This whole story will be written in Steve's POV unless otherwise stated.

Something In The Hissing

I toss and turn in my bed, head pounding and that ever-present buzzing in my ears. The sun peeks in my window, but I am reluctant to answer its call and head into my mine again. I couldn't sleep even after the creepers no longer looked through my windows and the zombies gave up on my iron door

The buzzing is loud and crying out, getting quieter the further the sun rises but never leaving. With a great sigh I roll out of bed and onto my feet. The rough wood beneath my skin is so much like home now that I barely miss the grass between my toes. One look at my reflection in the cauldron water shows deep circles marking my sleepless night. As I ruffle my hair further my feet carry me to my store room and pantry combo.

My dwindling food supply has my stomach rumbling in protest. I hadn't had meat in days... aside from the bitter rotten flesh I had no choice but to devour yesterday deep in the mine. Heart heavy with longing for a juicy steak, I pick up and apple and a small loaf of bread. I then manage to drag my sore, tired body to my makeshift table and munch on my skimpy breakfast.

As I eat my mind wanders over the biomes I had traversed and mined in the past. Each new cavern I found brought me more riches than I had ever imagined, but the work was tiring now matter how I tried to break it up. My torches still rest far below the earth near many dangers and villages. However, many biomes were the same.

The caverns with their pockets of riches and large rooms of treasure were what I lived for in my semi-nomadic lifestyle. The trials of mining a cave to sheer stone made each trip an adventure despite the paths becoming well-known to my own mind. The smell of the musty earth, screeching of bats and blinding glow of lava in the darkness were more meaningful to me than even the tales I often picked up from villagers. It was there, among the darkness and howling wind, that I felt most at home.

I splutter as my teeth break one of the apple's seeds, looking to find nothing but the smallest bit of core as the remains of my breakfast. I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm to try and wake myself up further as I push back my chair. My feet drag on the floor again as I finally decide to get dressed and do some hunting.

Five minutes later, a sword in my hand and on my belt, I open the door of my home and step into the noon sunlight. The heat forces me to move into the deep shadows of the spruce forest less than a yard from my front door. Light dapples the grass beneath my shoes and the chill wind rejuvenates me.

The cry of an injured ewe sets my heart to racing with adrenaline as my legs carry me towards her. The grass changes to a thin blanket of snow with each step closer. My hand tightens on my sword with another bleat of the ewe, only a few paces before me and below a ridge.

My heart stops as I skid to a halt, letting out a frustrated cry. My toes lie just over the edge of the cliff, the ewe too far below for me to even dream of taking this kill. Wolves block her on either side anyway, quick to the kill once she's stuck between them, the rock wall, and the vast expanse of sea.

My heart aches again, this time for lost opportunity, as I turn from the stunning view back into the forest. The thin blanket of snow holds many scattered tracks including my own, leaving that option out as well. I turn my eyes to the trickle of light through the leaves.

'Six hours,' I think, 'that I can keep hunting.'

I set my mind to survival mode and go deeper and deeper into the trees. A few cows or pigs would be good to kill, but a few sheep and chickens wouldn't hurt either. While I wasn't as skilled with a bow, I still kept one handy as extra safety, and I was running low on arrows. My hefty supply of flint and constant access to wood meant all I was missing were those precious feathers.

It had to be my mission to get some today.

With my thoughts my feet had moved to shuffling, a very fortunate thing. Something solid brushed by my foot so lightly I nearly missed it. When I looked down, resting in the snow was a freshly laid egg, yet another necessity I was low on after days in my mine.

Not a single thought crossed my mind as I bent down. With one hand I carefully scooped up the egg, and with the other I swung my sword around and got the hen as well. My hand remained gentle as I slipped the egg into a special case lined with wool to cushion the food source. Then it turned harsh, snatching up the hen before greedy wolves could steal my prize and securing it to my pack with rope.

Suddenly there was clucking all around me. Warning calls were being sent that I was here, but I know that the birds don't often listen. With a renewed hunger I start carefully hunting down eggs and chickens until nothing but the wind can be heard.

Eight birds weigh down my pack, my egg case full of ten eggs. Knowing that they no longer risk breaking I put them in my pack for safe keeping while I hunt down my cows and pigs. My plan had changed now to something more reasonable. My new goals were to kill a single pig for all the meat it would yield, fill four of my bottles with milk and fill the rest of them with water from a nearby stream. As long as I had pork my steak could wait.

The sun is just barely starting to set as I start home. Finding a pig had taken much longer than usual, so I would leave them alone for a bit in the hopes that they would repopulate. I had killed a cow when I realized I may not find a pig, so there was twice as much meat in my pack than I anticipated. Not that the extra food was a bad thing; it just slowed me down quite a bit in my return home.

I'm almost at my front door when I hear the hiss of a creeper behind me. Normally I would run home when I'm this close, but what stops me in my tracks is how the creeper is hissing.

'Ssssstee-vvve,' it calls, coming closer and closer to me.

What scares me the most about this encounter is that it's in my head and knows my name. That was a secret I kept guarded from even the villagers. Only my mother, who had passed away when I was ten, knew my name. The idea that this beast had discovered it makes me shudder.

The hiss gets so loud I know the creeper is only a few steps behind me. I force myself to forget this encounter and just sprint to my door. The two seconds it takes for the special mechanism to work are too long, but I'm safe when the door slams shut behind me in the creeper's face.

I release a long breath in a relieved sigh as I take off the pack that held and kept safe my prizes from today's hunt. With almost boyish glee I light my furnace to cook up a steak for dinner. While I wait for that and a baked potato, I busy myself with plucking the feathers from the chickens. In the end I have twelve good feathers to make my arrows with, which would do just fine with how little I actually used my bow.

After packing my meat in a homemade ice box safe from the wolves and eating my well-needed dinner, I kick off my shoes and fall into bed. My mind is buzzing impossibly loud now that night has fallen, but all I can hear is that creeper hissing my name. It haunts me even as I fall into a light, inconsistent sleep.