I spent a great many nights in both the City and the Underground, listening to stories and meeting many interesting individuals. Both places granted me such perspective; it was so special to me. I do recall the night of the Black Monday, I was sat at the bar of the Underground, a warming bowl of soup comforting me like a blanket on a stormy night. The man who made it was an exemplary chef, no doubt about that, so naturally, I wished to learn more of him.
I never did get the chance that night, but that didn’t stop me from discovering who this individual truly was, and what follows are pieces of literature composed primarily of accounts from friends and customers, as well as, oddly enough, pieces of myth and folklore, legends and tales from eyewitnesses. Mindless ramblings? Perhaps. But I fear there must be a reason not many creatures entered those woods beyond the City limits after that night…
Within the Underground, life moved at a different pace than the City. It was slower, more somber; authentic, perhaps; could there be such a thing as too authentic? Verily, existentialism mattered not to a well-natured man, one who currently stepped through the swinging wooden doors of the Broken Mug Bar carrying a tray adorned with several bowls, each filled with a sickly looking, yet pleasant smelling, stew within. Every now and again, when they could afford it, the bar would host a soup night, one of which was open to all, free of charge or trade. It was a way to care for the impoverished in body or spirit across the Underground, as both were, unfortunately, common. It also much better than whatever was served in the Comede. As the man’s service swept across the bar, he was responded to with hearty cheers.
“Hey, thanks Ray!”
“Ahh, this guy– gratias!”
“Thank you, dear, such a nice young man.”
Raymond Coquinaria, co-owner of the Broken Mug Bar, was thirty-nine-pushing-forty, however he looked good for his age, at least he thought; as did the lady of the last remark, who was well up in her years, that sat at the table before him. As he set down the last bowl for her, a beautiful woman appeared behind him, carrying an equal amount of bowls to what he had before. She stopped, talking over her shoulder playfully to the two of them.
“I see you, Miss Gail, trying to steal my husband, huh?”
“Oohh, ha ha, I could never!”
His gorgeous wife, Amelia, the other co-owner, winked and smiled at Raymond before bustling to other tables with her food. She wore a light blue and red plaid patterned dress with a white apron over it. She had short, blonde, curly hair and always had the demeanor of a loving mother, though she certainly didn’t look her age, which would be rather ungentlemanly to tell. Raymond smiled back before speaking to Miss Gail.
“Always a pleasure to have you around, Miss Gail.”
“Oh, its so nice to see you two as well. I love it when you all do the soup nights!”
“Its great to help people, truly. I oughta head back to the kitchen now–let me know if it needs more salt, yeah?”
“Okay, I will. Oh, and really quick–”
She leaned in for a whispered remark with her shaky old lady voice.
“Just so you know, I’ve outlasted so many around here, I’ll just wait to get you one day when she’s gone.”
With an uproarious cackle from both of them, Raymond headed back to the kitchen. As the swinging wooden doors came to a halt behind him, he donned his culinarian apparatuses: a stained, hefty apron, and a toque blanche; the foreign white chef hat. Before him sat a few large pots above various burners, each host to contents of the bubbling stew which they were serving tonight. Raymond approached the counter beside the pots and a half-cut carrot’s lament with knife in hand, resuming his attention upon the pot to his right.
Dexterously, his hands moved across the cutting board, almost a blur, scooping chopped vegetables, pinches of spices, dashes of herbs, all into the pot. Tonight was host of a vegetable-beef-stew. Amidst his culinary concerto, the swinging doors opened as Amelia entered with a tray of dirty dishes, which she tossed inside the sink. With a sigh, she came up to Raymond, leaning beside him. She spoke, her voice always a seraphic symphony, even with its current undertones of exhaustion.
“Goodness, quite a turn out tonight, huh?”
“Ha ha…yeah. They needed this, truly. Its been getting harder and harder out there.”
“It’ll be okay, alright? Things will get better, the City will come to their senses at some point, I mean, they have to. It’s New Years Eve for pete’s sake, and the ‘Cras is working around the clock to negotiate something for everyone down here.”
Raymond gently stirred the pot before breathing deeply, lines of stress worn across his face.
“I know, I know. Its just…I mean…couldn’t they hurry it up, you know?”
Amelia laughed softly as she leaned over, her head resting on Raymond’s shoulder, her fingers finding his in a loving embrace.
“Haha. Such is diplomacy, sweetheart.”
And they rested for a moment, simply being.
Amelia made with a couple affirming pats on Raymond’s hand before making her way to the double doors.
“Alright, I’m gonna go back into the fray. I love you.”
“You’re truly the love of my life, you know that right?”
With a flirty leg pop, she winked and responded.
“I know.”
Tuning the radio to a local hit big-band station, Raymond continued to work in his domain of the kitchen, absorbing himself in the zone of prowess, tiring as it was. The night was nearing its end, and the New Year was nearing its dawn. The people of the Underground would enjoy this night, assuredly; Raymond and Amelia were happy to give it to them. There would be time for the Two of them, no doubt about that, but for now the time was for the people. It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy cooking, of course. Passion requires wholehearted effort, as if one’s very soul has taken up the mantle of laborer. The soul serves with glee and joy; however, it asks the rest of the body to operate on maximum energy to match its own. The body, of course, accepts the request with determination.
Here inlies the tragedy; the body. It tires and aches, as the soul presses onward. Lo, the dilemma. Raymond’s soul was hyper as a colt in sunshine, and yet his body as weary as an ox in the heat. Regardless, his iron will would push him through his labor, as the prize of rest awaits him and his spouse at the end of this bout. Lost in his thoughts, Raymond heard not the sounds beyond the crackling of flames, dull thudding of knives against wood, sizzling of meats, and bubbling of broths.
Tragically, it was his love for culinarianism, along with reverberating sounds of jazz, which prohibited Raymond from perceiving the growing cacophony from beyond those double doors. He knew not that there was some unseen force influencing deprived souls to give in to their bottled-up stress that had been mounting for far too long now. He knew not that the economy had just crashed down into despair moments after the midnight toll. He knew not that some troubled individuals had burst into the bar, knives and guns drawn.
If it weren’t for her undying pure spirit, perhaps Amelia would’ve been spared from their wrath, but alas, she faced the evil before her. Drawing a concealed pistol from beneath the counter, Amelia aimed it directly at the head of her opposition.
But Raymond heard none of the altercation, therefore it is unknown what precisely transpired.
He was only alerted by a large, explosive sound which echoed throughout the kitchen. Raymond, apprehensive, cocked his head to listen intently for a moment. Logic and reason told him that the source of the sound was a glass breaking, or perhaps someone fell. No, too low for glass, and too bright for a fall. A dish was dropped? Surely the wooden bowls were not that heavy. A…a gun? His heart beat a little faster. Amelia. She is a very intelligent woman whom has more than enough prowess to handle herself, however, assuredly, a bullet can take out even the most prepared of men. Perhaps anxiety was getting the best of him, surely. With furrowed brow, Raymond hastily turned the radio volume down and listened intently.
He heard mumbled tones of a grisly, gross, mucus-filled voice, before he felt and heard a giant slam into the wall. Raymond quickly grabbed a meat cleaver and burst through the double doors, terrified, but determined. As the doors swung open, several things met his gaze. First, the place was ransacked. Chairs, liquor, cutlery; stolen. The entrance was smashed and windows seemed to have been blown out. Second, bodies. Bodies and blood of customers, of friends, comrades, all littering the ground. He saw the decapitated figure of sweet Ms. Gail across the counter. But the third thing he saw was the single most terrible thing he could’ve ever witnessed.
