by GR Griffin
“One-size-fits-all junior’s winter coat. I figured you’d like a colour that matches your clothes.” Birgir set it down beside the bag then reached for the rest. “One pair of waterproof shin guards. And you get to choose between a selection of gloves, hats, and scarfs.” He laid them out in neat pairs as he announced them. All of them were of various colours and patterns. “We’ve got your regular colours in either dark blue, brown, or black. We got them in stripes, with multi-coloured shapes, and this hat with these adorable little panda ears.” He pinched the black and white woolly cap by its semi-circle ears and made it dance, making childish noises in the process. It came with a disclaimer on the tag: No actual pandas were harmed in the making of this hat.
Fleck ignored his silly behaviour. As if rebelling against his pandering, they picked out a matching pair of hat and gloves, both black. When choosing a scarf, they went for a black scarf with green stripes and tassels but stopped upon catching wind of the one next to it, knitted from red wool. The colour may have been a shade or two out from the one Papyrus donned, but other than that, it was almost identical. They took it.
“Good choice. You’re now ready to go on your little expedition into the unknown. To boldly go where no human as gone before.” Birgir rounded the stall. “Allow me to escort you to the changing platform. It’d just up these escalators.”
Fleck shouldered the rucksack, feeling its weight for the first time. Hefty, but not enough to be debilitating; roughly the same weight as their school bag on Thursdays. They scooped the clothes into their arms and followed Birgir across the clearing, over to the escalators. He took the second on the right. Fleck stayed beside him, taking the furthest right against their better judgement.
The slow rise upwards to the centre platform took two whole minutes to reach, and the human felt every single one of those one-hundred-and-twenty seconds. The drop did not get easier the more they looked. Crossing the gap between the hovering lands, out in the open air, yet the construct did not shake by so much as a quiver.
Reaching the centre, they came to a flat platform with the width and length of a tennis court, paved with white tiles that bore the marks of footprints decades old. Halfway across, a straight red line had been painted from one end to the other, splitting it into two equal parts. On the left side of the platform, before the line, stood a rectangular building with two visible entrances. Oddly, despite standing between islands, there were no barriers of any kind. No guardrails or walls were present to stop people for falling off.
Birgir could see how apprehensive the stranger was to the ways of the Outerworld by how they avoided the edges. “Hey, want to see something cool?” he asked. “Let me borrow that sleeping bag a moment?”
Fleck set their stuff down and Birgir unstrapped the tightly bound bedroll. Holding it by the strap, he approached the edge, encouraging Fleck to follow them, ensuring that nothing bad would happen.
Reluctantly, the human child followed, sliding the soles of their boots harder against the ground the closer they got, stopping just shy of the end. This monster may have been a native to this world, and his home may have teetered so close to the literal end of the world, but Fleck struggled to comprehend how he could remain so calm before such a drop.
Without a care in the world, Birgir tossed the bag over the side.
Both watched as the bag fell, somersaulting end over end toward the planet below. All Fleck could think about as their sleeping bag grew smaller was whether he could give them another. It disappeared from view as if the clouds beneath swallowed it whole.
“Wait for it…” a whisper escaped Birgir’s stone mouth. His sights still aimed at where it was last seen.
They saw it. Fleck could not believe their eyes. A dot appeared and grew with every passing second. It was the sleeping bag, coming back up, spinning in the same manner as when it plummeted. Birgir opened his hands out and the bedroll landed right into them as firmly as catching a football.
“Pretty neat, don’t you think?” Birgir said. An answer came in the form of the surprised look upon the human’s face, which was all he needed. “I thought so.” He strapped the bag back in its place. “Unlike the barrier keeping those poor saps trapped under that mountain down there, this one protects us all the way up here, both from any human trying to get in and any monster who accidentally falls out.”
Fleck went red in the cheeks. This information would have been super-duper handy to know when they were holding on for dear life back in the Shattered Zone.
Birgir gestured to the clear red line on the floor, swaying his hand from end to end. “This is the border between the Plain-plain and Ice Island. Before you cross it, I’d recommend using the changing rooms over there.”
He motioned to the only structure present. Above each entrance was a sign – the left was the image of a stick figure with three scales on the head and a curved tail. The right image was the same except the stick figure was wearing a triangle for a skirt. Fleck applied their knowledge of the human world to those signs. They were changing rooms, the left for men and the right for women.
The supplier continued, “These facilities will provide you with privacy as you change.” He turned his gaze toward the human, eager to solve a little mystery nagging away at him since he and… them… first met. “Go ahead and choose to one you…”
He stopped. Fleck had already donned the shin guards, wrapped the scarf around their neck, and was in the process of putting on the coat, over their shirt.
Birgir would frown but his face would not allow it. “Or you can just get changed right here, out in the open. Why not, right? It’s not like they paid good money to build those rooms. It wasn’t my money, but still!”
Fleck zipped the coat up to their chin, tucking the scarf under it. Lastly came the gloves and hat. With all the clothes donned and the pack on their back, the little human appeared to be ready for school on the snowiest day of the year. Standing on the Plain-plain side of the line, they quickly began to heat up like the water in a kettle.
