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The beer had been intended as an offering—and while Fern didn’t remember too many specifics, they knew that people were cautioned from accepting food and drink from the fairy folk. While Fern didn’t know for sure that’s what Aris was, they sure seemed like it.

On the other hand, Aris had already given their word not to harm or imprison Fern during this visit, and had specifically invited Fern to share their hospitality. Rejecting that hospitality itself then might undo the other terms of their agreement. 

Also… Fern really wanted a beer right about now.

“Well?” Aris asked, wiggling the can between two fingertips.

“Sure,” Fern blurted. “Sure, I’d love a drink, in the name of hospitality and a shared experience.” 

Aris’s eyes glittered at them as a glass appeared in front of them; they poured, slowly. 

“Sorry for getting lost in thought,” Fern added in a near-stammer. “You’re more beautiful than I’d expected.”

It wasn’t exactly what they’d intended to express, but it was true. Every time they looked Aris over, their heart squeezed inside their chest. It was half like seeing a perfect sunrise or fog through the trees, a sight so beautiful that it couldn’t help but move you, and half erotic, because that experience was condensed into a creature that resembled a human and moved with a dangerous, too-sharp, too-languid energy. 

Aris beckoned, and Fern came closer, sitting on the stump next to Aris as the spirit handed a glass of beer over. Closer to them, it was even harder to focus, the chime of their hair matching every movement. They could really understand Bannick’s desire for them, even if they didn’t fully know the history there.

That was a possible question, though not the best one to start with, probably. Fern took a sip of beer in the hopes that would clear their head. Somehow, it tasted way better than a cheap beer ought to. It was something about the air in the place, the reflection of Aris’s eyes on the surface. Their lips tingled.

As if reading their mind, Aris prompted, “You may begin with your questions as you’re able.”

This was not the condition they wanted to be asking questions in. They shifted awkwardly and closed their eyes, thinking back over everything that Aris had recently said.

“You’ve mentioned being bound,” they said slowly, careful not to make that one a question. “And that Bannick is also bound. What are the details of the binding, including how and who did it?”

“A large question, several in one, but bound up tight enough to count as a bundle instead of each separate,” Aris noted. “Very well, I shall answer, though I fear that my answer may be unsatisfactory. Our master, the lord of this house, has control over us as summoner and binder; I do not know precisely in what ways Bannick has been bound, though given Bannick’s nature, it may be his name or a contracted assignment he has been unable to fulfill. I, myself, have had my freedom itself extracted from me, and put in a bud that has been hidden away somewhere beneath the house. Both he and I were punished as the master aged, and have thus been imprisoned. If we can please that man, we may earn our freedom back. If I have my freedom, I will be free—as I’m sure you can see.”

They leaned over, brushing fingertips against Fern’s jaw. Fern shivered hard, trying not to react too overtly. “I see,” Fern croaked. “There is another spirit upstairs in the wardrobe. You didn’t mention if she is bound. Who is she, both in general and in terms of the overall situation here?”

Aris laughed, that sharp little sound. “She’s a different case. The master’s beloved daughter, Miranda Kemp, who followed him so loyally into his exile into the woods, killed as a sacrifice to the spirits of air and darkness to bind them more tightly and provide the power to do his bidding and get his revenge on those who ran him out of town. She was stabbed and locked in the wardrobe to bleed to death, or, if she outlasted her wound, to die of thirst and hunger instead. A terrible death to bear. Truly, she was double locked, in a wardrobe and in a room kept much as she remembered it to keep her in the past, because should she realize her vengeance she may be dangerous to all, himself included. Poor creature.”

There Fern hesitated. What they wanted to ask next and what they should ask next felt like they were vastly different questions. 

The master, that man—Fern felt like they were beginning to get an image. A would-be sorcerer, exiled from a nearby town, who wanted revenge, who summoned Bannick and Aris and then later empowered them by sacrificing his daughter… presumably. He was keeping Aris’s feedom under the house, and therefore, he was the threat under the house, since that’d be his domain. The first threat, who had been active from the start. He would have built this cottage originally. Was he renting it out for a purpose? No, given the appearance of his daughter’s room, he would be long past a natural death. Unless it had kept him alive? Hard to imagine an ancient sorcerer renting the cottage out on online vacation sites. Another ghost? Or something else? 

