Something tickled my subconscious. And not like that one time Trish tied me up and used a feather to tickle me either. This was more… alarming.

Okay, fine, that was a dream. Trish and I never hooked up, much to my chagrin. The worst part? I really thought the other night was going to be the night. But then… Kurt.

The titillation at hand turned out to be a noise that was out of time with the natural rhythm of rainfall still peppering the roof. I couldn’t quite place it at first. Then, after a few seconds awake, I realized it seemed almost like someone chewing on something.

Gross, smacking, slurping, wet sounds.

My eyes popped open. A fleeting hope passed through me that I was awakening from a bad dream by someone in the Heart-Shaped Box chomping on bar-nuts and back in my world. Or better yet, my bed. My home. Somewhere familiar.

Except, that would be weird if someone was eating in my bed. Okay, I’d prefer the bar.

As ever, my luck continued to fail me. I was in a barn. With an N. At some point in the night, I’d covered myself with some of the hay to ward off the chill. I glanced around, eyes blurry, brain hazy. Oh, it was just something gnawing on my arm.

Wait—what?

I shot bolt upward and saw the huddled form of… something bent over my arm.

The leg of lamb!

It was still tight in my grip. Even as my mind reconciled with the situation, that sloppy sucking sound and loud munching magnified. And someone’s cold, clammy hand held my arm firmly in place.

What the hell has my arm?

A pale blue screen popped up, reminding me that the screen existed and clearly had pertinent information for me.

HAG.

Dick.

No. You’re looking at a hag.

She was highlighted in blue…

NAME: Unknown

OCCUPATION: Hag

RACE: Unknown (Female… probably)

SPECIAL ABILITIES: Unknown, and you probably don’t want to know.

WEAPONS: Same as above

What the hell is a hag?

I asked all this while watching the haggard-looking thing and feeling its disgusting drool all over my hand and forearm.

HAGS: Magical, sentient creatures who typically appear as wizened old crones. Thriving—or trying to—they normally inhabit areas just on the edge of civilization. Though not a requirement to be old and ugly, they normally are. Most hags are able to cast spells and work various forms of sorcery from middling to great effect.

I jerked my arm free, pulling the leg of lamb away also.

“Noooooo,” a voice moaned, sounding physically pained.

I guess now might be a good time to remind you that you’re unarmed, and relatively scrawny.

Too bad your sarcasm is utterly worthless in a fight.

Would you like to try sweet-talking the hag?

I’d like to try wringing your neck.

I was interrupted by the sight of the hag spinning toward me. Instinctively, I scrambled backward like a crab into the inn’s exterior wall.

“Who are you?” I stammered.

Having apparently ventured outside of the “highlighting zone,” the blue glow vanished, replaced by a putrid green light illuminating the small space around us. Likewise, the effect washed over the visage of a horribly disfigured crone dressed in layers of filthy rags. Her face looked like an old, withered map where warts and pockmarks stood as landmarks, but her golden eyes sparkled despite her grim appearance.

“I am Phlegm. And I am hungry.” She jabbed at the leg of lamb with one crooked finger. “I have traveled for many days without sustenance. Give me that so I may feast.”

I raised the leg of lamb. It looked utterly pathetic, and yet…

“This is literally all that I have in this world,” I told her.

Phlegm cocked her head. “What path in life would grant a man naught but a leg of animal flesh to make his way upon it?”

I tried to come up with a witty retort, but the truth was, I had no idea. I was still trying to figure out why I was even in this world.

“I was a… bard,” I stammered. “From a faraway land. I, uh… I played and sang songs. I’m sorry, did you say your name was Phlegm?”

At that, what passed for eyebrows rose on Phlegm’s face. She stood and licked her horribly chapped lips, an act that made my stomach lurch. Had I said something wrong?

“A faraway land, you say?” she asked.

“Uh. Yeah.” Though my response was reluctant with her towering over me, I nodded.

“A bard?” Her head cocked.

“A musician and singer.”

“You lie to me,” she snapped. “Bards have instruments. You have none. Who would call themselves a bard and yet have no simple thing with which to make music?”

“True enough,” I said. “But I was a bard. Just not a very good one, apparently.”

“Tell me more,” Phlegm demanded.

“I… hmmm. Well, my lute was destroyed earlier this evening—last night?—by a crazed group of drunken braugs who smelled worse than this stable. They didn’t appreciate my… style of music.”

The screen flashed.

NEW OBJECTIVE:

Make a bargain with the hag.

REWARD: ???

I frowned, which I’d been doing a lot lately.

How the hell do I do that?