Fleck walked up to the border until the tips of their boots were an inch before it. They stuck their hand over the divide and immediately felt an icy chill latch onto it, like sticking a hand in the freezer on a hot, sunny day. Fleck withdrew it and the country air tended to it, filling it with warmth.
Birgir’s insistent warnings returned, this time with added solemnity. “I’m going to ask you this one last time. Are you sure, sure on your very soul that you want to do this? I’ve got no problems escorting you back down and giving you a full refund if you’ve got second thoughts.” From the sound of his voice, he had hoped that the contender would chicken out. “This is your last chance to back out because once you step over that line, there’s no guarantee that you’ll ever come back, and if you suffer the same fate as every single monster who went before you, nobody will come to your rescue.”
The second set of escalators over the clear red line awaited, ready to transport them to the frozen world above – a metaphorical stairway to heaven. Fleck took a deep breath, clenched their hands tight, and stepped over the line. One second the layers were making them boil, the next, they were protecting them from biting, sharp cold. Birgir remained on his side, partly because he was not protected in his jim-jams, and mostly because he was afraid on what horrors awaited on the other side.
Alone, Fleck stepped the rest of the way to the second set of escalators. The closer they got, the colder the air grew. Birgir stood anxiously, now wishing that he had alerted the authorities to the human. Whatever fate awaited the child in Castle Highkeep would have been much better than the one up those stairs. He wanted to rush toward them, but his own fears forbade him.
Another promising life, going down the drain before his eyes. He had seen it too many times, some who he was happy to see go, others he had neutral feelings about, and then there were those he wished he could stop, like the kid wandering off to their doom. If only he knew what awaited them over there, but alas, nobody returned to tell the t
ale.
Fleck had their foot over the moving steps when Birgir spoke out. “One more thing: if you want to get through the island in record time – and who doesn’t? – find the mines.” He tried to act cool as if this was another day at the office, but they could detect the grating to it. “Going around Black Ice Mountain will take you a few days, you’ll probably lose a few toes in the process…” He stopped to clear his throat. “But if you take the mines through the mountain, you can reach the Forest in less than a day. There’ve been rumours of people reaching the other side in sheer hours thanks to the tunnels. Although… none have done that recently.”
Fleck looked at the supplier, smiled, nodded, and thanked them for the advice before taking the next big step that transported them upwards.
“Nice knowing you, human,” Birgir bade his farewell.
The human child’s heart increased tempo as they ascended into the unknown. They were halfway up when the first flakes of snow fluttered all around them. The colour of the sky shifted from the cosy summertime blue to a cold, emotionless shade of grey that blotted out the sun.
Fleck reached the top and stepped off onto the untouched floor one foot before the snow.
Here they were: Ice Island. The next step of their journey had begun.
They felt like they were stepping out the door to the ruins all over again, only this time the snowy world on the other side was much less inviting.
A signpost stood crooked in front of them, the writing too smothered in snow to read. The threshold of a great wood lay with snow-capped tops and shadowy canopies, broken by two paths that had not seen visitors in a long time. Above it all, Black Ice Mountain’s size and form put Mount Ebott to shame.
A steady fall of flakes drifted from the grey sky, forming and melting on their head and shoulders. The air they breathed formed an ice cube in their throat. Their exhalations condensed into puffs of white.
They looked back. From where they stood, they got a fantastic view of the Plain-plain – of those roaming green fields. It looked beautiful from afar, but the grass is always greener on the other side. Prickly grass. Trees that felt like rubber. Flowers that smelled like cheap aftershave. Earlier, they thought that they would be happy to get away from it, but Ice Island was giving them second thoughts.
The sight of such a cold and desolate place filled them with determination. Too bad it would not help them if they ran into the same trouble those before them encountered.
Just as the old saying goes: out of the frying pan, into the freezer.
* * *
As they stepped across the lands of Ice Island, Fleck tried to block out the loneliness by comparing it to Snowdin. They remembered giggling at Sans’s whoopy cushion in the hand joke, and the hilarity that was Papyrus attempting to catch them with the same efficiency of Wile E. Coyote trying to capture Roadrunner. They looked back in triumph as they petted the Royal Guard into submission and had fun kicking about that snowball into the golf hole.
This place, on the other hand, had none of that. No fun. No laughter. Nothing but the unnerving shake of branches all around and the crunching underfoot.
The snow itself was not how they remembered it either. It was crisp like snow, cold like snow, wet like snow, but it was not real snow. Fake, like everything in these lands. It had a texture similar to that of polystyrene. They were unable to shake the feeling that they were walking on flattened coffee cups and burger boxes.
On they hiked. Fleck’s exposed knees grew goosebumps on their goosebumps while the rest of them was warm and dry. They lost the sensation in their nose. The straps of their bag dug in their shoulders; the contents weighting them down, clicking away inside and out. They followed a trail as they led the human through scores of whitened pine trees. The silence in the air made it feel like they were the last person alive in all existence.
Time lost all meaning. It was either an hour or maybe five minutes, but the effort of trekking uphill through snow with added weight on their back took its toll. Fleck covered a dip and found a tree stump topped with a thin layer of snow, alongside a thicket of bushes. After brushing it away, it made for a decent place to sit and rest for a bit.