What Fern wanted to ask, though, was more about Aris and Bannick. Who they were, who they were to each other. That too they felt they had an idea of. But they wanted to know more. Couldn’t help it.

They were feeling drunk off less than half a beer. Impossibly heady. Dizzy. They swallowed the last gulp of their drink and decided, recklessly, to just say that. “You know, I know I should be asking more about this sorcerer. If he’s even still alive or whatever. But I want to know more about you, Aris. You’re so beautiful, and so desirable. And I want to know more about Bannick, who I’ve been talking with all this time. And the history you two have shared, I want to know.”

Aris’s blade-sharp laugh felt like it was going to cut right through Fern’s chest, and they were fairly sure they’d lean into it if it did. “No questions asked there, I see,” they cooed, putting a full hand against Fern’s cheek this time. “Little human, you have a choice, then. You can ask what you think is the smart, safe thing to ask. Or you can throw away safety and ask what your heart wants most.”

Fern leaned into the touch, which stung their cheek. “Or I can try to find a way to ask both at once.”

“O! Do you think that’s possible?”

It was so hard to think. They bit their lower lip almost too-hard to feel something past the burning, stinging sensation. “If I found a way to ask both,” they said slowly, “how would you answer me?”

Nails curled briefly, but retracted before drawing blood, Aris’s promise clearly holding them. “O, what a monster you could become, if you were inclined to be a monster,” Aris said. “I would tell you, then, that the sorcerer died but it hasn’t stopped him, that he is waiting for someone to let him be alive again, and that he would order his servants to cause that if he had the chance. I would tell you of decades of my own airy self being trapped alone with no company but a beast of the earth and of the realms beneath it. And even that company could only happen briefly, on the air, a long distance communication through proxies, after being punished with our own prisons for the crime of not keeping that man alive. I would tell you of the bond that formed, the love and the hate, the deep resentment and the need, the desire to see the other worse off, the desire to not be left alone. I would tell you that the man is dead, but he had a granddaughter through Bannick before he killed his own daughter. That that child had a son, and that son owns the cottage, and enacts the will left to him with no additional thought to it. That the sorcerer needs someone sensitive enough to have heard his spirits for him to be able to act. That this cottage has been rented out to nobody able to hear or listen for far too long, but now you are here.”

That was so much information. Head swimming, Fern could hardly sort through it. “Oh,” they said.

“As for an alliance, think on everything I’ve told you, and in the meantime, we can simply help each other kindly as we can,” Aris said lightly. “And you have finished your drink before I have finished mine and we cannot allow that.” They took a swig of beer, and then, still holding Fern’s cheek, turned Fern’s head and kissed them.

Fern felt like they could die in this kiss, and then that they very nearly might, as beer poured from Aris’s mouth into their own. They swallowed frantically, head swimming, and for a long moment, everything grew dark.

When they managed to move, groaning, head throbbing, they opened their eyes to find themself in the dirt outside the cottage, lying next to the pine tree. The stake lay where they’d left it.

It felt like an absolute miserable hangover, given that they’d only had the one beer, but they supposed that itself wasn’t harm, and so Aris had kept their word.  

Slowly, carefully, they pushed themself upright. Ugh. Now what?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.

oh i’m on page 69 of my writing doc. nice.]

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Hands up to show they were empty, Fern took a step away from the spike, and another. “Of course I’d like to show a willingness to trust you,” they said carefully. “I’d love to speak as allies and equals, like you said. Being trusting is willing to be betrayed, right? But it would be very rude to get betrayed after I helped you willingly first.”

The shadows around Aris’s face seemed to shift as if with an expression Fern couldn’t quite make out. “That would be inhospitable of me indeed.”

“And of course,” Fern added, “my being willing to come visit you isn’t a favor you’re doing me, either. If it were, we wouldn’t be meeting as equals.”

“So you’re saying,” Aris said briskly, “that by meeting alone with you in my place, I have not paid the inherent debt I am in by you saving me in the first place.”