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Hey, I can’t give you all the answers.

I’d settle for a few.

Phlegm cackled. “A bard so bad that his instrument got destroyed by mindless barbarians. That is indeed a conundrum for you.” Her eyes flitted toward the leg of lamb. “And yet, you still manage to possess an item of great value to me.”

“This thing?” I held up the meat, chunks of its flesh hanging by strands.

“I have not eaten for many days,” the hag repeated.

“That makes two of us.” I wasn’t counting what little I’d choked down earlier against my will.

“Give it here,” Phlegm said. “I will gladly devour it.”

I regarded the leg of lamb. It was revolting, but it was still mine. Sooner or later, I’d have to eat something. Just that thought alone nearly called back the puke.

“I have to keep it for myself,” I said. Then, softer, added, “Not that I’m looking forward to it.”

“You are young,” she replied. “Too young, some would say. You can survive without much. But I require more. Give it here.”

She lurched for me, but I drew back. Oh, and guess what? She reeked. Par for the course. Not like the raw sewage stench of Curr, mind you. More like that sort of rotting plant life by ponds and creeks. Like something had died recently and hadn’t been washed away completely. What was it about this world that everything stank in equally offensive ways?

I really have to make a bargain with this creature?

Yup. Enjoy yourself, kid.

What if she wants my… body?

Not even she is that desperate.

I swallowed. Nothing ever came easy. Our eyes met, and I was instantly reminded of the time when I was a kid and my mother brought me to visit Gram in the retirement home. Food fragments hung about her lips and chin. Some kind of eye goop trickled down—that might’ve been infected. Her hair was matted with muck.

As my gaze passed across Phlegm’s warts, an idea came to me. Bargaining was a two-way street.

“You ask me to give you the only source of food I have,” I said. “What would you offer in return?”

Phlegm’s eyes lit up. “Would you make a bargain with this old woman? Would you give her a meal in exchange for something that you desire or require?”

I hesitated. This had to be played right or else I’d fail another objective. And I wasn’t sure I’d always receive a second chance.

“I suppose it would depend,” I said, dangling the temptation before her in the form of a rotted carcass.

After a moment of silence, Phlegm clapped. It scared the hell out of me. I think I even jumped. “Let us do it. Let us strike a bargain. And then I will feast, and you may return to your slumber.”

I smiled like a gameshow host. “What would you offer me for this glorious leg of lamb?”

I held the lamb high, feeling like an idiot. Phlegm stared at it, saliva already dripping from her mouth. I noticed the meat had a sickly green slime on it and couldn’t decide if it was from Phlegm or just the natural spoiling process doing its thing. Either way, there was no way I was gonna eat something so disgusting. The fact that it looked appealing to anyone, even her, was beyond me.

“A bard with no instrument is no bard at all,” Phlegm said. “For my part, I will replace the lute that was destroyed earlier this evening.”

I tried desperately to recall anything I knew about bards. They seemed kind of lame. I guess that meant I sounded kind of lame.

After a moment, I said, “It’s not only the instrument that makes a bard, but an ability to weave a tapestry of words and songs and woo an audience with them.”

Phlegm cackled again. “So, you doubt your abilities as well?”

I heard Curr’s voice in my head again, telling me how awful I was in no uncertain terms.

“Let’s just say that I can admit they may not exactly be my strongest attribute at the moment.”

Phlegm frowned. “You ask a steep price for that sliver of meat.”

“Sliver? There’s so much juicy meat here.” I swallowed back a gag. “More than enough to sustain you for several days. That alone would be worth the price.”

“You strike a fine deal, young bard. Woo them, you shall.”

Phlegm’s hands waved in front of me, then almost seemed to dance as she spoke in low tones, muttering some sort of phrase three times before finally speaking to me again.

“Give me the leg of lamb and desire shall come to fruition before the sun sets once more.”

I scoffed. “That’s it? You expect me to hand this over without seeing anything in exchange?”

Phlegm spat a gob of mucus at me, which fortunately missed. “Foolish man. You think I can make something appear out of thin air when I am so weakened with hunger? Even one such as I cannot perform so grand a feat. But believe what I tell you—what you seek shall be yours. Even now, the gods conspire to deliver it into your hands. The instrument will find you.”

“And my… singing?”

What really sucked was my whole life I’d believed myself to be a fine singer. Even paid the bulk of my bills doing so. My band opened for some pretty big acts back in the day. I don’t know what happened, but here, I sounded like a hog being run over by a tractor.

In Willistown, crooning some old cover-tunes was enough for my usual crowd of cougars. I was young, virile, and had nice hair too. Maybe they just didn’t care what I sounded like. No. That wasn’t true. This place was just getting to me.

