Author's Note: To all who believe that I have a slave writer, or that I've stolen my own literature; you are not and never will be Japanese. Nor will you ever possess my writing skills, you silly one-shot wonders.
Though mostly dialogue-driven, there are still HUEG revelations in this chapter -- but if you're outstandingly smart, and have deciphered everything in the previous chapter, said revelations won't come as much of a surprise. It's still fun to see the characters stumble upon the same things you did, right? But I must say, a few secrets will continue to be veiled for the time being. This includes Roine's suspicious behavior, his bottle, and the identity of SGEX03-AF.
I'd like to thank Eudemic for personally helping me with Krav Maga and difficult areas of description, and the surely pulchritudinous Grand Phoenix for helping me with the green tapir's name. It is Zahirah something (surname still unknown). Remember it well!
Chapter 3: Our Little World's Impact With Reality
Miss Mucus, whose face expressed a mixture of annoyance and disdain, lumbered back and forth before the Squirrels, who stood like statues under a beaming morning sun. Their first postprandial activity had apparently begun the moment they formed a perfect row, and that is all they knew. Or rather, all they were supposed to know, as their Scout Master would put it. Their day was again shrouded in mystery and shadow -- however, this time the mandatory happenings which preceeded were left untouched, so they hadn't any reason to whine or mope about. In confusion (and perhaps curiousity) they kept their eyes pasted onto Roine, who stood near Acorn Flats' entrance with his arms crossed. His own eyes were directed to a well trodden road, which stretched forth for a couple hundred meters until it suddenly curled behind a great mountain. Judging from the duration he stood, it seemed as though he was expecting someone.
A longwinded minute departed, and soon monotaneous beats resounded over yonder. As the wave of sound became more thunderous, they were able to discern vulgar words in the midst of it. The aforementioned words were repeated countless times in succession, and any message the 'song' was trying to impart became without point, and quite frankly, unintelligent. Then from around the mountain came a jet black Escalade, with dark tinted windows and gigantic silver spinners. It appeared to be well maintained, as it still glimmered with brilliance and hadn't a single dent, so it couldn't have been the property of a Prickly Pines denizen (Prickly Pines was an old-fashioned town, constructed right along the shoreline of Leaky Lake and populated with sixty or so folk, who were almost civilized in their mannerisms). Whatever the case, it was the indisputable core of the racket, and from the moment the Squrrels saw it plodding along (only increasing its speed with little random bursts), things began to feel far less quotidan than yesterday's closure.
The awkward utility vehicle pulled up to the twelve at last, and right when it did, the front end started to bounce up and down in a comical way -- obviously from hydrolics. Then its sides rocked as if it were dancing, before finally sinking low to the ground with an unheard hiss. The rap music ceased when the engine was switched off, and the scene was frozen and muted thereafter. The girls, with their jaws hanging; their eyes wide and inspecting, awaited for their guest to reveal himself -- but he did not do so for a good minute or two. And when that time was upon them, many exclaimed in whispers, "Was Roine stoned when thinking up this activity? !"
Their guest was embonpoint, with cocoa skin and heavy lips and no hair on his head to speak of. He wore a plain blue polo shirt, black jeans and leather boots that had surely seen better days. Upon his face were shades as dark as his Escalade's windows, and a thick, neatly trimmed beard. Hanging from the left side of his belt were two holsters. Nestled within one was the standard issue INLEV-152 Shock Pistol (a non-lethal firearm), while the other sheathed a Glock 26. This man, important and expendable all the same, was Chief Kiss, and his reason for visiting was a far cry from his typical rituals, as you shall soon find out.
"Salutations, bitches!" Kiss said, his voice nasal and awkward. "Ma name's Zaire Dudley Kiss, but I'm also known as th' 'Black Candycane' in otha' circles. No hatin' on th' names, or I become a pissed nigga and get out ma muddafuckin' bazooka, and we wouldn't want dat! I am also th' Chief of the International Enforcement Extension numba' thirty-five, which is th' only dumpy piece o' shit in th' beautiful city of Paris--"
"Just for clarification purposes," Nina interrupted in the kindest manner she could, "the I.E.E. is known more generally as Interpol, right?"
"Fosho." The moment he acknowledged this, a wildfire of fascinated murmurs spread throughout the gathering. But Kiss, unbeknownst to the interest now sparked, paid them no mind. "So I comin' a long way ta teach yo' pancake-asses some Krav Maga. Do any of ya know what Krav Maga is?"
Tootie jumped excitedly while flailing her arms. "Does it involve shampoo?"
Chief Kiss gave her an incredulous stare. "Whut! Whut th' fuck is dis shit? Krav Maga... shampoo? I'm hopin' not all of ya wimmins are as dumb as Marge Simpson over here." As he pointed to Tootie, her hair fell into her face again; and in a state of utter embarressment she crept behind the other girls.
After making a disparaging remark under his breath, Kiss pushed his shades up with a stubby index finger and went on to explain, "Krav Maga is a phys'cal defense system, all fo' inflictin' swift and brutal amounts o' damage while keepin' yo'self safe as ya do so. It was first concieved in Hungary and Czechoslov-- uh, however th' fuck ya pronounce it, by dis dude named Imi Sde-Or. He first taught it ta deze Jews in th' 1930s, in order ta protect themselves from dem crazy Nawzis. Then, I think it was over a decade lata', he went on ta become th' Chief Instructor o' Krav Maga at th' Israeli Defense Force's Schoo' o Combat Fitness, where he taught fo' twenty mo' years.
"Sorry to say, Imi died in 1998, but his defense system is still taught worldwide in community centers, law enfo'cment establishments such as Interpol, and such. Now I hope ya feelin' less stupid after dat history lesson, cause I hurt ma' brain diggin' all dat up. Anyway, movin' on, Mista' Roine Trewavas over here requested dat I teach ya bitches dis, so when faced wit' somethin' life-threatenin', like fo' example, a big burly rapist muddafucka wit' a machete and a lethal tempa', ya won't be runnin' around flappin' yo' arms everyplace like a bunch o' dysfunctional seagulls, f'real. And ya got ta' remember: th' world is a cold one. Th' future don't look good at all fo' the next generation ya represent, so think of dis as a favor from someone who don't wanna see ya crash and burn.
