Thirty. Seven. Worms.
Florence gaped in disbelief.
She watched as their wriggling bodies squirmed and drowned in the clear water of the gurgling brook.
A few of them might have survived after attempting to climb up the sides of the bank, but their movements excited the opalescent minnow-fish who quickly gobbled them up with fervor.
And even if they did survive she would have definitely pushed them back into the water to be devoured.
After discovering the second worm on her body, she was so disgusted that she had immediately jumped directly into the brook. Now an extremely short individual, the deeper parts of the brook came up to her chest.
The perfect height for a deworming bath.
“How can there be so many worms on me?” she wondered in astonishment.
The fat wrigglers did not add up to a small amount, and she had completely not felt any of them on her.
While many of them quickly lost their grip in the moving water, she had to pick a few stubborn ones off her body, crushing them in her grip and letting the running water wash their remains downstream.
Accepting the idea of being alone in this wilderness, that she had neglected to consider the fact that bugs could be present. This was despite there being a lack of larger animals.
The stench of worm carcasses filled the air, buffeted against her face by the warm mid-afternoon breeze.
Gagging again, she hunched over the banks and vomited a pale white, acidic-tasting liquid.
“Where did these disgusting creatures come from?” she moaned distastefully, feeling very weak and unsteady.
Thinking back to her short experience in this world, she remembered when she had fallen into a deep slumber in the middle of nowhere — outside the garden in the warm embrace of the midday sun.
They must have crawled out of the many cracks in the earth.
After all, she was a plant now.
An extremely inviting source of food for bugs.
She recoiled in revulsion at the thought.
“I will not become bug food,” she stated resolutely, glaring at the few sinking worm carcasses the fish had missed.
Grabbing their limp bodies, she threw them to the fish with a haughty look in her eyes.
Despite the disgusting reason, she was very glad she chose to jump in the brook.
The cool, sparkling water washed over her endlessly, quenching her excruciating thirst, and shielded her tender body from the harsh rays of the sun.
Furthermore, after wading slowly in the water, she also noticed that her skin felt much smoother. The wrinkles that riddled her body had gradually flattened over time.
She quickly dived into an even deeper section of the brook and let her body soak in the cool water. She stayed in there for a long time.
Getting out of the water, she examined her body with delight. Smooth tender skin adorned a plump body, its mottling seemed much more delicate now and it glistened in the sunlight.
“Now this isn’t so bad at all,” she declared firmly.
The experience overall was a success in her books. She was sparkling clean and smooth with no sign of worms in the slightest.
Feeling extremely immaculate and satisfied, she walked out of the brook and made her way back to the house. On the way to the front door, she passed by the ancient signpost, noting the weathered indecipherable scrawl that still stumped her.
“If this is going to be my home, I will have to fix that,” she stated with a grin before turning back to the entrance.
She walked into the house, feeling that the spacious interior had never looked so inviting before. Rolling up the sleeves that now draped loosely over her roots, she grasped a broom from the storeroom and picked up from where she left off.
— — —
Huff.
She panted slightly and leaned against a wall, lifting a root to wipe of non-existent sweat in a habitual manner.
Even with her enhanced physical ability, cleaning up a thoroughly abandoned house was a lot easier said than done.
Sweeping just the living room produced inescapable clouds of dust, during which she was extremely glad to find that her plant-body did not appear to have a sneeze reflex.
She swept the dust together, including the small pile she had made earlier into a bigger pile and pushed it out the door with great difficulty. This took many hours, and when the last of the dust from the living room and kitchen was swept out, she felt a great sense of satisfaction.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she sat on the floor to take a break and admired the more or less dustless interior.
The charm of a warm and cozy house in the wilderness had already grown on her, and she could almost envision curling up by the fireplace just opposite the kitchen with a cup of tea in her hands and her knitting in the other.
However, the cleaning had only just begun.
As an old granny with more than 30 years of ‘house-cleaning’ experience, she strictly believed that a house was not livable until the floors were thoroughly swept and mopped.
This would not usually be a problem, except that she was living in the middle of a desolate wasteland, with her only source of water being a brook at least 100 meters away from the house.
“If only there was some kind of well or fountain I can use,” she sighed helplessly.
