Halloween I.F. – “Going Dark” – Day 25

[ Very split group today! But there was a slight lead…

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“I don’t suppose you can teach me how to ward against you?” Fern asked Bannick without much hope.

Bannick let out a dry laugh. “It’s not as simple for me as iron is for Aris. There’s a pattern. A sigil, if you would, that you can carry that can keep me away from you. I can’t teach it to you because I can’t approach it. So I can hardly draw it.”

“Not simple enough to be drawn by description alone, huh.”

“Not so much,” Bannick said. “Aris could teach you, but I can’t guarantee they’d teach you right.”

Fern didn’t need to ask why Bannick was pushing this so hard. They had a pretty clear idea: right now, Bannick hadn’t received any orders. But he might, and if so, then Fern would be unguarded. He likely couldn’t say as much outright, perhaps previous orders. But…

Well, maybe Bannick didn’t trust himself.

Or maybe Bannick thought that Fern was the equivalent of a Gen Alpha babe with no concept of basic internet safety, except replacing the internet with sorcery. Maybe Bannick was the equivalent of one of those streamers begging you to get a VPN. Were VPNs even safe? This metaphor was getting out of hand, Fern thought, cutting themself off.

Aris knew how, but Aris might also have reasons not to do it well. They could be ordered to leave a gap. Or they might have no such orders and this would be the safest choice.

Fern was so annoyed with all the spiralling they were doing. No more. It was time to make a decision. 

“I think the best option is if I get hold of those journals as soon as possible,” Fern said. “I’m tired, but it’s just downstairs into the cellar, right. How hard can it be? I’ll go in, grab them, get out, ward myself, and get a good night’s sleep after. It might provide the information I need to free you all, too. I just need to keep myself going in the meantime.”

Bannick was silent for a moment. As always, it was impossible to read his expression. “Right you are,” he said after a long couple of moments. “Coffee? It looked like you’d packed instant.”

“Please,” Fern said. They wished they hadn’t had that chamomile. 

They followed Bannick back into the kitchen, where the dishes had been washed far too quickly. Aris was perched on the counter, dripping shadows, eyes glittering. Fern looked between them and Bannick.

“So,” Fern announced. “I’m going to chug some coffee and go down into the cellar to try to get some arcane notes. I feel like Bannick thinks that’s a bad idea because I’m tired. But I need a ward in case either of you are used against me. I don’t have that for Bannick.”

Aris looked at Bannick. “You did not tell this stubborn youth?”

“I said you could teach it. Don’t blame me. I’m being such a good boy.”

Something about Bannick’s phrasing made Aris pull a face. “Then?”

“I should learn it from you—” they could always cross compare with the journals to see if Aris had given them the wrong sigil, after all. “—but I don’t know if it’s safe to not get the journals tonight regardless. But yes, if you can teach it, great.”

Aris slid off the counter. “I’ll always teach someone if it will pinch that beast’s fell nose,” they said grandly, sidling toward the notepad. “Here, please, loan me your hands.”

“I’m right here,” Bannick muttered.

Fern moved over to Aris, offering their hands. “Like this?”

“Hold the pen. I’ll guide you. Remember it. A paper ward like this is weak. If you really want to make it strong you can carve it in something. But this will do for now.” 

Bannick backed off toward the living room as Aris’s cool hands enveloped Fern’s. They felt dizzy for a second as Aris guided them through a strange mark, half-squiggle, swirling out into a circle around it. “What’s—”

“Doing this costs energy. Several things you’ve done already also do as well. You just ate a meal. I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Aris said. They lifted their hands; Fern lifted their pen. “There. As the iron does with me, should you carry this, you will not be able to interact with Bannick, but Bannick too will not be able to interact with you.”

“Understood.” Fern put that warding paper with the spike on the counter, then stepped away. They grabbed their cup of coffee and chugged a few gulps, and gestured Aris out into the living room, where Bannick was sitting, turned away, gazing at the trinket cabinet. “I was wondering if you two would come with me when I went to get the journals? To help me find them.”

Barking a laugh, Bannick said, “You can’t ward against us and bring us with you. If you want to leave your wards up here, we could go with you.” 

Aris added, “But that’s closer to the mouth of the monster, and a mouth’s the part that issues commands, don’t you know? So really, that’s a risk.”

Fern considered that. Based off the discussions so far… “Okay. What if I take them down, but if I need your help, I’ll throw them away from me. Then I’ll call for you. Will you hear me?”

The two exchanged a glance, which surprised Fern a little; they still didn’t really understand the relationship those two had. Well, at the least, Aris looked at Bannick thoughtfully, and Bannick’s face was turned toward them, and after a moment, Aris nodded.

“We may indeed hear you,” Aris said. “Should we listen, we will hear.”

“We may even be able to follow you at a distance,” Bannick said. “If we have a sense of where you might be going.”

“So I think,” Fern said slowly, “the smartest thing is for me to ward myself and go to get the journals, and then after I have the journals, maybe I’ll have options that can let me ward myself against him, not against you.”

“O to be so lucky,” Aris muttered.

Bannick shrugged. “Sure. I’ll follow you at least to the basement. How far can you get before you’re out of earshot, anyway? And keep your phone on you.”

“We cannot see you clearly,” Aris warned, “when you have your warding held close. So be careful.”

“Sure,” Bannick echoed. “Be careful.”

It wasn’t a warning that Fern had much use for at this point. They let out a tired laugh. “Since when have I not been careful in any of this,” they joked. They finished their coffee, and went to get the wards, putting both the spike and the paper in their pocket.

