Tea at Steve's?

You've never really liked Steve. At school he was very quiet; you two rarely talked. So, it came as quite a surprise to you when a letter from Steve dropped through your letter-box one day. And, what a strange letter it was. Little did you know, this letter would change your life forever. It was written on a perfectly square piece of paper, and it said:

Dear Reader,

Why not come and stay with me for the weekend?

I live in MineTown, I'm sure you've herd of it We'll have a blast and talk about old times. Won't you come and stay?

Don't bother replying, just come!

Your old pal, Steve.

At first, you wonder why it was addressed to 'Reader' but you quickly remember that 'Reader' was his nick-name for you in high school. Steve had given it to you when you first met. You remember it clearly, you were sitting in a café with your geography text books spread out on the table; the end of year exam was coming up. Steve had spotted you and asked if you liked geography too. You replied that geography was a perfectly fine subject, but you much preferred reading over geography. Apparently he was something of a 'Geographer'. It was one of the only occasions you talked. Apart from your meeting, you can't think of any more 'old times' which might be inviting you to discuss. And you had no idea where 'MineTown' was. Still, you fancy a weekend away, and a vague curiosity is piqued within you: what could Steve be doing nowadays? If you remember correctly he did not do very well in the final exams… apart from geography of course. You climb the stairs with a thoughtful anticipation and begin to pack your bags. Should you pack sun-glasses? Or that knitted woolly jumper Granny got you for Christmas? What sort of climate did Mine-Town have? You had just decided to Google it when you remembered that you had already used but all the band-width for this month! Why didn't you get unlimited! You decide you will pack both, to be on the safe side, and to see what kind of place Mine-Town is when you get to it. Questions run through your mind all day, but you dismiss them. Even as you lie in bed at night you can't help but wonder what kind of place Mine-Town will be and what kind of person Steve will have become.

The next day you wake up early; despite your efforts to get back to sleep you dress and go over your packed bags, making sure you've got everything.

Later you board your bus. Luckily, MineTown is on your bus-route despite it being several hundred miles out of the way. What a convenient coincidence… It's difficult to climb the steps of the bus because you are laden down with two heavy bags; a rucksack for general items and a bag for clothes. You pay the driver and choose a seat. On your way to the back row you are almost knocked off balance by the sudden movement of the bus beginning to drive away. You sit by the window on the left of the back row which was slightly elevated over the other seats. You look over to the other end of the back row, an old woman sits there, knitting very fast. Looking out the window you see you are already well on your way away from your home to the mysterious Mine-Town. You idly check your phone; three texts from Granny. You are unsurprised to read that the texts merely contain random letters, such as: 'duddiwoowa','ignahob' and 'q'. The old dear must have sat on her mobile-telephone again. That or that devilish cat of hers has stolen it trying to make a nest out of it.

It seems like no time at all when you look back through the window to see you have left civilization all together. A field of wheat rushes past you in a golden blur. That and a pale blue sky is all that can be seen for miles. This field was replaced by a crimson field of poppies and a cerulean field of lavender throughout the course of your long journey. You notice that the further away the bus drives from civilisation the larger the foreheads of the passengers. The old woman who was sitting on your row at first had left long ago and her seat is now filled by a man with a somewhat large forehead and a thick nose. You look at the other passengers; they all display similar features. You think nothing of it (although there is a seed of anxiousness in the back of your mind). Your eye-lids had become heavy watching the colourful fields of the countryside rush past in a mesmerising blur for so long.

You wake with a start. The bus is flooded with a flickering yellow light from a high up lamp towards the front of the bus. You are aware that the bus is no longer moving and that you are the only passenger left aboard. Placing a hand on the cold window, you gaze, searchingly out into the dark blue gloom that had fallen while you slept. You cant make out a thing out there. You suppose this is your stop, but, for some reason you are reluctant to move. After a moments hesitation, you hoist your rucksack onto your back and creep to the door, steadying yourself on the other seats as you go. You avoid looking at the driver but mutter a word of thanks and walk down the steps, through the folded door and out into this new world. The wind is cool and smooth on your check and you can feel the threatening spatter of rain. At first you are consumed by darkness, the only light-source being the flickering yellow lamp of the bus, but as your eyes gradually become accustomed to it and you can start to make out your surroundings. You can see nothing but the dark shapes of very tall trees whose top-most leafy branches catch the moonlight and sway with the wind. You look at the moon above; despite it's brightness it hardly sheds light to the ground below. Suddenly it gets darker still, you look around and notice that the bus had sprung back to life and is driving away. You watch the yellow glow from the windows grow dimmer and fainter as it trundles away form you into the murk of the woods and is eventually blocked out by the shadowy, thick trunks of trees. For some reason you are unable to draw your eyes away form the point where it vanished completely. You stand for a moment, in the moonlight, feeling the breeze flow past you, carrying your rucksack and hearing nothing, quite at a loss for what to do next. You look around anxiously; you notice a movement in the darkness beneath a tree. Cold fear spills within you, when:

'Reader? Reader, Is that you?' called a familiar voice. To your relief it's Steve. His face and voice had changed slightly in the years you were apart, but he still sported his trademark square-jaw and flat topped haircut. Your relief fades as quickly as it came, though, because Steve looked as anxious as you had been a moment ago.