To his left, behind the bar, a monstrous looking creature with features analogous to that of a sewer rat and a man was crouched down low, buck teeth embedded in the face of a corpse which lay slumped against the ground. The corpse…dear-
What…used to be…Amelia…was being mauled by this monstrosity.
With a dropping feeling starting to sink in his stomach, and a building fury, Raymond roared with a furious rumble of a shout towards the creature.
“HEY! GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER!”
The creature looked up in fear and hissed at Raymond, and he saw a bullet wound in its cheek, before it scuttled across the counter with extreme speed, crawling out of the bar and into the Underground. Raymond took several hastened strides and reached the exit, cleaver gripped tightly, and looked out to see where the creature had gone. But he only caught a glimpse of its wormlike tail slithering around the corner, departing towards the City. He was breathing heavy, his heart was beating fast.
The Underground seemed much emptier than usual, and there was a wake of destruction the creature seemingly left behind. His head was spinning, he needed to go back to the Broken Mug, he needed to see her again. As he returned, he stood in the doorway for a moment, before he ducked back out, hurling vomit so hard it pulsed in agony inside his head. When he recovered, he slowly went back inside, and stepping behind the bar, he saw the gruesome, haunting scene once more, this time with less adrenaline.
Blood. Enough blood to attract a vampire’s lust from miles away, surely. And the source of this crimson cascade of lost life? His beloved wife, not only her face, but her chest also were shredded open, a lifeless being now far beyond the mortal plane. Tears, nay, not just tears, moreover, an intense, drowning sorrow welled up inside Raymond Coquinaria. A depression inexplicable, a sadness equal to that of a boulder being pressed onto his body. It flooded his insides, suffocating him. He began to hyperventilate, looking around for any explanation, but there was no one else inside the building now.
She wasn’t dead, right?
She was dead, right.
How? Who?
She wasn’t dead?
“I love you, please, baby, please, don’t go, please.”
She is dead, she is gone.
Who did this.
WHO DID THIS?
She was dead?
Ray wracked his mind against himself, and his hands grasped the remains of his beloved, longing to be close to her one last time, as he began to rock back and forth. Helpless, his soul broke into shards in the middle of the floor. Teeth clenched, his eyes began to pour out an unceasing stream of tears. He couldn’t breathe.
Amelia was gone.
An hour of sorrow, although it could’ve been days; truly, it mattered not. Raymond spent his time sat beside the corpse of his deceased wife, drinking an overwhelming amount of alcohol, eating whatever soup had been left on the counter, sobbing, and repeating the process. Grief was a bitch. It was as if he, too, died with Amelia. As he started to fall into a whiskey’s slumber, there was some odd force within the fabrics of space and time which felt this broken man’s spirit, and promptly responded.
Raymond slept, dreaming of himself and Amelia together again, memories of their life together, plans for the future; all fantasies now. As these torturously pleasant images played in his mind, they settled into a forest, as rays from the sun fractured into leaves and branches, shining across nature’s embrace. It was an autumn forest, prominent by the vast army of falling leaves which whirled around him by way of a gentle breeze. Raymond and Amelia walked together, fingers intertwined, within this forest, until she turned to look him in the eyes.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yeah…you are.”
“No, silly, I meant this around us. Nature. My home.”
“Haha, yes, I know. Wait, what do you mean ‘your home’?”
“Dear, you must come to terms with my death. I’m no longer with you.”
“Please…please don’t go.”
“I’ve already gone, there’s nothing neither you nor I can do about that.”
“Just…please, please just let me pretend for a moment.”
“I’ll never stop loving you, Raymond.”
Gentle, warm tears streamed down Raymond’s face as he clenched the hand of his wife. He fell silent; she was right, she always was.
“But…there is something I can do for you.”
He looked up, slightly confused.
“What…what do you mean, what is it?”
She smiled.
“Surely, you must know, I’m not really your wife, Raymond.”
“Well, of course, you…you’re in my dreams is all.”
“No, silly. I am not of this world at all.”
“What…?”
“My name is Melpomene, and I’d love to help you out, would that be alright?”
Raymond was bewildered, but after all, this was just a dream, right?
“I…suppose, sure.”
“Wonderful! Now, I don’t believe this is necessary anymore…”
With a soft flourish, Melpomene brought her hand down her body gracefully, and before his eyes, Raymond watched as his wife transformed into someone else entirely. Her skin was tanned like a perfect latte, and her hair came down from blonde curls into waves of soft mocha. On her head she wore a crown made up of autumn leaves, intertwined with branches. A flowing white dress, similar to a toga, fell across her body, and her neck, wrists, and ears were adorned with a variety of gold jewelry.
“There we are. Where were we…oh, yes, walk with me, will you?”
Raymond obliged, resigning to playing this dream sequence out, however it went. They walked into a small clearing with a large boulder at the center. A little stream permeated the space around the boulder, and flowers bloomed all around the space. She took a seat, leaning in a graceful pose atop the rock and motioned for Raymond to sit at a nearby stump. Once he was sat, Melpomene spoke.
“About, oh, Sixty minutes ago, I felt your very soul crying out to me all the way in my own domain, isn’t that interesting? Normally, I ignore such qualms, but you…you are something special, Raymond. I feel your pain. And I can take that pain away from you.”
“I…don’t understand.”
“Your soul is hurt, darling, I can hear its tears splashing against the ground. Don’t you want to stop feeling the pain?”
With a choked voice, Raymond responded.
“…more than anything.”
Melpomene dipped off of the rock, stepping close to Raymond and bending down. Her finger gently caressed his chin, softly pulling him to look at her.
“Then let me help you, sweetheart.”
A tear rolled down Raymond’s cheek.
“…okay.”
She smiled.
And then she pulled a dagger out from behind her back, quickly plunging it into Raymond’s chest.
His eyes widened in shock as he looked down at the blade, but oddly, it didn’t hurt. It only felt…warm. Looking back at Melpomene, she only smiled at him, before she removed the blade, sheathing it back in a leather holster Raymond now saw was wrapped around her ankle. With one hand, she stroked his hair calmly, and with the other, she slowly reached inside the wound in his chest, seemingly feeling around for something.
“Shh shhh, it’s okay darling, it’s okay. Let me take care of you.”
Raymond felt the opposite of ‘okay’, as his pulse started to quicken in fear. He made to pull away, but Melpomene quickly leaned in, embracing him with her lips, kissing him deeply. His strength softened, and in that moment, Melpomene made purchase with what she was searching for: a piece of his soul. With a forceful pull, she ripped away the piece from his body. Instantly, Raymond no longer felt the burning agony of grief within him.
He no longer felt much of anything at all.
“What, what did you do?”
Melpomene stepped back, admiring what she held in her hands, which looked like a slimy ball of bright light, constantly pulsing and shifting, plasmalike substance floating off of it as she moved it around.
“Well, you didn’t think a goddess would help a mere mortal for free, now did you? No, no, see, this is your payment; half of your very soul, damaged as it is. But don’t fret, I am going to replace it. You see, there is another desperate, dying individual whom also prays for my loving embrace. I think you two would care for each other’s burdens quite nicely. And it would make for a lovely show to watch!”
