(no subject)
MELLLL. JULESSSSS. I FINISHED THE CHAPTER BB'S!!
Hope you like it! Also, one to two chapters away (at most) from Oliver and Thalia's big meet up! So... that's exciting. :D
CHAPTER SEVEN
The older man standing before us was tall and thin, a whisp of a man who was beginning to hunch over a bit at the waist. He wore a flannel coat slung over his overalls and his white hair was badly in need of a cut, sticking out from beneath a frayed ball cap. In short he was every old man from back home I'd ever known, different in only one, quite important way: none of those other men had ever pointed a gun at me.
I looked to Asher to gauge his reaction, only to see that not only was he not frightened, he looked ready to fight. I realized in a flash that he wouldn't know what a gun could do; this was probably the first one he'd ever seen. I grabbed his arm his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.
“Please,” I said, putting out my other hand in a gesture for him to lower the gun. “Enough with the gun pointing. We're just..” I paused, looking for the right word. “Visitors.”
The man lowered the gun several inches and tilted his head as if thinking.
“You here for the door?” he asked. His accent matched his overalls: southern as southern could be. Still there was something almost soothing about him, something so very familiar.
“We are,” I said, ignoring Asher's pointed look to keep my mouth closed.
The old man stared at us, sizing up both of us one long moment. Finally he lowered his gun.
“You'll have to forgive me,” he said, ducking his head and looking almost bashful. With a start I realized why he seemed so familiar: he reminded me of my grandfather who had passed away when I was seven. I could remember sitting on his knee the year before he died, maryjane's swinging back and forth as he told some outlandish story. He had kept gum in his overall's pocket and always smelled faintly of tobacco and sweat and I had loved him for it, and missed him still. In an instant my heart softened towards the old man in front of me even as Asher seemed to coil tighter, ready to charge.
“We don't get much visitors 'round here no more, and we've had some folks starting trouble down by the Tipton's place, you understand.”
“And you're like neighborhood watch?” I asked, smiling so he wouldn't think I was making too much fun. He nodded at me seriously and adjusted his ball cap with the hand not holding the gun.
“I keep the Door. Been doing it as long as I can remember and I reckon I'll be doing it for a spell longer.” He stuck out a hand, first to Asher and then to me when Asher simply stared him down instead of shaking with him. I put my hand out, surprised at how strong the well worn hand enveloping my own was.
“Name's Cratus. Cratus Finley. I keep horses down at my farm towards the end of the street there.” He gestured with his head to the farm I had noticed earlier and released my hand.
“I'm Gracie,” I said. “And this is Asher. We're...” there was no ignoring the hard look Asher gave me this time. It was clear: he thought I was giving out too much information. I couldn't blame him for not trusting the old man. All of this must have been so strange and unfamiliar to him. He couldn't have felt the way I did looking at this community; the sheer relief I felt from being out of those dark, strange woods. Still, a little trust in me would be nice. I wasn't stupid after all.
“Travelers,” I finished quickly, realizing I'd been thinking instead of finishing my sentence. “Just travelers looking for the door. Can you take us there?”
The man, Cratus (Lord what a name), took off his ball cap and scratched his head, thinking. He looked at us both, from Asher to me and back again, lingering on Asher's distrusting face, before finally putting his hat back on and nodding.
“I think I can do that. Reckon you all ought to stop and stay a bit, rest up while I tend your horse there.”
Asher shook his head.
“No, we can't stay. We're in a hurry,” I wondered if he was really thinking of Selene or if he was just trying to get us away from the old man as soon as possible. His face gave nothing away this time.
“I'm afraid I'll have to insist. I rarely get visitors anymore and by the by I won't be walking out to the door until morning time, so you might as well settle in a bit.”
Asher opened his mouth to argue with him but Cratus was having none of it. He turned on his heel, shot gun up over his shoulder, and started walking down the street without us. I looked at Asher only to see he was shaking his head even before I turned to him.
“We don't know him,” he said, not even bothering to whisper.
I looked back at Cratus's frame, which was disappearing quickly despite the limp. The horse tugged on it's tie in my hand, looking at the space where the door had been as if it longed for the forest, even though we'd had to force it to take us there in the first place. Were they both crazy? Surely, even if there was something bad about this place it couldn't be as bad as wondering around a bunch of trees until we died of starvation or boredom. Surely there couldn't be anything too bad about a world so familiar.