"We'll begin once we clear somethin' up; I gotta know of any of ya is left-handed."
"Zahirah is." said Margaret, patting a green tapir on the shoulder. "Of course," she lowered her voice, "she has always been a bit different." Now, it might strike one as brave of her to say, but truth be told, Zahirah could understand very little English. So as Zahirah rose her left hand and jabbered in rapid Malaysian, Margaret gave her a multitude of firm nods in reply. Quite magical.
"Huh." croaked Kiss. "We start wit' th' fightin' stance! Right-handers will put their left foot out..." The nine right-handed Scouts followed his orders, although some were not treating this lesson seriously, as giggles broke out when the clumsier ones tumbled onto the soil. Kiss just furrowed his brow and continued, "While th' weird pink-haired pachyderm thing will be doing th' opposite. That includes th' punches and kicks -- not just th' stance. Ya feelin' me?" The tapir gave him a thumbs-up, and did everything without complications. "Excellent! All of ya want ta have sixty percent of weight on yo' front foot, and fo'ty percent on th' rear. Then, direct yo' rear foot fo'ward -- fo'ward foot turned toe-in a little bit. Ya know, ta protect yo' cockpits."
The Chief turned to Trewavas, standing recumbent alongside that vicious-looking sow (who was no longer pacing). "Ya wanna join us, Scout Massa? Add some wood to a bunch o' titties?"
"No thanks." Roine responded, ignoring the derisive noise made by Mucus. "It would be a useless lesson for me, if you're feeling me correctly."
Patsy mouthed to Nina, "What does he mean?", but her longnecked friend merely shrugged -- without breaking her perfect stance, mind you. Rather than just goofing around like Honey and Tootie and Amber, Nina was making a genuine attempt to learn the system.
Their misapprehension only grew when Kiss chuckled, for the reply Roine had made was in prospect. "I gotcha, dawg. No need to learn somethin' ya already know about."
"Yes, well, I've forgotten a great deal of Krav Maga." Roine said, scratching his goatee and wearing an uncomfortable look. "Thus my own teaching would have been an incomplete one. And a general waste of time. And perhaps a bother. But please, Zaire, do continue."
"A'ite. Ya girls wanna keep yo' hands open and relaxed; not too close ta' yo' face, but at eye-level. And ya wanna rememba' ta' keep yo' chin down! Ya need ta' protect yo' throats at all times, f'real. Da's th' stance. Let's cova' some of th' basic moves...
"First one's pretty self-explainatory. It's called th' straight punch. It's like a jab in boxin', only ya don't rotate yo' hand in th' end, f'real. First, I'm gonna teach ya how to make a fist. Lift both yo' hands, bend yo' fingas once, then again, and dig yo' nails into yo' palm. Press yo' thumb into th' top of yo' index finga', like so, and squeeze as hard as ya can. Ya want ta get all of th' air out of yo' fists. The reason ya want ta do this, is to keep yo' hand from actin' like an air-shock, or some muthafuckin' high-schooler punchin' his car and breakin' his hand, like whut! In addition, ya do mo' damage. A'ite? Good, now I show ya how ta do it." He thrusted his forward hand in a lightning quick motion and recovered as soon as he reached full extension. The girls emulated his movement, with a couple showing much delay in their recovery time. "A'ite, see dat? Dem' dat movin' like retards." Kiss frowned at a certain bear, whose eyes were staring off into different directions, and a certain squirrel who was busy adjusting her hair, which had come out of place through her exertions. "Ya wanna recover fast, so ya can use dat hand again." Kiss repeated the move twice, laughing as gravity did wonderous things to the ten 'pairs'. And because the Scouts had improved to an extent. "Da's right! Let's continue wit' th' snap kick...
"Ya want to bring yo' knee up, keeping yo' calf perpendicular to th' ground. When yo' thigh is parallel to th' ground, extend yo' lower leg in a whippin' motion. Pschaw!" After the Chief pulled off the kick flawlessly, the girls attempted to do so as well, but with disasterous results. Many had fallen backwards when shifting their weight, or had strained their leg muscles, fussing like children when they did. "...With yo' toe pointin' forward." Kiss added, purposely acting oblivious.
The Krav Maga lesson continued, with Kiss adding new combatives to their arsenal; hammer fists, headbutts (which caused Nina to overbalance and strike the ground with her forehead, resulting in a great deal of praise from the instructor), elbow strikes and knees. Once those aspects were covered, and everyone was quite exhausted, Kiss elaborated further about the psychology of physical confrontation, encouraging them to make use of their surroundings and reminding them that there are no rules.
"We almost finished. I think ya did pretty good, but there's one last lesson to be learned here. Fo' dis, I gonna need a volunteer." He scanned the ten, waiting for a hand to spring up in the air. When no one offered themselves, Kiss pointed a finger to Gretchen and said, "Yo bitch! Wit th' big mouth and the funny hair. I is 'voluntelling' ya."
Gretchen snorted and scuttled forward, ignoring Kiss' stupid remark about throwing rings at her hair. "What do you want me to do?" she growled.
"Ya know in a moment." He placed his chubby hands around her neck, pressing his thumbs lightly against her windpipe. "Our final lesson is breakin' free of a choke from th' front. Now, when I chokin' this ugly ho, whut should she be concerned 'bout?"
Honey lifted her hand and answered, "AIDS?"
"Whut! No, th' correct answer is my fuckin' thumb is crushin' her big ass throat. And da's not good. Should ya find yoself in dis predicament, first thing ya wanna do is force yo' chest outward. And let me tell ya; dis here bitch ain't gonna have too many problems doin' that. She got enough chest! Next thing ya wanna do, is make precurved little hooks wit' yo' hands, like so. Dere, da's good. Then reach up, pluck up th' person's thumbs and pull 'em down to th' sides of yo' chest. Then smash their nuts wit' yo' foot or give 'em a punch, and get th' fuck outta dere. Got it?"