Glancing to where the garden’s fountain was located, she could only shake her head in resignation as she knew that it was as dry as the cracked earth under her feet.
Picking up a pail, she had no choice but to walk all the way back to the brook to collect some water.
Nevertheless, she made sure to collect water upstream from where she washed herself off, stomach recoiling in aversion as she imagined spreading dead worm water all over her floors.
From then on out, she became a house cleaner in the body and spirit.
Floors, walls and windows were wiped down.
Curtains, bed sheets, tablecloths and quilt covers were dragged to the stream. There she painstakingly washed every single piece of cloth.
She also brought out all the cushions, mattresses and quilts to air out under the burning sun.
“It looks like the day is very long around here,” she muttered in interest. Looking up at the cloudless sky, the sun still shone strongly down at the earth.
It moved slowly across the sky, its majestic golden rays showing no hint of magenta to mark the start of the sunset.
“Well, it’s good that that I’m not tired at all!” she exclaimed cheerfully, deciding to make the most of her time and use the remaining sunlight to clear up the rest of the house.
She moved on to look at the many drawers within the house, taking a clean cloth with her in case of dust.
“Ah!” she squawked in delight.
After opening the pantry in the kitchen, she had actually found food!
Two lone sacks decorated the otherwise bare interior of the cupboard. Rich, earthy undertones mingled with the light fresh scent of the wood.
Taking in a deep breath of the familiar fragrance, she pulled out the two sacks, coincidentally noting that this was the first cupboard she opened that was entirely free of dust.
She tugged at the rattan strings that held the sacks closed and beamed with satisfaction at the sight.
The sack on the right held multi colored grains, each holding a plump, pearlescent sheen that caught the light in an elegant manner. She ran her root through the grains gently, savouring the feel of cool wild rice that trickled through her fingerlike tissues.
The grains of rice felt and smelled extremely fresh, as if just thrashed off the plant. She wondered if it had anything to do with the cupboard being free of dust.
“A magical drawer,” she mumbled incredulously.
The compartments seemed to play a big part in keeping the contents fresh, even though it was well past its prime.
Yet, she still couldn’t help but turn her attention to the beautiful grains of rice.
“Chicken noodle soup! But instead of noodles I’ll put these grains,” she crowed happily. Then she frowned as she wondered whether she could eat chicken meat as a plant.
Not to mention the lack of any chickens in the area!
“These grains would sell in a flash back at my old market,” she sighed with nostalgia.
She remembered when she was younger she would use to run out to the market and haggle with the grocers for the best fish and vegetables they had.
Putting that thought at the back of her mind, she turned her attention to the sack on her left in anticipation.
“I wouldn’t even be mad if it was filled with pebbles,” she declared seriously.
The prospect of real food had greatly improved her mood. Opening the bag carefully, she grinned joyfully.
The contents of the other sack looked and smelled exactly like all-purpose flour.
“I’ll take it!” she exclaimed estatically.
Following the success of the first pantry, she scurried around the kitchen with a feverish pace, extending her roots to open up all the compartments that might hide any food.
Unfortunately, she did not find any more provisions after her initial success. The few pantries that lined the walls of the kitchen were painfully bare, as if someone had taken all the food and left.
“But why wouldn’t they take these perfectly good sacks of rice and flour?” she mused, completely bewildered at their actions.
The compartments which housed the sacks clearly had the largest amount of space, so she assumed that the other compartments held smaller food items — spices, root vegetables, or even meat.
She drooled at the thought.
Yet, by taking only the smaller, lighter foodstuffs out of the pantry, it was as if they were in a rush to leave and could not afford to take the heavier sacks of grain.
Glancing at the sacks again, she sighed in contentment and pushed them back into their respective compartments, vowing not to touch them unless absolutely necessary.
There was no weather forecast, and she did not have any inclination as to whether there were even seasons in this world. If a sudden winter appeared without warning, at least she would have these supplies to last her for a while.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” she announced, not wanting to take any chances at all.
She finally turned to the many drawers that lined the kitchen facing side of the counter. Many of them held cutlery, plates, and for some reason, a stupidly exorbitant amount of cups and bowls.