Fern swallowed, unsure if Aris was annoyed or just in agreement. “Of course. That would be strange right?”

“O, strange indeed of any host,” Aris said. “Very well. Hedge your bets, and know I will do you no harm while you are in my place for this visit, nor will I keep you trapped there. We will meet, we will treat, you will put yourself in my hands and in the strength of my words here, and that will be that.”

Unsure if they could relax, Fern found themself smiling again anyway. Nerves really did some wild things to a person. “And I, like. I have to emphasize I’m not Bannick’s stooge,” they added. “I’m open to an alliance with him—like, of course I am, I’m a soft little human who’s trying to survive here, I’m not going to turn my nose up at any possible help! But I’m also really aware he’s been messing with me. He’s told me he’s cut off communication, and even talked to my brother pretending to be me?? And he’s messing with the number stations on the radio.”

Aris let out a little tittering laugh that sent a chill down Fern’s spine, like a cold breeze that they just weren’t dressed for. “In regards to the radio,” Aris said, “nothing you’ve been hearing is an actual station. For someone who can play with communications and who wants to communicate, anything that can enable communication is their toy. He built an intrigue for you, a mystery for you to want to dig into, and then you tuned in. Well, he’s been broadcasting for some time in the hopes some other sensitives would be able to pick up on it, though most cannot hear it at all. And here you are! But it’s not for you. He’s run his little shows before you and if you die, he’ll run it after. It’s how he and I have been able to talk while both locked away, so that we have not lived in full isolation. Even no longer trapped, we are bound, and so he’ll continue to speak and play music in the hopes of strangling some of the pitiful loneliness out of his life.” They sniffed. “Pathetic.”

Intriguing. Fern wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. That the radio show wasn’t really for Fern, but that by coming here and picking up the radio, it sounded like maybe Bannick had immediately begun using it to… to tune Fern somehow…?

“And of course he is trying to mess with you, and of course he cut off communication,” Aris said airily. “I would do the same if I’d had the chance. It’s just that you’d given Bannick greater freedom before you gave it to me. He has to hedge his bets for his ongoing safety, just as you do, and just as I do. Neither of us want to face that man’s wrath.”

“That man?” Fern echoed.

A shift in the shadows, those bright eyes moving: Aris had shaken their head. “Well, then, if you’re willing, empty your pockets of salt and come with me.”

A beautiful hand extended from the tree branches, smooth and soft-looking, brown, almost glimmering under the sun. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. Fern turned their pockets inside out and brushed them a few times to shake out the salt, then walked closer. It was still hard to make Aris out even while right next to them. All Fern could really see was the extended hand.

They reached out and put their hand in Aris’s. It felt… nearly human. Not quite. The temperature was wrong, and it was too smooth. But nearly.

Aris’s eyes glittered. Their fingers wrapped around Fern’s, and then they tugged Fern into the tree.

For a moment, there was a sensation of falling without falling; Fern didn’t feel their feet really leave the forest ground, but their entire being shifted, like the worst hypnagogic jerk they’d ever felt. They staggered briefly, but Aris was leading them on through the woods.

The woods were different, and so was Aris.

Gone were the cottage country woods with its expected vegetation, dirt paths, roots crossing underfoot. Instead, the trees that clustered around glittered and gleamed, sending a million reflections off their silver and gold leaves, their branches laden with diamond fruits. It reminded Fern of some childhood fairy tale they’d read; they wished they could remember what happened in it. The whole thing felt like it should be teeming with life: insects, and animals, and other creatures like Aris, but besides the trees, it was empty, nothing but Fern and…

And Aris.

Aris, the creature holding Fern’s hand as they walked, was no longer hidden in shadows. They were fairly small, slightly shorter than Fern, and moved languidly, as if through a dream, walking too smoothly compared to Fern’s own awkward, jerky, human gait. Their hair was a million hair-thin tiny pine needles all rolling down in locks made of individual branches, but the needles were also emerald, glittering and gleaming as they rolled across Aris’s shoulders, down to the ground to puddle at their feet and drag softly behind them like a train, chiming softly as each brushed the other. Fern couldn’t tell if Aris was naked or not; the glittering reflections off the trees and off Aris’s hair made glowing reflections that covered their body like diaphanous robes. Walking behind Aris as they were, Fern couldn’t see their face, only the pointed ears that emerged from their hair, the silk-soft arm and shoulder in front of them.

