The immediate entrance of the building bore home to a quaint reception area, with little zen waterfalls and a wide decorum of trinkets and knick-knacks from all over the world nestled on the front desk. Clattering away on a double-decker keyboard, twitching its mandibles, a shadowy creature appeared to play the role of receptionist. The thing was long and coiled, covered in legs, something akin to an insect you’d find when turning over a stone. Its six bright green eyes all blinked in unison as it turned its sail-shaped head toward the arrivals.

“Mr. Hudson,” It cheerily decried with a warped, feminine voice. “Who’s this ya brought in?”

“This is Mr. Andy Kessler,” Hudson said. “He’s gonna be stayin’ with us for a while.”

Before Andy could detest, the bug-creature had already extended one of its mantid appendages to shake.

“Ooh, pleased to meetcha!”

Andy did not appear too pleased—in fact, he was scared stiff by the thing, making no motion to reciprocate the gesture. The creature tilted its head, and retracted its leg.

“Is he alright?” The creature asked.

“He’s fine, just a little spooked, I reckon. Don’t imagine he’s seen one of you before,” Hudson gave Andy a light pat on the arm before jabbing his thumb toward the insectoid. “This’s Snoozie, my right-hand woman.”

“W-what is she?” Andy asked.

“Snoozie’s an Onierovore, a dream-eater. Her job’s usually pretty self explanatory, but during the daytime,”

The creature’s head bobbed toward Hudson. “...I keep this one on track.”

Hudson nods. “She helps me manage my thoughts. Lots to keep track of in a place like this.”

Andy nodded along, his eyes remaining fixed on the translucent being with some wary suspicion. He had learned all he cared to know about the creature, and was more than eager to move on.

“Does he have a place to stay?” Snoozie asked. Hudson looked toward the boy with consideration, lips pursed. A slow breath was drawn, a few nods of the head given, the man really seeming to draw this out for dramatic effect.

“Yeah. I’ve got somethin’ cooking—tell you what, boy,” Hudson gave Andy a hefty pat on the shoulder. “I’ve got this cabin, down by the reservoir. Built it myself, twenty-odd years ago—don’t use it too much these days. How’s about we get you settled in there for now, just ‘til somethin’ a little more permanent rolls along?”

“Well, sir, I don’t reckon I’m too comfortable bunkin’ with strangers.” Andy said. Hudson laughed.

“You ain’t gonna be bunkin’ with nobody, rest assured. Fine young man like yourself, should be more than capable of makin’ things work.”

It was somewhat relieving to hear, though it only served to spark more anxiety in the long run.

“What would I do for food? For cash? Do I gotta pay utilities—bills?”

“You don’t need to worry too much about that, boy. Wildlife’s abundant in the mountains – easy to catch. We’ve got public gardens, plenty of fruit trees. Most stalls in the marketplace are willing to dish out some meals for a feller who’s willin’ to do a little work. As for utilities, that’s covered. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Easy for you to say, Andy thought. This here’s your rodeo, not mine.

Though the boy’s disdain for the scenario was palpable, back slouched and face pout, there seemed to be, as Hudson had put it, no way out but through. The boy bit his lip and nodded his head, keeping his amber eyes affixed to the marble floor.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” Hudson clapped his hands together. “I’ll show you there once we get a few things out of the way. Snoozie, I don’t have anything else lined up for today, do I?”

“No sir,” the Onierovore replied. “Do you need me to take your calls?”

“Please. We’ll be a minute.”

“Okie dokie!”

Hudson slithered a few paces over to the left, toward the metal lift near the back of the reception area. A rustic elevator, if ever Andy had seen one, complete with archaic levers and switches. The rusted lattice door made a soft groan as Hudson folded it open, the vessel shifting beneath the sheer weight of his lower half—Andy was forced to stand in close proximity with the scaly thing, Hudson’s tail taking up more than half of the cramped space. It would be a long ride up.

Vrrrrrrrrrrrnn. Ratatatatatat.

The wheels on the machine sped to life once Hudson cranked the lever toward the top floor, chains shaking, tethers straining, the shift in motion causing Andy’s stomach to drop. Halfway up, the on-deck radio finally decided to switch itself on, playing an old show tune for about half a minute before abruptly stopping along with the carriage.

Ka-CHUNK!