Their journey in this island had just begun and already they were losing a multiplier off their bet. They dug through their bag and found a small box, labelled Calorie Pal. High in calories. Low in shameless name spoofing. Unboxing the treat revealed two shortbread bricks that looked edible, if nothing else. They smelled better than they tasted.
Off in the distance over the treetops, visible from their spot along a line of forest, lay the hollow remnants of what was once a town. The small buildings were once cosy, with windows glowing orange and threads of white wisps rising from chimneys, now buried up to their roofs in white. As Fleck finished the first biscuit, they contemplated what they wouldn’t give for a cinnamon bunny, a bisicle, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate right now, all while bundled up next to a crackling fire.
They took the second biscuit and began working on that. The shortbread was dense, each mouthful took considerable effort to chew. In the vacuum of silence, every sound intensified. They were able to make out each individual chomp against their teeth. The squeak of air going in and out of their nostrils. The crumple of their coat with every slight movement. The crunching of footsteps from the woodlands to their right.
Wait. Footsteps?
Fleck jumped off the stump. Their half-eaten ration slipped from their fingers, landing chomped side up in the snow. From within the dark underbrush, they could clearly hear them. Fast footsteps. Running. Coming toward them, darting around trees, overlapped with twigs snapping. Frantic breathing.
A figure emerged. Frost was plastered all around him, on his bill, around his grey feathers, and on his red puffer jacket – the make and model suspiciously similar to Fleck’s. He came to a halt against a tree upon seeing the human. Dark, delirious eyes stared through them.
“Are you…? No, no, please tell me you’re fake.” The duck monster waddled over, arms outstretched. “Please don’t be real… Please don’t be real...”
Fleck stumbled back, creeped out by winged hands reaching toward them. At the last moment, they tried to run, but the stranger caught them by the arm. His other hand went straight to their face, prodding at the roundness in their cheeks, the stubbiness of their nose, and strands of their brown hair.
His breathing grew heavier. “You’re not fake. You’re real and… you’re a human. You shouldn’t be here.” Suddenly, he grabbed Fleck by the shoulders and shook them, yelling directly in their face. “You shouldn’t be here, you stupid, stupid child! You can’t! You gotta get out of here! Run away, before—”
The stranger whipped his head to the side, scanning the trees around him. Fleck had not heard anything, but the duck monster acted aloof. His hands dug into their shoulders.
“He’s coming… He’s coming.” With no warning, he shoved the human and their bag into a nearby shrub. They landed on their backside. “Hide here. Don’t you dare move a muscle. If he catches you, he’ll never let you leave. No matter what happens to me, don’t come out until the coast is clear, then get out of here as fast as you can.”
He backed away from the bush. The two locked eyes for the longest time. With a regretful sigh, he pulled away and grabbed a stick off the ground.
The duck twisted in every direction as if scanning the trees for a target. He screamed at the silence, daring whoever or whatever was out there to try and take him, sporadically swinging the stick at empty air.
Fleck watched as he turned in every direction on his heels, not sure what to expect. For a full minute, he threatened dead air. Fleck expected something to come charging out of the woods, like some snarling beast or a group of raving barbarians, but the only sounds were those of the monster before them, masked under his wild threats.
He formed a deep groove in the ground. The tenacity of his threats dwindled and his grip on his makeshift weapon lessened. Yet still nobody else was prese
nt except him, and also his shadow.
Fleck did not see it at first… then they saw it.
His shadow was stretching out behind him, elongating further from his ankles. Then, it grew upwards, taking the form of a physical mass. It rose taller and taller until its height eclipsed the shorter monster. Fleck witnessed the crushing moment in his eyes when he realised that the thing he was fleeing from was behind him. Yet he did not turn around.
The shadow began to form, each part taking shape. Two arms; grey claws with two fingers and a thumb on each. Two legs; as straight and defined as chiselled marble. A lean body with a definite tone of muscle. A reptilian tail that stretched to the ground. Clothes, fancy ones, all immaculately kept. A white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a black tie under a grey dress vest with a golden watch chain hanging from one of the pockets. Grey dress pants, perfectly ironed, and shiny black leather shoes that stood above the snow as if he were weightless. The head formed, bringing his entire frame to exactly six-feet in height. His long face and cold-blooded smile were that of a komodo dragon, with a head of perfectly groomed and slicked back chocolate brown hair and a devilishly suave moustache and goatee. His eyes formed with a golden flash, highlighting the traces of yellow in his red irises.
His smile was wide with enjoyment. Hands deep within pockets. His back was straight, holding no slouch whatsoever. His eyes filled with a dreadful sense of glee. His chuckle was low, a mere foot behind the terrified straggler. A forked tongue tasted the terror in the air.
“Going so soon, Kenny?” His voice was deep and fear-invoking, yet as smooth and suave as melting chocolate and the last of the summer wine. It made every feather stand on end. “We haven’t even exchanged phone numbers yet.”
The shadowy figure raised his hand – the tip of his finger shone with a brilliant blue orb of light – and stabbed it into the centre of the duck’s spinal column.