had a cleaver to begin with. Why the hell would he? He wasn't a meat eater, he wasn't even qualified as a vegetarian but that was the closest thing he could think of. Damn him and his ways, the only thing even close to a meat cleaver was a long and sharp knife. It would do fine for stabbing, at least. Grabbing the weapon off the ground after kicking it free, Alfons held it close to his chest and slowly, carefully, began ascending the stairs once more.
He kept away from his room, back pointed toward the bathroom so he could just dodge back in and block the door as originally intended if the strange monster managed to free itself and was still feeling murderous. With this one's smaller size, it couldn't possible break through the door so easily. Then again, it had just killed something three times its size in a matter of minutes.
Logic seemed to be gone by this point.
Clouds in the sky were beginning to disperse, allowing the yellow light of the full moon to wash down over everything and illuminate the night. The night sky was turning from a dark and terrible blackness to a menagerie of purples, pinks and oranges. Street lamps were still on, not quite light enough for them to be shut down yet, and their light seeped in through his broken window. It made the beast and its killer all the more shadowed, like living (and dead) silhouettes--featureless.
The thing was out half way now, its back arching up while it tried to pull itself further. The more it tried, the more desperate it became, scratching and clawing with little awareness as to what would help its escape.
Was it actually trapped or trying to lure him in close for an attack?
It became resolute as he approached it again and tried to pry itself free with a large pull ending in it yelping, flopping forward limply after. It wasn't just caught, it was injured, helpless. This gave Alfons the perfect opportunity to strike--kill it before it killed him.
With little to frighten him now, he held the chopping knife with a steadied hand and crept into his room. The floor creaked horribly under his weight but the creature paid him little mind, too concerned with attempting to worm its way out without causing too much pain to itself. As he got closer, he raised the thick weapon above his head, ready to come down on the creature's neck as soon as it was positioned properly. Its point hovered over the thing's neck, its spine just waiting to be skewered.
And then it turned to him, a yellow and blue eye glowing in the early dawn light, staring up at him with a willful plea.
Help.
Alfons was frozen.
This wasn't a creature, some monstrous beast filled with blood lust and intent to kill. It was a child. Unkempt black hair tussled and in his face, reaching down to his shoulders; dark russet skin that became darker down his arms until his fingers were as black as his own long nails--they had to be claws.
Now he was shaking again.
A child had killed this thing? This thing that had destroyed his home and had every intention and the power to kill him? It wasn't logical, couldn't possibly be true, but there he was staring it right in the face, muscles still prepared to bring the cleaver down if the child attacked. Logic was gone.
It was at that moment, something clicked.
Stuck in the young boy's hair was something shiny, something dark blue and reflective like the pieces of glass bottle scattered around his destroyed mattress. "...Did you kill that?" he could barely speak, his words only coming as a whisper.
The child whimpered in response and impatiently clawed at the floor.
Shakily, he lowered his weapon and set it on the floor by his feet. Monstrous or not, it seemed like the child had no ill will towards him and wasn't intending on killing him, much less causing him harm. He reached forward and grabbed the shoulder of the beast and attempted to pull it away from the child. This took several tries until he was able to put all of his body weight behind it, but he was able to roll the dead creature off and allow the child to pull himself free.
Naked.
He was completely naked. Similar to his arms, his legs grew darker the closer they got to his feet which, unlike his hands, were black, furred dog paws from the ankle down. Slightly down his back, too, there was a dark patch that formed into a long black tail--a wolf's, distinctly.
The child pulled himself free, letting one leg drag against the floor instead of using it to help distance himself from Alfons and the dead creature. It was twisted slightly right above the pad--Alfons couldn't tell if it was sprained or broken--and the creature child seemed confused about it but knew messing with it would cause pain.
This was it, then. The only explanation he could think of and, like everything else since he'd gone into Deith Forest, logic had disappeared.
The bottle that he had stolen on a whim from that terrible place, it had simultaneously endangered him and saved his life. This child, this wolf thing, was born from the bottle. It was so obvious now; the terrible feeling he would get when it was around, always like he was being watched and something terrible was going to happen, and then the sudden smell of animal. It was apparent to him, now, that the eyes and the dreaded spectre that occasionally showed itself inside of the bottle had been none other than this animal boy.
