(A/N: I'm sorry about the late updates. I will eventually finish all of the stories I've posted. Once my brain stops rebelling...I still don't own anything in this story. It all belongs to Jim Henson and Co. and the Konami crew.)
He stumbled as they ran; she barely managed to catch a hold of his elbow and haul him back to his feet before they both tumbled to the cracked pavement. His breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat beaded along his brow. His eyes darted back and forth, searching the horizon for something, and though they were out of immediate danger, Sarah could feel his fear creeping into her.
Somehow, in the mere minutes they'd been in the hospital, the entire town had changed. The sky was black and speckled with thick flakes of snow. The pavement, though it was cracked before, now crumbled beneath her heels, chunks falling into the earth to reveal a latticework of metal beneath the streets. The buildings were a rusted red color, the surface wriggling with wormy red and black lines not unlike maggots.
The fog was even thicker than before, and the cold was so fierce it was almost a fire in her veins.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"It's the Otherworld," he said, "We've crossed over."
His voice rose sharply and his eyes were wide with madness.
"Otherworld?"
"We can't stay here," he continued.
His hands shook and sweat trickled down his face.
"Take a deep breath," she said, "Try to calm down."
He batted her hands away.
"You don't understand," he said.
"You're right," she said, "And later you can explain it to me, but right now, we have to get out of the streets. You're the only one who knows where to go; you have to stay calm."
His breathing slowed and some of the wild look faded from his eyes.
"Where can we go?" she asked.
He struggled to find an answer, his forehead wrinkling in concentration, but as he opened his mouth, a steady flapping sound began above them. Wind and sharp bits of ice struck her face; the flapping grew louder, closer. She started to reach for her purse, but it wasn't slung over her shoulder. Her heart flopped as she realized she must have lost it when she fell through the floor of that cafe. She didn't want to look up; she didn't want to see what monster lurked above them. The air above her stirred, and Jared screamed. He turned and ran, sprinting down the street and ducking into an alley.
"Jared!" she shouted, "You coward!"
Her head tilted up of its own accord.
Two glowing yellow eyes stared down at her, peering out of a gray-fleshed head. A sharp, jagged beak clucked together, and a thick purple tongue flicked out at her. The creature's body was scarred, and though it had no feathers, it was shaped like some sort of large owl. One of his shoulders oozed a thick, black liquid as though something had attacked and injured it.
It let out an unearthly shriek and collapsed at her feet.
For what felt like forever, she stood staring down at it, her heart hammering in her chest. It's breathing was erratic and labored and every so often, it twitched, mewling with pain. Despite herself, she found herself kneeling beside it.
Intelligence seemed to flicker in its eyes as it looked at her.
"Curiouser and curiouser," she said.
Gingerly, she reached out to touch the scarred flesh, surprised when it was soft and not slimy.
"You seem different from the other monsters. Things aren't always what they seem here," she said, "I wish there was something I could do to help you."
The creature shuddered and lifted its head. Its eyes seemed to plead with her, and she could almost hear it ask for help. If she just left it, some other creature would find it, maybe even the one that wounded it in the first place.
"There's nothing I can do," she said.
She stood, and the creature cried out pitifully.
"I'm not a vet," she said, "And you're a monster. If I did get you out of here, where could I take you? The government would just lock you in a cage somewhere for research."
But as it shuddered on the cold pavement, bleeding, she felt sympathy overcome rational thought. She tucked the hammer into the waistband of her slacks, and bent, bracing herself as she scooped the thing up into her arms.
"If you bite me," she cautioned, "I'm leaving you behind."
It closed its eyes and sighed. In the distance, a low moan cut through the darkness, making the owl-thing shudder and tense up. It struggled a bit, making her adjust her hold. Whatever prowled the streets was coming this way, she realized.
"You don't happen to know how to get to Annie's Bar or Alchemilla Hospital do you?"
But the owl-thing merely squawked, it's head bobbing weakly. The distant moan grew louder, and a chill crept up her spine. She followed the path Jared had taken, hurrying as best she could. He had ducked into the alley behind the Heaven's Night Club, and as she staggered to the club's back door, she was relieved to find he hadn't locked it behind him.