“Here’s our stop.” Hudson announced, gesturing his cane outward. Andy followed the motion, stepping out first and allowing the massive man to uncoil behind. The top floor of the building was a massive study, the walls lined with hundreds of dusty tomes, mahogany shelves contrasting the lighter oak floors. The room’s decor was filled with plenty of old world knick-knacks, globes, telescopes and the like. Some outright bizarre fixtures of bioluminescent jars and floating, rune-inscribed candelabras accompanied the contemporary elements. Behind the mayor’s desk sat a large stain glass window—the scrying eye from before—the moonlight pooling in through the glass had bathed the room in a vibrant array of color, soft hues of reds and blues slowly dancing across the muted browns.

Hudson approached his pleather throne and took a seat, inviting Andy to do the same. The boy eyed his options—a rather rickety looking stool, a large cashmere pillow, a rocking chair that didn’t ever seem to stop moving—Andy would go with the stepladder positioned near the tallest bookshelf, dragging it over toward the darkened desktop. Not particularly dignified, but stable at the very least.

Clack, clack. Sorting through documents, straightening his pencils—Hudson got his cluttered desk somewhat organized for his impromptu interview. Dap, dap. He dipped a quill into a fancy inkwell, spilling a few drops as he brought it over to a freshly-printed form. Hudson wrote a few of the basics down, Andy’s name, his affliction, even a word or two of his temperament—after some quiet scratchings of the pen, the man locked eyes with the boy yet again.

“Alright, Mr. Kessler. Why don’t we start with how you got here?”

Gulp. Deep breaths.

Shifting in his seat, Andy would begin—starting about a month prior.

…

Splish, splash.

“Boy, you ‘bout done in there?” a rough, baritone voice called – one Andy was all too familiar with.

“Just about!”

“Well hurry it up. Breakfast’s gettin’ cold.”

“Yessir!”

Andy wiped his brow and got to his feet, taking up his freshly-filled pail of milk up in one arm.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Andy assured his bovine friend, giving her a few light taps on the flank as he made his way out. The heifer huffed and lowered her head to further feed off her grassy chow.

The Kessler farm would provide many simple comforts, not the least of which being its wide array of animals—cows and sheep, chickens, alpacas, even a few swine happily lounging in their muddy pens. Since before the break of dawn, Andy had spent the morning caring for his creature companions, feeding them, making sure their water was clean, that sort of thing.

A chunky bloodhound would waddle up to the boy’s side, tongue flopped out the side of its mouth and dripping with slobber, jimsonweed stuck tight to his lazily wagging tail. The dog’s nose found itself sniffing Andy’s pail, the boy lifting it away from the critter’s reach.

“Uh-uh. You had breakfast already,” Andy scolded. The dog whined, smacking its lips, posture sadly slinking now that he’d been denied his dinner. Andy rolled his eyes.

“You’re fine.”

The front door made an all-too-familiar shriek as Andy pulled it open. The old hound, feeling dejected by the boy, had already trotted into the dining room to see what morsels it could mooch from the matriarch stirring inside. Looking up from her mug of joe, she smiled.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Mornin’, Ma,” Andy replied. “Everyone’s fed.”

“‘Cept you,” called ‘Pa’ from the kitchen. “Come get some eggs, boy.”

Martin and Miriam Kessler—Andy’s folks. Martin was a park ranger, working tirelessly on the Appalachian trail just north of Harpers Ferry. Miriam, like Andy, stayed home to tend to the critters and manage the family business—a small petting zoo resting smack dab on her inherited property. The both of them were notably mismatched from their boy in terms of appearance—Andy, much like the critters he cared for, had been adopted by the family fairly early on. Adoptive, but his family nonetheless—he wouldn’t soon forget it.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Life was a special kind of simple on the farm. A fulfilling, monotonous slog through rain, sleet and snow—it was honest work with honest results. Simple results. Happy results. The kind of results that allow for one to eat their breakfast and affirm, yeah…I made that.

Once he’d been seated at the kitchen island, Andy was served a plate of tepid scrambled eggs and two slices of lukewarm toast. Munch, munch—he scarfed it all down, hungrier than he’d let on after a long morning of chores. Martin, satisfied, adorned his jacket and tied his boots.

“Heading out?” Miriam asked.

“Ayup, I reckon. Long day ahead ‘a me.”