Gretchen nodded, not knowing she had to actually perform this until Kiss barked, "Are ya trippin'? ! I'm chokin' ya -- do somethin'!" She felt his grip tighten, and so she thrusted her ample chest forward (hitting Kiss' own chest and causing him to cough), hooked her claws and pried off his thumbs, following up with a heavy kick to his crotch. Kiss howled and fell to his knees, with Gretchen putting his hand in a cavalier, a little something she had learned from her uncle, who was a well-known bounty hunter (of course, he was completely unheard of in this region).
"Hep me! Hep!" Kiss screamed. "She kickin' ma ass! Make th' bitch stop! Lawd!"
All of the girls giggled at the Chief's pathetic display. Patsy cheered for Gretchen, happening to look over at the Scout Master and his brawny assistant. She noticed that Roine was holding a hand over his grinning mouth (which pleased her), while Mucus was looking smugly superior. She returned her sights to the dramatic scene, with a protesting Kiss making an attempt to tap out. Gretchen scoffed at the so-called officer, releasing him at last and returning to the gathering, where she was met with applause.
Kiss kept to the ground for a while, muttering a great stream of obscenities before regaining his composure. He shook his aching hand, brushed the dirt from his pant legs and then cleared his throat, gaining the young furres' attention again. "Dat was very good, I must say. Of course, I was just fakin' it ta' make ya feel awight. It's not like I was really in pain, cause I got iron balls!
"Do any of ya have any questions? Dere has ta' be some, I'm sure!"
Patsy was the only one who raised her hand. Once Kiss had nodded in her direction, she lowered her hand and placed it behind her back with the other, and asked a question that was not relevant to the system learned, but to Kiss' line of work, "Has Interpol performed an autopsy on Jane Doe yet? Our old Scout Mistress?"
"Is dis some kind of joke?" growled Kiss. When Patsy shook her head, he went on to say, "Sorry, but no Jane Doe in dis here vicinity has been autopsied, nor have any investigations taken place. Trust me -- if it happened, I would be one o' th' first ta' know."
Patsy stood aghast, unsure of what to say or what to think of this revelation. Soon chaos ensued in her midst, as the others began bouncing, waving and bawling out question after question, hoping that their visiter would somehow catch and resolve all of them. While Mucus tried desperately to quell them with the roaring of "Shut yer traps!", Patsy severed her gaze on the mystified Chief Kiss and looked over at Roine again, seeing that his visage was a copy of her own. It was difficult to believe that such a face was pasted upon him, just as it was difficult to believe that an inquiry could spawn this. Patsy then bit her bottom lip when an exasperated Mucus waddled closer, and watched as the swine retrieved a golden object from her breast pocket.
All it took was a slight flicker of it, and the crazed Squirrels Scouts fell completely silent. Past experience alerted them of how nasty Mucus could be once she pulled the whistle out. Not only did
their ears ache from the continuous shrill noises she produced from it, but it meant that they were teetering on the possibility of going home, and that was the last place any of them wanted to be.
"Yer behavior is unacceptable, Scouts!" Mucus shouted, spraying saliva everywhere. "Keep yer damned lips zipped until yer called upon! Ya'll were sent here in the first place because ya'll were burdensome little devils who gave yer parents hell! Well, I'm gonna be giving ya'll hell if this keeps up! Do I make myself clear, ladies?"
"Yes, Miss Mucus..." They all droned.
Kiss caressed his beard with an idiotic chuckle. "Crazy wimmins. Let's try dis again, awight? Accept dis time, let's keep it related ta' Krav Maga." He did not wait long, for Nina was the next to calmly raise her hand. "Ah, the 'Fuckin' Trebuchet!' Speak ta' me!"
"I'd like to apologize beforehand, because this has nothing to do with Krav Maga." Gulping, Nina tugged on her uniform's collar, avoiding the Chief's veiled stare. "Mind you, I'd like to make a follow up to Patsy's question..."
The portly man drooped his arms and sighed. "Shoot."
"Don't you think that it's weird? That you would have no knowledge of an investigation? Doesn't this mean that the big wheels of Interpol are conducting super-secret missions, which then plainly led to cover-ups?"
"Hold on one second!" snapped Kiss, suddenly becoming rather rigid in his posture. "Didn't I make it clear earlier dat I would be one o' th' first ta' know? Dis investigation of yo's neva' happened!"
Nina crossed her arms. She knew that he was getting uncomfortable with her queries. It sort of reminded her of those fictional conspiracy books she owned (concerning flying saucers and the like), when those who were not easily led astray dismantled an official's inane explainations. "Oh? How do you explain our Scout Mistress' disappearance--"
"A'ite, da's enough!"
"But--"
"I said enough, ya hairy pencil! Or I gonna ride ma dick on yo' fo'head!"
Kiss watched the giraffe back away, shaking his head when her face carved a somber expression. He adjusted his glasses for no reason, and went over to Roine with an outstretched hand. The two gripped each other tightly, with Roine mumbling apologies and words of thanks. Kiss gave him his own, flashing a brisk salute to his old friend before hurrying back to his Escalade, containing any farewells to those he had taught. For this, he might have come across as a discourteous fellow, but he needed to return to the Le Police Station -- and fast, because there was much to be sought. For starters, who had removed a corpse from this area and why was it unknown to him, out of all people? Kiss shook off the discomforting curiousity and switched over the engine. Without delay the rap music returned, deafening the rumble of the engine and his own breathing. He then put the large vehicle in reverse, turned, and sped away in the direction he previously came.
