Prelude

Shadows streaked across the narrow valley as the lowering sun began to crest the Western mountain tops. This, of course, meant there was a little over an hour before things started to actually get dark. Edmund looked across the small fields of carrots, potatoes, and corn, giving them a final once-over before nodding to himself. He hoisted the last couple bags of harvested vegetation over to the semi-barn to store them for the time being. The next couple of days would feature the laborious task of hauling the harvest to his abode atop the Western mountain ridge. In the meantime, they would be fine waiting in the makeshift barn. Probably.

The semi-barn had been a metal walled semi-trailer before its undercarriage parts, such as the wheels and axels, had been removed. Additionally, a makeshift arched roof had been constructed atop the trailer, ensuring a more effective runoff for rainwater. It had sat stationary for well over a decade by now, and was one of the last remnants of the refugee camp that had once called the valley home. The other remnants being the small portions of crops that Edmund had bothered to maintain, as well as a couple of nearby pre-invasion homes that were now decrepit and overgrown with fauna.

Edmund once more reminisced upon the possible fate of the lost refugees before closing up the semi-barn and wading through the waist-high overgrowth to the treeline. Any shrubs or briars that were feeling particularly grabby got a solid thwack from his old machete. He finally managed to break through into the forest, at which point the overgrowth ceased. Really, it was like stepping inside some kind of building. From the outside, it was a veritable wall of plants that seemed impenetrable; but beneath the trees the underbrush thinned to a collection of decomposing leaves, a shallow layer of undergrowth, and discarded braches of various sizes. The thinning canopy above cast a shadowy, multi-color pattern of greens, reds, yellows, and browns across the forest floor.

Freshly fallen leaves crunched satisfyingly beneath Edmund's feet as his trek took him up the familiar mountainside. Other's might have been worried with the additional noise, on account of what dangers may or may not lurk in the forested mountains but he lacked such concerns. For the past fifteen-odd years he had comfortably lived under a simple mindset of "whatever happens, happens." His inevitable death had not weighed upon him in many decades now, not that he would actively seek it for any particular reason. Of course this mindset had led to the occasional close call, be it with wildlife, the terrain, or even more rarely, a fellow human.

Continuing through the forest, reflecting upon the coming winter and his own mortality, Edmund slowly became aware of an unnatural quiet that was falling over the forest. He froze, the crunch of his final footstep being swallowed in the all-encompassing silence that had befallen his surroundings. His skin began to crawl as he began to feel the encroaching sensation that he was being watched. Time seemed to lose its meaning as the silence persisted. He recalled the legends of cryptids that supposedly lurked in the mountains. Even at the fleeting edges of said mountains was one to be cautious.

This song and dance was not unfamiliar to him by this point, however. The hint of a smile crept across his face as he focused his eyes and ears, waiting for the slightest hint of movement. Occasionally, is he was quick enough, he could catch the dark flash of this something as it ducked back into cover. But not this time it seemed, as the silent seconds drag on for an eternity. A stiff Autumn breeze blew through the trees, shattering the silence with the rustling of the canopy and disrupting visual movement as a flurry of leaves fell to the ground. And with that, the chirping and skittering of a lived-in forest began to creep back into prominence. Edmund felt a burning catch in the back of his throat, however. The breeze carried with it a familiar stench of death.

He diverted from his course to investigate the stench, if for no other reason than to confirm his suspicions as to its origins. After a few minutes of walking, the smell increasing in intensity as he went, he came across the origins. The cadaver of a deer, a young buck to be more precise, lay broken beneath a tree. The way it was twisted was indicative of having multiple broken bones including its neck and back, and there were several chunks haphazardly torn from its flesh. Edmund gagged as he circled around the beast, hoping that being upwind of it would lessen the stench. After eying the body for a short moment he picked up a stick, beginning to poke and prod the deer as he looked for the usual tells.

Find them he did, as he located a pair of puncture wounds near the base of the neck, as well as slimy grey-green ooze leaking from many of the wounds. This viscous toxin, whatever it was, warbled the air around it much akin to how extreme heat does, but what was unfortunate was how it left the entire body contaminated to the point that nothing could consume it. Nothing except whatever had torn away the chunks of flesh for consumption, he assumed. Not even maggots would partake in the decomposition of victims like this. Sure, he felt bad that the deer had died in such a manner, but he felt more for the waste of meat and resources that this killing entailed.

