The Wandering Inn_Volume 1
Page 5
So she sat, and watched her blood fall.
Drip.
—-
It was dark when the puddle stopped growing. It soaked into the floorboards, a dark stain in the night. Erin stared at the blackness. She couldn’t sleep.
“Still hurts.”
Erin stared at the table. She stared at the grain of the wood. No good. She couldn’t distract herself. But she had to.
So she began to whisper.
“Pawn…pawn to E4.”
She rested her injured hand on the table. It flared once in pain, and then resumed throbbing. Her other hand traced a square, and her eyes darted over the empty table.
“Pawn to E5. Pawn to F4. Pawn captures F4 – King’s Gambit Accepted. Bishop to C4, queen to H4. Check. Bishop’s Gambit. King to F1, pawn to F5. Byran Counter-gambit. Bishop captures B5, knight moves to F6. Knight moves to F3…”
She kept talking long into the night. But the pain in her hand never stopped. It just kept hurting. And hurting.
1.05
Erin woke up suddenly. Her hand was burning.
Though her head felt like fog she couldn’t fall back to sleep. Instead, Erin just sat and cradled her hand again. She couldn’t move it or the pain would get worse, but sleeping or relaxing was beyond her as well. She could only sit in agony.
Bit by bit, the pain faded away. Maybe it was her waking up, or maybe she just got numb.
“Either way.”
Erin got up. She still held her hand and took great care not to flex it at all. It was…aching didn’t even begin to describe it. It was just pain, all the way through. And it wasn’t stopping.
But at the same time, she was hungry. And for a little bit that overrode her pain.
Slowly, very slowly, Erin hobbled around the inn. She grabbed the blue fruit with her good hand and began chomping them down one at a time. She was so hungry she ate four before she knew it and then polished off two more as she sat at a table.
She would have sat there forever. Getting up wasn’t worth the effort, but a higher power called to her. It spoke in words she could not ignore.
Bathroom.
Erin sighed and put her head on the table. But the longer she sat the more uncomfortable it became. Still, the pain in her hand fought off the need to go relieve herself for the better part of an hour. When Erin finally stood up, she marched to the inn’s door and kicked it open. She’d go do her business in a random valley and then wash her hands at the stream. Hygiene and all that.
Erin made it five steps out of the inn before she reluctantly turned back and closed the door behind her. She doubted the Goblins would come back, but—safety. That done, she went about the business of doing her business.
It took nearly two hours before Erin came back. That was mainly due to her getting lost. Somehow the stream seemed to be in a different spot than she’d remembered, and when she’d completed her task she wasn’t able to retrace her steps.
When she did finally see the inn’s welcome sight, Erin could have cried with relief. All she wanted was to sit and suffer in peace and the open door welcomed her in.
Absentmindedly Erin walked through the door and closed it behind her. Then she went back and sat down at the table. She looked at the dirty, bloody bandage.
“Damn it.”
—-
“Ow. Owch. Ow.”
Every time Erin peeled off a bit of the bandage part of her skin and a lot of blood went with it. Some of it was dried blood. Some of it was not.
After she’d gotten half of the bandage off Erin had to stop. The pain was too much. And the bandage was stuck to her skin. But having a half-peeled bandage was worse. Erin couldn’t stop picking at it.
“Maybe I can cut the rest off somehow.”
Erin went to the kitchen. There were certainly sharp things in there. Like knives.
“Not knives.”
So were there scissors? They didn’t seem very medieval, but who knew? Erin decided to go through the cupboards.
Oh, she’d opened one or two before, but this time Erin did a systematic search of every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen. The dust that poured out make her sneeze cough, but she did find some basic cooking utensils like spatulas, a drawer full of tarnished silverware, and even some plates. The cupboards held a lot of things. And there were a lot of them. And that was strange.
“I’ve seen old kitchens in castles. I thought drawers and that kind of stuff only came later. So is this place in the dark ages or can I get a light bulb somewhere around here?”
Erin grumbled as she searched with one hand. She threw open another cupboard and stopped.
“What the—”
Food. Food was sitting in the cupboard. Erin had to rub her eyes with her good hand. Then she slapped herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But when she looked again it was still there.
“Is that…flour?”
Erin poked the bag and stared at the white granules on her finger.
“It could be flour. Or—alternatively, it could be cocaine.”
She tried to smile. But her hand hurt too much.
“…It’s probably flour.”
But was it any good? Erin stared at the bag and tried to remember how long things were supposed to stay good. Probably not that long, especially if it was out in the open like that.
She sighed and pulled the bag out anyways. Might as well check.
But behind the bag of flour was another surprise. Erin’s eyes narrowed and she frowned hard.
“That’s butter.”
There was no mistaking it. And it wasn’t just butter either. Erin was used to the nice, square sticks of butter that turned soft and spreadable in the sun. This…was more like a block of butter. It made her arteries scream just looking at it, but her stomach was rumbling already. However—
“That’s not right.”
Erin stared at the butter. It was a golden yellow. She stared around the kitchen. Dust and cobwebs seemed to make up most of the room. She stared at the floor she had yet to sweep.
