[ Please read the instructions before commenting! ] 

Fern was abruptly feeling not exactly good about this conversation. They swallowed, considering hanging up—but not taking advantage of the offer felt even more foolish than actually doing so.

“Tick tock,” Bannick said. “We don’t love dead air on the radio.”

So was there a time limit? Or was Bannick just implying there was one to try to needle Fern? Either way, they didn’t want to push their luck with him. “Okay,” Fern said. There was one way to buy time about questions to ask—and to guide them toward some questions they could ask. “What piece of advice do you feel might be most important to me in this moment?”

Bannick laughed at that. They found themself imagining a grin, though on what face, they couldn’t say. “Great question. There are four possible threats in your cottage right now, my dear Guy. One of them has been active from the beginning, but not able to reach you…yet. You have enabled another two to act directly. The fourth you haven’t, yet. That’s the background to the advice. So, here’s the actual advice: If you try to do this without any help, that first threat will definitely get you. It’s only a matter of time. I’d suggest you court one or more of the other threats so they want to help you, not to harm you. Mind, their reach is limited and they are technically subservient to the first. But none of them like that first threat, and that’s something to build off of.”

Four threats?? Fern swallowed hard. They felt almost like they were somewhere else, not in this room at all, a space where only they and the radio existed. Bannick’s laugh echoed out at them and they jolted. Their heart was racing too fast but—

It felt a little nice, to get their heart racing again.

“Tick tock,” Bannick repeated, a smile in his voice.

Questions, questions. “And, if this area you’re an expert of is relevant to what I’m doing, why is it relevant?”

“Oh, that’s a careful one,” he said approvingly, almost a purr. “One question, but it covers the area itself by proxy, what you’re specifically doing, and why. See, this is why I think we could be friends, Guy, even if you’ve been trying to keep yourself so carefully a secret from me. You like asking questions like that and I like dropping tidbits of information throughout everything I say to see if you pick up on it.”

Somehow, despite themself, Fern grinned, hardly able to believe the expression they were feeling on their face. “Glad you approve. So?”

“So, it’s relevant because you were holding the key to release the final threat. Or friend. Thriend. Really, which they end up being is up to you at this point, I think.”

Meaning that what Bannick was an expert in was the four threats in this cottage. “I could just leave, you know,” they said, careful not to phrase it like a question in any way. 

“Not very easily,” Bannick said casually. “That one’s a freebie. I’ve already hijacked your phone. Your friend won’t get any further texts, and your brother’s call got answered already today, though you didn’t realize it. He sounds nice, by the way.”

“He’s married,” Fern said, their mind almost blank otherwise, static thrilling through and horrifying them. 

“Cool, does he have a sibling?”

They let out an incredulous laugh. “What…”

“Tick tock. One last question, Guy,” Bannick said lightly. “I’m so glad you called in, I’m having just so much fun.”

Their mouth was so dry. It was hard to think, to hear. The sound of the radio was so intense. Was this a joke? A bad prank, played by someone who surely knew they were alone in this cottage? They felt unwell. They felt hungry. They felt excited.

They tried to find sense through their whirling thoughts. “Are you—the supernatural entity who was contacting me through the mirror, and who I released from the tree?”

“Nope,” Bannick said, sharply. Then, his voice more sympathetic, he added: “Ah, since I owe you, I’ll not trick you this time, though I could just have left it at that. Let’s call the debt fully paid with this. It’s only a ‘no’ because you made the mistake of thinking those two are the same supernatural entity. In terms of contact, that’s through the radio, we’re doing it right now. But you could go downstairs and check that mirror or the tree if you think that’d be a valuable thing to do. No skin off my neck whatever you choose to do.”

Fern almost sat down heavily, but forced themself to lock their knees. They didn’t want to sit on that fourth threat’s bed, suddenly. “Bannick—”

“Now, that aside, any radio requests? We’re through our approved list of questions and-or advice, listeners, so it’s time for a little music again,” Bannick crooned. 

“Oh. Sure. We’re being normal now,” Fern said aloud, not filtering their thoughts, which earned a cackle from Bannick. “Something from… Lully, Charpentier, Couperin, or Rameau?”

“What, all four?” Bannick asked cheerfully. “Let’s start with Lully. I don’t like sacred music much—did you know Lully’s Te Deum actually killed him? Figures—so let’s do something more theatrical. All right, listeners, this is Armide: Act V, Scene 3: Il est Seul…”

As the music started up, Fern thumbed the phone off. They shoved it back into their pocket, trying not to think the word hijacked over and over again. 

