by Tim Moon
“If you would like your stomach acid to burn through your body,” Myra said in a creepily sweet voice. “Then yes, it is edible.”
Jaron shook his head and looked around. “Then what do you need it-“
He spotted a giant man in a pair of green and brown lederhosen standing by a boat and the question died on his lips. The sight was almost comical if it wasn’t for the man’s arms which were bigger than Jaron’s legs and a scowl that could unnerve hardened gang members. The man’s craggy face and stooped posture spoke to his age, although Lurch didn’t appear incapable of performing chores.
“Is that Lurch?” he asked in a whisper.
“Indeed, it is.”
“He’s a giant.”
“You are not wrong.” She held up an aged finger. “However, he is not literally a giant.”
“What could he possibly need help with?” Jaron’s voice betrayed his astonishment. “He could probably toss me around like a rag doll.”
“Never mind that for now,” Myra said, waving away the concern. She took his arm and pulled him forward.
Lurch stood next to a boat. Jaron had never seen one quite like it. He supposed it was well suited to the swamp that lay before them. It had a wide, flat bottom, maybe twenty feet long, with a two-foot-tall edge around the whole thing. The boat tapered slightly on either end. With such a wide, flat bottom, it would be stable and Jaron figured that moving through the swamp with its shallow water and partially submerged tree roots would be easier.
The boat did not concern him as much as the man did. Jaron’s head tilted in curiosity as he gazed at Lurch. He remembered to use analyze.
Name: Lurch
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown
Height: 6’11” (211 cm)
Weight: 265 lbs (120 kg)
Alignment: Unknown
Level: Unknown
Health: Unknown
Mana: Unknown
Stamina: Unknown
Defense: Unknown
Jaron had to level up analyze so he could get more information. He ground his teeth a little more every time he saw “unknown” listed. Wondering if the skill progressed at all, he opened his character sheet. He was pleased to see that he had 70% progress to level 2.
When Lurch noticed Myra, he grunted and raised the long pole in his hand as a greeting. His eyes widened and then narrowed when they landed on Jaron following his wife. Lurch bared his teeth and grunted again. He thumped one meaty fist against his chest and started forward.
Jaron’s mind was a jumble of questions. Did he just challenge me? Was this guy a mute? Seriously, was he really planning to attack? With a gulp, Jaron braced himself.
Given his weakened state and severe lack of skills, Jaron decided to opt for deescalating the situation. He planted the spear tip into the soft ground as calm as if he were setting down a mug of coffee and held up both hands.
“I come in peace, Lurch,” Jaron said.
Lurch hesitated but his eyes narrowed, and he grunted unintelligibly.
“Lurch, honey, meet my new friend, Jaron,” Myra said, almost cooing at the big man. She walked up to Lurch and ran a loving hand up his arm. “He is in need of aid, my love. He will be staying with us for a short time.”
Jaron raised an eyebrow, not at what Myra said but how she said it. It sounded almost…threatening? Lurch visibly relaxed though. With a snort and shake of his head, like a dog rejecting something unpleasant, Lurch turned away and followed Myra to the boat. The pair stopped and waited for Jaron to follow.
Jaron picked up his spear and walked to the boat, keeping a wary eye on Lurch. Even armed with the simple weapon, he would be hard pressed to do much damage to the big man. He hated that feeling weak. No one could always be the strongest or most capable fighter, but this new body didn’t have the conditioning needed to perform well and that didn’t sit well with Jaron. With a silent vow to level up his skills and learn how to fight with these medieval weapons, Jaron continued this strange twist in his journey.
Myra brushed a hand across Jaron’s arm, stepped aboard and then turned and motioned to him.
“Lurch will push us free of the shore,” she said.
Lurch allowed Jaron to pass. When he stepped on the boat, Jaron wondered what he was getting into. An unnatural desire to leave gripped him. Heart thumping, mouth dry, it was all he could do to stay calm.
Myra put a hand on his arm.
“Don’t worry. You are safe with us.” Her voice soothed his fears.
