Halloween I.F. – “Going Dark” – Day 9

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As Fern pondered, they glanced uncomfortably out the bedroom window. The trees… hadn’t moved, of course. They were exactly where Fern had left them, which they felt absurd for even thinking about. Where else would they be?

But the discomfort from the dream wasn’t leaving, sticking with them as nightmares tended to, a second shadow following behind every thought. They’d been encouraged before not to give those things the time of day, in case acknowledging them made them more real, but…

Nobody was around to see them and judge them if they ritualized just a little to make themself feel better. It wasn’t like they really believed it had been a supernatural occurrence, but right after messing around with the mirror, it had felt supernatural. So maybe doing something in that area would help. They tried to think of folk stories they’d read and the things people did to ward off the evil eye or other horrors…

Iron was a big one, they remembered. Cold iron specifically, though Fern wasn’t sure what made iron cold rather than regular. Maybe it didn’t matter for their purposes, though—as long as it wasn’t an alloy or another metal, it’d probably be a good enough placebo. But finding iron was a harder thing in the modern era. Even nails tended to be steel; iron just rusted too damn fast.

So there wasn’t much around. The only thing they were sure was iron was the railway spike in the tree outside. 

Still, they could at least get some salt—also a ward, they were pretty sure—and grab something so they didn’t feel totally unarmed. But that could come after a shower.

Fern headed to the bathroom and made use of the facilities. It was a really, really nice bathroom: roomy, clean, with a frosted window that still let in sunlight. It had a clawfoot bathtubs, so that’d be nice to luxuriate in later. Right now, they just wanted the shower portion. The bathroom was all done up in black and white tiles, and a modern washer/dryer set stood in one corner. A towel and some packaged soaps had been left out for them, which made them feel a lot better about things. It really was just a normal place here, rented out by an attentive owner, not some weird horror movie cabin in the woods. 

Their shower done, they got dressed, grabbing their phone on the way out of the room. Before breakfast, they quickly photographed those weird Victorian photos to use for evidence, before putting them back again as they had been. In the kitchen, they poured themself a small cup of cereal, along with more of the milk that they’d used yesterday.

Ugh, the milk. Fern made a face to themself. What had they been thinking? They should go pick that up before it went off and stank up the entire basement. The beer, too, should go down the drain—it’d probably attract bugs. And then the bugs would attract spiders, and before they knew it, Fern would end up in a bug-spider spiral. No thanks.

They downed their cereal quickly, and, before they could really second guess themself again, poured some salt into their jean pockets. They headed down into the basement, then… hesitated, staring at the base of the mirror.

There was only one bowl there: the bowl of milk.

Had they actually set out two? They combed their memories frantically. They thought they had, but they were no longer sure. Certainly, they’d originally considered just milk, then knew they’d at least thought about beer—the White Gilgamesh conundrum—and felt like they remembered heading downstairs with a bowl in each hand. But… it wasn’t like they had evidence, and they’d obviously been really tired last night. Maybe next time they did something they needed proof of, they’d have to take a photo of it. Even so, it had to be their tiredness rewriting their memory.

Otherwise… that meant that something had actually taken the beer, bowl and all.

Which meant either that mirror ghosts were real—and if so why had Fern never seen any before??—or that someone else was secretly living in this cottage. A chill shuddered through them at the thought, the locked second room coming to mind, though they forcibly dismissed that thought. They’d have heard someone else in here by now if so, and there would have been more food in the kitchen when they arrived. This wasn’t a horror movie. Nobody was living in the walls.

…Nevertheless, it probably wouldn’t hurt to go armed, they decided. Nothing too violent, no knives—they didn’t want to risk carrying an unsheathed kitchen knife around all day, among other things. But a hammer and a screwdriver? Safe to carry, and useful in a pinch. Besides, if there was something they could pry up or screw down, they’d be prepared.

Fern grabbed those quickly from the storage unit, trying not to let their imagination get away with them as they shoved them into their front hoodie pocket. Then they hesitated, checking the nails and screws as well. They looked like they were steel, and the packaging said they were galvanized—zinc-coated. So probably not cold iron. They threw a single screw into a pocket regardless, just in case they were wrong.

It occurred to them that it wouldn’t need to be someone living here if they were instead able to get in, remembering their nightmarish image of a door in the cellar. Steeling themself, they checked that room as well, quickly—but the cellar layout was how they remembered from their first visit, and they didn’t see any other doors in it at a glance. Just a dream after all. Still a bit unnerved, they backed out after a quick scan.

They had to get out of here, if only for a little bit. And it was bright and sunny outside. A good time for a walk.

Fern took the bowl of milk upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, then filled their refillable bottle with water and grabbed a baggie that they filled with more cereal. They tossed both of these in their backpack, swinging that over a shoulder, and sent a quick text to Adrien—Hey, going for a walk, don’t call too early as I’ll be busy. I’ll text you when I’m back.—and could only hope it’d send in time to be useful in case they fell down a ravine or something.

The sunlight outside was immediately soothing, and they drew a deep breath of fresh country air, letting their shoulders relax. They began another quick perimeter check regardless, since they’d had those weird dreams about the scratching… but there weren’t any footprints or anything else unusual. The only thing that gave them pause was that staked pine tree—there was a wetness around the spike today that they didn’t think had been there yesterday, the sap pooling. Maybe the temperature change between night and morning had caused it to expand or contract? Poor thing.

From their spot next to that tree, they scanned the paths, trying to decide which way to walk: East, toward the road? North, technically parallel to the road—though it wasn’t visible from here—and toward the denser forest? South, also parallel to the unseen road, toward the fields that eventually would lead to the hour-away city? Or west, toward the river?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

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