Raymond got to his feet, stressed and confused.
“Hang on, what in the hell-”
But Melpomene turned away, whipping her hair in Raymond’s face, which, oddly, knocked him away forcefully onto his back. Quickly, he picked himself up, but the heavenlike slice of autumn was entirely gone around him. As he looked around, he saw he was now in an entirely different forest. Except it was not as pleasant, no, as long twisting trees crept all around them, looming branches casting unsettling shadows. Thunder crashed against the sky as rain sobbed its sorrow. He heard macabre noises of unseen creatures all around him, some very close, yet he couldn’t see anything at all. With a flash of lightning that made him jump, Raymond whipped around, and saw some sort of mass of fur a few feet away.
“Hey! You there!”
There was no response; Ray was only met with mockery in the echoes of his cry, as the forest all seemed to get quiet. He took a few steps, feeling the mud beneath his boots. The figure said nothing, and as Ray got closer, he realized the figure was slowly and sporadically undulating uncannily.
“Hey…hey…what in the fuck-”
Ray stepped even closer, and slowly reached out an apprehensive hand to the creature, cautious.
His hand was inches from the creature’s back.
“Easy now…”
His hand made purchase with the creature–
AN EAR-PIERCING, GUTTERAL SCREAM EMITTED FROM THE CREATURE AS ITS HEAD SNAPPED AROUND BACKWARD, EYES LOCKED, ITS MANY TEETH BARED FOR A FEAST.
Ray screamed, terrified, and fell backwards in shock. The creature stood to its hind legs, now several feet tall; a massive cryptid of predatory terror, covered in hordes of matted hair, its arms were longer than they most certainly should be. Serrated claws protruded from its fingers, its mouth was more akin to a shark than anything, and its face was made entirely of bone. It growled, stepping ever closer to the cowering Ray, drool and snot dripping from its maw.
Ray scuttled backwards and caught a glimpse behind the creature and saw the reason for its previous crouched mannerism: the bodies of a few creatures, akin to its size, all lying in pools of blood. The creature towered over Ray, slowly tilting its head as it studied him. At once, it stopped making sounds entirely, and it froze. Ray breathed heavily, unsure of what to do, drowning in fear and helplessness. Swallowing hard, he did one thing that was quite the worst thing to do.
“Easy pal, easy, calm down–”
.
.
.
T h e b e a s t t o r e h i s h e a d o f f .
Raymond woke up screaming, coated in sweat and anguish, breathing hard, heart racing, eyes widened and panic-struck entirely. As he awoke, he looked around hurriedly, not taking in anything he saw. Anxiously, he brought his hands up to his face, somewhat aggressively, checking to make sure its presence had not been removed from him. Sure enough, his face was still there; of course it was. Raymond closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself; it was only a nightmare. He kept both his eyes closed for a moment and attempted to simply calm himself.
Relax, Ray, relax. Everything is alright. You are not being shredded by a monster in a void, you are laying…where?
Raymond opened his eyes and tried to perceive where he was. His vision was met with a sight of impressive cedar wonder and fern families. Various grasses and leaves peppered the ground beneath his feet, and all was covered in a soft layer of dew. The sky was darkly lit, but just light enough that it could be assumed as dawn. The air smelled of nature slightly touched by man’s pollution; he was far from where he last remembered to be. His head ached with a deep, pounding pain which originated from behind his eyes; one of the worst of migraines.
He remembered not any idea of how he got here. His last memory before the present was laying…laying beside his beloved Amelia. Raymond strained his brain to try to forget the image of her decaying corpse, but it was as if the sight was branded by fire into his brain. His head throbbed in agony; he couldn’t spare tears at the moment, for one it hurt too much, but moreso, he needed figure out his precise situation foremost. Raymond felt sick. He tried to sit up, but found his body to be quite heavier than he remembered it to be. Blinking, Raymond looked around from the forest floor before his gaze found his own body; a mass of animalistic, knotted, dark gray and brown hair.
“What…what—what? Why, wha-?”
With hefty scoots, Raymond pushed himself in a panic back up against a tree, his heart racing. He lifted his hands up, covered in hair as well, feeling his face, and felt his maw wide across his cheeks, an oversensitive snout, and the continuation of fur coating it all.
“What be this?”
But, as Raymond felt himself speak, but the voice was not his own. Or, at least it wasn’t intentionally his? Raymond froze, staring into space, eyes sharp, before speaking aloud into the forest.
“Hello?”
Again, he felt himself respond.
“I care not for this, I desire thee to depart.”
“What are you saying? Who is speaking?”
“Alas…I was but a fool to bargain with the witch.”
“The witch? You mean the lady, the lady from the-”
“Yes, yes, Melpomene. She is not but an enchantress of all evil intent.”
“How do you know this?”
The voice murmured an annoyingly mysterious sentiment laced with age.
“I wot much of the Old Things.”
Raymond frowned, and was utterly perplexed at the situation, and understood even less of what this…entity…was speaking of.
“Who…are you, exactly?”
“Prithee, grant us but a moment of repose. I feel our souls art weary from the sorceries cast upon us.”
Raymond felt a twitch of frustration. He hadn’t a moment to rest, he needed to return to the Underground, he needed…
“Pray tell, what is ‘the Underground’?”
“Excuse me?”
“We hath no secrets, o’ Human. I can hear the surfaced swirling musings of thy mind. We art one and the selfsame, henceforth.”
“I don’t, I-this doesn’t-”
“Calm thyself.”
But Raymond felt anger broiling within himself, and slammed a hefty paw upon the forest floor, rage roaring out of him.
“No…NO! This makes no FUCKING sense! Why this, why any of this?”
“I beseech thee, take breath. Thou art sorely troubled; grief. I feel thine sorrow.”
“Fuck you too! I don’t know who you are and I don’t know what you want but I am-”
Raymond fell silent. He hadn’t realized his shouts were amplified Tenfold by this colossal form, and the trees seemed to flutter silent in response. After a moment, the entity within spoke in a stern, reprimanding voice.
“Keep thy tongue in CHECK, knave. Thou knowest not the sacredness of the forest, nor the beast which I art.”
“Beast? What Beast, you mean the same one we share the body in?!”
Raymond could feel the entity’s somewhat bemusement at the realization.
“Verily…I suppose…yes. Truly…this visage is not mine own…nor yours, I feel. It seemeth as though the witch hath fused our spirits and our shapes along with it, forging some fused…countenance.”
Raymond closed his eyes, attempting to steel himself, but he felt himself be heaved upwards to his feet.
“Come, let us walk. I dost find the trees themselves possess a manner of clearing one’s mind.”
Raymond silently conceded, as their massive figure stood tall on its hind legs for a moment, before crashing down, rumbling the forest floor. And they began to stroll down an unwritten path, weaving through tall, imposing trees and hauling over various boulders and rocks. The forest was lush with life, as odd insects swirled about, rabbits hopped out of sight, the sound of a nearing stream; a picture of untainted nature. The air was fresh, as the trees surely attributed to its perfection, and it lingered as a soft chill.
Oddly, as Raymond remembered, it was the New Year when he was last in the Underground, surely it had not been seasons since then? No, the chill told him such was still in something of a colder season, yet, how were the trees not barren? Questions crept in his mind as they walked, before they were interrupted as the other entity began to speak oncemore.