Each piece were very clean and smooth, so she quickly tucked them back where she found them, not wanting dust to mar their shiny exteriors.
When she opened the last drawer, she felt something rattle inside and decided to back away before opening it with a root on her trusty stick. While the house appeared to be completely free of bugs, she wouldn’t be surprised to find some, especially in the kitchen where food was prepared.
With a yank, the drawer rattled furiously and burst open.
Tilting her head downwards, she gasped when she saw its contents.
Seeds!
A soft, yellowed, muslin-like cloth lined the bottom of the drawer and shrivelled seeds could be found scattered on top of it. The rattling sound must have been when a few of the seeds fell off the cloth onto the hard surface below.
Smiling widely, she touched the seeds lovingly, feeling the encouraging prospects of a bountiful garden.
She could not identify any of the seeds, but she carefully divided them into four modest piles based on their physical characteristics.
The first pile held the largest seeds the drawer contained. Each seed was about the size of a popcorn kernel, but held considerable weight.
They had a spiky, rough appearance that she assumed at first to be black until they caught the light and cast the counter top into a deep cherry red.
The second and third pile were rather tame in comparison.
They consisted of light brown, oddly triangular bits that could be mistaken for gritty sand.
The only reason why she separated them into two different piles was because some of the seeds retained a faint spicy scent that reminded her of a strong Chai brew.
“I just have to grow them and I’ll be able to tell the difference between them,” she nodded decisively.
The last pile of seeds were much more familiar to her with their shiny black exterior. There were also much fewer of them compared to the other seeds — at least half the amount of the other piles.
“As I expected,” she stated confidently.
Taking out the berry seeds from before, she inspected the seeds side by side very closely and found that they were a perfect match.
“I wonder what these will grow into?” she murmured serenely.
There were very few of them, so she thought they might be rather rare.
She carefully tore the muslin cloth into four pieces, wrapping up each pile separately and tucking them back into the drawer.
Worried that they would accidentally roll out in the future, she made a mental note to sew the fabric into pouches that would accommodate them more appropriately.
At this point, the sun had finally decided to set, and her vision was tinted with a rose-like hue.
Looking at the massive amount of dust and grime that carpeted the front doorstep, she decided against leaving it there. This was her house now, and having a sloppy front porch was completely unacceptable, even if there were no guests visiting!
She pushed the dirt into the pail and emptied it out into the corner of the garden. Then she made her way back to the brook for a quick bath and to fetch even more water to wash her roots before stepping into the house.
“It would be ridiculous to dirty the perfectly clean floors I just washed,” she stated carefully.
It was her first time cleaning such a big house, and spending so much time too, considering the limited strength she possessed back in her world.
Ding!
Skills have levelled up!
Cleaning level 13 —> 15!
Having already experienced it once, she didn’t flinch this time when a familiar mechanical voice rang in her head. However, she still looked around seriously, trying to figure out where exactly the voice came from.
“Is it really just be me hearing this?” she mumbled wearily. Despite her speculations, there was no one else here to confirm this.
Ding!
Learned New Skill!
"New skill?” she sputtered incredulously.
She looked around with a peculiar glint in her eye. How had she learned a new skill? She recalled that after cleaning her house, her cleaning skill had ‘levelled’ up, but she did not remember doing anything else.
“Hello? Can I see my resume please,” she asked politely. She was extremely curious to know what exactly she had learnt in such a short period of time. She also felt that it seemed rather stupid to be able to learn a skill after one day of cleaning.
If learning skills were this easy, then even her neighbour’s teenage son who had never stepped a foot outside his house all summer could probably just lie on the ground here and learn a skill.
Woosh.
A familiar hum resounded and a blue screen flared into being, floating gently in front of her face. Taking a glance at the skills section, she was stunned into silence.
Name: Florence Anselm Class: Mandragoral: A human who has been transformed into a mandrake. Level: 002 Skill(s) Level Cooking 16 (Disciple) Cleaning 15 (Disciple) NEW! Gardening 19 (Disciple) Textiles 17 (Disciple) Music 5 (Apprentice) Tavernkeeping 2 (Apprentice) NEW! Titles Effect
Lovable Old Granny
[Rare]
People have a tendency to be more trusting towards you. Special Skill(s) Level Song ?? ??? (locked) ??? (???)