Roine straightened out his belt, taking a look-see at his watch afterwards. "Hmm. I suppose it would be best for you to settle down and reflect on all that has been learned. In the meantime, Mucus and I will get the goals and such prepared for the upcoming soccer game. Well, go on! We shall not take long!" He made a 'shooing' motion with his hand, and the furres set out for their respective cabins. Along the way they started blurting things like, "That Kiss guy knows something we don't!" and, "That
was the dumbest activity ever!", which Roine just simpered to. But before he could make for the shed, Mucus had grabbed him by his coat.
"Roine? Can I have a word with ya?" Her voice, though perpetually harsh, sounded far less threatening than when she was raging.
"Of course you can. What would you like to know, Miss Mucus?"
"Please," she said while fluffing her red hair (actually it was a wig) with a free hand, "just call me Rubella."
Roine's face crumpled, as the name brought back undesirable memories of another individual who possessed it. "Fine, yes. R-Rubella."
"Yer reason for inviting that man over here for a Krav Maga lesson. What was it?"
"My reason for inviting him was the same as his reason was for teaching them."
Appearing now to be far more disappointed than amorous, Mucus freed him of her grip and placed her arms underneath her monolithic chest. "Then ya believe the future will demand such teachings?"
He grunted, erasing quickly from his mind the image of a flirty Miss Mucus. "It would be ignorant of me to speak of the future." he replied. "So I ask that you conserve your trust for me through our endeavors -- no matter their size or consequence."
He decided that no more needed to be said (in truth, he wished to get away from Mucus as she was), and strode off towards the shed, which was located right near the pool, across from the watch tower and a few stray picnic tables. Roine pulled open the creaking, rotted doors and switched on the light, grimacing again at the sheer amount of cobweb sewn across the dismantled goals, and everything that had grown useless over the course of three years. Wear one of these life-jackets, indeed!
The transition that spanned eternally brought star and moon out again. Swirling clouds of the darkest blues and greys stretched across the sky; and if one was to lay eyes upon it, it might strike him as some old, smeared painting. The relaxing music of crickets was absent tonight, as was the quiet shuddering of the foilage and the random creaking of the cabins' vermilion roof tops. All that made a night at Acorn Flats familiar was instead replaced with a gelid chill. It was oppressive, and brought a sense of unease for those slumbering who had also felt it hours before Jane Doe was murdered. Despite the Scouts being surrounded by wooden walls and having many blankets layered upon themselves, the chill continued to bite and gnaw.
However, it was neither the ominous sensation nor the badgering bite of the cold that impeded Patsy's sleep. It was an odor, increasingly rank and hanging heavier in the air as time crawled onward -- and, this night, time crawled so very slow. Her cabinmates must have been aware of it, for they had hidden themselves beneath their covers. It would not be long until one of them started the old interrogation, she figured. But contrary to what they would say without doubt, Patsy knew the stench was not something you encountered on a day-to-day basis. Yes, she recalled it being the same one that invaded her turbinates four nights ago -- yet again before Jane's death, and it was the same one that loomed over Patsy and the others as they encircled that mutilated body, bearing hardly any identity. She was sure it was not of death (as she knew death well on that bygone day, when Evergrey did what he did), but she couldn't shake the feeling that it signified the coming. So in the confines of her mind she wondered; was something or someone to die tonight? And just what was it that produced this stench?
A stirring closeby caused her jolt upward and gasp. She rotated sluggishly to the direction of the noise, squinting her eyes in the blackness. She felt quite mitigated after realizing that it was just Gretchen, who grumbled and kicked the covers from her body. Indeed, Patsy knew what was coming next...
"Alright!" The alligator growled in vehemence. "Which one of you keeps dropping air biscuits?"
Nina poked her head out and answered quick, "It isn't me!"
"Could it be you, Patsy?"
"Nooo..." said Patsy, rolling her eyes at her friend's predictablity.
"Don't deny it," said Gretchen, "we've heard you fart before!"
Still sitting upright, Patsy crossed her arms and snapped back with, "And since when have I ever denied it? For all we know, it could have been you!"
"Fine, fine. I'll prove my innocence." There was muffled crackling noise, followed by insane laughter on Gretchen's part. She then poked her nose beneath the covers and sniffed loudly. "Aw yeah. See how different that smells?"
"Ugh! Gretchen!" Nina groaned, burying her face into her pillow. "Now you've completely destroyed the oxygen!"
Soon the three were engaged in quiet persiflage, which disipated faster than Gretchen's defensive measures, for they had fallen victim to the tugging of tiredness. So when Nina and Gretchen concealed themselves again, Patsy settled herself into a comfortable position and shut her eyes, and the odor and the chill aggrandized forthwith. Although the day had left Patsy quite exhausted, it became a struggle for her to fall asleep, as the frozen air nipped at her body until she ached; the mysterious rancidity twisted her innards, bringing to life a forlorn case of nausea. All the while those deathly thoughts that swam in her mind became gargantuan in weight, and impossible to expunge. Such a nightmare it was, and so reminscent. She couldn't imagine what her fellow Scouts were feeling at this very moment; if they were in worse shape, or if they were affected at all by similar thoughts. They never once discussed that previous night. Whether it was out of fear or embarressment, she did not know, but no matter the result of the now, the past still needed to be addressed. And so she would question -- in the morning.
Patsy threw herself to the side with a groan, and immediately stilled herself after hearing a faint thumping noise. At first Patsy believed she was imagining things, but when she heard again just seconds later, she knew that it was not her imagination at work. Her heavy eyes wandered over to her cabinmates' shrouded beds, considering that it might have been Gretchen, making the best of a sleepless night with a frightful little prank. It would not be the first time Gretchen attempted to scare the proclaimed 'scare master'. Yet Gretchen's form kept perfectly still, as did Nina's.
Without warning, a high-pitched screech pierced Patsy's sensative ears, and soon she and her cabinmates were up out of bed, panting and shivering and jerking their heads every which way. The screech grew louder as something was repeatedly slammed against the exterior wall. It sounded so unnatural and painful that it left Patsy watery-eyed and choked with anguish -- and when she tried to speak, all that came out was a pathetic whimper. "W-what... is that n-noise? !"