But I knew none of those thoughts would work on Asher, so instead I turned his own words from earlier around on him.
“What choice do we have?” I asked, and stepped towards the old man's retreating shadow. “He knows where the door is and we don't. He probably has food and a place to rest and hey, we don't. At the very least we should let him feed and water No Name.”
“Who's No Name?”
“The horse.”
Asher sighed. I bit my lip.
“I don't have a very good feeling about this Gracie,” Asher said. I ignored him and took another step towards the farm, the tie to the horse pulling taut. Asher looked from me to No Name as if he was trying to decide which of us was being more rational. Finally he sighed again.
“All right. We'll stop to feed the horse. But that's it. No...”
But I was already walking away, so Asher trailed off, and after a moment I heard heavy, possibly angry, steps behind me. No Name reluctantly followed us both, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he'd allowed himself to get into.
I couldn't see Asher but from the slow footsteps behind me imagined he must have felt the same.
The moment we walked up to the farmhouse, I immediately felt at home. It was that lovely. It stood two stories and was a soft yellow, faded only enough by the sun to look lived in and not sterile. A cherry red Chevrolet truck was parked in the driveway and what looked like an electric fence separated the horses from the yard. It was like something out of a postcard, one of those that they sold at the local drugstore (or had, before the bigger chains had bought them out, not that I'd remembered those days personally but whatever). Finishing the picturesque view was Cratus, standing at the bottom step to the porch and rubbing what must have been his sore hip. The shotgun was propped up beside the porch railing, forgotten.
He pulled down the bill of his hat in our direction, tipping it gracefully. I raised a hand at him in return, surprised at the swell of goodwill that over took my heart when I did so. Though I didn't understand it, I didn't fight it either. I loved this place already. As strange as it was, and I'd never tell this to Asher whose face was marked with his distrust, the tiniest bit of me wished I could stay, well, forever. Or at least a long time.
Cratus met us a few feet from the porch, one wrinkled but strong hand out for the horse's tie. I passed it over without a thought. He took a minute to pet No Name's side, continuing even when the horse shook his head and took a step back.
“A fine horse you got here, nice and strong,” Cratus said, then paused a moment before going on, as if looking for the right words. After a second he continued. “There's food inside on the table. I'd just finished it when I saw the lights go off down the street. You're more than welcome...”
“May we go inside?” I interrupted. It had been nearly a day since I'd ate and the idea of a table full of food was just too much, I couldn't help myself.
Instead of being put off however, he smiled, as if pleased that I'd asked.
“A course,” he said, and his smile just seemed to grow wider until it looked like it might crack on the edges. “Feel free to partake of anything you see. I'll be back soon.”
He walked off with the horse, leaving Asher and I alone on the front porch. We watched him walk all the way over to a small gate in the fence and then beyond that fence to a small barn. The other horses gazed on from the field, silent and unmoving. A small ripple moved through me, my first shiver of fear touching the base of my spine. It was easy to shake off however and by the time I'd pushed open the door the feeling was already forgotten, buried somewhere in the back of my mind where it couldn't hurt me.
I stepped into the house, and Asher reluctantly followed.
Cratus hadn't been kidding when he'd said there was plenty of food. The table was brimming with it: fried chicken, corn on the cob, steaming pots of mashed potatoes and gravy, a basket of rolls, and, off to the side, a pie with golden brown crust. I stared in disbelief, my mouth watering as I took it all in. Though it had only been one day since I'd ate I had to fight the urge to lunge at the table and start shoving food in my mouth. Hungry wasn't the word for it. I was suddenly ravenous, and too tired to question my feelings.
I looked at Asher only to see him looking at the table of food with a wary slant to his eyes, as if he expected a monster to suddenly form out of the chicken and mashed potatoes. I turned away from him just as quick and made my way to the table. The guy was growing on me, but there was no way I was going to let him ruin this. I grabbed a plate off the adjacent counter and began to fill it with food as Asher watched silently, thinking. After a moment he didn't argue with me, which was surprising, but instead took a plate as well and began to pile food upon it.
We ate in relative silence, with only the sounds of our smacking lips and my occasional groan of pleasure filling the room (I like food, what can I say?). After a mere five minutes we had already consumed one plateful and were working on another. After another five I was slicing a piece of apple pie for my desert.