Jaron glanced at her and nodded once in thanks. The unease faded as soon as she touched him and hid in a corner of his mind, though it never fully left him. He had wanted to step off the boat as soon as he walked on, yet he couldn’t leave.
Lurch looked up at Jaron as he leaned forward to shove the boat off the muddy shore. The look that flashed in his eyes sent a child down Jaron’s spine. In the pit of his roiling gut, he knew that he made a terrible mistake.
Lurch freed the boat from the muddy shore, walked them into the water until it reached his waist and then flung a leg over the side. The man’s massive size made the ship tilt, and for a moment Jaron thought they would capsize for sure. He began to tip to the port side as Lurch rolled his body over the edge. They see-sawed in the water for a couple seconds as the big man hauled his body in and stood.
“Let him earn his keep,” Myra said to Lurch with a nod at Jaron.
Jaron still could not move his feet even as his mind screamed for him to flee. He stood unmoving on the wide boat, gripping his spear. Lurch lifted a large wood pole and held it out to him. Myra reached forward and nudged him on the elbow. It was like invisible chains fell away. Jaron took the pole from Lurch.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, waving away a dragonfly that buzzed past his face. The thing buzzed around them once and then darted away.
“Use it to get us home, of course,” Myra said. She snapped her fingers. “Lurch, demonstrate.”
The tall man snatched the pole away from Jaron, throwing him off balance. Lurch dropped the slightly wider end in the water and pushed down, walking his hands up the long pole, in a hand-over-hand climbing motion until he reached the top. He lifted the pole and repeated the process.
“He’s doing a fantastic job,” Jaron said with a grin, having completely forgotten his earlier misgivings.
Myra gave him an icy look that reminded him of his mom. Lurch grunted and handed over the pole.
Jaron sighed and reluctantly took over the pole rowing. “Are we going the right way?”
“I will give you course corrections when it is necessary,” Myra said. She turned to stare into the swamp from the front of the boat.
Jaron examined the swamp as he pushed them along. Twisted trees with wavy branches grew in abundance, their broad-leafed canopy blocked out much of the sky. Birds chirped and he saw a turtle slip off a log into the vibrant green duckweed and algae that covered much of the water. The duckweed swirled around the boat leaving a path behind them that slowly filled back in. A thick fog began to build up, reducing visibility to less than one hundred feet or so. He glanced over his shoulder and could no longer see the shore they just left.
Jaron realized it would be difficult to find his way out when it was time to leave. He ducked away from brown moss that dangled from low branches and asked a pressing question. “Are there alligators in here?”
Lurch snorted and went to stand beside the woman.
“You must watch out for sharkodiles,” Myra said with a cackle. “Lest you fertilize the swamp.”
“What the hell is a sharkodile?”
“You really are not from around here, are you?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“A sharkodile is a fearsome creature. Much like a crocodile, they reach great lengths with large powerful jaws. Unlike a crocodile, they have a distinctive pointed snout, a stubby dorsal fin and wickedly sharp rows of teeth. They swim much faster, but you could likely out
run one if you were fortunate enough to find dry land.” Myra scanned the area around them as if looking for one. “They make an excellent soup. If you can kill them that is, their hide is tougher than leather armor.” She patted Lurch’s arm and traced a finger over a mean-looking scar on his muscular forearm. “Lurch has hunted them before.”
Lurch huffed and pulled his arm away. Jaron detected a mix of anger and sadness in Lurch’s eyes.
The journey continued for an hour with Myra calling out course corrections. At one point, she gestured at something on a tree branch. Jaron couldn’t make it out, but Lurch’s huge hand shot out and yanked a five-foot long snake off a tree branch. He clubbed it to death with his fist, killing it with one strike. When its body went limp, Lurch dropped it in the boat and scanned the trees for more.
Jaron’s mouth hung open.
“As tasty as chicken,” Myra said, waggling her eyebrows at him.
Jaron wasn’t convinced of that and hoped she would save it for a meal long after he found a way to leave the swamp. What he couldn’t help but think after that display was, how did Lurch need help with chores? The old man’s hand moved fast as hell for such a big dude. And he had clubbed it to death with his bare hands.
