It was about the middle of the night when Wilson came upon the grave that had held the ghost. He knew the other graves were nearby, but he wasn't willing to dig in the dark, so he waited the few minutes until sunrise. As he waited, his attention was drawn back to his strange injuries. There must be something I can do to protect myself, he thought. An extra layer, maybe…something.

Sunrise came quickly, and Wilson snuffed out what remained of his torch and pulled out his shovel. He started digging up graves, one by one, feeling like a desperate scavenger and hating it, but trying to focus.

He found a ball-and-stick toy, a completely desiccated tentacle, a pile of mechanical parts, a pair of old dentures that he hoped he wouldn't need by the time he got out of wherever he was, a tiny toy rocketship that was unfortunately far too small for him to escape on, a little toy robot from which came a whispering voice that seemed to tell pleasant lies, a red gem that sparkled with inner warmth, a blue gem that sparkled with cold energy, a hardened old rubber bung, and…

The last grave he dug up, which was unmarked (he had almost missed it) contained a red gem set in a golden amulet. It almost seemed to glow when Wilson held it up and it caught the light, and something about it just looked…reassuring. Comforting.

Wilson found that it was only just too heavy to wear while he also wore his backpack, but he set his backpack down and put it on just for a moment, and suddenly, for some reason, he felt oddly safe.

This is a treasure worth keeping, he thought - that much was more than obvious. As for the rest…these gems might have a use…and so might the gears and stuff, perhaps…I have no time for fun and games, but maybe the Pig King will like the toys…I doubt he has a tub that needs to be stopped, but this bung too old to use anyway, so I'll see if he wants that…and…I'm not sure what use a desiccated tentacle could possibly have, so I'll just have to hope the Pig King likes that, too.

Having gathered everything he could from the graves in the graveyard, Wilson packed everything into his backpack and pockets, almost reluctantly took off the amulet and put it in his backpack as well, shrugged his backpack back on, and proceeded down the path into the plains. When he came across the rock he had dropped to mark the nearby Beefalo, he picked it up, then turned.

He felt almost ill, he was so disgusted with himself for digging up all those graves, real or not; his head ached terribly, and his vision was blurred, too, as though something was actively sapping at his brain. It was only natural, then, that it took him a moment to notice the black shapes in the distance. When he did, he glanced towards the Beefalo herd to keep himself oriented, then walked toward the shapes.

As he did, a strange, bloated shadow appeared beside him. He stared at it, barely able to make out a hulking mass and tiny, almost tentacle-y legs. It was a bit slower than he was, but most disturbingly, there was nothing casting the shadow.

Wilson edged away from it and turned back ahead of him. That was when he saw that the black shapes he had noticed were…rabbits.

He stared. The rabbits (or whatever they were) edged around their holes, nosing at the ground, just like regular rabbits, but they were covered in a thick, long coat of black fur that almost looked like his own beard when it grew too long. The white eyes were especially prominent against the black.

Wilson thought hard. Had he seen these black rabbits on the way before? No, he was pretty sure he would remember them if he had. But he was still within sight of the paved road, so if they had been here, he would have seen them. And then there was the fact that they acted exactly like the rabbits he had seen in the same place before…and his blurred vision on top of that…

Am I seeing things? he wondered. Are these in fact normal rabbits?

He approached one. It squealed and ran to its hole, just like the rabbits normally did, but its cry sounded the same yet also different…echo-y, sort of…almost otherworldly.

He shook his head. Something is wrong here, he thought, but that was all he could conclude. Remembering what one of his intentions had been, he took out his rabbit trap and placed it over the hole the black…thing had run into. Maybe they'll still be useful, he thought. Maybe they're just rabbits anyway.

Maybe I've gone mad.

He sighed, then turned back to the Beefalo herd. As he neared them, he caught sight again of their enormous horns, and he decided that he did not want to try shaving off their fur while they were awake, no matter how useful it might be. Perhaps while they slept?

Nightfall won't be for a while, Wilson thought, looking at the sky; the sun was moving slowly, slower than he had seen previously. Summer means longer days and shorter nights…It seems the way that works here is just that the sun moves across the sky more slowly…or no, that the world rotates more slowly during the day and more quickly at night? For the sun crossed the very center of the sky every day, but more slowly so since he had arrived. But was the world round, as home was, or was it a flat plane with a light source analogous to the sun orbiting around it?