When they came back, the living room was empty. The whole floor felt empty, as if Fern had been here alone the whole time, talking only to themself. They gave an unpleasant shiver at the feeling—they weren’t abandoned, they were literally carrying kryptonite for these people, they simply couldn’t see or be seen.

The adrenaline was pumping through their veins. They knew exhaustion was just around the corner, but they could hardly even imagine being tired right now. A little shaky, they took the basement stairs down carefully, but still moving briskly.

The mirror looked… normal. Everything down here looked like it was before, except that the unicorn tapestry had been ripped down and spattered with blood. Miranda’s doing, Fern had to assume, but they felt suddenly very, very uncomfortable being down here. They couldn’t sense Miranda’s heavy oppression either, wondered where she was.

The cellar door gaped open, a hole into darkness. Fern fumbled the flashlight on, passing it over the same cellar shelves. “Okay,” they said aloud, hoping the other two could see them. “I imagine it’s on one of these shelves?”

No reaction. Feeling like they were being watched—not sure if they were, or if that was paranoia talking—Fern headed into the cellar again. It was the same as the first time, food items, no visible books, but when they rounded the shelves they saw it again:

Another door, like in their dream. Fern was very sure this hadn’t been here on their first visit, and swallowed around the nausea of fear. This one was closed and locked, too.

And Miranda was here. Fern couldn’t see her, but they knew with a sudden intensity that she was here. The closer Fern got to the door, the more it felt like the moment before a storm was about to hit, a weight in the air, a crackling of unspent energy, a fury. They could almost imagine the woman from the photo turning to look at them.

“Hi,” Fern said, almost a croak. They cleared their throat. “I’m trying to find your father’s journals. Do you think they’re through that door?”

A slow, agonizing scratching sound started against the wood. Fern tried not to cringe from it. “You can’t get through,” they agreed aloud. “Okay. Well, that means… it’s got to be this way, right…”

They still had the spare keys. With shaking hands, they tried a few of the keys until one fit, turned it.

The door was yanked out of their hands by an invisible force, slamming it open. A cold wind rushed past them, tugging Fern a few steps forward; they followed the suggestion and walked into the next area.

It was a dirt tunnel, dug into the earth. It smelled thick, musty, and it only went a short distance before opening again into a large, dark room.

Their flashlight panned over a few more shelves, some of which had jars, but they no longer had vegetables in them. They caught sight of a lantern on the shelf next to them, a strange-looking tool next to it, and did so just in time—the flashlight flickered and went out.

They shook it hard, slapping a hand against it and swearing shakily as the darkness closed around them, but it was no good. Spare batteries! They’d thought to bring them earlier, but opening a package in this complete darkness and figuring out which way they all went was nearly impossible. Fumbling, they reached out for the lantern next to them, hoping beyond hope it was electronic, and were lucky enough that when they twisted the dial on it, it lit up. Dim and flickering, and—disgusting, its base full of dead moths that made a papery sound as Fern lifted it from the shelf.

They jolted as a reverberating crash sounded behind them, a door slamming, hard. They whirled around, lifting the moth-filled lantern as they saw the cellar door at the end of the dirt hallway slam shut. Without a second thought toward their mission, they took off at a run, swinging the lantern, showering dead moths everywhere as they reached it, grabbing the handle and jiggling it, hauling at the door to try to open it. 

No such luck. A strange force was holding it completely immovable. Fern thought again about how the door hadn’t been there when they first arrived and swallowed hard.

There might be no way back now.

That was fine, they reassured themself. They’d eaten, had coffee. Maybe once they had the journals they’d be able to remove that force themself.

Slowly, they returned to the main room, using the light of the lantern to get batteries back into the flashlight, which flickered back on. Neither beam was particularly large, but with both together, it made it possible to explore the room, and they were confident they could even read if they were close enough to the light.

Next to where the lantern had been was a weird compass, some kind of unusual creation with too many dials. They fiddled with it a moment; it didn’t seem to be pointing north, but toward something else. For now, they put it in their pocket, picking their lights back up, one in each hand, and scanning the shelves.

The glass jars seemed to contain a variety of materials: sand, rocks, herbs, various plant matter, dried and desiccated flowers. Some contained meat, red and soft in its jars as if it hadn’t been sealed in them for God knew how long. Some of the meat seemed to be moving, though Fern thought it had to be a trick of the unsteady light.

Slowly, moving very carefully, Fern rounded the shelves, checking each. Again, around where the weaving of shelves blocked the view, there was another door. This one lay open. Next to it was a desk, on which was a dry inkwell, a pen, and several hand-bound books.

Jackpot, Fern thought. They stared down at these books, presumably the journals, their lights shifting unsteadily with the trembling of their hands.

It felt like they currently had very few options. They forced themself to calm and think through them steadily, one at a time.

One. They could read these now, but there were two thick volumes and several thin ones. It’d take hours to read through to get a sense of what each contained, especially in these lighting conditions, and it meant that they’d risk other things happening as time moved on.

Two. They could flip through them and hope they found something of value at random or by narrowing books down. That would probably leave them time to do either of the next two things they thought of, too, but would still be a bit time-consuming.

Three. They could take the books and shove them into their backpack. They couldn’t go back from here, unless they found a way to unstick the door blocking their return. Maybe Aris or Bannick could help? But that would require removing the warding against one or both of the spirits.

Four. They take the books and… simply continue on, now that they were already here. The door forward was open beside them, after all.

Maybe there was something else they hadn’t thought of? Fern wasn’t sure.

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern]

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