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
Tavernkeeping?!
What kind of weird skill is that? Was it something like housekeeping, but instead of a house, she was keeping a tavern?
She took a look at the countertop in front of her.
Suddenly she wondered why it had never occurred to her that the surface looked awfully long, and together with the many bar stools under it…
“I’m living in a BAR?” she choked out in disbelief.
She had tried alcohol before, but never really enjoyed it the way a lot of her friends did. However, being a bar would explain the hefty amount of bowls and cups that lined her drawers, as well as the enormous pantry space in the kitchen.
Taverns are basically inns with bars after all.
The blue screen left after a while, leaving her to stare dazedly at the clean countertop.
Despite this startling revelation, she still felt very happy as she looked at the mostly clean living room. Save for the rather awkward new skill, she now had a warm place to sleep.
The last thing to do was to stake her claim on the house.
She rummaged through the drawers and found a short, stubby knife that looked strong enough to carve wood.
Picking up the knife, she walked towards the wooden sign post, intending to repurpose the structure.
Stretching out her root as long as it could go, she slowly etched her last name into the aged wood of the signpost. Fortunately, the wood seemed to be soft enough for her to make deep marks, but not too fragile that it would shatter upon contact.
She placed her name in front of the foreign words, and though she couldn’t read them, she felt that the flowery script made a nice complement to her crude slashes.
Assuming that the first word was the last name of the previous owner, she had gingerly crossed it out and replaced it with her name.
She felt a slight sense of guilt when she did that, as the owner had not technically given her the tavern, but reassured herself, seeing that the owner had definitely not been around for a very long time.
If worse came to worst, she would just give the tavern back. After all, she did start cleaning the building. If anything, the owner should be paying her for cleaning the place for them!
__ __
| |
| ANSELM’S |
| ???????? ??????????? |
|__ __|
At this point the sky had started darkening rapidly and she quickly shut the door and walked in.
She remembered the dusty book that had fallen in the attic and strutted up the stairs to get it. The stairs creaked softly under her weight, but the sound was not frightening but strangely harmonious and soothing.
The sound of a cozy home.
Picking up the book, she wiped the dust off to find a deep mahogany cover that housed many thin pages that crinkled under her motions. The weight of the book was surprisingly hefty and she brought it to the living room with a touch of excitement.
“At least there’s something to read” she exclaimed enthusiastically.
The house was equipped with a gorgeous fireplace, and strewn on its stone mantel were several candles, each in a slightly different state of usage.
Thankfully, there was a box of what looked like matches beside the candles.
The matches were different from what she was used to. A strong smell wafted out from the wooden sticks which she felt was a cross between red cedar and bright citrus. The tip was covered with a faint blue coating.
The flame burned a pale white, which gradually grew brighter until it was reminiscent of strong LED light bulb.
She also placed some dried wood into the fireplace and lit them up. The wood made for excellent kindling as it caught on fire almost immediately, quickly spreading to the other logs to become a roaring fireplace.
The large furry rug in front of the flames warmed up snugly and she sank into its depths with a sigh of satisfaction.
Flipping through the book, she groaned in disappointment as it was filled with the same indecipherable scrawl of the signpost.
She took a quick look through the whole book, but other than some vague illustrations of plants and creatures, she could not make heads or tails out of it.
Yet, the format of the book struck her with a strong sense of deja vu.
When she was much younger, she remembered the fad of locked books, where you could write down whatever you wanted and then lock it up with a key. She personally had one that was a bright lime green with a heart shaped lock.
It was one of her most prized possessions and she wrote in it nearly every day. She even wrote bad things about her annoying brother because she knew that no one else had the key.
That fantasy was soon destroyed after her brother had forcibly ripped open the flimsy lock and showed the contents to their parents. She had ignored him for a week after that.
After that, she got herself a new book and this time kept it under her pillow when she slept. No one ever found her secret diary.
That was it!
The way the book was written did not seem like a typical novel. Rather, it seemed like detailed accounts of one’s everyday life.
Each page held a few paragraphs of characters, followed by the same word at the bottom right of the page. Lifting the book closer to the candle, her eyes widened as she looked over the strange characters.