“An introduction doth seem fitting, I believe. I am Sarcoptes. I am a warrior, a hunter, and a…a father. I be the terror that doth wander these woods, claiming mine own self as its mightiest predator. Pray, indulge me with knowing thyself as well.”
Raymond felt something odd at a certain word…father, was it? More was there, this thing known as Sarcoptes certainly hid away the full truth. Perhaps another time it would be revealed. He indulged the being.
“I…I’m Raymond. I’m the cook of a soup kitchen within the Underground—where I’m from. It’s a desperate, desolate place, but we try our best to bring some semblance of sanctity to it.”
“A moving sentiment. Prithee, enlighten me further of this Underground.”
“Well, truly, it’s not all that special. We used to live in the City, before the mayor chose to remove all of what he deemed as impure and unholy, casting them into the sewer systems. We made that place into what it is now; the Underground. Just a bunch of wretches trying to survive.”
Sarcoptes furrowed his brow in bewilderment, almost mockery, at this.
“A realm brimming with Wretches? How feeble indeed. Perchance thy mayor spake true to banish such burdens.”
“Oh, fuck off, Sarcoptes, he was wrong! He is a horrible man. We are not weak, not in the slightest. We are just…broken. Broken in spirit.”
“Pray, take no offense, for I speak but the truth! A Wretch is far more feeble than any other creature that doth breathe, dost thou not know this?”
“What are you talking about?”
Sarcoptes breathed a hefty sigh. It was a shame humans knew not of the musings of the Old Things.
“Alas, ’tis a great pity that Humans art not schooled in the Old Things. To engage in such learning would serve them rightly. In sooth, there art Ten Orders of Existence, in a somewhat lax descending hierarchy: Angels, Demons, Abstractions, Eldritch Matters, Deities, Reapers, Mystics, Cursed Souls, Humans, and lastly, Wretches.”
“Why do you say ‘lax’?”
“Verily, the uppermost and lowermost tiers dost remain as such. Yet, in affairs of Abstractions, Eldritch, Cursed, even Humans; doth unpredictability and instability take their place. There art a plethora of diverse external and particular factors that doth influence the essence of existence in such things.
“Oh…I see.”
Raymond sort of saw, yet continued the conversation.
“Well, there very well might be some Wretches, in that sense, among the people of the Underground, but I believe, based on your words, we are a mixture of Humans and Cursed Souls.”
“Mm…intriguing. Cursed Souls be of the most perplexed Order, as I didst declare afore, for they may ne’er be truly defined in the measure of their might. Any creature of an Order that be cursed is classified thusly as a Cursed Soul, so the essence of the individual, and the nature of the curse, do affect the scaling of such a being.”
“Are…we…?”
“Aye, I do believe we art but a Cursed Soul.”
“I see…”
They continued in silence for a bit, before they came across the stream they heard before. Approaching the water, they gingerly knelt at the bank. Sarcoptes went to dip their mouth fully within the current, but Raymond stopped them both, ears perked, rotating slightly. Sarcoptes, annoyed, spoke aloud.
“Dost thou mind? I thirst.”
“Something’s…wrong…but I…I’m not sure what, or why…I think.”
“It doth not alter mine thirst, Raymond.”
Disgruntled, and somewhat inexplicably paranoid, Raymond instead thrust a haired paw into the water, and brought several cupfuls to their mouth. As they drank, his eyes scanned the surrounding land; it just felt off, he couldn’t explain it. The trees parted moreso over the creek than in the depths of the forest, and Raymond could see the darkened sky loom over. Although, the sky was not pitch, in the sense, no, but perhaps it was a very early dawn. The sound of leaf crunches behind caused Raymond to stop drinking.
“Hark, thou must still thyself, for no peril dost linger nigh. I would have sensed it mine own self, assuredly.”
“No, no…there is something-”
Interrupted, a wolf sprang from behind the trees, lunging, fangs bared, towards the twinned soul. Raymond’s eyes widened in shock, but froze just seconds too long; the wolf sunk its teeth into the side of his face. Raymond roared in pain, pawing away at the wolf, which quickly relinquished its grip. Several more wolves emerged—Raymond counted Twelve—each poised to strike, as if they had coordinated the attack beforehand. Sarcoptes spoke in a challenging voice.
“Fret thee not, for these be but fodder ‘neath mine ire. Bear witness, Raymond!”
So Raymond observed himself as they, the lumbering creature, stepped forth to demolish the foes before them. A wolf took its chance to strike at the heel, and with its teeth making purchase, Sarcoptes reared back on his hind legs, a bellowing roar following such, before whipping around before landing; the wolf leapt backwards to avoid the slam. Sarcoptes stared down the wolf, as each was waiting for the other to make a move. He feinted; the wolf followed, he feinted once more; the wolf tracked each movement gracefully, but it seemed more of an awkward shuffle on Sarcoptes’ part. Raymond mumbled.
“What the fuck are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be a warrior?”
“Hush…I am poised to strike… merely seeking…the fittest…opening!”
With the last word, Sarcoptes deftly scooped a pinch of the dirt beneath them with a paw and flung it into the wolf’s face. It recoiled, sniffling and whimpering rashly. The other wolves attacked. Each took turns biting and tearing into the furry mass of flesh before them; they were ravenous. Sarcoptes panickily attempted to avoid each strike, to no avail. He always seemed to read the wolves movements wrong, and didn’t seem nearly capable of defeating even one.
Something stirred, snapped, even, within Raymond, as he felt the painful shreds all over his body. A burning rage, a feeling to conquer, to kill, to avenge. To avenge his wife. He couldn’t do that if he was dead in the forest, consumed by wolves. He would destroy anything in his path, nothing would keep him from killing those responsible for her death, even if he had to fight against the entire world.
Nothing would.
In an uproarious thrash, Raymond flung the wolves off of him, sending a couple soaring through the air, slamming into trees at an impressive force. One was still, and moved no more. The other limped, crawling away back into the woods. The remaining Ten; the dirt-faced one had came back into the fray; were shaken, but yielded not. Raymond heaved to the side, throwing himself around as he rolled over, crushing another wolf. He winced slightly, as pieces of bone lodged into his back.
Back on his feet, he stared directly back as a wolf had lunged into his back leg. He shook the wolf off rashly, before turning around and cracking its back with ease with a mighty two-pawed stomp, and using the body as a makeshift weapon, holding it in his mouth. Raymond smashed the wolf-flail against Two before him, which seemed entirely petrified at the recent events.
He felt Three more strikes to his back as he did so, and bellowed in anger, thrashing about again. Turning his head back, he could see the body of a wolf swinging off of him, being flung away by the thrash. He timed it, a second or so, before snatching the canine with his massive maw. His powerful jaws clenched tight, too tight, and crushed the animal between his teeth with ease.
Didn’t taste half bad.
Blood and entrails spilled across the grass and dirt, some dripping into the creek, staining the water red. The sight alone would be enough to quell most predators; including the wolves. The remaining Five retreated, quickly whimpering off into the woods. Raymond relished in the taste of iron in his mouth. Through gritted teeth and raging spirit, he growled a conquering shout, one which shook the very branches around them. Still breathing heavily, Sarcoptes spoke.