Outside, the street lamps turned off. Dawn was here and going. He carefully picked the child up and brought him to the bathroom, setting him on the large sink counter. One of the cabinets held a first-aid kit which he would use to bandage all of the boy's cuts and splint the foot.
There would be no way he could work and leave this kid in his house alone, and he definitely couldn't bring him to work. Only one option remained--Ezekiel.
Alfons removed the bandages from the box and ran the child's leg under cool, then warm water. Drying it off with a wash cloth, he unraveled the roll and began spinning it around the injury. There was no cut, just a sprain he noted as he felt around it, but everywhere else he could see cuts and scrapes, and there would no doubt be bruising all along his body. It was impossible for him to tell if the injuries were from the monster or him bursting out of the bottle.
"Do you have a name?" he glanced at the boy who was digging his claws into the counter, eyes locked onto Alfons' hands rather than his own eyes.
Something twitched in the boy's hair when he spoke, a sort of swivel motion, and he noticed that on either side of his head, where there should have been human ears, there were elongated and furred animal ears. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if the boy was mute and couldn't understand a word. It seemed the latter was accurate, as he locked eyes with Alfons but didn't say anything. Not even a nod or a headshake, not a responsive look in his eyes, just a neutral expression.
"Suppose not..."
Bandaged up, cuts cleaned and covered, the blond helped the boy off of the counter. He held onto the counter top to keep himself steady, not putting any weight onto the injured leg at first but then applying minimal pressure. An experimental step and he quickly determined whether or not he could walk or not; the boy limped one, two, three steps forward before letting go of the counter and meandering out of the bathroom. All the while, Alfons could hear him breathing in short gasps through his nose.
Sniffing?
Alfons stood there, entranced by the child's mannerisms, and observed as he proceeded through the hall, sniffing at walls, doors, anything he hadn't seen or smelled yet, and all the while actively avoiding the bedroom.
A pang of guilt suddenly struck the man; he had stolen this child out of his natural habitat and, because of it, he had been injured and become a murderer all in the same instance of his very birth. Self defense was a worthy and noble cause, but the weight would carry on Alfons' shoulders and maybe the boy's when he finally understood what he had done.
Until then, he needed to make up for this travesty. He had to take the boy to see Ezekiel.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:22 pm
Too True for Tabloids
Konstantin & Alfons
Henry & Ezekiel
After the scare in Alfons' home and the discovery of the strange wolf-child from the bottle, Alfons has no other option but to contact the only person he could vaguely consider a friend but disbelief is easy to come across when you come off as a raving lunatic.
------ The walk back was as confusing as the walk forward. Wrapped once again in his torn up sheets, the Dust padded haphazardly through the grass as directed by the firm hands upon his shoulders. There was a hole in the sheet now, over his blue eye, but it made no difference to him navigating when he had absolutely no idea where anything was or where they were going. His passage of time was skewed, the trip feeling much shorter but also as if it were dragging on. Whenever he moved his head to glance back at the blond leading him, the man, Alfons, steadied his shoulders and kept them moving forward.
When they returned to the broken, single story home, he was allowed to remove the sheet. Konstantin hurried inside, dodging the broken glass and debris from the kitchen wall, and Alfons set to work on making nothing else had been damaged or stolen while they were gone.
In the light of morning, the damage was much easier to see and from the other room, Kon heard a frustrated wail. The child scurried to the door frame on all fours, huddling close and leaning out to peek out. Alfons was pacing, hands gripping his thick hair, face flushed. Konstantin huddled closer to the edge of the room, dark fingers wrapping around the door frame so that his claws clicked against the wood. In his pacing, the man who he had saved and who had saved him turned quickly on his heel and stepped in front of a small table in the corner of the living room. Upon it was a strange, cylindrical object with an oddly shaped top and a protrusion on its side. He plucked off the part hanging on its side and leaned against the table. Two fingers tapped where the weird tube had been hanging before he brought the object to his ear.