"It's a couple of raccoons getting in a f-fight!" Nina assured her with an evident quiver. "It's happened at my house before. Trust me..."
It did not matter if it was raccoons quarreling, or something else entirely; the screaming and slamming fleeted in seconds. With the night as hushed as it once was, Nina climbed onto her bed and gazed out the western window, trying to spot the source and prove to Patsy that she needed not to fear. Though Gretchen as well wished to set things right by taking to the other window, it was clear from their disappointed tones that the source was invisible to their eyes. Thus, they comforted Patsy with now empty assurance while hiding away, leaving her with company and lonliness all the same.
Patsy released a fatigued sigh and wrapped her arms around her pillow, trying to concentrate on more cheerful times, and hoping that she would drift off. There were many good memories to dwell upon; the first Miss Fru Fru pangent (when they were inane enough to believe it would grant them the ability to fly), and when Miss Doe was engaged to the abominable Mayor of Prickly Pines, Pothole McPucker.
No, now that she thought about it, these memories were far too depressing, as there was glee contained within the past that the present was devoid of. Glee that she missed dearly. But there was a memory or two, or three, of an individual she watched from afar, or mingled with when she had the opportunity. That person, known to all the Squirrels as an unhealthy obsession of young Miss Smiles, was Lazlo, the lighthearted Spider Monkey across the lake.
Before she could relive the fondest of those memories, or conceive events that would lead to their union, something most peculiar happened. Patsy heard a child-like voice whisper in her ear, "WK? NJ?" Her breathing then broke and quickened, and in an act of impulse she glued her eyes upon the dark window, watching as a vast pale shape emerged in slow motion. It leered back at her with three green lumps, protruding without pattern and topped by (from what she could make out) very small eyes, which were of a dim red hue. Below the three eyes was a gaping black hole with blood splattered all around it, and it was lined with many rows of jagged saw-like teeth. As slowly as it might have appeared, it glided away like the wind had caught it, the moment Patsy had shrieked.
Nina and Gretchen leapt from their beds once again, this time pulling out their glowsticks. Despite their hands wavering so, they directed the neon green sticks to the newest source of commotion, who was overcome with trepidation. "Oh... oh god!" the mongoose managed to cry. "Something was looking at me through the window!"
"Patsy, you were probably just dreaming..." Nina whispered, showing no signs of being irked. The same could not be said about Gretchen, who tapped her foot softly on the cold floor.
"I was not dreaming, Nina! I was wide awake!" exclaimed Patsy, whimpering once a series of prolonged, severe-sounding wheezes began haunting her. Her longtime friends seemed to take no notice of the sounds, and a fiery sensation danced upon her cheeks as a result. "Oh god... I can hear it... breathing!" Suddenly, Patsy threw herself out of her bed; the blankets and sheets spilling onto the floor as she darted for the door, panting in-between the inaudible things she murmured. There was a loud creak when the door was ripped open, and before Nina or Gretchen could blink, Patsy had left them.
Nina snatched up her glasses, which were lying on the desk behind her bed. Quickly she placed them upon her face, ran to the doorway, and cried to the shadowy figure that was Patsy (already well past the cabins), "Patsy, where are you going? !"
Even at a distance her response dripped with panic, "Somewhere safer than here!"
Patsy never turned to face her cabinmates, to see if they had closed the door, or if they were even running after her. She plowed through the thick, frigid air, which ignored her cotton facade and fiercely caressed all underneath. It was from the touch of coldness that she realized what danger she had put herself in. It was not idiocy -- not in the least bit. Her departure was an act of her subconscious, which would also be the judge of her destination. So she kept on going, knowing by now she had passed the Food Terrace, for she saw that she was nearing the flag pole, only discernible by the pink cloth that stirred barely. As Patsy grew closer to what she could see, the grass below
occassionally transformed into hard soil and sharp pebble, providing a rather painful experience for one just wearing fuzzy white socks. Then an abrupt, blinding light banished the dark sea around her, and at once she grinded to a halt. Patsy held up both hands and squinted her eyes; her heart giving a small leap when she noticed a familiar, unshaven face looking down upon her.
"Miss Smiles?" Scout Master Trewavas pointed his flashlight away from Patsy's face and gingerly descended the small stairway, that loathsome nightgown of his shuddering as he did. "What in the blazing fuck are you doing out here?"
"I... heard a screaming noise..." Patsy said, looking down at her once decent socks, now covered with bright green and brown stains. "And then... a few moments later... I saw this creepy... thing appear in front of the window..." She clenched her teeth, and felt her cheeks burn again. She was afraid that he, like the others she tried confiding in, would not apprehend her. But the tone of his response sounded inquisitive -- the opposite of what she was expecting.
"Truly? What else happened?"
Patsy's ears rose out of surprise. Still, however curious the man seemed, the anthropomorph could not take her attention away from her socks, now buried deep in the dark grass due to her constant, anxious shifting. "It disappeared after I had screamed." she added quickly, "I'm not a girly-girl or anything like that--"
"I don't doubt your tomboyishness." Roine said. "If I saw what you saw, I'm sure I would've voiced my fear in the exact same way. Gender plays no part in fear, you must remember."
"I know." Patsy said, finally mustering up the strength to make eye-contact with her Scout Master, who looked as he did at all times; unexciting and somewhat shammed. "But I knew I wasn't dreaming, because I heard it breathing afterwards. Nina and Gretchen didn't believe me though. I can't believe they were deaf to it..."
Roine shot her a harsh look. "You need not tell me the rest, Miss Smiles. Your fear drove you out of your cabin and led you here, even though your cabin is the safest place to be right now. Do you honestly know how much danger you put yourself in after common sense escaped you? Come now, if you did witness something as disturbing as you have described to me, and there just so happens to be a macabre being in the proximity, why on earth would you depart from a sound, wooden abode when the source is outside?"
"Because I was afraid of being in that cabin! I came here because I thought you could protect me!"