“I…do beseech thee pardon. I knoweth not why I could not…I-…thou didst exhibit a wondrous might, Raymond.”
“Thanks.”
Sarcoptes seemed somewhat distraught.
“And I could not discern them even aforehand. Verily, I-”
But his words were stopped, as they froze in their tracks. A sharp pain struck his backside. Raymond’s eyes widened as he whipped around, a dangerous glint in his eyes. But he saw nothing amongst the foliage. Another sharp pain, this one in his shoulder. Multiple stings that felt like needles stabbed all over his body. His eyes began to blink rapidly, and then began to sag. His senses were dulled and his muscles felt weak; collapsed onto the ground. The last hazed images that befell his vision were that of Two humanoid figures with faces of warthogs. And then he blacked out.
Faded images danced across his eyes as he blinked ever so slowly. It felt like every time his eyes reopened he was in a different place, dragged across varying aspects of nature. Until eventually, all was lost to sight.
“Raymond. Raymond, dost thou hear me?”
A gravelly voice shot into his ears, echoing slightly. Raymond’s eyes opened to the jumpscare of a creature of bone peering over him. He roared in terror, getting to his feet and raising his fists as he hastily locked eyes with the creature.
“AGGHHHH!”
The creature backed up quickly, raising its hands nonthreatingly.
“Shh, shh, be at peace! ‘Tis I, Sarcoptes.”
“What?”
And he noticed that the creature was the same towering cryptid from before, no longer snarling, of course, but terrifying all the same, even with his body crouched and hands lifted up in a calming mannerism. A moment later, he also noticed himself as his own, human body.
“Sarcoptes?”
“Aye, ’tis mine own proper form. The visage of a warrior, certes, hm?”
“Haunting, yeah…”
“Thou too, forthwith Human, art thou not?”
“Yeah, uh…what is this exactly?”
Raymond slowly stood to his feet and took in his surroundings, or lack of them. It was a space devoid of anything; a vast, infinitely stretching black.
“Marry, I know not, but my surmise doth lean towards some phantasm of the Under-wit; a world forged of thought itself?”
“You think we were, or are, knocked out, then?”
“’Tis possible, I do perceive some forraine substance coursing through our mortal frame. Doth thou feel it eke?”
“I…think so.”
The two narrowed their eyes and strained, trying to feel what had happened, and behold; around them a swirling yellow thread began to form. It swished and passed around, slightly misty, with odd petals falling from the stream.
“What is this?”
Sarcoptes walked forward, his clawed hand gently sifting through the stream.
“I know not…mine own self ne’er delved much in the Under-wit, yet if I must surmise, I ween this Yellow to be the spring of our slumber.”
Raymond sniffed at a petal falling by, his hairs standing on end oddly as he did.
“Poison.”
“Thou suppose? Methought ’twas haply some plant of sort.”
The Under-wit began to shake slightly, and each other’s appearances began to blur.
“Oh, what the hell is this now?”
“Verily, I deem we do awaken.”
And this was true.
Finally, the effects of whatever had poisoned them had begun to dissipate, and the view of reality separated by stripes befell their vision. The sounds of iron and metal clanking, permeated by piercing voices, rang loudly in his ears.
“Mmm-MM! Somethin’ sure is comin’ alawng nicely!”
“Quiet, you! I’m not finished—it’s not even the main course yet, you fat whore! I’m just tryna season up these here potatoes for our little appetizer!”
“It don’t mean it don’t smell good! And if anyone’s the whore, its you, pig-fucker!”
“That was one ti-”
“Oink, oink, oink, oink-wweeEEEE!!”
Sarcoptes wrinkled his nose; it, indubitably, did not smell good. As their consciousnesses came too, the aforementioned ‘stripes’ were revealed to be metal bars, followed by a dangling padlock before them. They were confined within a silver cage in a place which seemed to be a log cabin, but where exactly it was would be impossible to know. The smell of cedar, smoke, and damp must was everpresent. It was a somewhat run-down place, as it showed obvious signs of wear, perhaps years of neglect had took its toll. They could hear rain splattering against the structure all around.
A window nearby was shattered and a chestnut tree’s branches had grown into the cabin and gently up the wall. It was illuminated by a series of candles scattered across the room, casting haunting shadows on the walls. They could see Two figures, presumably the same from before, judging by the warthog-shaped silhouettes for heads they had, arguing in front of a blazing stovetop.
It seemed to be a woman and a man, their voices heavily accented and equally phlegm-filled. Raymond, wearily, cracked his jaw, and strained against the confinement in an attempt to burst free…but…what truly transpired was, promptly, a shallowed grunt followed by oversized creakings of metal all around, finished with a thump to the ground. The woman turned quickly at the sound.
“Ooooh, Brother; I think the big boy’s awakee! Look at ‘im, ain’t he precious? Ooh, I could taste ‘im right now!”
As she spoke, she crossed the stone floor a little too quickly than comfortable, crouched low and head cocked. Getting closer, Raymond and Sarcoptes could see the warthog figure was, in actuality, the beheaded carcass of a wild boar, horrifyingly shlucked onto the heads of these people. They both wore dirty, worn pairs of overalls, horribly stained collared shirts, and partially destroyed pairs of boots; the man’s left shoe had several of his toes protruding from it. The woman pressed the flesh against the bars, and they could see the hungry look in her eyes. Drool slobbered from within the mask, dripping onto the cheek of the Beast. They closed their eyes, gritting their teeth in repulsion. A moment later, the sound of a whisk smashing against flesh rang true, as Brother ran over in a flash and dissuaded the woman away from the bars.
“Git away from it!”
They could see the visage of Brother was the same in that of the trendy boar mask. Both so close, Sarcoptes could smell the rotting decay perfuming their presence as an aroma of flies serenaded their beings; the carcasses were fresh, or, at least they had been fresh sometime recently.
“Aouww, you BASTARD!”
She grabbed the whisk rashly and smacked Brother across the face with it.
“HEY! YOU RANCHY LIL’ SHIT SISTER!”
He grabbed the whisk back forcefully, which caused Sister to retaliate by unsheathing a cleaver from some hidden area and raising it high, preparing to chop into Raymond and Sarcoptes. Both winced, closing their eyes in anguishing preparation.
“STOP!!”
Sister stopped.
“Aw, why?”
“WE, are supposed to be GORMET CHEFS! And CHEFS, eat with delicacy…we can’t eat the best first! We gotta…wet our appetite, remember?”
“Oooh yeah, I remember.”
“Yeahh? Now, leave the bear alone—
But Sister was attempting to nip at the Beast through the bars.
“Ima getcha, don’t worry! You gon taste so gooood…mmhm!”
“—I said leave it! Why don’t you help me prepare our first dish instead, hm?”
A sound interrupted.
“Oh g-gosh…please…”
Raymond looked over and saw another human whimpering in fear. It was a naked man, and he was currently chained against the wall, bleeding wounds all over his body. Raymond noticed there were several dot-shaped holes with puffy rings of pink around them, and vaguely wondered if they were related to the sharp pings he had felt earlier.
“Fiiine. How come I always get app-duty?”
“Because great chefs have to start by doin’ the borin’ stuff before they can git to doin’ the cool stuff. It’s how it works.”
“Well how come you ain’t had to peel potatoes or-or prepare meat, or wash the dishes, or any of the lame shit I do?”