The characters looked exactly like the ones she had crossed out on the signpost.
This was the diary of the owner.
“How disappointing,” she grumbled resentfully. She had wanted to learn more about the owner of this house, and she believed that this book would have been the perfect source of information.
She wrapped the book carefully in a spare pillowcase and placed it beside the fireplace.
Fortunately, the fireplace burned a normal color, and the house was cast into the flickering warmth of the orange flame, exuding a delicious, cozy atmosphere.
She decided she quite liked the fireplace, and lugged a quilt from one of the beds to cover herself as she lay on top of the rug. The crackling of the hearth created a soothing sound as dozens of green wisps flickered into existence outside.
“How warm,” she sighed contentedly, as darkness soon overcame her.
— —
It took Florence three whole days to completely rid the tavern of all the dust and finally satisfy her demands for cleanliness.
She cleared up one room after the other, fixing back bed sheets, curtains and drawers. The windows and walls were wiped squeaky clean.
All the floors were mopped scrupulously.
Twice.
After clearing up the attic and arranging the bookcases, she finally decided to venture into the basement. It was broad daylight! What was the worst that could happen?
As it turned out, the basement was actually a spacious root cellar. Large wooden pallets lined the bottom of the floor, and the packed dirt walls held a clean, fresh scent.
The wooden shelving was painfully bare, but the storage space came as a pleasant surprise.
In addition to wooden structures, there were many large breathable sacks neatly folded in one corner. She assumed they were used to store the many root vegetables and bulbs from the garden.
They were also completely devoid of food.
Walking up the stairs, she sat down on one of the barstools with a cup of cold water in her hands, admiring her handiwork. She was completely satisfied with her efforts.
The tavern was truly beginning to feel like home.
She had even made plans on making a knitted throw for the one lone armchair in the living room, but more pressing matters were at hand.
Namely, she could finally turn her attention to the garden.
She was extremely excited to start work on the land. The garden was fairly large, definitely much bigger than the one she had at her old home.
She wandered around the garden somewhat aimlessly, wondering where to start. The sprawling, dried up vegetation made it hard to pick out where plots started and ended. The constant wind also did not help as it scattered dried debris everywhere.
It was rather fortunate that she had taken the initiative to place the dirt from the tavern in the shelter of a few large trees. Otherwise, she believed that the wind would have scattered it all over the place.
Looking at a specific location, she couldn't even find a trace the conspicuous mound of dried leaves she used as a bed on the first night.
“I might as well clear everything,” she declared impulsively.
It was true. Trying to edge out a decent plot in the garden was only marked with failure as the wind pushed more debris back into whatever portion she cleared.
She grasped the stalk of a dried plant and pulled hard, fully expecting resistance from the hard earth.
To her surprise, the earth itself had dried out so much that it had become very brittle, allowing the plant to be uprooted very easily.
Quickly making her way around the land, she grasped left and right, pulling up more and more vegetation until her roots bulged with plant matter. She placed them in a pile beside the dirt from the tavern, but the space soon filled up quickly.
“This won’t do,” she grumbled in frustration.
There weren’t too many spaces sheltered from the wind like this one, and if she just left the pile out in the open, the wind would surely scatter them again.
She went back to the root cellar an pulled up an empty sack, guiltily stuffing it with the dried plant matter.
“There isn’t much else to put in them anyways,” she explained boldly to no one in particular.
— —
It took her about a week to gather all the dead plants and leaves, ending up with seven huge sacks of dried vegetation. A large amount of it had already crumbled into powder within the sacks.
She left the trees standing as they were too big. They also provided much needed shade under the hot sun.
Working continuously under the sun, it was not very surprising when she gained two more levels passively photosynthesizing while she worked.
However, she welcomed this change as she felt her physical strength and endurance become even more outstanding.
“This blue resume really is a blessing in disguise,” she proclaimed cheerfully.
Once the garden had been generally cleared up, she chose a small plot close to the house and tilled the soil with her stick. She wanted to aerate the soil to plant her seeds.
The ground, though very hard, was also very brittle. Once the stick broke through the outer crust, the crumbly soil was very easy to break apart and mix together.