Phlegm extended an open palm and wagged her spindly, twisted fingers. They reminded me of a tree branch in the dead of winter. A piece of loose skin stretched between two of them like a duck’s foot.

“First, the lamb,” she said.

I reluctantly handed the food over, and Phlegm snatched it away before I could change my mind. She fell upon it like a ravenous wolf. For the next several minutes, my ears were assaulted by the gruesome sounds of Phlegm the Hag devouring the leg. When she was full, when I thought she was finally done, she broke open the bone and sucked at the marrow from the bottom, tucking whatever scraps were left away in her cloak.

I covered my mouth with my arm, dry heaving, and regretting losing my bargaining chip before guaranteeing she’d fulfill her promises. “Okay, I kept my end of the bargain.”

“You have indeed.” Her face was freshly slick with animal grease, the green light that continued to illuminate the barn enhancing the oily gloss.

“Ugh, and here I am, fresh out of wet-naps.”

Phlegm clearly had no clue what I was referring to. Martha Stewart would’ve soiled herself if she ever saw this.

Once again, the hag waved her hand and muttered some sort of incantation into the night air. She reached into the depths of her rags and produced a small vial of liquid as green as the light surrounding us.

“When—and only when—the first part of your bargain finds its way to you, drink this,” she said, offering it to me.

I took it like it was a sample of her urine and held it up to the meager light. It seemed to pulse with some sort of energy.

ITEM OBTAINED:

Vial of Musical Aptitude.

Maybe now you won’t suck.

“You want me to drink this?” I asked, incredulous.

Phlegm cocked her head and stared at me. “You ask stupid questions. Of course, you must drink it. How else will you become that which you desire? The potion will give you the skill that you seek. But only when you have received the first part.”

“The instrument you promised,” I said. “What will happen if I drink it before then?”

“Bad things,” she said in a more than ominous tone.

“Okay, so when I get that, then I drink the potion.”

Phlegm smiled and revealed rows of sharpened teeth. “Yesssssss. First the one, then the other. And finally, the third.”

“The third?”

“Everything happens in threes,” Phlegm said. “It is the way—the only way—of the gods. Magic once given returns thrice. Gratitude is that which is sought. Goodness imparted does likewise. You have helped an old woman on this night, and so we have struck a bargain.”

OBJECTIVE COMPLETED:

You have made a bargain with the hag.

You have gained +1 in Bartering.

Your Bartering is now 6.

That might not have been the best idea.

But you said…

If I said to jump off a cliff, would you?

NEW OBJECTIVE:

Procure a new instrument.

REWARD:

A new instrument

No crap.

“Okay then,” I said to Phlegm, frustrated. “Before tomorrow night. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Before the sun sets once more.”

“Are those different things?”

“Before the sun sets once more,” she repeated. “It will be as I foretold. Then the second. And then—”

“The third. Yeah, I got that part. But what is the third? How will I know?”

Phlegm continued wearing that putrid smile. I swore I would have nightmares about those crooked tooth-daggers until my death bed.

“All things in three,” she said. “Three is the way. The only way for those like me. And you will discover it soon enough when you search within.” She licked her lips and rose, her rags whispering around her ankles. “And now, I will continue on my way, having been sated by your bargain.”

“Really? But it’s pouring outside.”

Are you inviting her to spend the night?

I panicked as Phlegm turned, hoping she hadn’t taken it that way.

“I mind not the storm that rages. As the meat of that lamb gave me strength, so too does the wrath of nature.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Good fortune to you, young man. And remember the three.”

With that, she stepped out into the stormy night. I blinked once and she was gone, along with the eldritch green light that she’d somehow produced.

I raised the small vial to my eye-line. Remarkably, unlike everything else in this Godforsaken—or gods forsaken, it seemed—world, it was utterly clean.

“Hi, I’m here for my drug test,” I muttered to myself. “Got my sample right here.”

I shook the bottle, and it tumbled out of my hand and clattered in the dirt. I swore and swept it up, thankful I wasn’t on hard ground.

Was I insane for even considering drinking anything given to me by a strange hag? Imagine trusting a vial from some random hobo back home. Hello, accidental overdose.

Sighing, I tucked it into my pocket. It wasn’t like I’d lost anything of any value, and who knew what Phlegm might’ve done to me had I denied her. Maybe would have turned me into lunch with those teeth…

I shuddered before turning over to try and get back to sleep. Then I rolled onto my back, worried something else might sneak up on me. Sleep would not come easy.