“How long does it take for dust to get two inches deep?”
Five months? Two years? Five years? Either way, Erin was pretty sure butter didn’t last that long.
“Is someone messing with me?”
Erin glanced around. Could someone have put the food in here? But no, her footsteps were the first to disturb the dust. So then how…?
Her eyes flicked back to the cupboards. Something bright caught her attention.
“Oh. Oh!”
A series of glowing symbols faintly shone with silvery light. Erin brushed at the inscriptions and traced them around the edge of the entire pantry.
“Wow. Magic.”
She stared at the runes, entranced. Then a thought struck her and she opened the other cupboards..
“Here. Here…they’re everywhere.”
Around the edges of each cupboard were the same small etchings of runes. Erin traced them with her fingertip but unlike the cupboard with all the good food, these ones weren’t glowing.
“Huh. I guess it wore off. Or maybe they broke somehow? I wonder what they’re made of.”
Experimentally, she scraped at the runes with one fingernail. A bit of it flaked off onto her finger.
“Silver? Or something glowy.”
Erin poked a little harder. It was embedded in the wood, but time had made the wood soft. Another splinter of wood came away. This one neatly cut the unbroken line of runes in two.
Instantly, the glowing symbols faded away. Erin stared at the piece of wood she’d removed and then at the runes in open-mouthed horror.
“Oh you’ve got to be shi—”
Erin pulled back too far as she stood up, overbalanced, and fell backwards. She didn’t hit the ground too hard, but her bad hand smacked the ground. Instantly Erin grabbed her hand and cradled it, but she could feel the blood running again. She curled up into a ball and stayed there for a long time.
“It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”
Dully, she stared at the now dark symbols. Dead. Just like that.
Erin rubbed at her eyes. She wasn’t crying. But her eyes stung a bit. That was all.
That was all.
—-
Erin sat at the table in the common room and talked to herself. It was mainly to avoid thinking about pain or her own stupidity.
“True, you’ve gotta leave stuff behind when you leave. Can’t carry everything. But you had good food still here. And more, in those other cupboards. And here’s a kitchen full of supplies…how expensive are good, sharp knives?”
Erin flexed her hand and winced again. Very sharp knives.
“No one leaves that behind. So why would anyone…?”
It was a bad thought to have. Erin suddenly felt very uneasy. The hair on her neck began pricking and her stomach began doing pushups.
“Question. How did Mr. Skeleton upstairs die?”
Her spine tingled.
“Maybe that’s a bad question.”
But once asked, it wasn’t easy to get rid of. Erin tried to ignore it. She stared at the dried blood on her hand, ate another blue fruit, but the thought lingered. Eventually she couldn’t bear it any longer. She stood up.
“Upstairs. Fine. Hello darkness my old enemy.”
It wasn’t nearly as hard going up the stairs. Now that she knew what was in every room, going down the dark hallways wasn’t scary. But going in the last room? That was very scary.
Erin took a few deep breaths before she opened the door. Her palm was sweaty on the doorknob.
“Am I afraid of dead people? Well yeah. But they can’t hurt me. Zombies can, but normal dead people can’t. It’s just a skeleton. I can take a look for signs of—of death and then I’ll go sleep. Good plan. Let’s do it.”
She opened the door and stared inside. Then she ran back and started opening the other doors on the top floor, slamming into each room before running to the next. But what she sought was not there.
Slowly, Erin walked back to the room at the far end and looked inside. A sagging bed, a small table, a shuttered window. Nothing else. Erin whispered into the silence.
“It’s gone.”
—-
The skeleton was gone. Erin was sure of it. It wasn’t anywhere in the inn that she’d looked, and she’d combed both top and bottom floor thoroughly. And the worst part about losing a dead body was wondering where it went.
Erin sat in the common room. Actually, she sat in a corner of it, her back to the wall as her eyes darted around the room. It wasn’t that she was waiting for a pile of bones to fall from the ceiling. But…she would prefer to know where said bones had gone.
“Okay. Okay. What’s the problem? It was just a skeleton. Just a spooky, dead thing. And even if it did move—somehow, where would it go?”
She didn’t know why she was whispering to herself. It just made her feel…well, it didn’t make her feel better, but it felt appropriate. It was getting dark. It was nearly night. In the circumstances being loud didn’t feel like the smart thing to do.
And the skeleton might hear her.
“No, no. That’s impossible. It’s not here. It’s somewhere else. Besides, where could it hide? I checked all the rooms upstairs. So where could it be?”
The…cupboards?
Her eyes darted towards the kitchen. No. It couldn’t be. She’d checked.
What about underneath the floorboards? Or in the roof?
Erin kept very still and listened. Nothing. That was good, right?
But skeletons don’t need to breathe. They don’t need to move until you’re asleep. And then…
Enough. Erin shook her head. It was all in her head. There had to be a perfectly good reason for a corpse to disappear suddenly—
What about the walls?
Erin refused to turn her head. She was just being paranoid. Which was a good thing. Because it could be anywhere.
