Halloween I.F. – “Going Dark” – Day 20

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Nauseous, head throbbing, Fern rubbed at their face, grinding the heels of their palms into their eyes as if that would actually help. Predictably, it made things worse.

Right. They needed some water, even if the thought of sipping it sounded absolutely disgusting. At least they’d brought a little tub of gatorade powder for the anticipated problem—their tendency to get distracted writing and forget all day to take care of themself. Being force-fed booze by some sort of fairy lord hadn’t been in the plans, but it’d work just the same.

Fairy lord. Right. Fern grabbed the iron spike as they got up; if it was only a ward against Aris, they weren’t sure they actually wanted it, since it meant Aris couldn’t communicate directly with them while they had it on their person. They might not be able to tell if Aris urgently needed their attention as a result. On the other hand, leaving it out in the open sounded like a great way for the sorcerer to take action to re-spike the tree. 

Maybe they could find somewhere to put it.

As they headed into the house, they felt the wretched hangover receding impossibly quickly. Maybe that was due to the iron as well? If it was fairy-caused, Fern figured, the iron might block that as well. Nevertheless, they headed down the hall to the kitchen for a drink. Better to treat the problem just in case they did stash the spike somewhere.

The beer outside the basement stair door was gone. Fern paused for a moment, eyeing that spot. They had put it there, right…? They were certain they had. They really weren’t sure how they felt about it vanishing, even if they’d put it there for that reason. There was a part of them that had hoped that anything that was still in the house was confined to the basement. If it wasn’t…

There wasn’t anything they could do about it either way. They forced themself to proceed on to the kitchen, mixing themself up some gatorade and shaking it in their water bottle, trying to not feel nervous, not look over their shoulder.

The radio sat where they’d left it. Fern stared at it for a long moment, reluctant. They should get on a call, they knew; last time they’d talked to Bannick at all, they’d basically thrown a note at him and yelled that they were going to get on the radio later and to read their note etc. God, that was awkward. They’d always been like this…

But also, Fern wasn’t sure they could trust Bannick after the things Aris said. Aris had obviously been coming from a position of codependent love-hate, where Bannick had been the only other creature in the same situation as Aris, and their only company, while the two also didn’t get along. So not an unbiased source.

Nevertheless, Aris had been offering honest answers, so it was certain that Bannick had, at some point, gotten Miranda pregnant. Which raised all sorts of questions, first-most of which was was it consensual. Fuck, Fern hoped so, for so, so many reasons.

It may have been. There was no point in getting ahead of themself in their fear. When Bannick had talked about wanting to fuck Aris, he’d said something like, but that should be a decision both parties agree to. Which meant he would prefer consent. If he was telling the truth and not trying to present an image to Fern, anyway. If they started doubting everything everyone had said ever, what good would that do them?

Though… Bannick was also able to be commanded by the sorcerer, which might mean what Bannick wanted was moot. Fern didn’t like that thought, either.

No point overcomplicating it, they decided firmly. They needed Bannick on their side if at all possible. They could be cautious and distrust whatever he said, especially until they had more proof about his personality and past, but they needed his support to survive, even if it turned out he was really, as Aris called him, a beast.

Which meant not leaving him hanging longer. Fern turned the radio on, and for a moment thought it was out of batteries. The only thing emerging was dead air, that soft uncomfortable static of a radio not picking up a signal.

They shook their head to themself and grabbed their cell phone from their pocket—still recording, and battery almost at 0. Drat. It seemed somehow that they’d been in with Aris for hours. No wonder they’d had a hangover, if they’d been drinking fairy ale all that time, even if it was also just half a can of their own beer.

Well, they could charge it shortly. They used their last dialed number to call the radio station again

There was a click as if it was picked up, but Fern didn’t hear anything on the other end, not even breathing, and the radio remained staticky.

They swallowed. Best to act like Bannick was listening, they decided. “Hi, Bannick. Sorry. I was gone longer than I’d expected to be.” True. “As my note mentioned, I really want to meet and treat with you. I’ve been getting to understand how huge this is. How at risk I am. And I’d love to figure out how to make an alliance that works for us both.”

Silence.

“I’ll… try calling in again later, then,” Fern said. “I’d like to talk to you tonight, if you’re willing.”

They hung up, unnerved, and plugged the phone in to charge. They didn’t love being separated from it, but it’d be worse to let it run out of battery. Either way, they could take the radio with them, and keep an ear out if Bannick got back on the air. 

Then they took a big swig of gatorade and headed to the living room, fetching those photos from the back of the frames again. If Bannick was out of touch right now, next up had to be Miranda, poor thing.

Now that was a situation to be cautious about. Not just for Fern’s own sake—though the idea of vengeance rebounding back onto them definitely didn’t appeal either—but for the sake of Miranda herself. She’d been through an absolute nightmare, betrayed by the people she should have been able to love and trust, and murdered in such a brutal, traumatizing way. Even thinking about the death Aris had described made Fern feel a little nauseous.