The trees opened up into a clearing. There were various tree stumps around, not cut but fallen and then polished smooth, the ground still littered with silver and gold foil that crunched underfoot as Fern walked, but simply chimed as Aris did. Ahead was a full tree in the form of a chair, a seat, a simple throne…? It was simply the wood, no branches. It hadn’t been carved, but rather shaped while still alive.

Aris jumped up onto that and perched there, crouching, all odd knees and dangling arms, their chin resting on their knees. Their face was so perfect, so beautiful, that Fern had difficulty remembering it even as they looked at it. Soft bow lips, an upturned nose, heavy emerald lashes covering glowing green eyes—

“Now, then,” Aris said. “What you and I want from an alliance, I’m not sure we know, either of us. But let me not put words in your mouth; put them there yourself. Do you know what you want?”

Fern had to clear their throat before they spoke. They felt out of place, a scar on the world, a discordance that shuddered through their body. “I’m not sure,” they admitted, wondering if it was foolish to admit even that much. “I didn’t want to see a tree harmed the way yours was, and I don’t want to see this free beauty you are, trapped the way you have been. But I… I deeply don’t understand what’s going on here, so I don’t know what to suggest.”

A little sharp giggle from Aris at that, who barely now resembled the feral, odd thing that Fern had seen in the world outside, being now rather more royal and less wild. Fern thought it would be good for them to remember that Aris was both things.

“Well,” Aris said. “I remember that Bannick offered you three questions or pieces of advice. I’m not Bannick, and I will not advise anyone, no, but I will answer three questions as well, if you have it and you will it. Then I can give you time to think on what you want the alliance to be, and we can touch base later—though it’s also possible we can simply plan to help each other as we are best able, and not make a specific plan at all.”

“Ah…” Fern swallowed. “Right, that’s true. It might be hard to plan for what’s going on here. So … I can ask you three questions? Please don’t count that as one of them.”

“I’ll do you a kindness by not doing so. Yes, three questions, ask away and I will answer as I am permitted,” Aris said, with a little snort that didn’t match their jewel-laden appearance. They stuck their hand through the air as if tearing it, and pulled the can of beer back in from where Fern had left it at the base of the tree, then popped the tab. The sound was loud and bizarrely mundane, and for some reason made Fern want to cry. “Refreshments?” Aris offered, apparently not wanting to drink without offering Fern something in return.

Should they accept the refreshments? 

And what questions should Fern ask?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.]

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Fern wished deeply that their podcast was one of those paranormal ones, rather than about real, if weird, historical events. They would have so much more research under their belt about various wards and what kind of things were supposed to be good if they’d spent their time on that instead. Their family had said their podcast was a waste of time, and they really resented that the comment might have been right.

On the other hand, they could always pivot later. Wouldn’t help them now, but this sort of thing would make great material. Sure, everyone would think it was made up for clicks… Fern absently dug their phone out, turning on their recording app, and put it back in their pocket with the mic sticking out. They just didn’t have enough hands to carry it.

A recording would mean that they’d be able to review this later, one way or another. Whether or not it served as content, it would be good to be able to review it; too many things had happened already where they hadn’t been able to fully remember the details of an earlier thing they did or interaction they had. Better to have a record of it. 

The spike seemed to be getting heavier still, so they took a step back; immediately, the pressure lessened, so they did it again. They stared down at the bulge it made in their pocket..

Okay. First things first. They wanted to get the note to the tree, but also didn’t want to take too many risks. They didn’t want to put the spike somewhere they might lose it, but leaving it in the house was also a risk. Given what Bannick had said—and again assuming that was even true—maybe the fourth entity had been the one who originally put the spike in the tree as some kind of form of control. They didn’t want to leave the spike behind if so.

“Hi,” they said aloud, staring at the tree. They could have sworn the tree itself shifted a little in response. “I, uh, brought a note. I want to give it to you as outreach…? And I understand you don’t want the spike near you, and I respect that, but I also have to keep myself safe. So, I’m going to throw this note to you, okay?”