So. This was happening. It was real. Or it wasn’t, and Bannick would be back with a show later tonight, and laugh about how scared Fern had been for the rest of the day. (That was what they were feeling, right? Fear? They weren’t sure.) But if it wasn’t real, how did Bannick know they’d found a key? Or that they had a brother and a friend, both of whom could come get them? And Bannick had mentioned a pine tree earlier. Fern didn’t think they’d described which tree had been spiked.

Slowly, they put the tools back in their pocket. Maybe holding onto those was a very good idea, yeah. They weren’t sure they wanted to sleep with a nasty old iron spike later tonight, but, like, at this point: maybe? Though, since it was barely afternoon, that was a long way off.

After a moment, they looked at the key they’d found, trying to decide if they should do it. If they should open the lock on the wardrobe, which it clearly fit, and ‘enable’ the final threat, or not? 

And either way, what the hell should they do now?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.

Eta: Disclosure! Since posting, I slightly edited the paragraph
starting with “Nope” due to being vaguer than I meant to be!]

◀ previous | index | next ▶

[ Please read the instructions before commenting! ] 

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. ]

◀ previous | index | next ▶

[ Please read the instructions before commenting! ] 

It occurred to Fern that someone might be watching them. Shitty things happened in short-term rentals all the time. The thought made their skin crawl even harder. 

They slowly backed out of the bedroom, and did a quick search-over of all the other rooms they’d been in, checking the corners, behind blinds, and so on. 

There were no cameras. Not that they saw, at least, and anything too well hidden behind something wouldn’t catch much anyway. They checked the bathroom mirror even in case it was a two-way mirror with a camera behind it: touching it to do the fingernail test (it passed), rapping for a hollow sound and only hearing solid, shining a light on it. They shone the flashlight around in general in each room, hoping to find any glass reflections where there shouldn’t be any—well, hoping not to, but at least looking for them.

No, as far as they could tell, the place didn’t have any cameras on the either of the above-ground floors. They went down to the basement to check that as well, but didn’t spot any there either, though they didn’t bother to check that mirror, since it was free-standing.

There were almost certainly ways to hide a secret camera that Fern wouldn’t know how to look for, of course, and they didn’t know how to begin to look for bugs. But they felt they’d done a pretty solid search. 

On their way back, they paused in the kitchen, cleaning off the railroad spike before wrapping it in a tea towel and putting that in their hoodie pocket along with the hammer and screwdriver. Things were starting to get a bit heavy, but whatever, they felt better to have it. It could make a wicked weapon, in a worse case normal scenario. And if the sense in the second bedroom had been… mystical somehow…

Well. It might protect them? Or even react to something. They imagined they could feel that through their hoodie pocket if so, nearly against their skin.

They shook their head at themself, then grabbed a notebook to take notes. They grabbed the radio as well, hoping to entertain themself as they explored the second room.

The room didn’t feel any different on second entry, nor did the spike do anything unusual. They felt… odd about the idea of actually inventorying this room; there didn’t seem like any reason to do it, especially since they weren’t even supposed to be in here. But Fern figured they might get a rough idea of what was here, write down some notes, and come back to individual spaces if they were inclined to for other reasons.

They checked the ottoman first. It was large, more of a chest with padding on top than  anything else. Inside were some folded goods: Without pulling them out, something Fern was loath to do, they spotted what looked like clothing, table linens, towels, bed linens, and for some reason, some plateware. What purpose that served, they weren’t sure. Things this lady owned that weren’t otherwise property of the household, maybe?

They circled around to the bureau, finding Victorian-style women’s undergarments—Fern felt as if they might be acting a bit rude—some sewing supplies, a couple pocket books, corsets, gloves and handkerchiefs. The bottom drawer had some children’s clothes, but they looked older than the rest; perhaps this woman had kept her childhood clothes to pass on to her own children, or as a keepsake? They leaned more toward the latter on discovering a very old jar of baby teeth. Suddenly intensely uncomfortable, they slammed the drawers shut.

On top of the flat surfaces, they saw various perfumes, jewellery, a hand-mirror, makeup, the hair brush, the parabolic candle magnifier, and a small collection of stones, including a piece of amber with something hazy trapped in it, and some petrified wood, along with just so much clutter. They didn’t want to stop and mark everything down. The jewellery box was locked and they didn’t spot the key at a glance—

There was a thumping sound from behind them. 

The hair lifted on the back of their neck. Suddenly extremely reluctant, they slowly turned. 

There was nothing in the room. No further sounds, either.

Old house settling, they thought. This was definitely an old house.

Nevertheless, they turned the radio on. They’d previously left the dials on Bannick’s station, and soft classical music began to play. It was sure to cover any further unnerving house sounds, something Fern decided spontaneously was a good idea. If there was nothing there, there was no point in freaking themself out.

