Sleep? Who needs sleep when there's a story begging to be written?
And this attitude's gonna come back to bite me in the morning, I just know it.
At first Ford didn't notice a thing; his attention was completely absorbed in making sure he remembered all the components for two simple protective spells that he thought he ought to work on before he did anything else.
Then Stan's hand on his shoulder broke his concentration, and he jerked his head up.
Stan's mouth was set in a grim line, and he was staring intently into the darkness behind them. With his free hand, he reached out to the lantern, turned out the light. Ford realized quickly that this served the dual purpose of concealing their location, and helping their eyes adjust to the darkness better. He closed his eyes for a few moments, willing his pupils to expand faster. And as he did, he heard the rumbling noises, accompanied by a strange, rhythmic slapping. It reminded him of something...something from his college days…
And then the bluegrass music started playing from their other side.
Ford's blood ran cold.
"Stanley," his whispered urgently, "I know what's coming. And it's really, really bad."
"What?" Stan's voice was a low growl that almost sounded deeper than Pa's.
"A pack of Kill Billies."
Even in the darkness he could see the confusion in Stan's eyes.
"They're feral hill men who will suck our blood, and if we had overalls they would steal them! They've strayed out of their normal territory for some reason!"
"...This place is weird," Stan whispered; he finally released Ford's shoulder, and he could hear him rustling around in his duffel bag.
"We need to get to the nearest convenience store." Ford grabbed up the components of his spells; there was no time to work on them now, not when they were clearly surrounded. "It's the only defense I've heard of against them-they respect the no shirt, no shoes rule."
"...So they'll suck people's blood, but they care about things like that?" Stan asked in disbelief.
"Don't look at me, I don't understand it either!"
"Here." Out of the blue Ford found something being pressed into his hand. It took him a second to recognize it, and he nearly dropped it in surprise.
"Why do you have a switchblade?"
"It opens by pressing the button on the end," Stan said, blatantly ignoring the question. "Don't stab in overhead arcs like in the movies, that doesn't work-do a smooth stabbing motion, or a slice if you have to. And don't look back."
Then, before Ford could ask what the heck he meant, Stan grabbed his wrist, yanking him to his feet, and with a warlike holler he charged down the side of the mountain.
They didn't make it far before a shadowy group of Kill Billies were thundering into their path, grunting and hamboning in excitement; their glowing eyes and dark silhouettes made Ford think of the Morlocks from The Time Machine. He barely had time to think about the fact that he was carrying a knife, and he was most likely going to have to use it on these creatures to keep them from more or less eating him, when one of them lunged at Stan.
His twin met the attack with a fist that made a surprising ringing sound when it connected; the Kill Billy was knocked to the ground with a squeal of pain. Without breaking his stride, Stan punched the next one, and the next. And by then they were attacking Ford too, so he became distracted by trying to fend them off with the knife and what he remembered from boxing lessons.
The most terrifying part was how they were in almost complete darkness, save for the sliver of moon in the sky above them. He was barely able to make out the shapes of the things attacking them, along with their glowing eyes, and he was having a devil of a time dodging their claws.
For the most part, Ford forgot all about technique, just lashing out with fists and elbows and feet and slicing the air with the switchblade and hoping that he wouldn't accidentally stab Stan.
Every time one of them appeared in his line of sight, he attacked with everything he had. He felt large crooked teeth try to sink into his arm; he punched at the spot, and made contact with flesh until it pulled away. Another Kill Billy threw himself at him, and he put him down with a frighteningly well-placed knee; the results (namely the hill man collapsing to the mountainside with a groan) told him that in some ways, they were quite anatomically similar to humans.
Someone was shrieking and roaring incoherently. It took Ford a while to realize that this was him.
Finally Stan punched a hole in the crowd of their attackers, and charged forward. Ford saw, and rushed after him, feeling his clothes and pack tearing as clawed fingers grabbed at them and lashing out with his elbows.
The brothers ran as best they could down the side of the mountain, smacking into trees and each other in a frantic effort to outrun the pack, who had already regrouped and were leaping and thundering after them. The sound of wild bluegrass music floated through the air after them; Ford somehow took the time to wonder if it was the same way a leprecorn's horn constantly played a loop of "O Danny Boy." Maybe there was an enchantment on their hats?
Not important right now! Save yourself! Save Stanley!