Not taking their eyes off the tree, they ducked down to grab a small stick. They didn’t have great paper airplane skills—they could fold one but not usually get it to its destination—and they didn’t have any string, but the stick itself was narrow enough that, when they folded the note into a long strip, they could wrap the note around the stick itself in a tied half-knot.

Once they were sure it wasn’t going to fall off, they gave it a careful, underhanded toss, aiming specifically for that hand-like branch but just sort of generally aiming toward the tree body itself.

Something… something caught it. Fern couldn’t quite see, but the tree shifted as if in the breeze, and the note was suddenly in the …hand? They squinted, feeling like they were missing something, even as they watched the note seem to unfold itself and hang in the air.

An expectant silence followed, and Fern again felt like they were missing something, that there was something there they just couldn’t quite hear, like they were straining to pick up a noise that wasn’t quite there.

Slowly, very carefully, they ducked down and put the spike on the ground next to them, still close enough that if the tree entity charged them or something they could put their foot on it and be ‘touching’ it again.

As soon as their fingers left it, as they rose from their crouch, they realized there had been a shape in the shadows of the tree they hadn’t seen before. The shape was still camouflaged, the details hard to make out, but… 

The entity’s skin was the same color as the tree’s bark, that ashy brown, though smooth, and long pine-needle hair tumbled from their head in waves around their body. Their eyes were a bright, almost searing green, the only part of the spirit that Fern could see clearly. Nevertheless, Fern stood almost dumbstruck, staring at the entity.

“So you come to treat with me,” the spirit said archly; their voice was familiar.

“You’re Aris.”

“So I have been called, in lieu of a name I will not give and cannot offer,” Aris said. They snorted softly. “Yes, you may use Aris, as that beast too does. You do not smell of him. Perhaps you’ve still yet stayed out of his clutches.”

There was an odd, almost hypnotic rhythm to Aris’s flow of speech, not quite the emphasis or sentence structure that Fern would expect. They wet their lips nervously. “Well, Aris, what do you think?”

“Of the note, I suppose, though you were not clear.” Aris considered it. They still hadn’t emerged from the shadow of the tree’s branches, crouched there. “Allow myself to offer you my hospitality.”

“What does that entail…?” Fern asked.

“We go to a place that’s mine alone,” Aris said. Those spark-bright eyes glanced down at the beer and back up, and their voice was amused when they spoke next. “I enjoy the refreshments you have offered. I offer the same to you. We talk to one another as equals might. Become both the known and the knowing of each other. Yet: you may not bring the spike with you.”

Fern nodded slowly. “I just need to be cautious. You understand. I’m a little human and in over my head, right…?”

“Oh, you are indeed, but so many heads have fallen below!” Aris said. “But who do you think that spike is for? Iron is a deterrent only to so many. There was no spike in the mirror, I’m sure you’ve clearly seen.”

“And if I walk away from it toward you,” Fern said slowly, “you’re going to take me to a secondary location?”

“There is nothing secondary about it,” Aris assured Fern. “In either sense. You will go nowhere and remain here, but you will be somewhere other than here, a place of my own.”

“A place where I will be… fully in your power?” Fern prompted.

“Just so! A show of trust. And yet, if you wish to ally with no trust…” Aris let out a sigh, heavy, almost part of the rhythm of their speech. “Then I shall consider what that means. I will think upon it, as you return home, safe and protected. In truth, there’s little I can do against you while you wield that, and much I could gain from an alliance regardless even if you trusted me not. So I would needs consider what suits me best from an alliance where you hold yourself so far apart.”

Still Fern hesitated. If they were understanding Aris correctly, it sounded like they had two options.

Option one: They could, as a show of trust, leave the spike behind and go somewhere with Aris so they could discuss things one on one. This still wasn’t a promised alliance, but it sounded like Aris was saying it would redefine their relationship from possibly antagonistic to at least that of guest and host. Fern didn’t know what this would all entail, but they knew enough of history to know that a hospitality bond was something not to be taken lightly. In ancient Greece, it had been called xenia. Not that Aris seemed to be Greek. 