Well, he had no way of finding out, so he put that particular matter out of his already-aching head. He looked around at what he had at his disposal. I have a lot of grass, a lot of…maybe-rabbits, and a lot of time, he thought. I wonder what else I can do with grass…

For one thing, rabbit traps were mostly grass, and he wanted to collect as many rabbits as he could carry, regardless of their strange appearance. One rabbit at a time, one trap at a time, was very inefficient, he thought; so, to pass the time, he made a few more traps. When he had six placed around the plains, the rabbit in the hole he had first rigged decided to poke its head back out, and in doing so, it got trapped.

Wilson ran over and picked up the trap, looking at the strange rabbit more closely. Setting the trap back down, he studied the black…creature. The black hair seemed to be the same material as the hairs that grew on his face - exactly the same! Odd…

What really matters is, is it edible? Wilson thought, and he quickly killed it. The tortured squeal that came before the rabbit's death was still the same but different from normal, and when Wilson inspected the flesh, he found that it was purple, like that of the hounds and spiders! Useless! he thought, frustrated. Or at least, it won't help me much until I return to the pig village - I certainly can't eat it.

He tucked it into his backpack nonetheless.

The day passed, and black rabbits occasionally found their way into Wilson's traps by chance. He was always quick to gather the rabbit and reset the trap it had triggered, and he managed to gather three more before dusk even came. He held onto them alive; at best, he hoped he might be able to find a way to turn them (back?) into normal rabbits.

When dusk fell, all six traps caught one black rabbit - the black things fled into their holes at the coming of dusk, the same as normal ones. Really, they were just like normal rabbits, except…not. Wilson gathered them all, and then, finding that his magic carrying devices didn't like to carry many rabbits and traps, carried the traps over to a space away from any rabbit holes and left them in a heap. Rabbits dealt with, he turned to the Beefalo herd.

There were five Beefalo, and Wilson noticed that, while they'd wandered more or less aimlessly during the day, now that the sun was going down, they were clustering together, none of them taking more than three steps away from the others.

Interesting.

True night was still a little amount of time away, and Wilson looked around at the grassy plains. He remembered his thought the previous night about maybe building some sort of protection against attacks…

I made a hat out of grass, he remembered; maybe I can make a suit out of grass, too.

He spent the rest of dusk weaving bunches of grass together. It wasn't sturdy enough on its own, so he used some twigs to reinforce it. It took ten bundles of grass and two of twigs, but he finally managed to create something that would cover his whole body. It wasn't very thick, more just an added layer over his skin and his clothes, but it was something; he hoped there weren't any bugs in it that he hadn't noticed before. Unfortunately, he couldn't fit his backpack onto his back while he was wearing it, so he tucked it away for later and took out his razor and half-used torch.

And then the sun set.

Wilson watched the Beefalo all lie down where they stood, close their eyes, and fall asleep as the last of the light faded. He quickly relit his torch, put another one together in advance, and approached them.

They had made the occasional lowing noise during the day, like cattle, but their snores were loud and continuous. Wilson resisted the urge to cover his ears.

These guys sure are heavy sleepers, he thought. Maybe it is safe to shave them…

At any rate, it was worth a try.

He approached one, set down his torch so it would still give him some light, and took out his razor. Very carefully, he started cutting hairs.

The Beefalo wool was thick and somewhat scratchy, and Wilson's instinct that it might prove useful grew stronger. Three handfuls of hair came off of one Beefalo. The Beefalo stirred slightly as it was shaved bare, but only slightly; it did not wake up.

Quickly, Wilson shaved the others, trying to hurry before the sun rose again; his old torch ran out before sunrise, but his second one would last him the remaining time, he knew. He gathered everything he could - fifteen handfuls of shaggy wool - and tucked it all away into his backpack, fleeing before the Beefalo could wake up.

When the sun did rise, the world looked a bit whitewashed to Wilson, and another bloated shadow was roaming on the ground without any creature casting it. The rabbits were still black. Wilson glanced back at the Beefalo, and though they didn't seem angry about the loss of their wool, there was a droop to their eyelids that made them look so very sad…

Oh well.

Just then, Wilson remembered his idea that he might be able to make use of the manure left lying around by the Beefalo. He started gathering handfuls, trying not to mind too much what exactly he was picking up. The shaved Beefalo didn't attack him, thankfully; perhaps they didn't even realize that he was the one who had taken their wool. Then again, it was baking hot outside, so they were probably happier for being shaved. He gathered four handfuls of manure; there wasn't any more to be had, but maybe it would be enough. I need to get back now, Wilson thought, and he walked along the paved road again.