Having turned to face the thump, though, they found themself staring at the padlocked door to the wardrobe. After a long moment of feeling too intrusive, like they were doing something wrong, they tried the spare keys on the lock, but none of them worked. No luck there. They weren’t going to break that padlock, obviously…

The last thing they wanted to do was look under the bed, but after a moment, they convinced themself to kneel down and take a look.

It was mostly empty other than the dust balls, but as they shone their flashlight around, it glinted off something metal. They lay down and stretched themself out, then shuddered as the spike dug into their stomach in their hoodie. It was sideways, so it shouldn’t be able to harm them, but the dream came back to them…

In order to reach the metal object, they’d have to be on their stomach. To do that, they had to pull the tools and spike from their hoodie pocket. It was the only thing that made sense.

“Hey, everyone.” 

The sudden voice, and the way the music stopped to accompany it, almost jolted Fern out of their skin. They let out a strangled sound that didn’t quite make it to full scream, freezing for a few long seconds.

“How are we out there, this lonely … well, afternoon?” It was Bannick’s voice. It was significantly earlier than his show yesterday, but Fern didn’t know how long or how often he actually ran this thing. “I’m great,” Bannick added. “Fantastic. Doing wonderful myself. Would love to hear from more callers, catch up with the neighbours. Anyone want to call?”

They could let it run, of course, see if Aris called Bannick again, and just listen to it while they took everything out of their hoodie and shove themself under the bed to reach the metal thing. 

Or they could abandon their attempts to reach it and just call in right away. 

Or something else?

And if they did call in, what should they tell Bannick, and what should they ask?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

◀ previous | index | next ▶

[ Please read the instructions before commenting! ] 

The iron spike probably wasn’t any good for the tree anyway, not if it was leaking sap.

Fern took out their hammer and carefully wedged it against the tree. It couldn’t hurt to be careful—they were up on all their shots, sure, but tetanus aside, they weren’t gunning for an infected injury!

They did a few test presses, but surprisingly, given how the tree had started to grow around it,the spike slid remarkably smoothly with just a little pressure. They thought they’d really have to lean on it, so it was probably a good thing they hadn’t just slammed the hammer down and rocketed the spike at themself, they figured. It was honestly like the tree couldn’t wait to have the spike out. Which, like, mood, but it was still wild. 

More deliberate now, they leaned on it slow and careful, sliding the spike slowly out to clatter to the ground at their feet. As it fell, they almost staggered, almost bowled over by a sudden rush of triumph that they weren’t entirely sure they’d earned, a euphoric rush of emotion that threatened to choke them out. For some reason, there were tears on their face.

How absolutely absurd, they thought distantly, running their hoodie sleeve over their eyes. It took them a few long moments of ragged breathing to get themself back under control. And for some reason, it felt like it should have been worse, as if something had stopped it from completely taking them over.

Sap was leaking slowly, and they didn’t fancy leaving what was essentially an open wound exposed to moisture and bugs. Fortunately, there were plenty of fallen leaves and branches around, so they dug around until they found one about the size of the spike, along with some leaves to hold it in, and pressed it to the hole. They reached for the hammer to tap it—

There must have been some kind of slickness from the sap, though it had seemed sticky to them, because it felt exactly as if something inside the tree had grabbed the end of the stick and pulled it into place. 

They stared at that for a long moment, but couldn’t seem to bring themself to care, their heart still beating too fast from the euphoria of having the spike out. After a long moment, they reached down, covering their hand with their hoodie sleeve, and picked up the railway spike.

Once inside, they let out a long breath. The strong rush of wild emotion was fading rapidly. The situation still seemed odd, but they often read too much into things anyway, Fern figured. They put the spike on the counter next to the sink so they could wash it off later, as they changed out their water bottle and dropped off their mostly-empty cereal baggie. It was lunch time, but they’d snacked on enough cereal that they figured they could do that later. Washed their hands for good measure.

With the afternoon stretching ahead of them, they briefly considered writing, but there were too many mysteries left in front of them. Jingling the spare keys, they headed upstairs to the hallway.

For a moment, they eyed that second bedroom door and its sign. It was an obvious keep out, but nobody would know. Their nightmare echoed in their head, but that was just a nightmare.

They slid the key into the lock and turned it. It unlocked with a too-loud click.

Fern opened the door and entered, feeling a weird chill as if they were being watched. It made them clumsy, fumbling for the lights, but they came on with an alarming hum.

Nobody had entered this room for a long time. Clearly someone had come in here since the Victorian era—there was electric lighting, for one thing, so unless the original owners had been very ahead of the curve or very rich, it didn’t seem likely that it was fully in the initial state. But it looked Victorian-style, and was coated with a layer of dust and cobwebbing.