"Inconceivable!" Roine shouted, tossing his arms in the air and nearly losing grip of his flashlight. "What makes me different from Miss Lake or Miss Neckerly?"
"You're the Scout Master! "You're an adult!" Patsy explained calmly. She had to be commended; by now she would have unleashed a verbal maelstrom, innate to all females, upon one who was oblivious to the obvious. Yet she had imprisoned this desire, as she thought highly of Roine. Sure, he was not the most masculine of individuals, and he was prone to almost schizophrenic behavioral changes, and he was hairy. But he was respectful to the tabooed, and he enlightened the Squirrels of things they never could have imagined -- not with the outlets as they were. Furthermore, he possessed a willingness to listen to even the oddest of tales without so much as a sneer. That is not to say that he believed Patsy (on the contrary, Roine was not entirely convinced), but at least he was thoughtful about it.
"And you're two years from becoming one yourself." stated Roine. "You do not require my security."
"Yes I do..." Patsy uttered while cradling herself, shivering as the icy needles of the air had begun to vex her again.
"...It seems I cannot win this. I admit defeat." he said with a long sigh. "I'll let you stay for the night, Miss Smiles. Keep in mind though; I will not, under any circumstances, give up my bed. And I do not have any alternative places for you to do your slumbering, so it's either with me, or out here." And with that, he switched off his flashlight and began climbing the stairs, signaling for her to follow with a slight wave in the dark.
Patsy's face lit up in an instant. "That's okay with me!" She then scurried off after him, still holding onto her aching chest. With a grunt and a monstrous fart she tripped on the last step and fell against the porch, laughing away as she picked herself up. "Whoops! I think that one left a mark!" Roine replied to this with a plain "Indeed".
"Oh, um, Roine?" Patsy asked suddenly, her tone sounding far more serious. "What were you doing out here?"
Roine stopped in the midst of the doorway and lowered his head. "Heard some raccoons fighting. I would've have been out here sooner, but I couldn't find the fucking flashlight." he closed his eyes and emitted a soft titter. "No, I'm joshing you. Really, it just took me a while to rouse enough strength to step outside. For you see, I was fearful myself. I'm aware that it was just an ordinary occurance -- but simultaneously, I can't help but feel that the ordinary will someday turn out to be the unknown. And the unknown can be the worst nightmare imaginable.
"We best not linger in the night. The last thing we need is for one of us to come down sick..."
The Scout Master allowed Patsy to step inside first before entering himself, closing the door gently when he did. Patsy moved along in a slow stride, noting that the interior of this place had not been remodeled in the least bit. Even the dark she could tell -- Roine had left everything exactly the way it was.
But there were many things he had brought from his previous 'life', if you will; including a bag filled with cigars and intoxicant, a sizable collection of odd videos and three even odder books, which he had found in the University Of Tainted Knowledge years ago. How he found himself in that location was a mystery to even him. Regardless, something drove him there, and so he went along for the ride. He was not sure either what use these ancient books would be, but still he held onto them like a stubborn ass, believing perhaps a time would come when they would prove useful. For the exception of the videos, lying scattered in various locations (Patsy had already trodden on a couple), he kept his belongings in Jane's old wardrobe, so they were unknown to all -- the way he preferred it.
As Patsy passed the kitchen, a lingering homelike smell tantalized her senses, which brought back memories of her and father cooking together, back before she was sent to camp. She wondered for a moment if Roine had an iota of culinary skill -- but on second thought, he probably just warmed up some cheap frozen dinner, fearing that the stove would set him ablaze. Or the entire house. Though she found the mere thought delightful, she did well to keep trival or scathing questions to herself. After all, he was doing her a favor.
Patsy was surprised when she had abruptly entered the Scout Master's bedroom -- she did not expect the hallway leading there to be so frank. She peered down at the heart-shaped bed (softly brightened by the moonlight shining through the window), taking notice of the impression on the left side of the mattress, and the blood red covers spread out upon the floor, as if they were torn from place. Did Roine happen to feel the same fear as she? Fall victim to the same weights and rancidity? There was no chance for an inner monologue -- right when Roine threw the covers back onto the bed, and the flashlight to the floor, he had resumed his original position. Patsy trudged to the opposite side and slid her body underneath the dense, warming bedspread, and indulged herself in it. But the comfort it would provide would not remedy this wakefulness. She realized this when a short while had passed
on, when she hopelessly began tossing herself every which way; still bathed in an invisible pool of stinging cold. Patsy knew that, unless she chose to take drastic measures, she would not overcome the trials of this night...
So Patsy spun herself around, gazing at Roine's back for a few moments before she whispered, "Roine?" From the sound of his acknowledgment (a simple "Yes?"), it didn't seem as though he was irked, which gladdened her. Then Patsy edged closer, telling him, "I'm... freezing my butt off. Could you... could you hold me?"
Roine choked. For once he had a difficult time in crafting an answer. He wished to stay lenient toward the young mongoose, but how could he if the facts were harsh? Did she not understand how wrong it would be, for a twenty-eight year old to embrace a female who had not yet reached sexual maturity? He was just her Scout Master -- not her parent! Still, nobody would ever know if he did...
Incredulous! An act like this would morph the platonic into greater things. More painful things. He could not make the same mistake again. Not as he was, at least. But whatever control he had somehow crumbled, as Patsy was soon pulled up against him. His gawky arms were secured tightly around her sides, and his hands were placed upon her lovely hips. When Roine realized what he had just done, he began to shudder and grind his teeth.
The mongoose wrapped her own arms around the man's neck and pressed her face against his chest, tuning in to the swift thumping of his heart, and breathing in his unique scent. She could tell that he was panicking -- though the reason this time elluded her, since they were nowhere near the Lake. Was it her being female that made him like this?
Patsy exhaled loudly. "Roine, what time is it?"
"Eight minutes past one." Roine said, desperate in his attempts to calm himself. "If you're having trouble sleeping, you could always talk to me. That's a sure-fire way of getting tired..."