No; not just it. Them. Maybe someone, something took the skeleton. But why? And when?
Her mind suddenly flashed back to when she’d returned that morning. Hadn’t the inn’s door been open? She hadn’t noticed at the time but she remembered closing it as she left. She didn’t remember having to open it when she got back.
Her skin crawled. The inn suddenly felt a lot less safe.
But it was just her imagination. She had an over-active imagination. If she went to sleep all would be well. All she had to do was close her eyes and when she woke up all would be well. There was nothing to worry about. Erin couldn’t even hear anything except the rapid beating of her heart and the creaking.
Creaking. A footstep.
Erin sat bolt upright. Her heart felt like it was about to stop from sheer overwork. Her eyes darted to the ceiling.
Something was up there.
She heard it moving about. Maybe if she’d been more relaxed she might never have noticed the faint creaks and groans of floorboards as something crept around upstairs. And judging by the sounds…
Erin tracked the progress of the creature. It was moving to the stairwell.
Slowly, Erin clenched her bad hand to avoid screaming. The pain as her sliced hand throbbed and started to bleed grounded her. Silently, she stood up.
The knife was on the table. Erin held it in her good hand and moved around. The stairwell was on the right side of the room. Anyone coming down wouldn’t be able to see her if she was in the rightmost corner.
Skirting the chairs and tables Erin made her way there and crouched down. The handle of the kitchen knife was slippery in her hand with sweat. Her other hand was slippery with her blood. She gazed at the blade of the knife. It was very sharp.
The creaking stopped for a moment as the intruder reached the top of the stairs. Erin waited. It would come down. And when it did, she’d get one chance to attack first.
Attack first? Am I some kind of hero?
No. New plan. The instant Erin saw what it was she was running for her life. But she had to see what it was first.
The skeleton popped into her head. Was it that? Or was it the creature that had stolen it’s bones? Was it some kind of parasitic creature that lived in dead corpses—or a gaunt nightprowler that ate the marrow of the deceased?
Please let it just be a skeleton.
The monster started descending the stairs. Quietly. Slowly. Even though Erin was listening, she barely heard the sound it made. She tried to guess how far down it was. Halfway. Two thirds. A few steps left.
Something left the last step and walked into the common room. Erin didn’t breathe. She didn’t move, or even blink.
Slowly, the creature stepped closer. Erin squinted and gasped as it came into view. Then she stood up and sighed.
“Oh. It was just a Goblin.”
The short green creature whirled around in surprise as Erin stood up with a sigh. It immediately crouched, its sharp dagger held in a fighting stance. It snarled at her.
She snarled back.
—-
The rest of the Goblin ambush party waited outside of the inn, keen ears straining for sound. Each one was a seasoned warrior – at least by the standards of their small clan. They were all armed with the best weaponry available. The most dangerous among them had shortswords that were only half-covered in rust. And they were awaiting the signal.
The inn’s door flew open. The Goblins looked up. They expected the human female to run out of it, screaming and preferably bleeding. At worst, they expected their comrade to be running out, her fast on his heels. They readied their weapons.
And ducked as a body flew over their heads.
“Go to hell!”
The human female slammed the door shut.
The Goblins stared at the closed door of the inn. They stared at the barely recognizable face of the unconscious Goblin, and then exchanged a look. Then they quickly picked up their fallen comra
de and legged it back into the night.
1.06
Erin woke up with one back against the inn’s front door. Her neck was aching and her hand was burning. It was morning.
“Ow.”
She held her hand. It was hurting—
“Feels like it’s worse than yesterday. Which is probably my imagination.”
She sat cradling her hand for a full minute. Then she remembered why she was sitting there and shot to her feet.
“Skeleton? Goblins.”
Where was it? Erin stood up and hobbled over to a table. There. Two daggers on the tabletop.
“At this rate I’m going to start a collection.”
Erin mumbled to herself as she poked one of the hilts with a finger. But it proved she hadn’t been dreaming.
“No skeleton? No problem. I hope.”
She sighed and then sniffed.
“What’s that smell?”
Something smelled really bad. And it was coming from the kitchen. The instant Erin opened the door she groaned aloud.
The fish lay on the cutting board, covered in dry blood and reeking in the sunlight. It stank. Actually, it smelled worse than a stink.
“This. This is disgusting.”
Erin stared at the fish for a few more seconds. She had absolutely no desire to touch it. On the other hand…
A few black things crawled out of the fish’s mouth. Erin stared at the small things, gagged, and then ran outside before she hurled. That was the start of her day.
—-
How do you get rid of a fish? Erin put it outside on the ground and stared at it.
“I could bury it. If I had a shovel. And I could burn it. If I had a way to make fire. Or…I could leave it over there.”
She walked for about fifteen minutes before she was sure she was far enough away from the inn. Then Erin unceremoniously dumped the rotting fish off the cutting board. That was a mistake.
As the fish hit the ground it exploded. Something inside of it broke or squished, and suddenly a host of little black and green insects exited the fish’s body from every orifice. Erin took one look, screamed, and ran. She was getting good at it.