Jaron shivered at the thought of having to fight the beastly man and turned his focus to something else.
“This is quite a journey,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “We’re crossing the swamp, right?”
“Oh no.” Myra’s eyes appeared to twinkle, despite the growing darkness. A fierce grin spread across her face.
“Uh huh…” Jaron’s brow furrowed as he glanced around at the scenery. “So, you live here?”
“Of course.”
“In the swamp?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You ask a lot of questions, boy,” Myra snapped. Her sour expression ended that line of inquiry.
Lurch frowned at him and shook his head.
Jaron sniffed and looked away, focusing on the tiresome, repetitive rowing.
Fireflies began to flicker in the darker shaded areas. Frogs, crickets and other creatures started to warm up for what was sure to be a symphony when night fell. Something splashed off to Jaron’s left. His head snapped in the direction of the sound, but he only spotted a disturbance in the duckweed, the only evidence of movement.
“Turn left after this tree, we are almost there,” Myra said gleefully.
She wasn’t joking. They turned left past a thick copse of trees and passed through a curtain of dangling vegetation to find a dark earthen island in the murky water. The shore was level but quickly rose to a rounded hill. On top of the mound, was a small cabin built into the roots of a large, sinister looking tree. Jaron spotted an outbuilding to the left of the house and a makeshift fence of old, rickety wood.
Jaron let out a sigh of relief at finally arriving at their destination. The place didn’t look welcoming, but his palms burned from the effort of pole rowing and his stomach growled more than ever. He blew on his palms to cool them down. Without callouses, he was likely to develop a blister or two. He didn’t mind that so much as the threat of infection from the filthy swamp. That would be a terrible way to die.
Lurch hopped out of the boat into the waist-deep water and pulled them to shore. Myra handed him a rope that he tied around a rotted tree trunk. It barely looked strong enough to hold itself up, much less keep the boat from floating away. Jaron handed the pole to Lurch as he stepped onto dry land, too tired to voice the concern, and followed Myra towards the house.
Lurch narrowed his eyes at Jaron as he walked by. He ignored the big man.
Instead, he examined the seemingly random patch of dirt in the middle of the swamp that Myra apparently called home. One of the small outbuildings held a pile of split wood. He looked around. Where the hell did they get wood? Did they go all the way to the forest and haul it here on the boat? He inwardly groaned, hoping that was one chore he wouldn’t have to help with. He meandered past a big, round stump with an axe buried in it, clearly used for chopping said wood pile.
The next building over opened to a small fenced yard. Two creatures lifted their heads and blinked at him. The things looked like a cross between an ox and a camel, with great humps on their backs, tall pig ears and a round, piggy nose. The shaggy fur that covered most of their body was tinged green like moss. Jaron couldn’t tell if that was natural coloring or from plants making a home in their thick manes. The two grew bored of Jaron and went back to chewing whatever was piled on the ground.
“Come, Jaron,” Myra said.
He glanced at her and then the house that blended into the massive, craggy tree that made up the bulk of the island. The two structures blended so well that Jaron had a hard time determining if they were two separate entities or if one had grown out of the other. Soft, inviting light glowed through a circular window in the door.
A sudden hissing sound and burst of flame startled Jaron. He faced the orange flash with his spear held out, and his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Then came a scream that chilled his blood. It took a moment to process. He recognized that sound. Yes, it was the same type of nasty little bird he saw earlier.
“Did the bird make that flame?” he asked, thoroughly confused.
The old woman made a derisive sound and shook her head. “Do birds make fire where you are from?”
Jaron lowered his spear and turned to face her. She stared at him, unruffled.
“Well, no, of course not. That’s ridiculous.” He shrugged and held his hand out to the side. “This place is strange to me, you know. Anything is possible.” Based on her expression, he waved a hand in the air. “Let’s forget I asked.”
“Wise choice.” Myra opened the door to her house and walked in. She turned and swept her arm, gesturing for him to enter.