Fern slowly entered. It looked like it must have been a woman’s bedroom. One wall had a big wooden bed with a musty canopy on it, pillows piled high. At its foot was an ottoman, which Fern suspected had storage in it. There was a bureau with drawers, and a chiffonier. A washstand. A bedside table with a cupboard. Even a fireplace—they’d noticed the multiple chimneys but hadn’t realized one connected here. There was even a large, free-standing wardrobe, though this they noticed was sealed with a padlock, one with some kind of odd ornate design on the outside. They might have a key for that as well.

Every single surface was cluttered with the personal belongings of its owner, enough that they couldn’t even get a grasp of the room’s contents. A parabolic candle magnifier, a hair brush, a jewellery box—they’d need to take time to explore the room properly to figure out what all was here, let alone what was in various things or what it all meant. It could take days to really be sure they’d seen everything, though a high-level review wouldn’t be too bad. And it wasn’t like they needed to be thorough. This was all idle curiosity.

Where, they wondered, should they even start?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

◀ previous | index | next ▶

[ Please read the instructions before commenting! ] 

Fern’s gaze travelled back to that spike. The angle of the head seemed like Fern would be able to use the back of the claw hammer to pry the spike out, if they wanted to. It’d take a little bit of elbow grease, but shouldn’t pose a problem.

It was definitely iron, and the only iron they’d seen so far—still not sure if it was cold, but they could always put it in the freezer and see if fairy tale bullshit rules held. Or they could try to find a steam iron somewhere in the house. That they were less sure of; they hadn’t seen one by the washer/dryer, and that’s where they assumed it’d be if the owner had provided one. 

Those were the sort of things that might be relevant if any of the ghosty stuff was real, anyway, which they certainly weren’t willing to assume on the basis of misplacing a bowl of beer.

They touched the spike gently, as if testing. Firmly in there, that was for sure, but yeah, sticking out enough they didn’t think would be an issue. On an impulse, they touched the sap as well—but it was definitely sap, not beer. Tree blood, they thought, and felt a little bad for the tree again, though they doubted it could feel pain. Yet despite that, their heart ached unexpectedly.

…Well, they didn’t need to decide right away. They didn’t super want to carry a railway spike with them on their walk, anyway, so they could decide when they were back if they should pull it out.

Fern headed down the path, heading west toward the river. It was a beautiful morning for it, the sun shining, birds singing, leaves crunching underfoot. The trail was fairly visible, but… well, narrow. Fern was delighted to be taking it during the day, but glad they hadn’t taken it in the evening yesterday. It would be much, much easier to lose their way on it in the dark.

It took about forty-five minutes to reach the river, but was well worth the trip. The river was wide, far too wide to cross without a vessel, but the sunlight glittered off it, and the soft sound of the water and the wind through the trees made a soft harmony to each other. The rocks that lead down to it had large, flat surfaces that were warmed by the sun. Fern flopped down on one and just let themself relax for a long moment, the tension leeching from their muscles. Maybe they could take their laptop out here tomorrow with a packed lunch and do some writing if the weather was still good. It felt like it’d be great for focus.

They spent a while just relaxing, enjoying the atmosphere, snacking on their cereal and sipping water. A good distance upstream, they could just make out the silhouette of someone fishing. Maybe another cottager. They were too far away to talk to, a distant speck of a person, but when Fern waved, they waved back. 

Good to know it wasn’t totally isolated out here. Not that Fern anticipated needing company, but it was nice to have some sense of what direction to go if something came up, even though the other cottage would be some ways up the road.

They gazed at the river and found themself thinking, absurdly: Running water is protection from vampires. No vampires here, though, unless they really liked beer instead of blood, at which point they were probably not a threat. Maybe it was protection from other spirits too, though? They weren’t sure exactly what to do about that if so, but looking at it was at least good for their heart. 

If there was a theoretical—which, Fern thought, meant non-existent—river spirit, they could make an offering. For luck, at least. They scrounged around in their embarrassingly salty pockets and pulled out the galvanized screw. It was shiny, at least, and still wasn’t iron, so they shrugged, throwing it in. “Take this offering,” they intoned, unable to take themself seriously. “In return, I ask for your aid and protection.”

Nothing happened, which is exactly what Fern expected. Nobody even offered them a silver or gold screw in return. Letting the folk tales down.

That was enough of that, they supposed. They packed everything back up, and headed to the cabin. Once it was in sight, they let out a breath, just glad the path had been equally fine to travel in the daytime when returning. They texted Adrian a quick follow-up, I’m back! 

They hesitated again by that pine, though. 

Should they do it? Pull the stake out to keep some iron on them, or leave it in there?

And regardless of that choice, what next? They could do just about anything—go explore that locked room, focus up on work, or something else altogether.

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

◀ previous | index | next ▶