PLEASE READ: I just updated CHAPTER 21 with an extra dream sequence, and some other details later on. It's not too essential to the story, and will be covered again later, but it is recommended that you check it out!

I hope you all like this chapter, because we once again see the return of a not-so-friendly skull.

25. What We Do in the Shadows

I can't fucking believe this. Are they all nutty? This was going to end in disaster, and he knew it.

Mike was sat on one of the stools in the kitchen, elbows propped up on the counter so he could massage his temples. Frustration seemed to be permanently grafted onto his face, his jawline almost trembling from how hard he was grinding his teeth together. He was so angry. He was angry at everyone.

How could this be happening? He had seen Josh dragged into the mines by the creature that had once been Hannah, and now…he was back? No…no, this was impossible. He must be the crazy one, right?

But no matter how much Mike willed the whole event to be some figment of his imagination, he knew that it was so much more than that. Like a ghostly spider climbing up his leg, the reality of the situation reached him. This was not some dream, or, more accurately, some nightmare, but real life. A living world in which he had fucked everything up.

Mike was angry at everyone, but most of all, he was angry at himself.

This was his entire fault. If he hadn't been so stupid, Josh might still have been alive. He just assumed that Josh was dead, but evidently he wasn't. If he had been braver, he could have gone back and rescued his friend, rather than hiding when Josh was stolen away into a life of misery. What had he faced in the mines? Was his ordeal much like his sister's? Slowly starving, slowly going mad for months? Mike pushed the thoughts from his head, but they quickly came back, like a rubber ball bounced against a wall.

But a flicker of hope still welled inside of his heart, a small spark that was protected by his thick skin. If Josh had been living as a cannibal, a monster, for a year, he would have ended up like Hannah, or at least one of the wendigoes from the sanatorium. But Josh was far from that. Only partially transformed, teeth not fully sharpened and fingers not efficiently elongated, his eyes still flashing as though there was some sight left to them. How…?

A sigh fell from his lips, as if pushed out by his ribcage, letting loose a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. It had to have something with that freak. The person adorned in the morbid deer-skull. Who the hell was that? They could clearly not be the stranger from last year, who had been murdered by a swift claw to the neck – it was far too small to be him anyways. Whoever it was seemed to be rather short, but it was difficult to tell considering how many layers of coats, jumpers and other protection they were wearing.

Ugh. You're too tired for this, Mikey. It was true, he hadn't slept the whole night, instead, he and Sam had debated over what to do with their now wendigo-ed companion, although 'debated' may not have been the right word. Josh had woken up at around one in the morning, cutting off their argument for a while with angered screams and a constant tugging at the chain. After a while, he had seemed to get it into his foggy brain that he wasn't going anywhere, and had settled down again.

As Mike reflected on the night before, he found his fingers gripping the small red stone that he had been storing in the chest pocket of his tattered jacket, having taken it when the others were struggling to deal with the creature that had lain before them. Like the one Chris had discovered, it was smooth, and the butterfly design was cut cleanly into the stone, as if done by a precise machine. At least they knew who was responsible for it now. One less mystery guarded by the mountain.

Mike gently set the red stone down onto the counter on front of him, folding his arms flat against the surface and settling his head in the nest-like shape it provided. He contemplated everything that had happened, his eyes and face aching dully, slowly but surely pulling him into a deep sleep.

Crack. A deafening sound, like thousands of bones being snapped in a moment. Like a tree being toppled by an inhuman force. It filled Mike's skull to the brim. Crack. Crack. Crack. The sound repeated layers upon layers of noise. Endless, eternal noise.

All he could see was red. At first he thought everything around him was red, but then his eyes began to sting. Blood was pouring into them like a river, a searing pain cast over his forehead, the warm streams flowing down and into his eyes.

He couldn't see. He was blind. He couldn't see what was coming.

He could only hear it.

Screams. Everywhere. It wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop. Please stop. Please.

"STOP."

Mike awoke in a cold sweat, desperately scrabbling at his eyes, trying to clear away blood that wasn't there. He reached up to find where the gash in his head had been, only to find a drumming pain, but no actual mark. What the fuck? His fingers only found beads of moisture running down his face.

Mike took a shaky breath, raising his head out of his arms, his whole body quivering. He hadn't had a nightmare like that in a long time. He looked in front of himself to see the small red stone still there. Red, the colour of blood. Crack. Crack. Crack. The noise filled his head again, ghostly and eerie, only partially there, like a silent whisper brought to him on the howling wind.