"No need to put yourself down like that." she raised her head and gave him a smile. Not one that was induced to follow along with his dry humor, but a caring one. "I've always wondered, Roine, and I hope you don't mind me asking; what was the scariest thing you've ever seen?"
"Well, this life has shown my eyes many terrible things, but possibly the worst would be an infant who had Harlequin Ichthyosis." Roine could tell from her pause that she was perplexed, so he elaborated, "It's a disease, which gives its victims hard skin engraved with large diamond-shaped scales. The eyes are turned inside out and filled with blood; the nose and ears are simply pits; the hands and feet are deformed via Hypoplasia. No image you concieve in your mind can match the real sight of a Harlequin baby, let me tell you...
"Anyway, I happened to find him when I was out with an old friend of mine. The infant was obviously abandoned. We never found out his identity, or even a single lead on where his parents had gone to, or who they themselves were. I guess it wouldn't have mattered if we did." Roine pried his eyes off of Patsy and applied them to the ceiling, producing a gloomy quiver afterwards. "He died exactly two hours later. The cause escapes me at the moment, as this occured back when I was four years younger, but I'm pretty sure it was from dehydration. Oh, how those low noises he made continue to cling...
He found himself looking at the furre again, whose face suggested a subtle state of repulsion. "Care if I direct to you the same question?"
Patsy retrieved a hand and began nibbling on her short fingernails. Not from being caught off guard, as she knew for certain who she would use for an answer. Yet that answer, which would bring about something best left forgotten -- and more importantly, an unsaid retort from Roine, left her hesitant. "Well," proceeded Patsy, "besides that thing I told you about earlier, the scariest event of my life
would have to be when agents from Interpol came to investigate the scene. Their leader did something weird to me. He-- it vaporized my surroundings and... flew. Right in front of me. While I was running away, this freaked-out robotic voice started talking to me, and I could've sworn I heard gunfire in the background. As silly as it sounds, I think it was its voice. I think it had looked into my past, or my future, or something. Its name was..." She suddenly zipped her lip and buried her face into Trewavas' nightgown, straining her will to force the name out. "...Uriah Heep!"
"Uriah Heep?" Roine blinked. "So the rumors are true."
Patsy peeked up and opened one eye, now appearing a bit concerned. "Rumors?"
"That he still walks the Earth."
"Of course he still walks the Earth, silly." she replied with a playful scoff. "He wouldn't have come to investigate if he were dead."
He raised both of his eyebrows and vehemently explained, "No, no, no. You don't understand. He's supposed to be dead."
There was no struggle to comprehend, nor any counterargument -- she had known from the start that Uriah Heep was an anomoly. Even so, she still had to ask, "How do you know that?"
"I've done my reading." Roine said while tapping his fingers against her hips. "Mind you, his past is a longwinded tale and I am too jaded to tell it at the moment. Perhaps in the morning I will enlighten the lot of you..."
Thereafter, not another word was spoken. Patsy supposed that Roine extinguished what little energy he had from their discussion, and as silence was allowed to reign over them, she fully embraced his neck once more, feeling his body tense up for a split second before a calm fell over it. During this silence, Patsy drifted off not yet into slumber, but into a state of meandering contemplation. Doctor Uriah Heep, it who injected fear and wonder; it who was second-in-command of an worldwide establishment, was posthumous and possibly within historical literature? Just how old was this beast, and just how did it operate? Ever the perplexer as well was Scout Master Trewavas. Truly, there was more to him than he was letting on. Too many things he knew and shared, yet Patsy felt that he shared too little -- especially concerning his past. All had a reason for hiding a part of themselves, of course, whether it was out of shame, misunderstanding or understanding a great deal, but it irritated her so! Then she remembered...
"Roine," Patsy whispered, awaiting Roine's answer (which was a replica of the previous "Yes?") before speaking again, "I wanted to apologize for all those things I said yesterday. You know, about you needing to shave and being a pansy. It was really uncalled for. It's just I get so mad sometimes! And after everything you've done for me -- for everyone, well--"
"It served me right," he interrupted. "because you were right. I need to shave. And I'm a big pansy who wallows in boringness." The anthropomorph winced when he recapitulated her. "But I assure you that things can and will change. Your apology is accepted, Miss Smiles."
The corners of Patsy's mouth bended upward, as high as they could go. Many times she set aside her apology due to the busyness of activities, it seemed inevitable that she would have forgotten it entirely. But now that it was out, she felt freed; like a weight lodged in the back of her mind had been lifted from place. In fact, all of those invincible obstacles seemed to vanish as the night progressed, and soon Patsy had entered a state of tranquillity, complete with random, fuzzed hallucinations, swirling without sense or direction. She became deaf to the sound of their breathing and snoring, and her body became stiller and number until finally it suspended itself, once her consciousness had departed. But her undisturbed sleep would be a short-lived one, as time went from a glacial crawl to
something quite the opposite, bringing morning forth on the swiftest of wings. Thus did the yellow sun rise with those ever-noisy avians, who took no notice of the shadow that remained...
The mongoose yawned and stretched out her lovely form, rubbing her still heavy eyes before peeling them open. She then shielded her face, groaning as a flash of white light blinded her momentarily. It couldn't have been morning -- it felt as though she had gone to sleep minutes ago! But it was very much morning, and the realization made her sigh in disappointment. So Patsy buried the back of her head in one of the featherlight pillows, staring to the ceiling and giving her dilated eyes a chance to readjust, when suddenly she erected herself. It just now occured to her; she did not awaken in the same position she had assumed, and Roine was nowhere to be seen...
She rubbed her eyes again, calling out his name in sort of a lethargic murmur. However, there was no answer heard. She looked over to the left where the bathroom was located, and noticed that the door was closed shut, with a faint trace of mist and a golden light creeping out from the bottom. Clarity came upon a fuller awakening, and once indistinct noises became a repetitive stream of splattering water and the hissing of a showerhead. Just as she began to listen more closely, the sounds died away in an instant, and were replaced with numerous others.
