“So that’s it?” you ask.

“Of course not, it’s just that the next part is perhaps better spoken away from prying eyes and ears. Besides, the noise is irritating.”

For someone with the mannerisms and speech of an old man, the story snatcher certainly knows how to tell a story. You follow the wounded man up a flight of rickety stairs that would’ve violated the safety guidelines of any human planet. Shame the story snatchers didn’t care. They were too busy trying to survive the hell they created.

Walking along a creaky corridor, you finally enter the story snatcher’s room. As he closes the door behind him you notice one of his hind-arms is slightly shorter than the other, and much paler in colouration.

“I didn’t catch your name by the way,” you simply state to your host.

“Ah, it’s Al- no sorry, outdated custom of my village. It’s simply Brect. Ah, noticed you staring at my arm,” almost for emphasis, you see Brect wriggle the discoloured hind-arm, “an industrial accident. That’s why I left this place. Take a look if you want, don’t mind the sutures. I should get them removed, but I can’t be fucked!” Brect let out a laugh.

“But you came back?”

“Ah, well you know this place was the closest thing to home after my planet got destroyed. Fucking wyrm-fey politics, you know how it is.”

“Fungoils?” You of course know about the wyrm-fey, the things they made. They were once labelled by one of the various churches as actual embodiments of the Devil. To be fair though, nothing even remotely holy would make fungoils. They were a plague that replicated and destroyed all life on a planet within weeks. Outlawed as well, but sometimes a wyrm-fey would ‘slip’ and accidentally release a fungoil spore on a planet.

“Not sure, I was gone before they destroyed it. Anyway, can I get you something to drink, non-alcoholic of course.”

Looking around, you notice that what should’ve been a normal inn room was more like a tiny apartment. Shelves upon shelves were roughly nailed onto each wall, stacked high with various appliances and trinkets. The place was dimly lit by small crystals, their origin dubious at best. You even see a propane stove and oven lying in the corner. The bed, more like a hammock, was strung between the back left corner, and directly beneath it is a small chest made of ancient, warped wood.

“What do you have?”

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“Hmm, let me check quickly.” Brect began searching through a pile of various goods before moving onto various draws.

“So uh, you just allowed to live here?” An idle question, but it’s better than letting the conversation turn to awkward silence.

“The bartender and I have come to an… arrangement. I get to live here and he doesn’t get the revenue men called on him.” Brect explains almost too casually about how he would destroy another man’s business in exchange for shelter.

“Anyway, we have tea and water.” Brect states triumphantly.

“Got any coffee?”

“I can get you some rehydrated packs if you want.”

“Nah, tea’s good.”

“A fellow tea man I see, good choice.” Brect immediately gets to work with an old kettle.

“So, what did you do before coming here?” you ask.

Brect stops for a moment while pouring the hot water.

“Well, I used to work at a wormhole station nearby. That’s where I got this story from actually, a strange group they were. Imagine, one minute doing maintenance checks and the next the wormhole opens up and a bunch of strange story snatchers pop out!”

“You’ve had a busy life,” is all you can manage. From working at a wormhole station to some sort of industrial position, Brect clearly had a lot of experience.

“Bah, I was only an electrician. Nothing major, I didn’t actually type the coordinates for the wormhole.” Brect brings over the tea in small dented metal mugs. “Come over here, sit. It isn’t the most comfortable but it will do.” Brect points you over to a small wooden crate. Instead of sitting on the other crate, he instead climbs onto a nearby shelf lined with pillows.

“You know strange things can happen with wormholes. Once I heard that some poor sod managed to get sent forward in time 90 years.” Brect gives you an almost knowing look.

“Why, exactly, is that relevant?” You are confused. You know that without proper care, wormholes could fuck with spacetime something major.

“Well, I have a theory these story snatchers might have come from another time. Perhaps even another universe, you never know.”

“Actually I was wondering that, where is this story set exactly?” It was an interesting question, because no planet you had ever heard of had ghosts, much less these… centurion things. Surely something as major would’ve been reported right?

“Another universe, and if my research is correct, not that far from ours. I reckon they’re refugees from their universe.”

“I suppose ghosts would do that.”

Brect’s eyes harden for an instant. He opens his mouth to say something, before simply adding, “from what I heard, it most certainly did. Of course, I haven’t gotten to the worst aspects of their world.”

He sighs, before saying “I suppose I should get to the rest of the story yes? I do hope you have enjoyed it so far.”