Once I had my pie in my hand, I began to feel full enough to start functioning fully again. For the first time since we'd entered the house I started to look around me and see the place we were in, and what I saw only made me feel better about staying. It looked exactly like most of the houses back home, only nicer, with clean beige walls and wooden floors. The kitchen had a border of bright red apples, which matched the hand towel that was draped next to the sink on a hook and the fixtures on the cabinets. From somewhere not too far off, a tv or a radio played soft bluegrass.
I couldn't help myself, my curiosity was too much. I had to see the rest of this house. I sat my pie down on it's little saucer on the counter and stepped through the doorway into a softly lit living room. From the squeak of the chair and the sound of footsteps behind me, I knew Asher was following me.
The living room was just as nice, with one large flowered couch and a loveseat. Several lamps let soft light into the room and in the corner was a television (not a radio, I noted) playing music.
I stepped over to the TV, reaching for the large round button that seemed to be the channel changer, but everywhere I flipped there was the same picture: a man in a rocking chair with a banjo in his lap playing that same soft music. I started to straighten when I saw something lying on the floor behind the television and stopped cold. It was the plug to the TV, lying there forgotten.
It wasn't even plugged in.
“Um, Asher,” I said, and in a shot the feeling from earlier was back in full force, crawling up my spine and resting in my ears until they began to buzz from fear. He stepped up next to me and looked in the direction I was looking.
“What? What is it?”
Asher didn't understand how these things worked and I couldn't blame him for that, but in that moment I still could have strangled him I was so frustrated.
“It's supposed to be plugged in. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't be working!”
I took off towards the nearest lamp, my hands trailing down the cord until the unplugged end was in my hands. I looked at the brightly burning bulb and back to the cord in disbelief. Fear cemented itself in my stomach, all other emotions bleeding away. It was like being woken while sleepwalking. My good feelings about this place, about Cratus, they had felt so real but in that moment I was painfully aware that it had all been a sham.
“We should... we need to get out of here,” I said, turning to Asher. To my surprise, he didn't question me, didn't ask why I suddenly had a change of heart. He just nodded swiftly and turned towards the door. He had felt this way the whole time, and had been waiting for me to catch up.
We made a beeline for the door, only to see Cratus already standing there in the doorway, holding his shotgun casually in one hand. We stopped cold about six feet from him, with Asher to my side and slightly in front of me. His arm was out as if he could protect me with it, and I felt the strangest urge to take his hand in my own. I swallowed down the feeling and instead crossed my arms over my chest, embracing myself. Anything to keep my shaking hands from being visible.
Cratus smiled, but he didn't set down his shotgun like I hoped he would. Instead he removed his hat and scratched his head with the back of his hand. White hair stood straight up until he looked like a crazy man. The kind old man facade was starting to slip around the edges; there was an edge to him now that I was sure hadn't been there before. His eyes were drawn down to beady little slits and he kept licking what were now blood red lips as he took several steps towards us, the shotgun at his side but never forgotten.
“We need to leave,” I blurted out, before he could say anything. Cratus stopped a couple of feet ahead of us, still smiling. I went on, trying my best to sound convincing, “We had a great time, really. We appreciate everything. But we're just in such a hurry and we really need to find that door. So... you know...”
I trailed off looking at him, his eyes growing darker as I watched until, in the dim light from the lamps, they looked coal black with no whites. He licked his lips again, a long swipe of his red tongue, his smile never breaking.
“It's been so long,” he said, with real longing in his voice. “So long since I've had any visitors. And I've been so hungry...”
“Show us the door,” Asher demanded, his voice calm with no hint of fear. He was the hero for a reason, I supposed.
“I'll show you the door,” Cratus said, and while he talked his face almost seemed to shift imperceptibly, as if there was something under the mask of his face that was fighting to get out. He raised the hand that wasn't holding the gun and I was shocked to see it had morphed from the wrinkled, veiny hand I had seen earlier into something far more sinister and claw like.
“But first, let me ask you, did you partake of my hospitality?” he asked, and gestured with his hand to the kitchen. I swallowed thickly, thinking of the hot fried chicken and the creamy mashed potatoes, and how much we both had eaten. My stomach churned, as if it meant to tell on me, and I found myself wishing I hadn't ate any of it... not even one bite.
“No,” Asher said, answering before I could even open my mouth. I looked to him with wide eyes. “We weren't hungry.”