After the passing of a good moment or two, when the pattering of naked feet had ceased (along with the rustle of clothing being applied), Roine emerged from the bathroom in his usual sepia-colored attire, somehow looking different than he did yesterday. She could not put her finger on it -- that is, until he walked past her. She scooted nearer in the direction of the wardrobe once Roine had bent over and opened it, watching as he pulled out a severely weathered book from a black duffel bag. Patsy withheld a giggle as he closed up the wardrobe again, at last exclaiming, "Hey, you don't look as hairy as before!"
Roine rose, turned around and flashed her a pleased grin. "Right you are. Decided to get rid of those unnecessary patches. And I trimmed down the goatee a bit, though I'm not getting rid of it entirely."
Her eyes wandered downward, onto the ancient book Roine held in his hands. "What's that?"
"Relevant material." he said bluntly. "Come, we should return you to your cabin before the others awaken. Otherwise, they'll all be asking to bed with me..."
But before they took their leave, Roine fixed his guest a fancy breakfast; three crepes adorned with lemon cream and a dark strawberry sauce. They did not last for long due to Patsy's voracious hunger, and when she asked him afterwards of his learning to cook such meals, Roine replied with one of many automated replies concerning the matter, "Ah, an old... acquiantance taught me." Of course, anyone with half a brain would know there was more to it, but Patsy decided against prying -- and very soon they were outside, where the weather was in confusion and the ground was coated with a light frost, already in the process of melting away. Their pace was not hurried, but rather relaxed, as it would still be some time before Mucus would awaken herself. By the time they reached the cabin, Patsy's socks were tarnished again with mud, providing a little laughter between the two. Then Roine tapped at the door. It took hardly a second before he was answered by Gretchen, who looked a great deal startled.
"Good morning to you, Gretchen." he said while tipping his fedora.
"Um!" Gretchen gritted her teeth, giving Roine the most ridiculous of smiles. "Morning, Scout Master..."
Roine hadn't a chance to speak again, because Patsy (who wandered off towards the cabin's rear, undetected) had released a scream blatant enough to drown out the birds' canorous songs, and frighten them away from their sylvan homes. What came next was like a chaotic blur; all of the
Squirrels zipped out of their abodes in an instantaneous motion, gasping and covering their mouths once they too beheld it -- something they hoped never to see again. Even Mucus was quick to appear. Absent was her red wig, but she was thankfully wearing a lavender nightgown, and carrying in her arms an M1014 Combat Shotgun, which was her favorite memento from her days in the service. Unlike the reaction of the younger generation, hers was but a simple and unsurprised huffing sound.
Roine took a deep breath. He did not wish to see it, this thing that caused so much distress, yet he knew that he had to. So he crept up behind Susie and Margaret, both of whom were sobbing softly, and forced his eyes to the mess on the ground. It appeared to be a raccoon, however, only the upper half remained somewhat intact -- the other end was a shredded heap of muscle, fur and innards; behind it the grass and cabin wall were wet with blood. The raccoon's right eye was swollen and red, as though it was close from bursting out, and still in death it bore an expression of utter horror. Repulsed, Roine sealed shut his eyes and turned away with a groan, the acids within him churning and rising. He then managed to look over at Patsy, who shuddered and whimpered uncontrollably. He knew that this carcass was affecting her the most, for she, unlike all the others, had seen the murderer...
"Everyone," he said in a low voice. "please return to your cabins. Stay there until further notice. I mean it."
The ten acquiesced and dispersed. Their heads were lowered, and their appetites were extinguished as they took with them the mute and painful reminder of death. Roine could only sigh at this, and when they had all returned to their rightful places, he wandered off to the Food Terrace, with Mucus following close behind. Thereafter his climbing of the red stairway, Roine positioned himself on one of the outside tables and slid the book under his left arm. When he finally spoke again, it was not of the current matter, but something of the past. Something that was worrying him more so...
"Ruby-- erm!" Roine flinched at the erroneous application and swiftly corrected himself, "Rubella. I must ask; how did Interpol ever find out about Jane's death?"
"Can't answer that one." she replied with a shrug. "They just called me on the cellular phone and..." Mucus trailed off, soon realizing that her answer did not correspond with that occurance, and at once her mouth fell.
"...But those devices do not work, do they?" Roine said, raising an eyebrow. "I also heard ex-Grand Master Heep headed the investigation. Would it surprise you if I said that he is not of this world?"
"I beg yer pardon? Ex-Grand Master?"
"Yes, of the Shadow Society; a fanatical cult dedicated to the genocide of anthropomorphs and abominations, founded exactly four-hundred and ten years ago. Basically, it was the progenitor of the National Socialist German Workers' Party. Now if these Uriah Heeps are one in the same, then that means something is very much wrong, seeing as no human has ever lived for that long..."
"And where did ya find out about this Shadow cult, Mister Trewavas?"
"In this little rarity here." Roine said, holding up that weathered book of his. "It's called 'The History Of The Shadow Society', by Sir Ahu Eephir. I would give it a read, if I were you." There was a short pause when he was struck with an odd feeling of familiarity. Then a brilliant look appeared on his face. "Wait a moment. Ahu Eephir. Ahu Eephir... yes!" Roine jumped to his feet, proclaiming, "I knew that name sounded familiar!"
Dumbfounded, Mucus unhanded the barrel of her gun and scratched her neck. "Ya'll losing me here..."
"He wrote something else of interest." he clarified. "A rather gruesome short story, which Miss Smiles read to us two nights ago."
"Was it in that 'Collection Of Horrific Tales' book?"
He gave her a firm nod. "Indeed it was."
"Ya positive? Cause I've gone through that book many times, and I don't remember that being in there." She watched as he settled down on the table again, his brilliance now morphing into absolute grimness. "...Somethin' the matter?"
"It just hit me. The name Ahu Eephir... it is an anagram."
"An anagram? Of...?"
In a laggard movement he faced her. Though eye-contact was made, it seemed like he was staring right through her, into space.
"Uriah Heep."