"Operator? Yes. I need to get in contact with a building contractor. It's urgent."
Black, furry ears on either side of Kon's head twitched at the subtle sound that came from the thing Alfons was speaking into. His mismatched eyes were wide as his head tilted slowly one way, then the other. There was a slight buzzing noise, an irritating static for just a few short moments, which was followed by a click. Kon's head tilted the other way.
"Hello? This is Alfons Wieczorek, in Aimes. Are you available for work out here? No, I'm further inland. Yes. No, this isn't to build something new. I need you to rebuild something that was damaged. My home. One of the walls was completely obliterated by a--" Alfons nearly choked, causing Kon's ears to perk. He hadn't quite gotten to the part about explaining the giant werebeast still lounging, dead, on his bedroom floor in his mind. He swallowed hard. "--a - a bear, I suppose. Colossal thing. No, I don't know what it was doing! Look, just tell me if it's doable for you or if I should take my business elsewhere. My kitchen's a complete wreck and there's a gaping hole in the side of my house where anyone could just waltz on through. I need this fixed!"
As Alfons' voice raised, Konstantin hurried across the hardwood floor and up to the bathroom. This place felt safe. It was where his ankle had been patched up and easily compared to a cozy den. He wasted no time in climbing into the bath tub, shower curtain strewn on the floor. The chill surprised him and he let out a muffled yelp of surprise before hunkering down and getting comfortable. It didn't take long for the porcelain to begin soaking up and redistributing his body heat and, though the surface was far from soft, he was able to nuzzle comfortably into a corner.
Today had been exhausting. Like a newborn babe, Konstantin easily drifted off to sleep while the shouting over the telephone was drowned out by the angles of the house.
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:26 pm
Learning
kon learns words
dressing
eating
no baths oh my god
lol kon stop cussing like alfons
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:27 pm
The Cellar
discover cellar
adopt as hide out
awesome s**t
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:29 pm
Hunt
be outside
find some seagulls
get that b***h a seagull
bitches love seagulls
commence alfons freak out in 3...
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:40 pm
Friend
kon steals ferdinand
hide under alfons' bed
play around and slime up the floor
alfie's none the wiser but tells kon to put him back
obviously he's become surprisingly attached
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Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2011 1:41 pm
Ye Old Sea Dogs
Konstantin
Xii
summary summary summary
------
reflection//
kon gets a stern talking to
alfons cleans up his scratches
puts him to bed
fondness??? It was after dark when the wolf child limped his way home, covered in scrapes and sporting a slightly twisted ankle. Sand was clumped in his hair, wet and otherwise, and the grains stuck between the pads of his feet uncomfortably but he pushed through it. Despite the discomfort and stinging of his minor injuries from the salt water, Konstantin held a triumphant grin.
He had a damn good time wrestling with that fish boy, even if he didn't seem to enjoy it.
His claws gripped the top of the fence, young arms hefting himself up easily though he got a few more scrapes on the way down into the backyard. The lights were off, save for the one in Alfons' room. Keeping to the shadows, Kon padded along on all fours and crouched beside the new sliding door that was installed in lieu of an entire wall once the repair men came out. Perhaps, if he were lucky, the door would still be unlocked. Gently, his fingers pressed against the glass and there was a subtle tap from his claws. He hesitated, ears alert for any sound inside, but he heard nothing. Putting pressure into his palms against the door, Konstantin attempted to inch the door slightly to the side.
Success! It slid just enough, with nary a squeak, for him to slip his fingers between the space and get a better grip. Slowly, steadily, the door slid with nary a sound and the Dust child slipped in through the crack easily before taking hold of the latch and pulling the door shut once more. Kon paused, about to take a step away, but his hands traced back up towards the latch and navigated the darkness until he found the lock, which he turned with a dull click. The sound made him wince, but not as much as a palm smacking the top of his head.
Konstantin yelped shrilly, hair standing on end as he leaped and skidded across the tiled floor until he was backed into a corner. Eyes wide and wild, his entire body shivered. With a subtle click, a small gaslight turned on that was placed at the center of the kitchen table
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