Well, that wasn't a lie we were going to get very far on. In the next room was all the evidence anyone would need to see to the contrary: empty plates and chicken bones and half full bowls of food.
“Is that so,” Cratus sneered, and before either of us could react, he reached past Asher and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me to him.
“It's got to be here,” he hissed and in one smooth movement pulled up my sleeve and wrenched my arm around so he could see my wrist. “All my people are branded afterwards, that's how I know they're mine.”
But there was nothing there (not that I knew what to look for), just unmarked skin all the way up my arm to the elbow. I pulled my arm back just as Asher shoved the old man off of me, and a clawed fingernail grabbed at my skin and pulled. I looked down, sure I was bleeding, only to see there wasn't even a scratch.
I looked back up at Cratus, who at this point was beginning to look frantic. Drool dripped from his lips, which he wiped off with a quick swipe that smeared his face.
“You're mine,” he said, his voice low and deep. “You're mine and I get to keep you. That's the rules.”
Asher pulled me behind him, reaching for his knife, but Cratus barely spared him a second glance. Instead he bolted for the kitchen, tearing around the corner and out of sight.
“Stay!” Asher said, pointing the knife in my direction before running after the old man.
I hesitated in the living room only for a second, my curiosity temporarily overrunning my fear.
“What do you think I am, your dog?” I asked the air, and ran after them both.
I turned the corner into the kitchen to see them both standing there in shock. It took me a moment to understand why, but when I did I was powerless to do anything but gape beside them.
The food on the table was untouched. More than that, the clean plates were sitting on the counter and the mashed potatoes were still steaming, the perfect unblemished trap for hungry travelers. Even the pie was unsliced. There was no evidence we'd even set foot in the room, let alone that we'd ate so much of the food sitting before us.
Cratus turned on us, a murderous look in his eyes. In the bright kitchen light it was easier to see his transformation: his eyes were dark black, his skin thin and protruding at odd angles on his face. He opened his mouth to reveal an uneven row of fanged teeth, sharp as the knife Asher held at his side. A deep growl erupted from that mouth, but Asher didn't even flinch back from it.
“I don't care about the brand and I don't care about the food. You came here and you're mine,” Cratus said, and with no more preamble than that he raised the gun and shot straight at me.
Hope you like it! Also, one to two chapters away (at most) from Oliver and Thalia's big meet up! So... that's exciting. :D
CHAPTER SEVEN
The older man standing before us was tall and thin, a whisp of a man who was beginning to hunch over a bit at the waist. He wore a flannel coat slung over his overalls and his white hair was badly in need of a cut, sticking out from beneath a frayed ball cap. In short he was every old man from back home I'd ever known, different in only one, quite important way: none of those other men had ever pointed a gun at me.
I looked to Asher to gauge his reaction, only to see that not only was he not frightened, he looked ready to fight. I realized in a flash that he wouldn't know what a gun could do; this was probably the first one he'd ever seen. I grabbed his arm his arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.
“Please,” I said, putting out my other hand in a gesture for him to lower the gun. “Enough with the gun pointing. We're just..” I paused, looking for the right word. “Visitors.”
The man lowered the gun several inches and tilted his head as if thinking.
“You here for the door?” he asked. His accent matched his overalls: southern as southern could be. Still there was something almost soothing about him, something so very familiar.
“We are,” I said, ignoring Asher's pointed look to keep my mouth closed.
The old man stared at us, sizing up both of us one long moment. Finally he lowered his gun.
“You'll have to forgive me,” he said, ducking his head and looking almost bashful. With a start I realized why he seemed so familiar: he reminded me of my grandfather who had passed away when I was seven. I could remember sitting on his knee the year before he died, maryjane's swinging back and forth as he told some outlandish story. He had kept gum in his overall's pocket and always smelled faintly of tobacco and sweat and I had loved him for it, and missed him still. In an instant my heart softened towards the old man in front of me even as Asher seemed to coil tighter, ready to charge.
“We don't get much visitors 'round here no more, and we've had some folks starting trouble down by the Tipton's place, you understand.”
“And you're like neighborhood watch?” I asked, smiling so he wouldn't think I was making too much fun. He nodded at me seriously and adjusted his ball cap with the hand not holding the gun.
“I keep the Door. Been doing it as long as I can remember and I reckon I'll be doing it for a spell longer.” He stuck out a hand, first to Asher and then to me when Asher simply stared him down instead of shaking with him. I put my hand out, surprised at how strong the well worn hand enveloping my own was.