On his way back through the graveyard, Wilson noticed another unmarked grave that he hadn't raided. He still didn't like it, but, figuring he might as well, he took out his shovel and dug it up.

There were no objects to be found in the dirt; instead, one of the shovelfuls of earth contained a strange substance that flowed out of it, almost liquid, though it clung to itself as a single mass of…something.

Wilson set down his shovel and picked up the substance in his hands. It felt like a liquid, except that it refused to break apart, and somehow also seemed less physically present than a liquid would be…it was almost like a liquid shadow. When he looked deeply into it, Wilson thought he could see a ghostly face.

This stuff is crazy! he thought. What is it?

"Nightmare fuel…"

Wilson blinked at the voice that whispered in his ear. Straining his ears now, he started to notice a voice that was constantly muttering something, though it wasn't comprehensible anymore.

Nightmare fuel, eh? he thought. I wonder if I can make any use of it…

He tucked it into his backpack, then continued walking.

~o~

He got back to the pig village after nightfall. Lights in pig houses turned off as he approached, and he could only sigh. His head ached terribly. When he found his campfire pit and Otto von Chesterfield awake beside it, the eye on the Eye Bone open and looking straight up at the sky, he felt little relief, and didn't even register Otto von Chesterfield's odd behavior.

The sun rose shortly thereafter, revealing just how blurred and washed of color Wilson's sight had become. The whispering voices were louder now, but still impossible to decipher. He sighed, trying to ignore his pounding head, and brought the trinkets he'd found to the Pig King. The amount of gold he got in return was staggering - he doubted he'd ever find use for so much gold. Then again, it's a highly conductive and easily shaped metal, so it may have more uses than I'm giving it credit for, he thought.

With that, he returned to his science machine. He tried mulching the manure he'd picked up to make something in which he could plant and grow seeds, and succeeded - he had just enough manure for one bit of farmland. He took out the seeds he'd picked up the previous day and planted them right away. Unfortunately, it didn't grow visibly for a long while. It's growing so slowly! he thought, both frustrated and worried. I hope its growth is at least accelerated enough to be synced with the way this world works…

With nothing else to do on that front, he resumed tinkering - if nothing else, he needed to take his mind off his headache. He couldn't find a way to use the Beefalo wool he'd gathered (though he got the sense that he was simply missing something), but he did manage to make some use of the silky material he'd gotten from the spiders and their nest. Though the pieces of material seemed to be five solid pieces of strangely sticky cloth, if fiddled with the right way, they could be unwound into surprisingly tough strings; with just two spools and a few twigs, he suddenly had a fishing rod, one that he had no reason to believe wouldn't work; he stuck it in a pocket and made a mental note to go back to the ponds he'd seen on the way here at a later date. Two more spools and some twigs and a rope, and he had a bug net…in case he felt like catching any of the butterflies or bees, he supposed. Just making things was very soothing, even if he didn't know how he'd use any of it.

He put away the net, and in doing so glanced at one of the rabbits he'd caught…and it was a normal rabbit.

Wilson did a double take. He blinked. His headache had eased a great deal, as well, though he'd been too busy with science to notice. He checked the meat he'd gotten from the black rabbit; it was still toxic. The more my head hurts, the more my vision fails me, he thought, but this was more than hindered vision. These things actually turned into different things.

This place isn't real…Is it possible that the state of my mind can actually cause things around me to physically change?

It was certainly something he would have to experiment with, somehow. Just not right now.

In any case, he suddenly had nine normal rabbits. Rabbits he could eat. And he was hungry.

He tossed a log in his fire pit, then killed and cooked three of the rabbits. Humans evolved to eat meat in order to take in extra, more-readily-available energy, so as to power their evolving brains. Cooked meat is easier to thoroughly digest than raw meat, and cooking kills parasites and pathogens as well.

Who knew familiarity with anthropology could aid in wilderness survival?

After three small pieces of meat, he felt much better. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that his injuries might have healed slightly, too. He made a mental note to keep an eye on that.

He washed the meat down with some berries from the pigs' crop. Then, just for the heck of it, he tossed a couple of rabbits into his science machine with some random materials.

To his surprise, a result came out; following the directions of science, before he knew it, Wilson had a pair of earmuffs. Just a fuzzy little bit of warmth, but at least my ears won't get cold when the temperature drops, he thought, stowing it away in a second wooden chest he'd built to contain his ever-increasing amounts of stuff.