Then again, this was not the first time this had happened, and he doubted it would be the last. After so many years of this, he was certain the culprit had to be the entity that stalked him. He wondered if he should be scared by the capabilities of this unknown thing, but shrugged it off and continued his trek. After all, it had been over ten years of encountering this thing, and not once had it done anything more than observe him from the shadows.

He casually ruminated on the entity as he continued up the hillside. Given the nature of the world, post alien invasion as it was, he felt safe in an assumption that this thing was brought here with the Elder's other 'toys'. Its nature was a bit trickier to nail down, though he had a small list of evidence that he'd scraped up over the years. The toxins and almost vampiric puncture wounds from deer and other larger animals implied injected venoms. The pair of slitted, magenta eyes that he had rarely caught a glimpse of in the right light were an intriguing aspect, though inconclusive on their own. The most compelling find, however, had been a small patch of shed skin about the size of his hand. The outline of scales imbedded in this skin had been larger than his fingernails, implying this thing was of a not insignificant size.

The fact of shed skin and scales, in conjunction with the other evidence, had clarified that this stalking entity was most likely reptilian in nature, or at least some reasonable facsimile thereof. Even so, many questions lacked quantifiable answers. Why was it stalking him? Why did it never attack? Why would it leave him alone for months at a time, only to stalk him non-stop when it showed back up? Why was it getting quiet again...?

Edmund's mind shifted back to his surroundings as his home came within view, the silence having engulfed the woods once more. He didn't stand quite as still as earlier; instead, slowly turning his head to better look at the various birdhouses he had scattered around his house. Some hung, some were on posts, some nailed to the trees, but all of them sat quiet. See, this is exactly why he had put these things up; they made for a natural detection system. But while he normally would have simply continued into his house, a critical fact was preventing him from doing so today.

Horizontal light from the setting sun cut through the trees and scattered across the structure. What was once supposed to be a large vacation house had never been finished, leaving only a couple of rooms livable and the rest as a skeletal wooden frame scatted across the rest of the concrete foundation. Post-invasion additions to the structure were a twenty foot metal tower laden with dishes, relays, and wiring, that had been erected in the middle of the foundation, as well as solar panels atop the livable area's roof. The livable rooms at the edge of the foundation were going to be the entrance and living room, and the master bedroom and bathroom.

While most of the familiar scene was as it should be, the problem lay with the front door. More specifically, that it was quite noticeably ajar. If the forest stalker had decided to invade his home, this would mark a significant... escalation. Unlike the usual, almost normalized encounters, Edmund actually found himself growing increasingly nervous as possible scenario's and outcomes rattled around in his mind. He was unable to spot any movement from inside the door or the bedroom window, but he knew he would have to move in sooner rather than later, much to his chagrin. As much as he disliked having to act outright, the night was swiftly approaching and dealing with this in the darkness disliked him even more. Besides, Monty was in there alone with this intruder, and he'd hate to see his friend hurt due to his inactivity.

Making sure to keep his eyes on the door as much as possible, he swapped the machete to his left hand and unholstered his trusty old glock. He broke line of sight with the door just long enough to check the magazine, before sliding it back in and flicking the safety off. Slowly, tentatively, he began to approach the front door. His gaze darted up and down, attempting to simultaneously look out for movement while gauging the best placement for each careful step. Nervousness turned to an unusual, if not unfamiliar, mix of panic and conviction as theoreticals and unknowns continued swirling like a maelstrom in his mind.

The light continued to wane as he finally stepped out from the tree-line, only a couple paces from the door and whatever lay within. He glanced to the bedroom window and to the surrounding treeline one last time before affixing his gaze squarely on the door. His hand crafted sign still hung from the door; 4 thin planks with wood-burnt wording etched into them that were held aloft and together by a metal wire.

Yes, I'm
occupied.
please,
don't steal.

Edmund idly lamented how, up to this point, the sign had done its job swimmingly. Then again, it's not like he knew the intruder was thieving. Either way, never let it be said that he didn't at least try to resolve things amicably...

