Six Feet Under Chapter 16: The Door-to-Door Dodge, a don't starve fanfic

Chapter 16, everyone! In which Wilson comes out of the closet, relatives converse, Shipwrecked is mentioned, and Wilson and Willow have a run of Pixar references….

Blowing smoke out the nose is a staple of someone who actually smokes instead of show-smoking, according to my Mom, and it's a tidbit that's stuck with me, oddly enough (seeing as how no one smokes in our family); hence Maxwell doing it.

They stuck their head out of the closet and glanced around.

"I don't see anyone," Wilson observed.

"Good," Willow said. "I'd hate for anyone to see us coming out of the closet."

"There's an innuendo there—I can sense it."

"I always knew you dressed too nice."

"Ha ha, you're a riot." Wilson poked her in the back. "Come on then—let's get out of here."

They ran down a hall, turned, ran down another hall, looking for the door that looked like theirs.

"Maybe they replaced it," Willow said after the fifth or so hall. "How long do you think we've been gone? It could have been a year since we were there!"

"I sincerely hope not," Wilson said, turning about in place. "What was the number? Two-one-two? We just look for that."

"Room One-oh-one," Willow read off of a doorjamb.

"I read that book—we don't want that room."

"What's in it?"

"'The worst thing in the world,'" Wilson quoted, tugging her away.

"Halt!"

They turned to see mechanical guardsmen round a corner.

"Surrender now—resistance is futile," the guardsmen ordered in tandem as they approached.

"Would that be in that room?" Willow asked.

"Probably," Wilson observed. "Now run!"

Wendy knocked on the attic door before entering. "Hello?" she called. "Wilson? Willow?"

She had hoped that Wilson wouldn't answer, but that Willow would—she had gotten over her desire to see unnatural ghosts.

Except no one was there.

She frowned, wondering if perhaps they had decided to hide in another room, when someone said "They're gone, kid."

She jumped and spun around. "Gone? Gone where?" she asked on impulse.

"Gone up the country," the mystery man said—she spotted the newspaper and the man behind it in the recliner just as he flicked the paper down to look at her. "What do you think?"

She thought that maybe she didn't want to be alone in a room with this guy—or alone in a house, for that matter. He was tall, skinny, and sallow-faced, and the cigar clenched between his teeth didn't help appearances. His expression was terrifying too—closed right now, but calculating.

Black eyes with yellow irises didn't help, either.

"Who are you?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

He rolled his eyes and folded the newspaper up neatly. "I'm holding this chair down—very important job, can't have them running off on their own."

She waited, but he didn't offer his name. "Where are Willow and Wilson?"

"I told you—gone." The man tapped some ash off the end of his cigar. "They're off on an extended trip to the Social Security office, or something closely approximating it. They won't be back."

Again, a long pause. "At all?" she asked finally.

"Not if those bureaucrats can help it."

She waited, but not as long—she got the feeling this guy wasn't the sort to go for idle chit-chat. "Can I see them?"

"How's that?"

"I want to get to where they are," she said evenly.

The guy spread his hands in a questioning gesture, the emotion matched on his face. "Why?"

"Because," she said simply. She wasn't about to explain her motivations to a guy she didn't know. And she most certainly wasn't going to start trembling in the long silence that followed. No….

He took a drag on his cigar and blew the smoke out through his nose, eyeing her—like he was sizing up a steak to determine if it was medium or well-done.

"I…might be able to help there," he said finally. "Of course, you know that doesn't come free."

"Nothing ever does," she replied coolly.

He grinned, a toothy one that showed his teeth. "I like your style, kid—let's talk."

Okay, as it turned out, ducking into different doors to evade their pursuers wasn't the smartest idea.

Although, Wilson had to admit, the one bamboo door they ran through was pretty nice.

"Look at this," Willow had complained, upon taking stock of their tropical surroundings. "Why couldn't we have died here?"

"We're not dead," Wilson said automatically.

Several bipedal boars spotted them—the air was suddenly filled with their angry bellowing.

"Now we might be," Wilson moaned.

They ran back through the door, ducked into another one—

And ended up in a pitch-black room.

"This isn't an improvement," Wilson said flatly.

"No it isn't," Willow agreed. "Now where's that doorknob—hey, look at that."

There was a light, glowing a pale blue off in the distance.

"Let's go to it," she said, dragging Wilson along.

"Willow, no," Wilson protested. "Going to lights at the end of long tunnels isn't—"

And then they found themselves much closer to the light than he had initially supposed, like the distance had been truncated somehow.

"Ooh," Willow noised.

"Yes," Wilson agreed.

"It's so…pretty."

"It makes me feel…happy," Wilson sighed. "Which is a really big deal for me right now…."

"I want to touch it," Willow declared, reaching up—the light jiggled out of her reach. "Hey, get back here!"

Wilson was into it too now, trying to grab at the light with a smile on his face.

"I'm gonna getcha!" Willow cheered, hopping up to grab it and missing.

"I wanna be with you," Wilson couldn't help but sing. "I wanna be your best…friend…."

He had made the mistake of turning around.

Because turning around revealed that the light was at the end of a long lure that arched into the skull of a big, massive, ugly worm with no eyes and razor-sharp teeth. A sharp inhale told him that Willow had seen it too.

"Good feeling's gone," Wilson declared.

And then they were running and screaming again, trying frantically to find the door in the pitch black, the only light the madly swinging lure of the worm—

They ran right by it.

"Door!" Wilson yelled. "Cut left! Quick!"

They did so—the worm blew right by them, surprisingly fast for something with no feet.

"Left again!" Wilson yelped, grabbing Willow's arm—at least, he hoped it was Willow. "Willow, this is you, right?"

"No," Willow's voice came, sarcastically. "This is your conscience—we haven't talked for a while, how've you been?"

"Har har—it's coming back!"

They tore off again, missing the door once more as the worm chased them, just barely dodging out of the way and causing it to miss once again.

"This is ridiculous!" Willow squawked. "We're playing a game of Snake in the dark! How are we supposed to find the door now?"

He didn't know—he didn't have the first clue, and they were going to die if—

A Shadow Monster. Congratulations.

That—he—

Sinking into the floor—

What if….

He was trembling, that horrid rumble filling the air as the lure circled back—focus—think—there had to be a way to work that in his favor—how had he done it last time?

"Wilson!" Willow yelped. "It's coming back!"

Willow.

He couldn't let anything happen to Willow.

He closed his eyes—pointless in the dark, but it gave him some illusion of focus—dredged up all those feelings that had been simmering all this time, frustration, anger, indignation…the fierce urge to protect and defend….

His arm itched.

He opened his eyes—

It was still dark, but there was depth to the shadows now—a grayscale infrared view.

And there was the door.

"This way," he said, tugging on Willow. "And hurry!"

"How is heading for the monster improving things?" Willow squawked, tugging back.

"Because that's where the door is! Now come on before it catches us!"

More resistance—and then she suddenly relented and ran along with him.

"If you're wrong, I'm going to kill you," Willow snarled.

Wilson couldn't help but smile at that. "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

And then it was focus—focus on running for the door as that horrid light got closer and closer—running on an intersecting course with the monster, but they were almost there—

"Wilson!"

He lunged, fingertips brushing the doorknob—