“Name's Cratus. Cratus Finley. I keep horses down at my farm towards the end of the street there.” He gestured with his head to the farm I had noticed earlier and released my hand.
“I'm Gracie,” I said. “And this is Asher. We're...” there was no ignoring the hard look Asher gave me this time. It was clear: he thought I was giving out too much information. I couldn't blame him for not trusting the old man. All of this must have been so strange and unfamiliar to him. He couldn't have felt the way I did looking at this community; the sheer relief I felt from being out of those dark, strange woods. Still, a little trust in me would be nice. I wasn't stupid after all.
“Travelers,” I finished quickly, realizing I'd been thinking instead of finishing my sentence. “Just travelers looking for the door. Can you take us there?”
The man, Cratus (Lord what a name), took off his ball cap and scratched his head, thinking. He looked at us both, from Asher to me and back again, lingering on Asher's distrusting face, before finally putting his hat back on and nodding.
“I think I can do that. Reckon you all ought to stop and stay a bit, rest up while I tend your horse there.”
Asher shook his head.
“No, we can't stay. We're in a hurry,” I wondered if he was really thinking of Selene or if he was just trying to get us away from the old man as soon as possible. His face gave nothing away this time.
“I'm afraid I'll have to insist. I rarely get visitors anymore and by the by I won't be walking out to the door until morning time, so you might as well settle in a bit.”
Asher opened his mouth to argue with him but Cratus was having none of it. He turned on his heel, shot gun up over his shoulder, and started walking down the street without us. I looked at Asher only to see he was shaking his head even before I turned to him.
“We don't know him,” he said, not even bothering to whisper.
I looked back at Cratus's frame, which was disappearing quickly despite the limp. The horse tugged on it's tie in my hand, looking at the space where the door had been as if it longed for the forest, even though we'd had to force it to take us there in the first place. Were they both crazy? Surely, even if there was something bad about this place it couldn't be as bad as wondering around a bunch of trees until we died of starvation or boredom. Surely there couldn't be anything too bad about a world so familiar.
But I knew none of those thoughts would work on Asher, so instead I turned his own words from earlier around on him.
“What choice do we have?” I asked, and stepped towards the old man's retreating shadow. “He knows where the door is and we don't. He probably has food and a place to rest and hey, we don't. At the very least we should let him feed and water No Name.”
“Who's No Name?”
“The horse.”
Asher sighed. I bit my lip.
“I don't have a very good feeling about this Gracie,” Asher said. I ignored him and took another step towards the farm, the tie to the horse pulling taut. Asher looked from me to No Name as if he was trying to decide which of us was being more rational. Finally he sighed again.
“All right. We'll stop to feed the horse. But that's it. No...”
But I was already walking away, so Asher trailed off, and after a moment I heard heavy, possibly angry, steps behind me. No Name reluctantly followed us both, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he'd allowed himself to get into.
I couldn't see Asher but from the slow footsteps behind me imagined he must have felt the same.
The moment we walked up to the farmhouse, I immediately felt at home. It was that lovely. It stood two stories and was a soft yellow, faded only enough by the sun to look lived in and not sterile. A cherry red Chevrolet truck was parked in the driveway and what looked like an electric fence separated the horses from the yard. It was like something out of a postcard, one of those that they sold at the local drugstore (or had, before the bigger chains had bought them out, not that I'd remembered those days personally but whatever). Finishing the picturesque view was Cratus, standing at the bottom step to the porch and rubbing what must have been his sore hip. The shotgun was propped up beside the porch railing, forgotten.
He pulled down the bill of his hat in our direction, tipping it gracefully. I raised a hand at him in return, surprised at the swell of goodwill that over took my heart when I did so. Though I didn't understand it, I didn't fight it either. I loved this place already. As strange as it was, and I'd never tell this to Asher whose face was marked with his distrust, the tiniest bit of me wished I could stay, well, forever. Or at least a long time.
Cratus met us a few feet from the porch, one wrinkled but strong hand out for the horse's tie. I passed it over without a thought. He took a minute to pet No Name's side, continuing even when the horse shook his head and took a step back.
“A fine horse you got here, nice and strong,” Cratus said, then paused a moment before going on, as if looking for the right words. After a second he continued. “There's food inside on the table. I'd just finished it when I saw the lights go off down the street. You're more than welcome...”