"Knock knock, I've got a glock." He announced in a firm, yet casual manner. "Make yourself known, or be in for a shock." He hoped the casual approach would help soothe the tensions of the recipient, though he was fully prepared to follow through with his implications.

Silence settled again. Edmund's bent knee's and slight hunch, a posture in which he figured to be ready to spring into action, ached his muscles terribly from the earlier chores. But discomfort could wait, because he began to hear movement from inside.

"Edmund...?" The coarse voice asked from somewhere within with slightly groggy undertones. A sharp inhale preceded further speech. "'Bout time. Was beginning to worry."

Edmund's tension eased, and his shoulders slumped slightly. "...Damien?" Relief at the mildly familiar voice began settling concerns, yet skepticism still remained. He wasn't fool enough to immediately accept this at face value, after all. Speech mimicry, or some other trickery may yet be afoot.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he continued, allowing a more casual demeanor to befall his speech. "How'd you even find my place?"

"It's been near a year since you come down to our little camp, man. I was beginning to worry for your health." The voice continued, its rough texture reverberating off the inside walls.

"So you tracked down my home, alone, just to check up on little old me?" Edmund replied, playful sarcasm readily apparent in his tone.

"Well, yeah..."

"And nothing else...?" he continued, his face deadpanning in an exaggerated manner in case the voice's host could see him. Silence fell again for a moment that seemed to drag out.

"Well..." the voice finally replied with a hint of guilt, "maybe that stockpile of yours as well."

Edmund laughed through his nose. "Oh, you just wanted to make sure my stash was alright, eh?"

"Can't a guy do both?" It retorted, a little defensive now.

Edmund's smile grew as he stood up straight, shaking his head in amusement. Now he was modestly confident that this was the genuine article. "I guess," he continued in a mildly jovial tone as he stepped up to the door. "But I'm coming in now, so don't shoot or you'll never get your hands on 'em." He didn't bother waiting for a response before stepping up the makeshift brick steps and opening the door the rest of the way.

Most of the right wall was a web of electronics that corresponded with the tower on the other side of the wall, as well as the solar panels affixed to the roof. Power junctions, a couple of battery-packs for storing the solar power, a collection of radio gear and other electronics resting on an L-shaped desk in the far right corner, and various wires neatly snaking between everything. The far wall was relatively bare with a window opposite of the front door casting a meager amount of light into the room, as well as a small table beneath it. A large, tattered rug covered most of the room's empty center. The left wall consisted of two doors at either end of the room, with a moderately in-tact and occupied couch filling the wall between them.

The couch's occupant lay leaned up against the armrest, one leg hanging idly off onto the floor, leveling a shotgun at the entryway. Edmund's mossberg, to be more precise. The man was clad in heavy boots, worn cargo pants, and a dark jacket that was bulged out from the Kevlar vest and other supplies that likely resided within it. He took a brief moment to visually confirm that the couch's occupant was, in fact, Damien before letting out a relaxed sigh.

"Ooohhh, there's a shapeshifter on my couch!" Edmund joked, exaggeratedly waggling his machete ad Damien as he holstered the pistol. His diffusal of the tension seemed effective as Damien lowered the gun and rolled his eyes. Edmund walked over and bumped the boot hanging off the side of the couch lightly. "You better not have done anything to Monty. And really though, get your boots off my couch. Not cool, dude.

"Nice to see you too, Ed. And if you're referring to your pet, then no I didn't bother it." Damien grumbled groggily as he sat upright. He let the shotgun rest across his legs as he wiped some sleep from his eyes. "And, really though, glad you're not dead, dude," he concluded, mimicking the tone of Edmund's last remark.

"Well, thank you. I suppose it's nice to be missed by someone." He lamented the idea for a moment, a quiet falling over the room. The deafening silence inside and out reminded him the entity was still about, so he went over and closed the door. "So then I guess you'll be staying the night," he continued casually, "Not like I'd send you out there to wander alone in the dead of night."

"You're too kind." A smile crept across Damien's face. "...Figure we could crack open a cold one to pass some time?"

Edmund couldn't help but rub the temple of his brow and shake his head. However, he'd be lying if he claimed that he wasn't amused by the man's predictability. He walked over and grabbed his mossberg from Damien's lap, going to mount it next to his rifle by the front door. "You know those are one of my only methods of bartering with you guys, right? So what am I gonna' get in return?" He curtly replied while hanging the machete from a hook next to the other weapons.

