Soren's eyes glazed as she stared at the room. Simple, yet dark. The interior of this farmhouse had gone to wreckage just as the weeds outside. She slipped her fingers around the lamp's cable within the entryway and found it to be inoperable. The click of the wire sent shivers down her spine.
"Yes," the mayor chimed in, "the power will be on in the morning." His smile reached his eyes even as it had become dark in the room. He reached into his coat, pulling out a tealight packet and matches which Soren only could see by the moonlight through the windows. "I brought these, each should last about an hour. Oh, I also made you a crate to get started. It's over there."
The exploration of the farm had taken longer than anticipated, and Soren, with sweat on her brow, was a least happy for the ending of Mayor Lewis's berating about the state of the farm. The old man pointed to the corner where a large crate lied. It looked dusty and crudely manufactured, though in this light, it was difficult to discern much of anything. She was, however, thankful for hardwood beneath her feet.
"Thank you, Lewis," she spoke as she took the items carefully, stuffing them into one of her jacket pockets. No electricity, she thought. She was afraid of the dark, but one night without light is better than one on the streets. "Should I see you tomorrow?" she said, apprehensive.
He nodded, his wiry, grayed beard guarding his expression, "Absolutely. I'll run by, give you the ropes. I'm not worth much in my age now, but I can certainly guide you on getting started. And, there's some of Marnie's eggs on the counter top and a propane stove there if you're hungry. You know how to use one, I presume?"
Soren blushed, "Yes, I know how to use it. Thank you."
Mayor Lewis dipped into a slight bow and said, "Good, I'll see you in the morning. I think Jody may be over with some food for you as well."
The man dipped his hat slightly, turning his back to her. His eyes were set on hers as he turned, however; and she saw something. Or thought she did. What is that? she thought. She saw his eyes gleam with some sort of golden sparkle. Not one that you imagine from a helpful old man, no: it was uneasy. She shrugged involuntarily.
"I—I'll tell her thank you," Soren choked, holding her bags more firmly to her body.
"No need to be nervous. She's kind. The key is there on the hook. I recommend you lock up tonight."
He disappeared then. A swift flurry of air came through the doorway and settled with a clank.
Soren, slow, glanced to the hook, nearly undiscovered amongst the darkness. She quickly readied herself to lock it, dropping her bags. Her hands were not as steady as she had hoped as the key dropped between her slippery fingers.
Sweat dripped on Soren's palms, but why? He had been kind, but a presence was left behind, one she could not shake. The key writhed in her grasp, but she managed to find the keyhole, and the sudden click whisked some of the sweat from her body. Her lungs though struggled for air. One, two, three...
She was in this new place, a new time, a new future for her. Things were never going to be like before. Her hands reached for her pockets, pulling out her phone, and she saw the red indicator light. Oh right, she thought, it's dead. And it's dark.
Her clammy hands now proved to be a hinderance worse than before as she struggled to find the matches within her coat's pockets. The plastic surface slid between her fingertips, but why? Why was she so nervous? The moon illuminated most of the space; she truly wasn't in total darkness.
The match stick lit as she found her bearings and plucked a tealight from her coat. Unsteady hands became determined to light the wick, and another slow sigh released from her as the wick caught flame.
There. Something.
In the embrace of the light's comfort, Soren beckoned to her thoughts. There was something strange just now. The mayor's request to lock the door seemed welcome though unnecessary; of course, she knew to lock her doors at night. She was from the city after all. Perhaps she was just hungry.
Soren stood, breathing, tealight in hand, bags strewn about the floor. She placed the tealight on the dining table. The kitchen was simple: a wood stove and a mini-fridge. The simplicity reminded her of her parent's cabin: an a-line frame with few amenities. On the counter top sat a camping stove, and Soren presumed this must be a gift from the mayor. Beside it lied a carton of eggs.
She gingerly peeked into the package, her shaking hands sticking to the cardboard. A single word escaped her lips:
"...B-black?"
Soren buffeted. Not only black but with reddish spots. These eggs were similar in pattern to the brown ones her parents had bought from the market years ago, but the off-color unsettled her. She had never seen anything like it. Timid, she took an egg from the carton, turned and analyzed it. The rough surface felt just as farm-fresh eggs did. No off-smell, just… black. Odd.
Her hands instinctively reached for her bag, grabbing her water bottle. The mess caused by the tumbling bags within the bus hardly impacted her memory, and she opened the faucet to the sink, bottle in hand. She filled it, and dropped the egg within. Thank goodness the water was on.
"Huh?"
The abrupt exasperation escaped her lips. The egg fell quickly. It was fresh.
"Wh-what?"
Soren couldn't help but express this frustration. Were these a product of Stardew Valley? And if they were, shouldn't she have known? Her stomach growled as she contemplated the thought of eating something so unfamiliar. Though, she should eat. She hadn't had money for food on the journey, never mind the bus fee.
Soren searched for a pan uneasily. She found oil and salt within the cupboards and prepared them on the counter top. Her limited knowledge of camping came to fruition as she lit the propane stove with a match. A grateful sigh left her as she feared an explosion. She washed two of the eggs and cracked them into the pan. They looked rather normal on the inside.
"Oh, right," she murmured, hesitant. She led herself to the window, investigating how to pry it. Propane indoors without airflow wasn't a good sight; her father taught her that, at least. She toughed through two of the calcium-sealed windows, and a cool breeze wafted through the space. The eggs were beginning to bubble. She stirred her meal with chopsticks from her luggage, and the draft grew louder. A piercing chill encapsulated her body as she heard the howl of the night outside. She turned. There…
A grumble. Something strange. Perhaps a raccoon? A coyote? No... Soren tensed, not seeing beyond the range of her dining table tealight. The grumbling ceased for a moment, the only noise betraying her the sound of frying eggs. The wind whisked throughout the house now, and goosebumps began to prick Soren's skin. An eerie feeling wafted over her. She reached out to shutter the kitchen window -
She was caught by the arm. Fingers, maybe a claw, around her wrist. A visage stood before her, holding her arm taut. Detecting their face in this dim light proved fruitless, but they seemed vaguely familiar and human.
"What-hm!"
A hand closed around her lips, sealing the sound within. They subdued her easily, moving her around like a dance. Her choked breath spilled through with little success, through theirs rested on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I'm really hungry," they husked. The voice was unfamiliar. They held her closely. She feared the worst, the sweat on her palms now beginning to drip and freeze.
The veins in her neck constricted. Her eyes went dark, fading in and out as her consciousness failed. Searing white pain traveled through her body-pain she had never felt before. She could no longer feel her shoulder.
It was hell: THIS was hell. This must be the pain her parents told her about. Bleary eyes could not make out what was happening, but she felt as if her spine was cut in half. A thud crept beneath her. The goosebumps on her arms subsided as her body melted into the chill beneath her.
The floor. I'm on the floor. It's cold and wet, but also… warm?
Soren slipped into an unconscious state, devoid of life.
"Sorry, I…" whispered a choked, wetted voice, panting as he spoke. "I-I'll fix this."
A/N: Thought I'd come back to this. It's only been 6 years! Shorter chapters likely as I'd like to make one a week preferably. I'll fix my dumb conjugation at some point on the first chapter.