“That’s cause I’m already a master chef, I don’t need to be doin’ any of that; I’ve surpassed it. You have a lot to learn about the culinary arts, Sister.”
Brother resumed his somewhat disastrous debacle in the kitchen as Sister grumbled and complained under her breath while she gripped her cleaver tightly, unchaining the man in the room.
“Always thinkin’ he better than me…tellin’ me what to do…master chef my ass…”
“Oh gosh—please, please don’t! I’ll do anything, anything you want!”
Raymond watched in horror as Sister relinquished the last chain on the wall, and the man hastily sprang forward, attempting an escape. Almost lazily, Sister grabbed the man by his hair and yanked backwards hard. The man yelped in pain and was rashly thrust back, as Sister slammed his head onto a table; a sickening crack was heard and Raymond saw a trickle of blood run down the man’s face.
“I mean why does he git to do all the fun cookin’, like sizzlin’ up bears and deer, and I gotta do boring old human again?”
The man’s eyes were wide as he stared directly into the eyes of the large Beast just a few feet away from him. Sarcoptes and Raymond watched in horror.
“..please..-”
PAP!
The man’s eyes slacked and his mouth slid open. Sister rolled her own eyes as she withdrew the small pistol in her hands from the back of the man’s head. She continued to grumble under her breath as she drug the body outside, slamming the door behind her. Raymond rolled over as best as he could and panic-whisper-shouted to Sarcoptes.
“Shit…shit!”
“O’ wretched fate, o’ wretched, wretched fate!”
“We need to get out of HERE! What do we do?!”
“By mine own soul, I know not; I feel our strength doth wane from the foul toxin.”
“What toxin is it exactly?”
“Dost thou not possess knowledge of herbs and spices?”
“Will you answer the fucking-”
“’Tis Gelsemium! Now I perceive, ’tis that which the Under-wit didst strive to impart to us. The malevolent Yellow Jasmine: it doth focus its might upon the nervous system, bringing forth degrees of motor paralysis and heavy somnolence, amongst other effects in most extreme cases. Albeit, it may serve as a potent remedy, suggested to relieve a multitude of maladies, only by way of a tincture wrought from bark or root-”
“HOW IS THAT GOING TO HELP US?”
“I AM AS FILLED WITH DREAD AS THOU, PRITHEE!”
“Oh SHUT IT WITH THE ‘PRITHEE’-!”
The quiet shouting ceased immediately, as Brother, who had been whistling away at work, stopped and cocked his head in their direction for a moment. They fell entirely silent. A moment later, Sister came back in the cabin hauling along the now bloodless corpse of the man. Brother brimmed with glee.
“There we go! Hurry up, Sister, I’m starvin’!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’.”
Sister slung the body on the table once more, grabbing a couple metal buckets from the corner and placing them to the side.
She began cutting around the legs just above the feet. Then, she made cuts from the back of each rear leg up towards the anus. Each rear leg was skinned down and the skin was worked down off the rump. The skin itself was skinned down towards the head in strips; to help in pulling the skin off the body, which she did, and took it by the handful, throwing the clumps into one of the buckets.
Once the corpse was skinned down to the neck, she cut the head off and rolled it to the side, which promptly fell off of the table. She cut open the body and carefully removed all of the entrails and slopped them into the bucket. Grabbing the cleaver, Sister hacked vigorously to remove the feet and split the carcass. To split the carcass, she hacked and cut from the neck to the rump down each side of the spine. That left three pieces consisting of two meat halves and the backbone.
Sister took those halves and cut them into various large cuts, somewhat sloppily. All of the meat, except the ribs, which were cut into convenient slabs first, was de-boned and placed into the other bucket. She then hauled the meat-bucket over to the stovetop area.
“What cut ‘chu want?”
“Mm, rump sound good?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”
Brother put down the whisk and ruffled through the meat bucket for the rump, which he retrieved. It wasn’t exactly clean cuts, as the edges had hacked marks and blood still oozed from it. He looked at the cut, then back at Sister.
“Hey, these here are some of the purtiest cuts I ever seen. You done good!”
“Aw-…thanks Brother.”
She left the bucket on the floor beside the stove and walked back over to the table to clean up, a little more bounce in her steps than before.
If Raymond and Sarcoptes could, they would have hurled all over themselves in the cage at what they just witnessed. However, their own hunger panged at them, and instead they resorted to something of an eternal wince accompanied by the traumatizing disturbance they felt deep within them. Sarcoptes whispered.
“Fie…”
“…yeah…”
Raymond resigned himself to something of defeat as he watched Brother cook up the very man they saw moments ago. He convinced himself he was waiting for the opportune moment when his strength would return and he would break out of the cage, but, truly, he felt as if hope had abandoned him. If Brother had a notion for Sister to start preparing themselves soon, Raymond felt he wouldn’t be able to provide much of a fight, at least not one compared to the performance with the wolves. As he spiraled, Sarcoptes was focused on other things. He watched Brother intently as he began to cook the rump, grimacing as Brother started to grill pieces of rump on a dry pan, throwing salt and some sort of powder all around. Sarcoptes mumbled under his breath.
“Lo, ’tis not sufficient salt, verily not enough. And to grill? Aye, yet ’tis such a tender flesh, I prithee—oh, what doth he add now?”
Raymond narrowed his eyes and whispered back.
“Wait, how do you know this?”
“How dost thou not? Mercy, he shall surely mar that dish.”
“I…well, I don’t know. Oh, shit. Sarcoptes, Sarcoptes, I think…I think Melpomene…switched…us? Or something along those lines. Remember the wolves?”
“Verily, verily. I did ponder why I possessed not the strength nor the cunning to confront such peril. But thou wert able to vanquish them with great ease…and thou, thou didst claim to be a cook, didst thou not?”
“Yes, I…did…I-”
Sarcoptes interrupted.
“O, nay, nay, ’tis most dreadful, prithee—”
Sarcoptes was distraught as he watched Brother reach for a few brown cylinders; cinnamon? Raymond felt as his frustration grew.
“Sarcoptes, wait-”
But he didn’t and called out with urgency to Brother.
“Stay thine hand, I pray! I—hark, erm, well met, I hope?”
Brother whipped around quickly, cinnamon stick in hand, and turned his gaze rapidly, unaware who spoke to him.
“Huh? Who said that?”
Sister cocked her head.
“I ain’t say nothin’!”
“No it wadn’t you, it was a weird—I don’t know!”
“Aye, um, right hither. The Beast within the cage, good sir.”
Brother and Sister both locked onto the cage as Sarcoptes spoke. Both retrieved cleavers and walked slowly. Brother was the first to speak.
“Well…we got ourselves a talkin’ bear, huh? What you feel like you gotta say, huh, BEAR?”
“If thou wilt grant me but a moment’s grace, and I do perceive our plight doth allow not much indulgence—”
Sister snapped.
“Git to the point!”
“Addeth not foul cinnamon to yon feast! ‘Twould be most dreadful; though technically feasible, thou would need execute it properly…”
Brother’s taunting demeanor diminished at this.
“You think you can cook better than me, bear?”
“I ne’er spake such a thing, but-”
“YOU THINK YOU BETTER THAN ME, HUH?!”
“Nay, nay! I spake not-!”
“Why don’t chu do it then.”
“What?”