"You mean my good company isn't worth paying for?"Damien retorted sounding a little put off, though this was likely intended to be humorous. Edmund tilted his head down and raised his eyebrows, exaggerating his unimpressed expression to further play into their banter. Damien chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

The comical expression on Edmund's face shifted to a more contemplative one, rubbing the thick scruff around his jaw line in thought. "Tell you what though," he began slowly, "how's this sound? I let you pick one, any one you want, and we count it as a favor for me to call in when I want or need. ...Within reason, of course. Not like I'd expect you to hand over your first born or anything radical like that."

The tired man leaned back into the couch, thinking for a moment. A curt nod and a slap of his knees confirmed his decision was made. "Sure! Why not." He hefted himself up off his cozy spot on the couch. "So, where's the stockpile? Cause, you know... I ain't found squat lookin' around the place."

Edmund grinned and tapped the side of his forehead. "Safe and secure. Now step over there, if you would kindly," he replied, motioning the other hand to the other side of the room. Damien complied, allowing Edmund to squat down and roll the rug to one side. Two seams cutting across the boards implied a portion of the floor was removable, which was further reinforced by a pair of wholes just big enough to fit a few fingers into. Edmund did so, pulling the portion of floor to the side with a groan on the wood. Beneath was about a couple of feet of crawlspace where pipes and such would have gone. Beneath the opening, however, was a large, black, metal door imbedded into the concrete foundation. A dial, akin to that of a safe, stood pronounced from the monolith's surface next to a handle.

Damien let out a long whistle, to which Edmund simply nodded in agreement. The latter followed it up by twirling his finger around. "Turn around now, please. No peeking the combination."

Damien grumbled slightly but relented. His patience would be rewarded in due time. For now, Edmund made quick work of the familiar dial, a final click signifying the unlocking of the door. The hinges groaned loudly as he lifted the door up so that it rested against the edge of the hole in the floor. Damien turned back around at the sound, and looked down into the new opening. He regretted his decision, as a pungent and rotten smell rose from the dark depths. He recoiled slightly and covered his nose with an arm.

"Good lord, what's that smell?"

"Fertilizer production. You get used to it," Edmund replied casually. "Wait here a tick, I'll go get the light."

Damien watched silently as Edmund basically crawled backwards down a set of narrow steps into the basement. He lost sight as Edmund reached the bottom and stepped into the absolute dark. Slight murmurs and footsteps occupied his attention while he waited for something to happen. After a moment, and a triumphant "Gotchya," a soft glow clicked on and shed light on the stairs. Damien took a deep breath and climbed down the stairs into the musty basement. The base of the stairs opened into a wide room, lit dimly by a single, curly light bulb in the center of the ceiling. Damien had just enough headroom, but he couldn't help but snicker at Edmund having to hunch over.

"Yes, yes, laugh it up," Edmund retorted curtly. "See, this is what I mean when I tell you being tall has its downsides."

"Yeah, but being a foot taller than everyone sure helps with a bunch'a other things, don't it?" Damien continued, stepping further into the room.

"I suppose." Edmund tried to nod, but doing so was difficult in his position. "Anyway, might as well get your bearings. These are the source of the smell," he continued, motioning to the right. 4 boxes on legs, reminiscent of dressers but without the drawers, lined up along the wall. "Earthworm farms. Good for recycling, fertilizer, and occasional protein." He diverted his attention to the far side of the room from the stairs. The far wall was occupied with simple makeshift shelves made from 2-by-4's and cinderblocks. The shelves and surrounding wallspace were strewn with varying boxes, bags, and other bits and bobs. "Back wall is general storage and my Old World Archive. My archive being books, couple of DVD's and VHS's, you get the idea."

"And here," he continued, motioning to the left, "is what I'm sure you're actually interested in. My arsenal of alcohol." The left wall was an intricate honeycomb of varnished wood that served as a wine rack that spanned the entire length of the room. The majority of slots were vacant, but the ones that were occupied were done so in separated clusters to keep things sorted. At a glance, Damien could guess there were a few dozen bottles remaining across the racks. It was no wonder Edmund liked to call it an arsenal. The tall man walked over to the wall and pointed out which groups consisted of what. Wine, Vodka, Whisky, Gin, and so on.