Miriam got up, grabbing a paper bag from off the counter and shoving it into Martin’s hands.

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

“Right. Thanks, sugar.”

The parents gave each other a parting smooch, Martin donning a ten-gallon hat upon his balding head on his way out. The door swung shut, leaving Andy and his mother alone. Miriam sighed as her gaze wandered out the window after her husband’s pickup, pulling out of the narrow dirt road. Once the truck cleared the horizon, the woman turned back toward Andy, speaking softly into her coffee cup.

“...Noticed Tequila had a limp. Say we ought to take a look. Could you go and let out the goats for a spell once you’re done, then we can check on ‘er in about an hour?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, hun. I’ll get that old devil ready.”

Finishing his eggs, Andy scooted from the table with a squeak and tossed his dish in the sink, being sure to give it a good rinse before heading out the front door. The old hound Rex, who’d been begging for scraps this entire time, followed right at his heels, sure to give an excited sneeze or two along the way.

The goat pen was about connected to the house, Andy having to take a few paces north of the garage before being greeted with a few indifferent bleats. Their housing was roomy, closed in for the night to protect from potential predators. There was a small variety of the beasts, some young, some old, some with fuzzy ears and others with long wisps of fur dangling from their chewing chins. A few that had been lounging hobbled to their feet.

“Hey guys. You wanna go outside?”

A few of the critters had already gathered by the doorway, Andy careful not to let anybody out just yet. Real quick, he did a head count. One, two, four, eight—hm. A couple missing. Carefully, Andy stepped past the gathering goats and toward the back of their barn, looking into each individual nook and cranny. There was one of them, still fast asleep. It, too, got to its feet the moment it had smelled the boy.

One accounted for, but where was the last? Had she snuck off during their last outing? Andy lightly cussed under his breath, heading back toward the front of the barn and letting out the others—he figured his missing goat was still in the playpen. Hopefully, his mom hadn’t noticed just yet. Hurriedly, the boy led his flock toward the backyard.

Then Andy froze, stiff—his little followers danced around his legs, eagerly flocking toward their pen.

A man stood over the enclosure—unfamiliar, tall and broad, pale as a ghost. His large, calloused hand reached over the meager fencing, gently stroking the head of the missing beast. The stranger’s sickly eyes followed the noise to its source, a mutual gaze now established with the young boy. The man smiled.

“Lovely critters you’ve got.”

“Uh…thanks.”

“Raise them yourself?”

Andy’s brows knit together.

“Sir, we ain’t...we ain’t open.”

“Oh. My mistake,” The man took a few steps back from the pen, lifting his surrendered hands into the air. Andy, suspicious, kept his distance from the surly fellow. The stranger, noting the apprehension, spoke his intentions.

“...I was hoping to speak with the owner of this property. Is he around?”

“She’s—”

Crrrsh, crunch. Approaching footsteps drew the boy’s attention—Miriam, carrying a large toolbox, seems to have taken note of the stranger as well, making a swift entrance to spare her boy the pain of this conversation.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, actually,” the man nodded. “I’ve been looking for someone—a park ranger. Believe he lives here.”

Miriam tilted her head to one side, her eyes squinting.

“Mhm. What’s your business?”

The man, sighing, placed his hands on his hips. Something about his tone seemed to suddenly dip.

“Well, I believe he took something from me. Something I’d very much like back.”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

Another deep, long breath from the man, this one seeming much more impatient, much more irritated. His smile grew into a grimace, his teeth were all crooked. Sharp. Andy had only just noticed the dog acting up, shuttering by his feet, head and tail low—normally, old Rex was all over strangers, but this time he seemed mortified, mortified and strangely silent. All Andy could detect was a low growl.

Again, his eyes would lock with the stranger’s—there was something else behind them now. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t…really anything he could identify, but there had been something sparked, a familiar look, intense, like his father’s.

“Sir?” Miriam would try to get back his attention.

“...You’ve got yourself a fine young man.”

“Excuse me?”

“Eyes bright, and full of potential. Reminds me of my own boy.”

Hairs stood on the back of their necks – something didn’t sit right about that. Miriam took a step back, her eyes quickly switching between Andy and the stranger. No, something certainly didn’t sit right – her mind flashed over the possibilities. A criminal? A convict? A predator?

Time was ticking, and the silence was growing ever uncomfortable.

She took another step back. The man grinned.

