Halloween I.F. – “Going Dark” – Day 13

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Of course, tool use was always an option. They’d still have to get on their stomach no matter what—no other way to reach it—but they could extend their reach and not have to climb so far under to expose themself to… to whatever.

Whatever non-entity was here that they kept imagining? That probably was just another symptom of what happened a while back, their nerves stretched to the breaking point? The whispers had stopped since coming here, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t starting to conjure up other problems while trying to avoid thinking—

No, no good would come of that. Fern grabbed their phone and dialed into the station.

“Oh, that’s quick,” Bannick said through the radio again, not the phone. “Hiya, Guy.”

Fern’s brows rose. They put the phone on speaker, taking out the hammer and screwdriver in one hand, then the wrapped spike in the other. Just because they had to lay down didn’t mean they had to let go of their comfort tools, however useless they actually were. “Hi, Bannick. How did you know it was me?”

“You’re calling from the same number, aren’t you?” Yeah, Fern should have thought of that. Bannick laughed. 

It sounded weirdly familiar, but they’d heard it a lot in the radio show yesterday, too. “Fair enough,” Fern answered. “Speaking of numbers, what’s with the sheer amount of number stations around here? It’s creepy.”

That got another laugh. “We’re broadcasting on an odd frequency out here. Some people like to have their fun. I wouldn’t read too much into it. I mentioned the witchy folks, right? You get a lot of conspiracy nuts out in the woods, too. I’d say it’s a place for outcasts. Are you an outcast yourself, Guy?”

Don’t give identifying information, Fern reminded themself. “I don’t know that I’d put it that way.”

“No reason to think too hard about it,” Bannick agreed lightly. “How have things been? I feel like you were successful with the mirror. No other reason to call in so early, right?”

“I mean, maybe. I made an offering of milk and beer, and the next morning, only the milk was still there.” No need to point out that they weren’t sure if they’d actually brought both bowls down. It made a cooler story if it really was a mystery. “And I had some strange mirror-related dreams after. It’s very strange.”

“Ohhh, whoever received the offering must really like beer. Can relate. The new age cottagers will love that. Speaking of strange,” Bannick said, “you’re on speaker, it sounds like?”

“I have other strangenesses to share,” Fern said. “One of which I’m in the middle of. Unbelievably, I’m starting to become one of those conspiracy theorists wackjobs in the woods, I guess.”

A sharp laugh. “Careful or you’ll piss them off! No, no, what have you seen?”

“First,” Fern said, getting down and swinging the hammer slowly under the bed, trying to hook whatever the object was. “I found a spike in a tree and took it out. Got an issue with anti-deforestation activists around here?” Their hoodie tried to flop over their head and they nearly jabbed themself with said spike moving their other hand to push it back. Doing this with their tools in their hands had its own inconveniences. 

“Did you? How disappointing.”

“What?” Fern said, suddenly unsure if they’d misheard during all that. 

“No deforestation activists that I know of,” Bannick said. “Maybe someone spiked the tree for some other reason. Really bad idea of how to tap syrup? Someone who needed some sap? An iron prison for some irritating spirit? A prankster who hates pine trees?”

“Someone really trying to fight back against their allergies,” Fern joked, trying to hide their sudden caution. Their hammer slid further and they heard the clink of metal on metal. Almost got it. 

Bannick laughed again. “I think you’ve really nailed it with that one! What else, then?”

“I maybe shouldn’t admit this on the air,” Fern said, “but I found my way into a locked room in this cottage. I think it’s related to that Victorian pair in the photos I mentioned last time? It seems like it’s been locked up for a while, if not since the beginning. I’m in here right now. It’s dusty, and full of weird old things. There’s another lock here, on a wardrobe? And something under the bed that I’m trying to—got it.”

That last triumphantly as they felt the claw of the hammer catch on something. They squirmed backward, pulling the item with them.

“Oh, you are a snoop,” Bannick said softly into the radio.

Fern almost didn’t hear him, shoving their tools back into their hoodie and picking up the item. “It’s a key,” they reported live. “A very, very dust-bunny covered key. That’s got to go to the wardrobe.”

“Hmmm,” Bannick said. “One second, Fern.”

Fern hesitated, as requested. They picked the phone back up as they got up, dusting themself off, turning the bronze key around in their hand. “Yeah?”

“I owe you, you know,” Bannick said. “So do you want to do something fun about that?”

For calling in…? “Maybe,” Fern said, cautiously. “What do you suggest?” Killing time while waiting for Bannick’s answer, they circled the room again. They could have sworn they heard another thump from the wardrobe, but maybe it was just from the radio itself. The sound of the radio had seemed to get louder, after all, almost filling the room. They picked up the hand mirror and touched it, looking at themself in it, but it wasn’t anything like the mirror downstairs. Just normal.

“Well. How’s this? You can have your pick. Option one, you ask me any three specific questions—specific, please, not too general or I can’t answer—and I’ll answer as honestly as I can. Or, two, I can offer three pieces of advice instead. Or, three, we could do some combination of them, but no more than three total.” Bannick let out another sudden sharp laugh. “I’m an expert in this area. I know what I’d pick, but the options are up to you, of course.”

Which should they choose? And, if they wanted to ask any questions, what should they ask?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

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