Jaron felt a slight tremble in the air as he stepped over the threshold. It flitted from his attention when the cozy, well-appointed room stunned him into silence. What he expected was a damp, moldy cave with an oozy smell, filled with the ends of worms. What he got was almost as comfortable as a Hobbit hole.
The round central room was lined with wood paneling and featured a stone hearth with a fire that crackled. The air was filled with the distinctive scent of firewood. A cast iron cauldron hung over the flames. Something inside bubbled and popped, emitting the fragrance of a rich, meat stew. Drool nearly ran down his chin. Combined with the smell of burning wood, Jaron was briefly transported to a memory of camping with his family. The details were vague yet comforting. He felt a smile light up his face.
Wooden shelves built into the wall beside the fireplace that held dishes. Beside that was a porcelain basin underneath a large painting of a woman looking down at a faceless child in her arms. Red flowers covered the baby like a blanket and cascaded to the ground, which Jaron noted looked suspiciously like a pile of bones. He inwardly cringed at the painting and promised himself that he would avoid looking at it.
Other than the art, the place looked incredible. Such a contrast to the murky swamp outside.
“Wow,” Jaron said. He played it up a little though to stay on Myra’s good side. Clearly, she wore the pants in this relationship, and he was desperate for food and water. “You two have a lovely home.”
Myra cackled in her distinctive way. He turned to smile at her and nearly shit his loincloth.
A righteous burst of flatulence escaped as he leaped away from the frightening visage of a withered old hag, a mere foot from his face. He felt the table slam into his ass and unseen dishes rattled against the wood as he slid sideways, away from her. She took a step towards him.
“Myra?” Jaron shouted in dismay. Fear coursed through his veins like ice, his heart a thundering drum. How could this be the same woman he’d met near the stream? Why had he followed her here? And what the fuck was he looking at? This sight of her made him want to vomit. He absently remembered his spear, which he somehow managed to hold on to. “Stay back!”
&nbs
p; Myra cackled again, wagging her tongue at him. Where she once had glossy black hair, she had a smattering of dirty white strands clinging to the gray skin of her mostly bald head. Sunken yellow eyes, large and round, narrowed at him, the skin around them puckered red. The bridge of her nose looked like someone cut off their big toe and glued it to her face. Except the tip crooked down into a point that almost touched her distended chin, which featured a dark prominent mole with three very long white hairs dangling from it.
Even more disturbing than all that nightmare fuel was the fact that she was topless. Every time he stepped back and she followed, her saggy, gray tits swung like pendulums, slapping against her bulbous belly.
Dear God, was she pregnant? Jaron’s face contorted in disgust. Lurch, you poor fucker, he thought.
The rest of her skin drooped in a rippled, droopy mess dotted with moles and rough patches of red, cracked skin. In what could only be considered an act of divine grace, a tattered cloth was cinched around her waist.
“Come back my pretty,” Myra teased. “Let me get a good look at you.”
“Fuck off, hag.” He jabbed at her with his spear.
She spread her arms wide and curled her fingers into claws. With a blood curdling scream, she leaped onto the table with surprising speed and grace. Jaron circled around, trying to move towards the front door. Myra began to weave her hands and chant something. Her eyes glowed red and something flew from her hand.
Jaron dove to the side and felt the displaced air brush his back as a bolt of energy sizzled past and exploded against the door. His body may have been different than in real life, but he must have retained some of his instincts. Only years of training could let him move like that without even thinking.
Slipping on the floor, Jaron scrambled up and bolted for the door.
He took one step and ran straight into Lurch. With a grunt of surprise, Jaron bounced back like the big fucker was a trampoline. He flew across the small room and slammed against the wall with a tooth rattling jolt. His head struck a root from the tree and nearly knocked him senseless.
Stars twinkled in his vision as he slid against the filthy wall and swayed, trying to catch his balance. He noted some big changes since the last time he looked around the room. Gone were the comfortable features, clean furniture, and the finely polished wood floor he saw earlier. As Jaron swayed, he saw that everything was exactly how he had expected it to look — disgusting.