He dragged his hands down his face, practically clawing at his own skin, pulling his eyes down at the corner, wiping the tears away. By the darkness of the room, he assumed it was extremely late. He couldn't see anything outside, save for the moon – even the security lights had turned off. He was about to push himself off of his stool when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Pleasant dream?" He froze. It was that voice again. Mike desperately squinted about the kitchen, his eyes only just catching onto a white shape lit up by the moon's beam. One elongated face and two protruding horns. Not again.

Mike fumbled for words, his tongue tripping over each phrase he tried to muster. Why was this happening? His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, now able to make out the stranger leaning against the far wall, arms crossed as if they were completely at home in the lodge, entirely relaxed.

"What the fuck are you doing here again?" Each word was pronounced with definition, every syllable dripping in venom. Mike had found his voice once again, and he wasn't about to make a very pleasant speech. "If you don't get out this fucking second, I'll-"

"What?" The stranger asked, their voice still reverberating off of the inside of the skull, making it seem as though their speech was coming from everywhere at once. "I don't really care for threats, but humour me if you want." They shrugged, skull bouncing slightly as they did. Mike paused again; there was no doubt that he was at a serious disadvantage here. "Wendigo got your tongue?"

A thought flashed to mind – it wasn't a very brave method of confrontation, but it would certainly give him the upper hand. He opened his mouth to call for someone, anyone to help him.

But in an instant, the stranger was in front before Mike could utter a sound, leering at him through the skull mask. "Bad move." Their speech was more clear up close; discordant as if well used, the very tone seemed to contain more wisdom than Mike could ever know. But at the same time, it sounded young, the dissonant sounds still flowing smoothly without a crack. "You're just gonna remain quiet for the time bein', alright?"

Mike found himself compelled to nod; he wasn't sure what it was that made him feel so powerless – perhaps the hollow eyes of the skull, voids into which he could not see. Strangely, now that he was up close, Mike found his eyes being drawn to the pristine bone of the skull, noticing that almost every inch was filled up with light decorative carvings into the surface – even the horns were covered with etchings. The stranger seemed to carry with them the very essence of the mountain; as he breathed, it was almost like the mountain air was hitting him – all of the scents of the pines, and the dampness of the mine tunnels all combined into one.

"Sorry 'bout leaving you all with that thing on your hands for a while." They took a step backwards, instead deciding to settle on the barstool on the opposite side of the counter, leaning forwards once again, "I had…stuff to attend to, see." Mike was forced to wonder why this stranger that had barged in on them was now being so amiable – not that he was complaining however. It certainly beat having a gun against his head.

"I ought to explain what happened to your friend, but I think that can wait 'til a better time." They took care in their words, as if planning out their future actions as they spoke. The skull stared at him as if the stranger was about to speak again, but instead swung down towards the table, looking at the small red stone before picking it up in a gloved hand. "Not one 'f my best, but it did the trick." They seemed rather dissatisfied, and tossed it back at Mike, who barely caught it, lingering on their words.

"Do me a favour, will you, and not bring this up to your friends? The less people that know about my dealings, the easier I can rest." Mike didn't even have time to respond before the two gloved hands reached for the mask and gently pulled it off, as if it was not held on at all, setting it aside.

Mike was not expecting that.

Well, it was safe to say that the stranger was female…but he couldn't really find the words to describe much else. Her jawline was quite wide, but her cheeks looked gaunt, as hollow as the eyes on the mask she wore. A long pink scar ran down from the corner of her left eye, ending in a sharp point on her chin, a slice carved out of her face. Many other bruises and scars littered her dark skin – she was far from being a model, that was for sure. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a short loose hair-tie, the rest of her hair hanging from her face, clotted with mud and what could only be assumed to be blood. Mike guessed that despite her appearance, she could only be seventeen or so, eighteen at the most.

"'S not polite to stare." A small smirk spread onto her lips, chapped and dry, the corner of her smile just stopping at the scar line. Mike couldn't smile along however, he just felt shell shocked, but he couldn't really place why. Her face seemed familiar in some way…but at the same time, completely foreign.

Mike's eyes met hers grey ones, frowning as he saw her glance away, instead seeming to be distracted by something on his shoulder. He didn't have time to ask before she was speaking again, "Listen, I can't stay much longer. I'll be back soon though, you can count on that." There was a loud screech against the floor as she pushed her stool back, hopping down from it and scooping up the mask again, settling it back onto her face with practiced ease. "And remember, not a word." She held a finger up to the skull's teeth in a 'shh'.

Mike barely had time to process the situation before she was out of the kitchen door, immediately followed by a growl from what could only be Josh. "Go to hell, you bastard." He barely heard the muffled insult that the stranger had thrown at the wendigo before the door slammed shut.

What the fuck just happened?