An American Werecoon in Redwall
• • •
Peter couldn't sleep. The infirmary keeper mouse lie open eyed, staring at that ceiling shadows dancing upon it. The mysterious rays of the nearly full moon were the culprits of these patterns. On a completely unrelated note, an autumn tide breeze kept slamming the window shutter open and closed.
He couldn't stand it any longer.
Peter threw off the covers of the bed and stalked for the slamming shutter that seemed to mock him as he neared, making a more rapid attempt to swing back and forth so paws could not halt them.
Actually, that wasn't really mocking.
It was mocking when Peter tried to grasp it the hinges of the shudder he was trying to catch broke off and smucked him in the head.
Now he was delirious along with being dazed with insomnia. He stumbled to the windowsill. The taste of blood came into his mouth as he half unconsciously gazed down at the moon lit ground below. In his delirious state, he thought he saw a something slip past on the ground below.
It was then that he heard the howl...
• • •
"Who would do this?"
The mouse Abbot didn't know how to respond to the question so he tried to look abbotish by placing his paws in his wide sleeves and nodding sagely. Hopefully it would appease Friar Sink until he could come up with a good answer.
"You have no idea, do you?"
"Oh for the sake of the Dark Forest, couldn't you give me a moment of Abbot reverence so I could make up a suitable answer for this petty excuse for waking me up this early in the morning?" the Abbot snapped.
The oddly skinny Friar gaped at the Abbot.
"Ur...I mean, yes, I have no idea," the Abbot corrected. Strangely enough, it was because of the Abbot's hopelessly candid opinions that had made him Abbot in the first place.
"I guess it is petty," Friar Sink agreed, "Though I can't for the life me figure out why someone would spread rubbish all over the kitchen floor."
"Sleepwalking?"
"Maybe, though the teeth and claw marks aren't that comforting."
"The what marks?"
Friar Sink motioned for the wooden rubbish bin that was riddled with suspicious looking marks of jaws way too big for those of an Abbeydweller. Why anyone would be biting at a rubbish bid was a completely other topic of discussion.
The Abbot felt a shiver down his spine. "I'll dispose of this bin before anyone sees it." So that I'll not have to end up picking up all the rotten food spread out everywhere, the Abbot added in thought. He made sure to put up a smooth form of Abbot-ness as he picked of the bin and glided towards the exit so that the Friar wouldn't realize this until he had left.
"Oh, Abbot could you help pick..."
"Aaaaaaa!" the Abbot abandoned his Abbot-ness and dashed out of the room.
• • •
Peter awoke. Yes, he awoke. At some point that night he must have fallen asleep in his insomnia though he couldn't figure for the life of him how he had done it. Well, he did remember getting hit by the shutter. Maybe he had been knocked out. Yeah, that must have been it. Except, how had he gotten in bed?
He sat up, stretched himself out. He felt his head, expecting a sizable bump or cut there. After a quick evaluation he found nothing, except for leaves. Leaves? He looked at the red and orange leaves that had come from his headtop (it iwas/i autumn after all) in wonder. He noticed a scratch on his paw, a nasty looking thing on all accounts.
When had he gotten that? Was it from the shutter?
Speaking of the shutter, why was one of them sitting on the foot of the bed, well, half of it anyway. The broken edge was rigid with...were those teeth marks?
Peter heard pawsteps in the hall. Not sure what drove him, he stumbled out of the bed, taking the shutter, made it to the window and tossed the shudder out as far as he could. He was breathing hard. What was he scared of? What had happened last night?
Before he could even consider these questions, Butter, a hedgehog maid, Peter's infirmary assistant entered the room, holding a tray of buttered scones. "How is the master of the herbs doing this cool Autumn of...of...has the Abbot decided on a name of the season yet?"
Peter shook his head.
"Strange. Already midway through this season and not even a Naming Day celebration yet and...something wrong?"
Peter shook his head.
"Mmm...you have that whole 'scared rabbit' look on you face."
"The right term is 'deer in the headlights,' in my opinion," an unknown voice corrected, "Is that margarine or butter on those there rolls?"