“So, he here or…?”

“He just left,” Miriam shakily replied.

“Oh. Well. Suppose I should be on my way, then.” He began to walk, quite suddenly, back toward the driveway, right past the boy and his mother. The two awkwardly shuffled to the side to make way for the pale behemoth, both their breaths hitched and nervous—along his large strides, the stranger paused and looked behind.

“You have yourselves a good day, now.” He cooed, before sailing off toward the sunrise.

…

“And that was it, for a while. The rest of the day went ‘bout as routine as any other. Of course, we was worried the whole time that some madman with a hatchet’d come and chop us all up, but—never came to be, uh, not for a while at least. Things went on normally for about a week, then—well one night, I…heard a commotion an’ we…”

Andy paused, mind wandering to the events of that evening. The shouting, the screaming, the searing, scorching pain of venom shooting through his veins—seeing his mother, hurt badly, unconscious on the floor, blood pooling from her bruised scalp. Seeing that creature’s evil eyes staring back at him.

“Then you was attacked, is that it?” Hudson asked.

“...I dunno. Yeah. If what you’re sayin’ about Werewolves is true, then—I mean, he certainly looked the part.”

“So what happened then?”

“Then, I…well, I was hurt, Ma was too, she—she went full on comatosed. Doctors sayin’ she hurt her head real bad, some kinda contusion, internal bleeding. An’ me, well, I recovered real fast, abnormally fast. Got given a clean bill of health just a few days after being admitted. After that, I started, you know, seein’ the signs of…Somethin’ happenin’ to me. Reckon Pa saw it too, he—he started to cut himself off. Isolate. Would hardly ever see ‘im when he was home.”

The boy’s gaze fell toward the ground.

“I think…he was scared of me. Heck, I’m scared of me, too. If I end up becomin’ anythin’ like that…”

Hudson shook his head.

“No, boy, that ain’t gonna be you, we’ll make sure of that. Hudsonville’s a peaceful place—a quiet place. A place where you’ll be able to thrive, in spite of your condition. Like I said, round ‘ere we’ve got all kinds of folks goin’ through the same thing—when I established this town, I did so with the intention of creating a supportive, understanding community, one where you ain’t gonna be judged for factors outside of your own control. You’ll find your place here. Everyone does, some way or another.”

“And if I don’t? If I can’t control it? What if I hurt people, what if I—”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. There ain’t an exact science to it, but we’ve got our ways.”

They had their ways. Andy swallowed the thought with a gulp, his imagination running wild with the possibilities.

“Alright now, son, last question—those men, the ones you said was chasing you—what’s the story with them? How’d you run across ‘em?”

“Right, uh—I dunno. I’d only been campin’ for the last couple ‘a days, keepin’ on the move, tryin’ to find someplace off the radar. In the woods, I found this older lookin’ tower, almost abandoned, but, when I opened the door…”

A spiral staircase, descending far into the earth. At the bottom, a grand hall lit by walls of candles, red carpet crossing the threshold onto the cobblestone floors.

“It was like a manor, sir. Underground. I heard music, like an organ, I—well I figured I might’ve been trespassin’. S’pose I was, given the reaction.”

Just as he’d noticed the guardsmen at the bottom and let out a fearful gasp had he been detected, the knights shouting at the boy to stop. Andy blinked away the memory as soon as he heard the crackling of Hudson’s pipe. The man, intrigued, leaned into his desk.

“And while you was running, you was caught by Ms. O’Mally, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir. Couldn’t have been long after.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, sitting back in his chair. He huffed and puffed, pondering deeply about something quite unsettling to him. An underground army of humans? A disturbing thought, indeed, especially given the context—a short phrase escaped his lips.

“Natural Order.”

“Sir?”

“The Natural Order—a supernatural hunting cult, worshippers of the God of Destruction. They believe our kind is a plague on the world, and must be totally cleansed—no magic, no folks like us, just a dull old planet with dull old humans. If they’re still slinkin’ around here, that can’t be good. They’re getting too close.” Hudson sighed. He needed some time to think. Grunting, he got up from his seat and slithered toward the window, placing a hand upon the stained glass. Just over the horizon, right…the old cabin. He’d need to show the boy over before it got too dark.

“Come, Mr. Kessler.” Hudson hissed as he slithered past.

“Eh? Where to?”

“Home.”