“May we go inside?” I interrupted. It had been nearly a day since I'd ate and the idea of a table full of food was just too much, I couldn't help myself.
Instead of being put off however, he smiled, as if pleased that I'd asked.
“A course,” he said, and his smile just seemed to grow wider until it looked like it might crack on the edges. “Feel free to partake of anything you see. I'll be back soon.”
He walked off with the horse, leaving Asher and I alone on the front porch. We watched him walk all the way over to a small gate in the fence and then beyond that fence to a small barn. The other horses gazed on from the field, silent and unmoving. A small ripple moved through me, my first shiver of fear touching the base of my spine. It was easy to shake off however and by the time I'd pushed open the door the feeling was already forgotten, buried somewhere in the back of my mind where it couldn't hurt me.
I stepped into the house, and Asher reluctantly followed.
Cratus hadn't been kidding when he'd said there was plenty of food. The table was brimming with it: fried chicken, corn on the cob, steaming pots of mashed potatoes and gravy, a basket of rolls, and, off to the side, a pie with golden brown crust. I stared in disbelief, my mouth watering as I took it all in. Though it had only been one day since I'd ate I had to fight the urge to lunge at the table and start shoving food in my mouth. Hungry wasn't the word for it. I was suddenly ravenous, and too tired to question my feelings.
I looked at Asher only to see him looking at the table of food with a wary slant to his eyes, as if he expected a monster to suddenly form out of the chicken and mashed potatoes. I turned away from him just as quick and made my way to the table. The guy was growing on me, but there was no way I was going to let him ruin this. I grabbed a plate off the adjacent counter and began to fill it with food as Asher watched silently, thinking. After a moment he didn't argue with me, which was surprising, but instead took a plate as well and began to pile food upon it.
We ate in relative silence, with only the sounds of our smacking lips and my occasional groan of pleasure filling the room (I like food, what can I say?). After a mere five minutes we had already consumed one plateful and were working on another. After another five I was slicing a piece of apple pie for my desert.
Once I had my pie in my hand, I began to feel full enough to start functioning fully again. For the first time since we'd entered the house I started to look around me and see the place we were in, and what I saw only made me feel better about staying. It looked exactly like most of the houses back home, only nicer, with clean beige walls and wooden floors. The kitchen had a border of bright red apples, which matched the hand towel that was draped next to the sink on a hook and the fixtures on the cabinets. From somewhere not too far off, a tv or a radio played soft bluegrass.
I couldn't help myself, my curiosity was too much. I had to see the rest of this house. I sat my pie down on it's little saucer on the counter and stepped through the doorway into a softly lit living room. From the squeak of the chair and the sound of footsteps behind me, I knew Asher was following me.
The living room was just as nice, with one large flowered couch and a loveseat. Several lamps let soft light into the room and in the corner was a television (not a radio, I noted) playing music.
I stepped over to the TV, reaching for the large round button that seemed to be the channel changer, but everywhere I flipped there was the same picture: a man in a rocking chair with a banjo in his lap playing that same soft music. I started to straighten when I saw something lying on the floor behind the television and stopped cold. It was the plug to the TV, lying there forgotten.
It wasn't even plugged in.
“Um, Asher,” I said, and in a shot the feeling from earlier was back in full force, crawling up my spine and resting in my ears until they began to buzz from fear. He stepped up next to me and looked in the direction I was looking.
“What? What is it?”
Asher didn't understand how these things worked and I couldn't blame him for that, but in that moment I still could have strangled him I was so frustrated.
“It's supposed to be plugged in. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't be working!”
I took off towards the nearest lamp, my hands trailing down the cord until the unplugged end was in my hands. I looked at the brightly burning bulb and back to the cord in disbelief. Fear cemented itself in my stomach, all other emotions bleeding away. It was like being woken while sleepwalking. My good feelings about this place, about Cratus, they had felt so real but in that moment I was painfully aware that it had all been a sham.
“We should... we need to get out of here,” I said, turning to Asher. To my surprise, he didn't question me, didn't ask why I suddenly had a change of heart. He just nodded swiftly and turned towards the door. He had felt this way the whole time, and had been waiting for me to catch up.