Option two: They could firmly insist that they stay near the spike as protection from Aris’s possible threat to them, explaining again that they needed to balance their kindness with their safety. It sounded like this wouldn’t ruin their chances of allying, since Aris still needed something out of Fern, but that Aris might return Fern’s lack of trust. Though, this option might also give them more time back this afternoon, since they wouldn’t be running off to some preternatural sitting room.

So which should they do?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.]

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Shit. Shit. The mirror entity was coming, they couldn’t remember if they’d left the cellar open or not—or if something else had opened it—and they hadn’t even remembered to bring another beer in offering. They’d completely blanked on that. They were down here with no offerings and two possible threats, one on either side.

Fern did the only thing that seemed common sense. 

They bolted.

They hit the door to the stairs—then abruptly remembered they were trying to befriend the mirror entity. Nevertheless, they didn’t turn and look back. Wasn’t sure what they’d see and didn’t want to find out. 

But… neither did they want to just flee and not do any outreach.

What ended up coming out of their mouth, as a result, was a garbled, half-shrieked, “Please see my note! Get back to me! I’ll be back at the radio soon!! Let me know your thoughts! I thrive on feedback!”

And then they were running up the stairs as fast as they could, slamming the stairwell door behind them and leaning on it. Pressing it shut as if they could hold it closed against invading forces, they found themself shaking like a leaf. That hand hadn’t been human. It really hadn’t. It had resembled a human hand but had been wrong, twisted in a way that their mind tried to skip over when they thought about it.

Even as they shook, they found themself smiling. I thrive on feedback. What had that been? This wasn’t their outro to their podcast, it was real life. Absolute nonsense, they thought at themself almost dreamily, pinching their own cheek to force themself to stop grinning wildly. Don’t be excited about monsters, they told themself.

Too bad the basement door didn’t have a lock. They weren’t that lucky. At some point they’d probably have to go down there and at least lock the cellar, but in the meantime, they wished they could reduce the risk of something coming up. But what if they needed something from the cellar at some point? They only had Bannick’s word that it was a threat, but… well, no, they only had his word. Did they trust Bannick? Fern wasn’t sure. 

Irrelevant for now, though. No going back for a little while. They’d give the mirror entity (Bannick? Had that been Bannick? Or was it something else?) time to read their note.

Fern took a few deep breaths, counting as they let them out, before forcing themself to stand away from the door. It didn’t move, so they had to presume they weren’t being followed. Perhaps the mirror entity didn’t have run of the house. Or perhaps it was just waiting, lurking, so that Fern would believe that.

No way to know and no point tying themself in knots, they thought firmly. They had another note to deliver anyway.

This one they might as well bring the beer with. If they wanted to try to balance things out, better be even-handed. They got two cans out from the fridge; one of these, they left outside the door that led down to the basement, just in case the entity did come back up. The other, they could take to the pine tree.

On their way out past the living room, they hesitated. The pictures in the photo frames might help the woman in the wardrobe—Fern just wasn’t sure it’d be enough, not without a name or details. Better than nothing. They could grab those later, and hopefully supplement them with some kind of information taken from the woman’s personal belongings. Not for the first time, they wished they could reverse image search the photos, but the lack of internet stymied them.

The note first, either way. Time to focus up, Fern. They headed outside, beer in one hand, note in the other, tools and spike in their pocket. It was a colder day today, almost unpleasantly brisk, leaves crunching underfoot, though the pine was of course still fresh and green.

The stick that Fern had jammed into the stake-hole had somehow transformed into a branch overnight. It hadn’t yet grown needles, but was twisted a little upward, forming something almost hand-shaped, though with the wrong number of twigs for fingers. It looked like a perfect place to leave their note, protected from the elements by the curves.

Yet as they approached, the tree almost seemed to cringe from them. At the same time, their hoodie pocket seemed to grow heavy. Their heart sank along with it. It had to be the spike.

Fern ducked down to leave the can of beer at the base of the tree, then rose again, almost experimentally. The offering hadn’t made a difference to this; their hoodie pocket had grown even heavier, making it nearly a struggle to stand. Almost in wonder, they touched it, feeling the shape of the iron spike through the cloth. 