He could feel warm, wet patches here and there on himself, and smelled the coppery tang of blood; he wasn't sure if it was his or Stan's or the Kill Billies, but he hoped it was the latter. He hoped neither of them was about to trip and break an ankle in the undergrowth or something, he hoped against hope there would be a fairy convenience store out here they could take refuge in, he hoped he hoped he hoped-
Then the Kill Billies overtook them, leaping into their path. Ford heard them hamboning triumphantly at each other, and something that sounded eerily like the sound of lips smacking.
He switched the knife to the hand that was hurting less, refusing to let himself be crushed by despair. And a little in front of him, he saw Stan flex his fists in preparation. They were just charging towards their hunters, ready to fight for either liberty or death-when out of nowhere, a giant logging truck rammed into the crowd, sending Kill Billies flying.
Ford stared at it in disbelief-until a window rolled down, and a familiar voice roared, "GET IN, PINES!"
Neither he nor Stan stopped to question this; they rushed to the vehicle, scrambling inside. As soon as the door closed after Ford, the truck took off; since neither of them had had time to put on seat belts, they smashed into the far side, and it was all they could do not to hit the ceiling as well.
Ford could hear the sounds of wailing and mournful bluegrass music in their wake.
"...Corduroy?" he finally stammered out, as the truck skidded on only half its wheels and finally landed back on the dirt road. "How-what were you doing-"
"SEAT BELTS!" 'Boyish' Dan Corduroy bellowed. "No questions until you're strapped in safely-this is gonna get bumpy!"
It was impressive, really, how he was only a little younger than they were (to Ford's knowledge, he was just barely out of his teens), but still managed to be both bigger and twice as loud.
With some difficulty, Stan and Ford managed to buckle themselves in. Ford forced himself to refrain from pointing out that things had already been pretty bumpy when they first got into the car.
"What the devil are you doing out here?" he demanded, once he was secured.
"I could ask you the same thing, Pines!" Dan shot back, swerving the truck around a sharp bend. His voice was a bit more nasally than usual; Ford wondered if he had hay fever or something. "And who the heck's the other guy?!"
"...It's a long story," Ford admitted.
"It must be, if it involves you being attacked by whatever those things were! I heard the noise all the way from my logging camp, and thought it might be the Hidebehind attacking unwary travelers!" He twisted the steering wheel again, and both Stan and Ford had to stifle screams as they narrowly dodged a giant oak tree.
Despite his evident curiosity, Dan refrained from further questions until they finished their (extremely haphazard) journey at a large clearing that was actually quite similar to Ford's own home, complete with the log cabin in the center. The main difference, of course, was the large pile of logs stacked against the side of the house, which he imagined were to be sold for firewood, or lumber, or perhaps just kept around for caber tossing-he could see any of those being a possibility with the Corduroy family.
"...Thank you, Dan," Ford said as he stumbled out of the truck. "You saved our lives back there. I don't know how we can ever repay-"
"Don't mention it!" Dan boomed, locking the car behind him after peering into the back briefly (Ford decided that if they'd left any bloodstains on the seats he would personally pay to have them cleaned up). "It never hurts to be good to your neighbors!"
Ford glanced at Stan anxiously. "Stanley? You all right?"
Stan flexed his hand, before removing something that Ford realized was a set of brass knuckles from it. Stan carried a switchblade and brass knuckles. G_d, Ford had screwed up his life, hadn't he?
"I'll live," Stan said, smiling at him. It looked like the right side of his face had gotten some bruises to match the left, and in the light from the cabin he could make out numerous scrapes, cuts, and copious amounts of blood, but he was still trying to reassure Ford that he was okay.
Some things never changed, he guessed.
Dan stomped ahead of them and threw open the cabin door.
"Come on in! You can tell me all about what happened, and who this feller is who looks so much like you!" His voice still sounded kind of funny, Ford realized. And in the lighting, even facing away from it, his eyes looked different too-the color, or the shape, maybe...
Stan stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Name's Stan Pines. Nice ta meet ya."
Dan grinned...a little too widely, as he stretched out his meaty hand towards Stan's. As he did, Stan seemed to get the same instinct as Ford did that something wasn't quite right here, and took a step back, frowning.
And then the switchblade, which Ford must have dropped in the car, appeared in Dan's other hand, and came lunging towards Stan-
Ford didn't think twice.
He hurled himself forward, shoving Stan out of the way. Just in time for the blade to sink into his flesh.
Well, hopefully that was unexpected for you people.