“You heard me, bear. Or did ears not come with the talkin’ part?”
“Verily, I can hear, but-”
“SISTER!”
She screwed her face up, having been just beside Brother as he yelled.
“I’m right here, asshole!”
“Git the key, let’s see what this bear can do. Oh, and grab our rifles too.”
Raymond’s heart turned in worry; surely, he knew he could outcook any of these backwoods savages, well, at least he remembered he could’ve. If their theory was correct that their skills were interchanged from Melpomene’s magic, or whatever it was, than perhaps Sarcoptes would fare well in defending their honor; and their lives. But the great problem they faced hardly fit in this cage and was covered in matted hair. Brother brandished his cleaver threateningly as they waited, and after a moment, Sister returned, key and rifles in hand.
She unlocked the cage as Brother clicked his rifle into place, aiming it at the hulking Beast. Raymond struggled, gingerly standing up before flopping over the cage, rolling to his stomach. Sister kicked them.
“Stand up, BEAR!”
“I’m going, I’m going. Fuckin’ savages…”
“Whatchu say?!”
“I spake naught!”
They felt as if their muscles were filled with a sort of buzzing substance, as they numbly stood up, lazily flinging their face around as they observed the kitchen before them. Brother piped up as he tossed the second rifle to Sister.
“Hey—Sister! I jus’ realized, the master chefs ain’t always the one to cook!”
“Whatchu mean?”
“Well, because they the best, they let other chefs cook for ‘em, while they git to sit back and judge it!”
“You mean like kings?”
“Yeah, exactly! So, Bear, we gonna sit right over here and you just do your thing. If you try anything funny, we’ll just kill you on the spot.”
“And if the food ain’t good, we’ll kill you then too!”
“Heh heh, that’s right.”
Sarcoptes was rather worried as he stared at the contents in front of him. The human rump was before him, burning by the second. Raymond murmured angrily.
“What the fuck have you done, Sarcoptes!?”
“Forgive me, I could not restrain mine own self!”
“Look, we have a couple of fucked up cannibals with rifles aimed at our head right now, you better figure out something. Now.”
Brother yelled out.
“What’s all the chatter?”
Sarcoptes answered, covering.
“Verily, um, just cogitating aloud…chef.”
Brother and Sister grinned.
“You hear that? He called you chef!”
“Yeah, I like the sound of that! We’re on our way, Sister, we’re on our way.”
Brother smiled sweetly, before addressing the Beast.
“I don’t know what that means, Bear, but we’re hungry! HURRY UP!”
“Aye, chef, it shall be done, chef.”
Sarcoptes racked his brain with new memories and skills of the culinary arts. Raymond was getting increasingly irate.
“Sarcoptes, I swear, if you don’t start putting paw to skillet right now-”
“Grant me a moment, I do believe I’ve grasped it…”
“We don’t have a moment! You-”
“Ah! I dost know. Pray, Raymond, hold thy tongue whilst I work.”
“What do you-”
“Thy tongue. Hold it.”
Raymond fell silent, regrettably, as Sarcoptes began to piece together a masterpiece within his head. With his snout, he pushed the skillet aside and rummaged through a pair of broken cabinet doors below the stove. He found a pot with the handles missing and grasped it in his maw before heaving himself over to the window, shaking the cabin as he landed. Sarcoptes lifted the pot and carefully placed it in the windowsill, nudging it just, allowing the rain to begin filling it. Heaving back over to the stove, he carefully grabbed the skillet with his teeth and brought it over to the table, opposite side of where Brother and Sister sat. Sister was eagerly waiting, drool dripping from under the boar carcass. Brother seemed to be scrutinizing Sarcoptes’ every move.
He dumped the rump out onto the table, leaving the skillet empty, which he put back on the stove over the fire. Sarcoptes dipped down, sniffing for the bucket with the rest of the human remains, and delved his nose within it. Rummaging around the gore, he found a particularly fatty piece of meat and brought it to the skillet. Raymond stopped, eyes closed and jaw clenched, looking away for a moment. Sarcoptes allowed a second, before resuming his work. As the fat began to melt, as best as it could, Sarcoptes searched for vegetables.
“Wherefore dost thou keep harvest?”
Brother was confused.
“Harvest?”
Sister responded.
“Like plants and such, right?”
Sarcoptes gave a curt nod.
“Verily.”
“In the cupboard over there, but we ain’t got much.”
“A great chef don’t need much! Surely the ‘cooking-bear’ can manage.”
Sarcoptes rolled his eyes as he turned to the cupboard, pushing open its doors. Inside was, truly, not much: a couple of carrots, one moldy onion, and a half-full can of beans; perfect. Raymond was very skeptical, and slightly disgusted, at the ingredient selection. Sarcoptes tilted his head to the side and scooped up the contents in one bite, carefully holding it as to not crunch or spill anything, and brought them to the table as well.
Before doing anything further, he went back to the windowsill and retrieved the pot; it was about half full-ish. Sarcoptes placed it on the ground and dipped, as best as he could, his maw within the pot, making an absolute mess as he sputtered and swished water all within his mouth, slopping water all over the ground. Sister cried out.
“What the hell you gotta do that for?”
“Prithee, forgive the disorder. I dost favor cleanliness, as best I may.”
Brother tilted his head curiously.
“Your washing your mouth?”
“Aye.”
Him and Sister exchanged odd, confused glances.
Sarcoptes put the pot back onto the windowsill to refill and shuffled back to the table, nudging the onion into position, before gently using his front teeth to bite into it. An incendiary magic permeated the table, as each present individual’s eyes began to well with grief and pain. Through muffled bites, Sarcoptes spoke.
“mng-I shaghll be schwift, fraeght naught.”
Brother and Sister sniffled, rubbing their eyes furiously. Brother spoke annoyedly.
“Agh…damn it…this better be good, Bear.”
Through careful bites, and painfully potent juices, the onion lay minced, by a loose definition of the word, on the table. Sarcoptes repeated the same with the carrots, which was a much better experience than the onion. After, he scooped the contents up within his maw and dumped them into the skillet. The fat had mostly melted by this point, and with the addition of the vegetables, the pan began to sizzle. Sarcoptes gently, awkwardly, grabbed the skillet handle with his mouth and tossed it around a little to stir. He dipped his snout into various spices and herbs on the counter as well, exhaling to puff them into the pan. After letting it cook for a few minutes, Sarcoptes retrieved the pot from the windowsill, about halfway full once again. He placed the replaced the skillet with the pot and poured the pan into the water, adding the meat from the table now as well.
He also added the potatoes Brother had been working on earlier; they weren’t half bad, Sarcoptes thought. They waited an agonizingly long time, about ten or so minutes, until the soup was ready. It smelled rich and nostalgic, yet the latter was somewhat confusing as to why? The scent permeated through the cabin, transforming the unsettling place into something inviting by smell alone. Brother and Sister were about ready to snap; Sister more so.
“Bear, start platin’ somethin’ now or else I’m gonna pull this trigger and serve it MYSELF!”
“I might try to calm her down if I wasn’ thinkin’ the same thing. You’ve got about Ten seconds before that soup gets alot thicker.”
“Why’s it gonna get thicker?”
“With blood, Sister, his blood. Like, shootin’ him.”
“Ohh, HAHA!”
Sarcoptes’ heart began to race.