"Jared?" she called out, "Are you in here?"
She eased inside, shutting the door firmly behind her and locking it. There was no answer, but somehow, she wasn't surprised. He was the worst kind of coward, she decided. At least Hoggle overcame his fear. Jared seemed to wallow in his.
She surveyed the club with a critical eye. There were a dozen tables and chairs in various states of disrepair; some seemed sturdy enough to actually hold a bit of weight. Pushing aside empty bottles and old silverware, she cleared one of the tables and lay down the creature. It shuddered once and lay still, it's eyes half closed. The wound in its shoulder was not quite as bad as she first guessed, but it seeped a dark, foul smelling fluid that screamed infection.
"Just rest here," she told it, "I'll look for---for something useful."
She made her way to the bar; there were a number of assorted, unopened bottles that could still be of use. If she was lucky, there would be a first aid kit tucked away and unspoiled. Glass crunched under her heel, and the floor boards creaked. She hesitated, wondering just how sturdy the floor was. She took careful steps, easing her weight onto the old wood.
As she reached the bar, she forgot caution. She scrambled forward, eyes searching for anything that could be used to clean the owl-thing's wound. But there was no first aid kit carefully tucked out of sight. There was no clean roll of bandages or unopened bottle of alcohol to clean the wound. There were only a few bottles of old whiskey, a couple of coins, and some fruity health drink. She picked up one of the whiskey bottles; that at least could disinfect the wound. She twisted off the cap and took a sniff of the contents.
And nearly gagged. The bottle slipped through her fingers and crashed to the floor, foul liquid spilling everywhere. Whatever was in that bottle, it wasn't whiskey, and it smelled suspiciously like a combination of skunk and sour milk. She grabbed the health drink and hurried away from the stench. Turning back to the owl-thing, she opened the bottle.
It smelled a bit like cherries.
The owl-thing chirped and struggled to lift its head. It's eyes locked on the bottle, its purple tongue darting out of its mouth almost hungrily.
"You have got to be kidding," she said, "You don't actually want to drink something from this place. It could be poison."
She started to replace the lid, but the owl-thing squawked.
"You're serious," she said, sighing, "Alright, then."
She slid one arm under the creature and hoisted it up off the table; she brought the bottle to it's beak. But as she tilted it, the owl-thing turned its head away.
"Either you want it or you don't," she said, "Make up your mind."
She brought the bottle to its beak a second time, and again, it turned its head. She eased the creature back onto the table. It didn't want to drink it; she could understand that much. But why did it seem to want it? And what did it want it for? The bottle was brown with a white label; it didn't sparkle or shine. What other reason would make an unearthly creature stare at it in awe?
It looked up at her, holding her stare for a long moment.
"Help me out here," she said.
Slowly, deliberately it turned it's head and lifted it's injured shoulder off the table. It repeated the motion, chirping encouragingly.
"You want me," she began, "To pour a questionable health drink into an open, infected wound."
The owl-thing bobbed it's head.
"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder."
She upended the bottle over the wound, red liquid gushing over the creature's scarred flesh. It sighed and let out a moan of pleasure, it's eyes shutting lightly. She tossed the empty bottle to the floor and stepped back. For a moment, nothing happened. The creature lay still, cooing.
At once, it's muscles tensed, it's head rearing back as it shrieked. Tendrils moved beneath its skin, winding and coiling this way and that. Bumps rose along the surface, forcing through the skin and elongating like porcupine quills The center of the quills puffed out like feathers, and the ashen color paled until it was pristine and white. The creature writhed disappearing beneath the mass of feathery white. It seemed to shrink in on itself a bit, feathers smoothing until all that remained of the creature was a white, barn owl.
She couldn't move, couldn't tear her gaze away.
The owl lay still for barely a second before it started to glow. Tiny lights sparkled around it, dancing as the owl grew, stretching and twisting until the light blinded her. She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could. Still, the light seeped in past her eyelids. The creature screamed, and the light pulsed.
And then, silence. The light was gone, leaving her to wonder what just happened. Dare she open her eyes? A soft and very human moan tore her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes, and who did she see stretched out on the floor?
Nestled under a white, feathered cloak lay one barely conscious Goblin King.