If it had been used to seal the tree entity inside, maybe it was reacting somehow…? Maybe, Fern thought, they wouldn’t be able to interact with the tree entity while they had it on them. If that were the case, it’d be impossible to befriend this entity while holding it.

On the other hand, that meant maybe the tree entity wouldn’t be able to interact with them, either. It might keep them safe from the potential threat the tree represented.

They hesitated, unsure of what to do. Try to jam the note in even as the tree cringed from them and risk damaging it somehow? Leave well enough alone and assume the tree was simply out of the equation from now on? Briefly put the stake further away so they could approach to put the note in safely? Or something else altogether?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. 

My b about missing the beer last time. I forgor.]

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Bannick had said if they were going to survive this, Fern would need some friends. They felt officially past being capable of doubting the reality of this—they had to go forward assuming this was real. They could find a way to cope with all the implications of this later.

Four threats. Three of them were also possible friends, or at least, enemies of the last one. 

The radio didn’t seem like one of the threats: Bannick had pointed out it was used for communication when they’d asked about contact. Plus, Aris had also appeared on it, not just Bannick. So hopefully they were right about this.

The mirror. The tree. The wardrobe was obviously another. And then the fourth… all they had to go off was their dream, but the hunger under the house…?

Okay. So they’d make plans. No point in unleashing another threat unless they were sure they’d get an ally out of it—at this point, they weren’t sure they should be introducing any new risks without trying to ameliorate them. They pulled out their notebook, and wrote:

Hello! I would let you out if you agree to not harm me. Do you want to be friends? Yes/no?

Yeah, that was about all they could think of in the moment. They laughed incredulously at themself, then slid the paper through the crack in the wardrobe door, wiggling it in. For a long moment, they didn’t think it’d go, but eventually it tipped through. They imagined they heard the soft sound as it slid down the other side of the door.

Silence. They leaned forward a little.

A huge bang, sudden, against the wardrobe door, followed by a sharp wail in a feminine voice. They weren’t proud of it, but they fell backward, scrambling on their ass, before forcing themself to stop and stay where they were. There was no more screaming, but a few long, steady scratches began to sound on the inside of the wardrobe door.

Slowly, Fern crept closer.

They thought they heard a voice. They couldn’t be sure, it was so quiet. It reminded them of  all those whispers they’d heard before, and for a moment they withdrew again, but thought: fuck it. Fern forced themself to listen.

“Who…” the voice whispered, almost on the edge of hearing.

Should they reveal their name? Maybe they should keep the alias, even if this time it wasn’t being broadcast anywhere—if the radio previously had even been a broadcast, and not just something shared inside the house. Names meant something in folklore, though it just figured that they’d pick Guy, when they weren’t. “Call me Guy,” they repeated again, anyway.

“…am… I?”

Ah. That introduced some difficulties. Fern cleared their throat. “You don’t know who you are…?”

“Don’t know… friend… killer… foe… unless…”

She didn’t finish the already-incoherent sentence. But that was fair. If she didn’t fully remember herself, she wasn’t willing to ally. Or maybe couldn’t, even.

Well, Fern wasn’t going to let her out if she didn’t agree, though. Better let her know that. Transparency, etc. “I promise I’ll try to get the answer to that,” they said. “Also I noticed you didn’t agree to be friends, so I’m not unlocking the door yet. I’ll give you time to think about it and try to find a way to help you, okay?”

They didn’t hear an answer, but that horrible scratching started back up again. Fern got to their feet, feeling queasy, and backed away. Suddenly they very much wanted not to be in this room. They shoved the key into their jeans pocket, grabbed the jewellery box, radio, and amber, then fled.

Back in their room, they felt a little better, which was a wild thing to experience under the circumstances. Their heart rate began to slow back to normal, and they shuddered. Of course, they hoped to let her out at some point—Fern didn’t want to leave some poor lady trapped in a closet forever—but wanted to ensure their own safety first. So that meant finding her identity, or getting at least one of the other threats on their side.