Damien looked across the shelves hungrily, barely knowing where to even begin. "Where on Earth did you get all of this?" he humbly asked as he pulled a wine out to check its date.

"Honestly, most of it was here when we found the place. Oh, and by 'we' I mean the settlement I used to be associated with. You know, that old tale. As for the rest of it, I brought it up here after everyone up and vanished. Same for a lot of my other things, like the couch." Edmund paused, reminiscing for but a moment. He pursed his lips as his train of thought shifted back to a more relevant subject. "By the way, while I have you here, I'm curious about something."

"Hmm?" Damien hummed idly while reading labels.

"Have you or your people ever noticed your 'Shadow'?" Edmund asked as casually as he could. Damien stopped reading and turned to him, raising a brow.

"No no, not your shadow, I mean..." Edmund paused, struggling to put his thoughts to words. "You ever get the overwhelming, unnerving sensation that something is watching you?"

Damien paused, his eyes wandering as he thought. "Yeah...? I mean, feels like that happened a couple time just on my way lookin' for your place. Figured it might've been you."

Edmund grinned slightly, his suspicions somewhat confirmed. "Nah, wasn't me. See, whatever's causing that feeling is what I call my Shadow. You know, cause it seems like it's always right there with you, just out of sight?" Damien nodded, indicating his understanding. "See, I get it pretty often up here in the mountains, but I was wondering if you guys ever get the same thing down where you're set up."

Damien rubbed the scruff of his chin thoughtfully. "I'd never really experienced it myself before today, but I sometimes hear folks talkin' about feelin' like they're bein' watched. Usually when they leave the camp, of course, but sometimes someone'll think they saw something at the edge of camp." He furrowed his brow and looked up, meeting Edmund's gaze.

"You saying we should be worried?" Damien looked to the exit reflexively, his mind slipping away from the alcohol's allure. "I mean, I've been hearing rumors that Advent's really kicked things up a notch. XCOM's been making waves, and if the rumors are to be believed then whole settlements are getting razed in retaliation. Now you're tellin' me there's monsters in the woods?"

"I've heard the rumors over the radio, yes." Edmund half-smiled, attempting to put on a reassuring expression. "But I don't know about our 'silent observer'. I mean, my Shadow's been lurking around for nigh 15 years now, and it's not done anything but watch from the shadows. So who's to say? I was just curious if this was a 'crazy from isolation' thing, or if it was more of a common occurrence. Seems the latter is the more likely."

"Regardless, I say don't worry about it. It's probably nothing more than some curious critter," Edmund concluded with a ginger pat on Damien's shoulder. "Now let's find you a drink to get you outta' this smell." Damien eagerly nodded and went back to perusing his options.

Truthfully, Edmund did not plan on sharing the more intricate insight he had gathered regarding his Shadow. However, where better to discuss these things than in the one place it likely couldn't eavesdrop? After all, it was not overtly hostile to Edmund, nor did it appear to be so with his neighbors, so why get people riled up and start trouble where there was none? After all, what fool picks a fight with the unknown? The classic cinematic quote "Dont start nothin', won't be nothin'." ran through his head, concluding this line of thought for the time being.

Eventually Damien found a quality whisky that caught his attention, and eagerly chose it as his pick. He nursed on it the rest of the evening, doing most of the talking while Edmund was content to listen for the most part. Eventually he'd had enough and fell asleep on the couch, though Edmund made sure his boots were left off and by the door. The rest of the whisky could accompany him on the return trip.

Edmund, however, took note that the Shadow was still lurking about even after Damien dozed off. He grinned to himself, concluding to end the evening as he had done plenty a time. He opened his window to "let in some fresh air," turned on a reading lamp, and grabbed his old copy of the Lord of the Rings. Settling into an old recliner in the bedroom, he opened the old tome to the bookmark he'd left and began reading out loud. Time lost meaning as he made his way through a couple of chapters, but eventually the sound of crickets and other night life returned as the silence dissipated.

With the Shadow having its fill of literature for the night—at least that's what he liked to think—he resigned himself to his bed and the rest it eagerly offered.