“I vow, ’tis nigh. A few final embellishments…”
“Ten, Nine, Eight…”
“Verily, verily!”
He quickly removed the rump from inside the soup, burning his nose in the process, and hurriedly brought it to the table.
“Seven, six, five, four!”
With his front teeth again, Sarcoptes chomped into the meat, which fell apart, shredded tenderly.
“Three….ooh…”
“Brother…that does look good.”
Sarcoptes seized their distraction and scooped the meat back up and into the pot. Finally, he added a few Bay leaves, turning the heat on high and rocking the pot to extract all the flavor he could. Alas, a couple seconds after, the resounding voice of Brother shot across the room.
“TIMES UP, BEAR! Go on, bring us the dish, ‘chef’.”
Sarcoptes slowly brought the pot over, careful not to spill any of its contents, and rested it on the table. He waited awkwardly before asking a question.
“Um…dost thou, perchance, possess any bowls, or…”
Brother slid forward a couple of wooden bowls from beside him.
“What didchu make, bear? You gotta tell us the dish!”
“Well, um, forgive mine ignorance, for I know not the precise name it beareth, and I did not craft it verily aright, considering the fortunes and the wares at hand, but I dost believe it to be a kind of soup from the southwestern region of fair Gaul, I do reckon ’tis-”
“…Garbure.”
Raymond cut off the ramble with a dry, accentless tone. He remembered this soup now; witnessing and feeling it made before him had been off-putting, and with the meat source being what it is had both hindered his memory of it. But he could see it now.
He was a young man, learning his culinary prowess from a very old man within his home. It was sometime in the evening, but the sun was barely beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the farmhouse they were in.
Or perhaps that was just the color of happy memories.
The smell of a cooking soup wafted through the air as Raymond chopped garlic from the old man’s instruction. He had never found much interest in cooking before this, but, truly, he only picked it up to impress the old man’s daughter. He watched as she came into the kitchen, the back-screen door swinging wide open, her arms full of fresh picked vegetables and herbs. The old man smiled.
“Thank you, Amelia, dear. Please, go wash up; we’ll have dinner ready in a little while.”
“Yes, Father.”
Raymond stared at her as she left the room, only meeting her gaze for a moment, but those few seconds of looking into those beautiful eyes of hers were enough of a sight to see for many lifetimes. The old man raised his eyebrows.
“Now, now, let’s focus on what we are doing when we are using knives, eh?”
“Y-yes sir, I apologize.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright. You’re a good man, Raymond.”
He brandished a ladle quickly, pointing it at Raymond’s face.
“But you stay away from my daughter, you hear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good man. Now, when making Garbure, the trick is to make it thick enough so that when you serve it on the table, the ladle stands up on its own, you hear?”
They had a good chuckle at that, and that soup was enjoyed amidst the Three of them that night. He never forgot the taste, nor the memory, as it was his first love of passion and partner.
In the cabin, Raymond had a sorrowful, blank expression married to an emotionless, flat tone of voice as he described the dish. What was once a cherished thought of a golden time was now a painful wound he could never staunch.
“Well, that might be the first thing I’ve understood of you all night, bear! Let’s eat, Sister, I’m starvin’!”
Sister had already dived into her bowl, having lifted up the boar-carcass to slurp the soup. Brother did the same. If he had cared, Raymond would’ve caught a glimpse of their faces, but he stared emptily at the wooden grains of the table. Both sloppily slammed their bowls back on the table after taking a substantial drought.
“OOOH, DAYUM! Bear, this is real good!”
“Eh, I ‘suppose’ it’ll pass, personally, I coulda done much better.”
“You could not!”
“Yes, I coulda!”
“Nuh uh, the last human meal we had was pickled finger-and-tongue and it was AWFUL!”
“It was NOT, you just lack the sophistication for it, half-wit!”
“DON’T CALL ME HALF-WIT, JACKASS!”
“HALF-WIT, HALF-WIT, HALF-WIT!”
Tensions mounted as the two shouted louder and louder, scooting back in their chairs forcefully.
“THAT’S IT, I’M Gonna…”
“GONNA WHAT, Huh..?”
Oddly, their speech slowed and softened. They slowly dropped their arms, almost in a daze, and just simply…stared…at each other. Before, violently, Brother vomited inside the boar-mask, regurgitation spilling out of the eyeholes. Sister did the same, as she seized up, twitching in her seat. Brother clenched every single muscle as he expelled more and more of himself, collapsing to the ground. Horrifying sounds of groaning, puking, gagging, and choking were heard from below the table. Raymond snapped out of his stupor.
“W…what did you do?”
“’Twas most foolish of them to leave their venom strewn about. Albeit I…regrettably…did not foresee the leaves to possess such potent power within them…”
“Oh my gosh, the Bay leaf-!”
“Naught but choice cuttings of the Yellow Jasmine I didst discover in the cupboard.”
“Holy shit, you are a madman.”
“Thank thee.”
“Fuck…we have to go, we have to get out of here!”
Raymond burst forth, knocking the table to the side, leaving the two disturbed individuals to die seizing in puddles of their own filth. He shattered the wooden door, smashing through the entryway. Rain hammered down unceasingly all around, and Raymond could see the grass by the door was soaked in a crimson stain; presumably from the man Sister slew. He panted, somewhat panicked, but also relieved, and bumbled through the wilderness, trouncing and skidding around trees and rocks. He had no clue where he was going, he only knew he wished to be as far away from that cabin as possible.
The brush grew thicker and thicker as they pushed onward further and further. Thorns of varying shapes added to their collection of bleeding scars on their body. The wind was fierce and the raindrops felt like needles maelstromborne. As lightning crackled and ripped through the sky, the mud on the ground removed the friction from their gallop, as the Beast slipped and slid, cascading through small trees and tumbling down cliffs and boulders, until they crashed forcefully, aggressively cracking into a eons-old tree, one which stood sturdy enough to block the blow of a speeding Beast such as themselves. On the forest floor, they lay bloodied and bruised as they cried out in animalistic agony, before Sarcoptes spoke in whimpers.
“Woe…woe…”
Raymond grit his teeth hard, squinting one eye and bearing the pain.
“Agh…we need…ffuck, my back…we need to, to get out of this…fucking…storm.”
But Sarcoptes didn’t respond, and Raymond felt he was alone in his body for the first time in the night as the cryptid’s conscious faded for the moment. With great effort, he heaved himself to his feet, wincing as he tested his weight. He limped forward, going nowhere in particular, his gaze sharp for any sort of shelter or cover. He only had survival on his mind. He left a drag path behind him as he stepped through the woods, and after thirty minutes or so, he found a small divot in the land, small enough to fit perhaps a family of squirrels.
Raymond approached the divot and lifted himself up, straining and wounded, crashing down with his paws, digging out the crevice larger, trying to make the space work. Great mounds of dirt were removed, even with one scoop. And again, another heave, more carving, slower this time. The earth pooled beside him, slicking to mud from the rain. And a third, but it was there which they slept, dirt pressed into skull, their body collapsed only partially covered and entirely cold, but lo; exhaustion had taken its toll.
Night-night, twinned, troubled soul.
.
.
.
fin.
Perspective had slowly zoomed out as the Beast slept, drifting higher and higher, flowing backwards, as a song was playing, perhaps in their dreams.
ink stained pages 
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