'Yes, hello, Steve? It's me' you call back.

'Reader! How nice it is to see you. But- quickly now, we must head home.' He grabs your arm and pulls you toward the trees.

'Wait a sec, 'scuse me.' You say as you pull your arm away. 'I need to get my other bag first', you look around for your bag of clothes, but you are distressed to see that it is nowhere to be found. You slap yourself on your forehead for your stupidity.

'Oh no, I've left it on the bus!'. Steve unperturbed by this, grabs you again and strides toward the dark wood with you in tow. You are unsure of your footing on the uneven grass below, but you try to keep up with Steve who had now lead you out of the small clearing into the darkness. You can't see a thing as you walk, now you're quite glad of Steve's hand on the sleeve of your coat; you wouldn't know which way to go other wise. After walking through the wood for a few minuets your ears begin prick up and you begin to listen to the subtle sounds of the wood. The drip, drip, drip of rain drops from leaf to leaf to grass; the raging ruffle of wind through the leafy treetops above and the occasional snap of a twin beneath your foot. For some reason, you wince whenever your footsteps release a loud snap, as if you're afraid of being conspicuous. Steve does not try to talk to you during the walk, you're glad of this; the noises of the wood are strange and enchanting and new to you. When, finally, you emerge into a dark clearing Steve whispers: 'Come, quickly now', and tightens his grip on your sleeve as he breaks into a creeping run. Startled by this you run after him and look at your surroundings but you can only make out the large vague shapes of what could be houses; it's to dark to tell. After a short, quick run you suddenly come to a halt outside one such large, dark, shape. This one must definitely be a house. Quietly panting you lean against the wall. Steve pushes a door open.

'Is this your house, then?' you ask. There is no reply. He pulls you quickly inside the shadowy room and quietly shuts the door, blocking the light; the room is in darkness. You stand awkwardly for a second not knowing what to do as Steve fumbles around. You hear a scraping noise and a spark of light catches your eye. Steve stands holding a stick of wood witch had a small flick of flame nibbling on the end. In a moment the flick bloomed into a large and bright torch. It emits a warm, yellow-orange glow over all the objects in the room. You can now see that you are standing in a cosy looking, square room with a square window at one end and a square table in the middle. Even the soft-looking armchairs looked quite angular and square-ish. Steve hurried over to the window and drew the drapes. He sinks into one of his angular armchairs and invites you to do that same. His square jaw and face looked ghostly in the flickering orange light of the torch, which he had placed on the table. You can see the shimmering flame reflected in his eyes as he spoke.

'Sorry 'bout that, I thought you'd arrive here earlier, if I'd a known you'd get here in the dark, well- Never mind about that now, you're here now, y'safe.' He looked relived.

'What a nice place you've got here,' You begin, 'It's been ages since I've seen you, I never imagined you in a nice place like this…' You trail off. 'So, what is it that you do nowadays, anyway?'

'Oh, I'm a miner, I mine for ore, then, I craft it into all sorts of things which I sell to the villagers here, they're very nice people, if not a bit simple. I do hope you get a chance to meet them-' He suddenly stops at this point as if he had said to much. He sprung to his feet and said.

'Lord, look at the time! We should really get to bed!' You look around but can't see any clocks, but you get to your feet anyway.

'Your bedroom is up the stairs, mine is down the stairs', says Steve pointing to a set of very narrow stars in the corner of the room, 'I've done up the room nice for you, in fact I built it last week just for you! I hope you find it comfortable.'

'Thanks Steve', you say. You are both just making for the stairs when you ask a question.

'Steve, where's the bath room?'

'Outside'

'Where outside?'

'Anywhere you like.'

'Oh…' You say turning around, intending to make for the door.

'Only-,' Steve lays a hand on your shoulder, 'don't go outside when it's dark, for any reason.'

'Why?' you ask, puzzled.

'It's not safe round 'ere when it's dark.. There's all sorts of ghoulies waiting to snatch you up… Just wait until morning, okay?'

'Okay…'

'Goodnight'

'Night'. You climb the stairs, still puzzled by Steve's behaviour. You enter a room in completele darkness apart from the silver tinge of moonlight which streamed thinly though a square window in the centre of the ceiling . Looking up, through it, you see the dark clouds swirl around the bright staring moon. Underneath the ceiling window you notice the outline of an inviting looking, rectangular bed. You undress to your undergarments and climb in. At first the sheets are icy cool on your bare legs but after a while the bed starts to glow with warmth. Wrapping yourself tightly into the red blanket you wriggle with delight; it seems like forever since you had a rest. You feel a heavy tiredness take your eyes, but despite this you decide to lie awake for a while, and watch the dark twisting sky, with it's pale golden hanging moon above through the window. Gradually, you fall asleep listening to the distant din of the wind….