That reminded him to check his Winterometer. It still indicated temperatures beyond what it could measure, and Wilson could only agree. That reminded him to check his Rainometer…and he barely got a few seconds' warning before the sky darkened with storm clouds and rain started coming down in buckets. Before long, thunder began to rumble in the distance.

The pigs didn't seem to mind the storm, but Wilson certainly did, and he also had absolutely no sort of shelter to keep his hair dry. Yes, it was just a hairdo, and it would always bounce back if messed up, but he had always allowed himself that one little bit of vanity…Not only that, but the rain, and his inability to shield himself (and his hair) from it, reminded him that he was stuck in the wilderness, without so much as a shelter. It was extremely depressing.

Suddenly, the whole world flashed white, and a loud boom of thunder shook the ground. Wilson jumped and looked around frantically; the lightning strike had sounded incredibly close. Sure enough, close to where the spider nest had been, several trees had caught fire. The fire spread remarkably quickly, soon stretching from the near side of the path to the space Wilson had cleared out with the pigs two days earlier.

The rain didn't seem to at all hinder the blaze; the trees simply burned until they were nothing but charred husks, which happened surprisingly quickly. Smaller trees, and other flora that grew in the woods, burned until they were powder, leaving little piles of ash scattered about the charcoal forest. A few seconds after burning out, some of the trees suddenly dropped pinecones, and Wilson remembered how forest fires often left new forests in their wake, the pinecones activated by the heat. These pinecones didn't plant themselves, however.

In less than a minute, all visible fire was gone, leaving nothing but a canvass of black, brown, and grey. Wilson knew that more of the forest was probably burning beyond his sight. He hesitated for a moment, then walked into the charcoal forest curiously.

The ashes left from small trees, grass, flowers, and (though he didn't know it yet) mushrooms were scattered in little, irregular piles here and there - all that was left after a fire did its work. Wilson picked up a few curiously, and found that he couldn't tell the difference between the plants that had burned - all the ashes were the same, a fine gray powder. He put a few handfuls in his pocket. Why not? Who knew what might turn out to be useful? Certainly not him. What was more, if there was some sort of intelligent design behind this fake world (which was likely), odds were that everything had some sort of use or purpose.

At any rate, it was clear that rain did not hinder the burning of any sort of material at all. But hadn't it put out his campfire faster…?

The rain didn't let up as dusk fell. Wilson didn't linger, heading back to what constituted his camp. As he picked his way back through the blackened husks, he noticed a dead butterfly on the ground.

It must have died from the heat, he thought, picking it up. Yep, it was dead. The body had withered - really, it was just a pair of butterfly wings. They resembled the wings of a monarch butterfly, but Wilson couldn't be sure of anything in this world.

Bugs are meat, he thought, at least technically speaking. Termites are known for being high in protein. I wonder if there are termites here…? At any rate… He considered for a moment, then shrugged and stuffed the dead butterfly in his mouth. It actually didn't taste bad at all. He chewed briefly, then swallowed; when he did, a sort of warmth bloomed inside him, and the pain from his injuries lessened noticeably. He looked at them, surprised, and found that they had healed visibly - not completely, but still.

Interesting.

Night was fast approaching, and he hurried back to his fire pit and Otto von Chesterfield. He glanced back at the burned forest one last time before tossing some logs in the pit and igniting them. I feel like I could have prevented that, he thought. Maybe I could make a lightning rod of some sort…?

Night fell. The fire burned out more quickly in the heavy rain, but the three logs were enough to last the brief night. Otto von Chesterfield slept through the rain - it seemed the only things that were affected by the rain at all were Wilson and artificial fire. Then Wilson remembered that Otto von Chesterfield hadn't been asleep the previous night, and that the eye had been fixated on the sky.

He looked up. His face quickly got drenched, but somehow he could still see the moon through the clouds. It was a gibbous moon, the small crescent of darkness on the right side. Light, left, losing, he remembered; the moon is waning, and was probably full last night. He looked at Otto von Chesterfield again. I wonder what connection there could be between Otto von Chesterfield and a full moon…?

He rubbed his temples. There was so much to figure out! For a fake world, it certainly seemed realistic in terms of complexity. He was going to have to pay attention to everything here, even the phases of the moon! And he didn't even know exactly what to look for! This was a whole world for him to figure out all the scientific rules of from scratch - both a dream, and a nightmare.

Oh well. As the sun rose and the rain seemed to abate slightly, Wilson could only sigh in acceptance, stand up, and get back to trying to figure things out.