A mouse exited a bed on the far end of the infirmary, a mouse of gray fur and a wide, somewhat disheartening smile. Peter and Butter just stared at the mouse as he came up and grabbed a scone from the tray and sniffed it. "Heh. My doctor will kill me for the cholesterol...he's not here though so..." The mouse took a half dozen more and started stuffing them in his mouth. This didn't keep him from speaking, splaying crumbs all over Butter as he spoke, "Hallo sweet maid, how's it hangin'?"
"Hanging?"
"You know, how's it been goin' in the homestead?"
"Who are you?"
"Fair question fair maiden. I be Dringer." He kissed the hedgemaid on the cheek, "Rather cute maid you are, I must confess. Wow, you didn't mention how cool your digs were Petey. I think I'll take a jog about, eh?" Before waiting for a response, he exited the room, in a foreign hopping slow form of run.
Peter and Butter watched the door for a long moment.
Butter turned to Peter, "You let him in last night?"
The mouse shrugged, "I guess." He had a bad feeling about this, a growing dread in his stomach. The scratch on his paw was burning...
• • •
"There is legends of the unknown all across this land of ours, of the unexplained, of the unbelievable, of the impossible. There are beasts that couldn't exist except in our worst nightmares. Beyond, in a land far across the Western Sea, strange events and odd beasts are common and advances we could never imagine exist. This is also a place of dangers and terrors unknown..."
"And fast food and cell phones for all. On the other paw, those could be considered 'dangers and terrors' as you put it. I personally think you were talking about those new mustelid bands. Creepy things. Those Backstream Otters scare me."
The gatekeeper/recorder of Redwall looked up from his Dibbun audience, most of whom were now looking at a strange mouse that leaned against the frame of the gatehouse door. Once he saw he had gained their attention, he continued, "Of course, the land across the Western Sea is also a place of opportunity, liberty, and the pursuit of Twinkies."
"Wot be a Twink?" a little hedgehog babe inquired.
"That's Twinkies kid, twinks are something to do with RPGs. Anyhoo, I have seen you have candied chestnuts here, so they are like those...except they're like yellow pastries and more likely to send you into a cream induced sugar rush."
The Dubbins all 'oooo'ed and 'ahhh'ed at the prospect of a food more suitable at fueling a sugar rush than candied chestnuts.
A severe look was cast over the ancient squirrel's spectacles in the direction of the mouse, "You interrupted my flow of rhetoric, though it appears that you know more about the land over the Western Seas than I so I shall relent. What's a cell phone?"
"Something that would break the minds of everybeast here and have me burned upon the stake if I tried to explain."
"We don't burn beasts on the stake."
"Are you sure? I thought for sure that this was that sort of society."
The squirrel recorder rubbed his chin in suspicion, "Society...? Where are you from?"
"Glad you ask. And that reminds me that I need to head for wherever the kitchens are."
Before the squirrel could inquire further, Dringer had practically skipped out of the room.
• • •
By the time the golden light of the setting sun washed across the rose colored walls of the Abbey, an aire of mystery was exponentially growing as a meeting set forth in Cavern Hole to discuss the new creature that had made his way to ruffle the fur of everybeast in the Abbey.
"He might be crazy."
"That stuff he talks about is strange."
"Wot bein' a combine?"
"You hear what he called me? A babe..."
"Could be be dangerous?"
"Who let him in?"
"Somebody get some aged October Ale!"
This last piece of dialogue came from the Abbot, who intently studied an empty cup in front of him, "Or even some of that horrid grog that sea otter brought, I think I need something to dull the senses so that I can listen to this nonsense."
A silence sank over Cavern Hole.
"This is Redwall Abbey, location for all those in need or peril and dwelling place for all those good of heart. If Martin was hearing you speak like this now about an innocent beast with no proof of his pestilence and no regard to his soul, I don't know why he wouldn't bring the Abbey down on our heads right now."
Everybeast murmured guiltily.