This one needed a delicate touch, something Fern had never been good at.

But Fern couldn’t just leave her in there. Even if she wasn’t the only one this sorcerer couldn’t order around, nobody deserved that. They deserved—closure. People to mourn them. That grief…

Okay. They would explain themself. They would drip-feed Miranda information about herself, with full sympathy.  They would give her time to process things, not just dump everything on her all at once and then let her out carelessly. Hopefully that was the kind option, and not the cruel one. It was so hard to know.

Photos in their hands, radio coming with them, they headed upstairs, straight to the spare room. It was as they left it, though the hair stood up on their arms as, over the sound of the radio static, Fern realized they were hearing slow, steady scratching of nails on wood from the inside of the wardrobe.

“Hi,” they called, trying to keep their voice from cracking. “It’s me, I’m back. Sorry I took so long. I got a bit unexpectedly waylaid.”

The scratching paused briefly, then resumed. Shuddering, Fern came closer, sitting down on the other side of the door. “I’ve been learning about who you are.”

“Who…” came back, a faint whisper.

“I’m going to tell you,” Fern said. “But… there’s a lot of scary information in here, so I don’t want to just shock you with it all at once. I’m going to give you a little bit at a time so you can think about it. Take it in. When I—”

They swallowed. They had been about to share something personal there. Weren’t sure it was a good idea. Not in the plan.

“I have a picture of you,” they said. “Here, you can have this first. I hope it helps you remember your face.”

Careful not to crease it, Fern slid the photograph of Miranda by herself between the wardrobe doors. The scratching ceased. “Your name is Miranda,” Fern said softly. “I have your last name too, but I’ll let you take this in first, so you don’t remember too much all at once. I’m so, so sorry, but you were killed. Someone took your life from you, and that’s so… so cruel and so unfair and I wish it hadn’t happened to you like that.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then a sob.

“People deserve to be grieved,” Fern said. “They deserve to be remembered, not… not forgotten so long they forget themself.” The memories were rising up despite themself; their eyes were stinging, nose clogged. They scrubbed at their face with a sleeve. Fuck. At least they had gatorade. “That someone would do that to you on purpose… I don’t have words. I’m glad I found you. I’m glad I’ve learned your name and face. I want to know you, Miranda.”

The soft sob from inside the wardrobe grew louder, a hint of shriek in the sound. Fern drew a deep breath. “Take a moment to think about it. To remember yourself,” they suggested, choked. “I have more information about who and how but… but I don’t think it’s good for you to learn all at once. I have images in my head I’ll never get rid of. And if I can help, if I can help not have a searing moment like that for you. I will. So I’m going to—” They had to get out of here. Couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to give you a little time to think. I’ll just be next door.”

“Wait—”

(“Wait up!” Stephen had called, chasing after them. Fern had plenty of time to cross the street, even if it would mean waiting at the other side for Stephen to catch up after. They got across before the car did, easy, turning back, expecting to see Stephen waiting on the other side.

The screech. The crunch. That horrible exhalation and strangled sound as every organ—)

No, no, no, Fern couldn’t think about it, Fern had to put it in a box. They shoved their thoughts’ doors closed again and listened to the radio static as they jolted to a stop. They didn’t wait before. They would wait if asked now.

A long pause. Another sob. “Yes… Get out! Go. Come back. Go.”

Fern was fine. They could wait if she wanted it, but if she wanted space, no point arguing. Whatever she asked for was fine. “Okay,” Fern said. “I’ll be back shortly. Just… bang on the door if you need me back sooner.”

They were just fine. They picked up the radio and their water bottle, and withdrew. In the hallway, they took a deep swig, and stared at their distorted reflection in the curve. Fuuuuck. That was a bad one. Hadn’t had a visceral flashback like that in a while. Their thoughts kept trying to veer back to the road and they recognized it was happening, breathed, and closed it off again before they could get to the worst part.

Another swig. At least this part of the horror was familiar. At least they had strategies for this one.

God, they were tired. They needed to sit down. Their bedroom was right there; might as well take a lie down while they had the chance.

Fumbling everything under one arm, they opened the door.

There was something on their bed, something shaped like a man, long and lanky and with a body that would be handsome if there wasn’t something slightly off with the way his limbs were positioned. He was loosely dressed in one of Fern’s own house robes, which barely did anything to disguise his strangely iridescent pale limbs, legs ending in hooves. He had long black hair that showered around his shoulders as he slowly pushed himself up on an elbow to look at Fern—

—or sort of look at Fern, anyway. There was a veil covering his whole face.

“Wow,” Bannick said. “Rude hours around here, huh?”

 [Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.]

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