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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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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!]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you? How disappointing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern. ]

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