The Abbot countered himself, "Maybe that was too harsh. I wasn't really listening to the conversation anyway so I shouldn't be commenting on the issue. I think the decision should lie with our trusted infirmary keeper. Peter let him in easily enough and his opinion of character is good enough for me. This Dringer is a trustworthy enough creature, isn't he Peter?"
Peter wasn't feeling well; it was as if his insides were twisting over into themselves. A cold sweat had broken out all over his body and was dripping down his brown fur. He struggled with the question, his mind wasn't working straight, like a scratched up movie reel. Truth be told, he hadn't seen much of Dringer after seeing him in the infirmary that morning and whenever Peter had stepped into the same room as him, Dringer was just stepping out of it. Peter still couldn't remember letting the strange mouse into the Abbey the night before.
"Peter?" the Abbot nudged.
"Yeah, he's alright." He said that, though the more he thought of it, the more unsure he became. "Sorry, I need to go...I...don't feel well..."
"That wasn't that confidence inducing..." the Abbot commented when he had left the room, "Still I don't believe anything is bad about this creature."
"Glad to hear you say that. I was just getting into the groove of things at this place today, I'm sure it will be fine from now on, even though there is no caffeinated beverages here," the now familiar voice of Dringer said, and everyone noticed the hooded form of a mouse sitting amount them, "Did any of you realize the disguising possibilities of one of these habits?"
No one answered.
"Guess not. G'Night then." Dringer exited the room.
• • •
Abbot felt his paws along the wooden rubbish bin surface. He couldn't help wondering about the teeth marks on this bin. What had caused this?
He knew he should have brought it up with the council. Other matters had come up instead, of a visitor. True, the visitor was strange, though not due the fuss. The Abbot secretly enjoyed the way the mouse took it in stride and a hopeless optimistic and oblivious nature.
Some odd thought came to the back of the Abbot's mind as he intently scanned the marks on this rubbish bin, some crazy half-wit connection. Before he could figure out what it was, it was already gone.
He heard something. It came from outside the window, something he could barely make out. He rose from his desk and furtively stepped to the window. The Abbot carefully edged the shudders open to stick his head out. Below, he couldn't see anything, just shadows...no...wait, something was moving down there...he heard the sound again...chittering...chittering? The Abbot withdrew back into his office.
Wordless and without further thought, he grabbed the lantern from his desk and hurried out of the room.
• • •
Darkness, breathing hard, hungry, yes, hungry, food...get food...hungry, eat.
• • •
The Abbot edged along the wall of the main building in the direction of the place under his window. At the corner, he hesitated. He should get someone else, Friar, Foremole, Skipper, the Abbey Warrior (if one had existed in the Abbey at that point), someone experience in this sort of thing. Then again, there was nothing to say that this wasn't just an Abbeybeast wandering about...in the middle of the night, in damp autumn weather.
The Abbot stepped around the corner, holding the lantern high. "Anyone there?" he called. No answer. In the light of the lantern, he saw a rubbish bin overturned, it's contents of old rotten food spread everywhere. This was the back of the kitchen. Friar must have put the rubbish outside tonight...but who...?
He saw two glowing disks. He couldn't see anything else. What could tell was the orbs towered over him, reflecting the light of the lantern. Eyes. As he thought the word, he started backing up.
The Abbot's nerve snapped.
• • •
Movement, light, movement, food? Hungry. Food. Moving fast. Fast food. Funny. Light fall. Still see. Moonlight. Hungry. Food. Through door. Go through. Catch food. Big room. Food.
• • •
The Abbot didn't know where to run, it had crashed thought the solid oak doors of the Great Hall, it was right on his tail now. He couldn't see. He hit a hall, softness, the tapestry, he looked up, the moon rays through the stained glass illuminated the figure of Martin. The Abbot turned.
"Mercy. On Martin's soul, please, no."
Pure fear was stifling the Abbot's heart.
"Please Martin, help me."
The jaws lowered towards the Abbot, the hot breath coming down on his face.
He faded away.
• • •
No. Not food. Not right. No food. Hungry. Tired.