We made a beeline for the door, only to see Cratus already standing there in the doorway, holding his shotgun casually in one hand. We stopped cold about six feet from him, with Asher to my side and slightly in front of me. His arm was out as if he could protect me with it, and I felt the strangest urge to take his hand in my own. I swallowed down the feeling and instead crossed my arms over my chest, embracing myself. Anything to keep my shaking hands from being visible.
Cratus smiled, but he didn't set down his shotgun like I hoped he would. Instead he removed his hat and scratched his head with the back of his hand. White hair stood straight up until he looked like a crazy man. The kind old man facade was starting to slip around the edges; there was an edge to him now that I was sure hadn't been there before. His eyes were drawn down to beady little slits and he kept licking what were now blood red lips as he took several steps towards us, the shotgun at his side but never forgotten.
“We need to leave,” I blurted out, before he could say anything. Cratus stopped a couple of feet ahead of us, still smiling. I went on, trying my best to sound convincing, “We had a great time, really. We appreciate everything. But we're just in such a hurry and we really need to find that door. So... you know...”
I trailed off looking at him, his eyes growing darker as I watched until, in the dim light from the lamps, they looked coal black with no whites. He licked his lips again, a long swipe of his red tongue, his smile never breaking.
“It's been so long,” he said, with real longing in his voice. “So long since I've had any visitors. And I've been so hungry...”
“Show us the door,” Asher demanded, his voice calm with no hint of fear. He was the hero for a reason, I supposed.
“I'll show you the door,” Cratus said, and while he talked his face almost seemed to shift imperceptibly, as if there was something under the mask of his face that was fighting to get out. He raised the hand that wasn't holding the gun and I was shocked to see it had morphed from the wrinkled, veiny hand I had seen earlier into something far more sinister and claw like.
“But first, let me ask you, did you partake of my hospitality?” he asked, and gestured with his hand to the kitchen. I swallowed thickly, thinking of the hot fried chicken and the creamy mashed potatoes, and how much we both had eaten. My stomach churned, as if it meant to tell on me, and I found myself wishing I hadn't ate any of it... not even one bite.
“No,” Asher said, answering before I could even open my mouth. I looked to him with wide eyes. “We weren't hungry.”
Well, that wasn't a lie we were going to get very far on. In the next room was all the evidence anyone would need to see to the contrary: empty plates and chicken bones and half full bowls of food.
“Is that so,” Cratus sneered, and before either of us could react, he reached past Asher and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me to him.
“It's got to be here,” he hissed and in one smooth movement pulled up my sleeve and wrenched my arm around so he could see my wrist. “All my people are branded afterwards, that's how I know they're mine.”
But there was nothing there (not that I knew what to look for), just unmarked skin all the way up my arm to the elbow. I pulled my arm back just as Asher shoved the old man off of me, and a clawed fingernail grabbed at my skin and pulled. I looked down, sure I was bleeding, only to see there wasn't even a scratch.
I looked back up at Cratus, who at this point was beginning to look frantic. Drool dripped from his lips, which he wiped off with a quick swipe that smeared his face.
“You're mine,” he said, his voice low and deep. “You're mine and I get to keep you. That's the rules.”
Asher pulled me behind him, reaching for his knife, but Cratus barely spared him a second glance. Instead he bolted for the kitchen, tearing around the corner and out of sight.
“Stay!” Asher said, pointing the knife in my direction before running after the old man.
I hesitated in the living room only for a second, my curiosity temporarily overrunning my fear.
“What do you think I am, your dog?” I asked the air, and ran after them both.
I turned the corner into the kitchen to see them both standing there in shock. It took me a moment to understand why, but when I did I was powerless to do anything but gape beside them.
The food on the table was untouched. More than that, the clean plates were sitting on the counter and the mashed potatoes were still steaming, the perfect unblemished trap for hungry travelers. Even the pie was unsliced. There was no evidence we'd even set foot in the room, let alone that we'd ate so much of the food sitting before us.
Cratus turned on us, a murderous look in his eyes. In the bright kitchen light it was easier to see his transformation: his eyes were dark black, his skin thin and protruding at odd angles on his face. He opened his mouth to reveal an uneven row of fanged teeth, sharp as the knife Asher held at his side. A deep growl erupted from that mouth, but Asher didn't even flinch back from it.
“I don't care about the brand and I don't care about the food. You came here and you're mine,” Cratus said, and with no more preamble than that he raised the gun and shot straight at me.