Might as well work on both. They examined their ill gotten goods as if they might hold the answer. The amber shape was probably just a bug, part of the vast amount of collectible clutter that the woman had accumulated. They could try to crack it open if there was a compelling reason to, but given that amber could sometimes be pretty valuable, they weren’t going to do it unless it seemed relevant in some way.

The jewellery box, though… that might include some hint of her identity, and this was a broken lock that probably wouldn’t be discovered, if those things even mattered at this point. They carefully slid the screwdriver between the lid and the base and leaned on it like a lever until they heard the snap as the lid suddenly popped.

It was full with a massive amount of tangled jewellery, chains wrapped on chains, a big old jewellery blob. Fern made a face. Okay, so there might still be some clue to her identity there. It would take a few hours to sort, though, so they might as well write notes for the tree and mirror first, the same as they’d done for the wardrobe, to try to get the process kicked off of making new friends. The other two would also probably need time to think, after all, and they could deal with the jewellery then.

But what to write…

While Fern pondered, they glanced at the radio again, a little nervously. The Lully song had finished and obligingly moved on to one by Charpentier. After a moment, they switched the channel. They were deeply in some strange realm now, and maybe some codebreaking would be necessary…?

Sure enough, there were number stations again. They wrote down the numbers as they happened: 7 8 6 20 24 24 14 20 0 18 10 4 3 5 14 17 12 20 18 8 2 0 13 3 19 7 4 13 2 7 0 13 6 4 3 2 7 0 13 13 4 11 18 19 7 0 19 18 17 4 0 11 11 24 7 4 0 17 19 1 17 4 0 10 8 13 6. A long pause, then they repeated.

That converted to…

GHFTXXNTRJDCENQLTRHBMCSGDMBGMFDCBGMMDKRSGSRQDKKXGDQSAQDJHMF

Absolute nonsense. They almost turned the radio off at that, then drew a deep breath, and looked down at the letters again. It wouldn’t do to give up too early.

They fiddled with the first few letters a bit, shifting them backward by one, then forward. Abruptly, the letter patterns begin to make more sense. It was double ciphered!

Slowly and laboriously, they shifted each letter by one until they had a complete message.

HI GUY 

YOU ASKED FOR MUSIC AND THEN CHANGED CHANNELS 

THATS REALLY HEARTBREAKING

“Oh, ha ha ha,” they said aloud, the sound sharp in the room, and turned the radio off with a snap. Then they just put their head in their hands as they forced themself to breathe steadily. Don’t get tilted. So there was nothing useful there. That too was just something Bannick was playing with. But maybe he had thought it was funny. Maybe this would all be a bonding moment.

They should get those notes out before doing anything else time-consuming, one way or another. They still weren’t thinking of any particularly good notes, especially in the exhaustion after that snap of annoyance, so they just wrote what came to mind instead. Why not? It was the same vibe that they’d left with the wardrobe, and they might as well treat all three the same to start.

Hi. I have heard I have released you from your prison, or at least, did something to help you become active again. That’s great. I’m a big fan of prison abolition. I would like to be allies with you, not enemies. Are you willing to ally against another threat? Yes/No.

Sure. Good enough. They copied it identically for the second note, and then frowned at them both, trying to decide. Mirror or tree…

Mirror first. The mirror seemed more likely to be tied to Bannick, and the two of them had already had some kind of build-up of some kind of interactions. They could drop the tree’s note off last.

Triple-checking that they had their tools and the spike still, they headed down to the basement, bee-lining for the mirror. For a moment, they felt a bit stupid: unlike the wardrobe, there was nowhere to put the note ‘in.’ But it was probably enough to wedge the note into the frame. Hopefully the creature—Bannick?—would still see it there. 

They’d just managed to successfully wedge it in when they noticed movement out of the corner of their eye.

The tapestry was moving faintly, as if in some kind of breeze. Behind it was darkness.

Had they left the cellar door open-? They stared at that fluttering tapestry, trying to remember what they’d done when they were down here last.

Shff.

And that was the sound of movement behind them, coming from the mirror. They turned, and saw a hand emerging out of it as if from water, fish-belly white with a faint sheen to it, like meat that had gone off.

Between those two things, they froze, uncertain what to do or where to go.

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

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