The stick made a crisp noise as it once again struck the ground of the plot. She thought it felt like a potato chip that crumbled rapidly under her efforts.
“The soil is very dry,” she murmured doubtfully. This worried her slightly as she knew her plants would not survive in such an environment. Glancing at the large sacks of dead plants, their presence only served to affirm her misgivings.
Nevertheless, the plot was finished, and she carefully lined large stones around the area to section it off from the rest of the garden.
Other than it being amazingly dry, she thought it looked very encouraging.
She fetched a pail of fresh water from the brook and emptied it all on top of the soil, thinking that adding water would completely solve this problem. It had after all been her strategy from the start.
“I have access to running water, so I might as well not waste it!” she stated with an optimistic smile.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Squelch.
An ugly sound pierced through her thoughts.
Looking down at the dirt, she gawked as the ground sucked up the water with astonishing speed. The soil quickly compressed on itself until a slightly damp depression was all that was left as evidence the water had even been there.
“I will go and fetch more water.” she proclaimed stubbornly. She absolutely refused to give up the project now after investing so much time and effort into it.
A perfect example of the sunk cost fallacy.
She didn’t even consider to try growing the plants indoors.
She stomped off to the brook, this time bringing two pails.
Heaving the containers back to the plot, she set them down with a resounding thud, once again extremely grateful for her newfound strength.
Turning her attention back to the plot, she let out a cry of dismay. Any sign of water in her precious plot had completely disappeared.
It had all evaporated in the time it took her to fetch water.
Running her roots through the previously damp soil, she felt the texture of dry dust. Moving quickly, she poured both pails into the same area, and observed as the soil sucked the water with even more vigour.
At first, everything seemed fine as the soil became very saturated with water and felt moist to the touch.
However, a sudden warm breeze gushed past the plot and the darker patches immediately started to lighten in color.
Her heart sank with each successive gust of wind, and she watched as the soil returned to its original dry form.
She sat down helplessly in front of the plot and sank into deep thought, pondering how exactly she would overcome this obstacle. This wasn’t something she could control, as the wind was part of the environment!
It's not as if she was all powerful or something.
Unless... she changed the environment.
“Crop covers!” she blurted out with a start. It was something farmers used to protect their plants from pests, but in this case she could use it to protect the soil from the wind.
Triumphantly marching to the tavern, she grabbed the thick ancient curtains from the attic and pulled them down with a flourish. Daylight spilled into the space, highlighting the dark burn marks that ran up and down the bookcases.
A blue symbol on the floor was exposed by the sunlight, and seemed to light up for a moment, but Florence was too excited to pay any attention to her surroundings at that point.
After fetching a new pail of water, she soaked a small area of the plot and immediately covered it with the thick curtains. Walking back to the brook as fast as she could, she soon arrived with another pail of water.
Slowly lifting the curtain ‘crop cover’, she peered underneath and smiled victoriously as the soil still held its damp, dark color. It had a rich earthy scent of fertile soil.
All it needed was a literal ton of water!
By the time she had finished with the plot, the sky was beginning to darken once more and she hurriedly took out 4 pouches of seeds. She carefully placed 10 seeds of each type into 4 different rows and then hastily covered it back with the curtain.
In her haste to finish before the sun set, a triangular seed slipped out of her root and fell prey to the wind. Being continuously buffeted by the warm air currents, it quickly flew higher and higher until she lost sight of it.
She was very upset and clutched the rest of the seed pouches tightly to her chest from that point forward. Especially during this time, she could not afford to lose a single seed and her heart ached a little at the idea of losing a valuable source of food.
“Hopefully the soil will survive the night,” she muttered uncertainly.
She was not too worried about the soil drying up too quickly, as the night did not include the burning heat of the sun. In fact, she was worried that the chill would freeze the ground overnight!
A gust of wind whipped past her leaves, carrying with it the cool chill of the evening atmosphere. Shivering slightly, she swiftly made her way back into the tavern and shut the door, curling up in front of the fireplace like usual.
In the early hours of the morning, when the sun had barely peeked out from the horizon, the constant winds stilled for a moment.
In this sudden moment of silence, a triangular seed landed in the shade of a large tree at the end of the garden. Beside it, a fountain stood firm, its marbled basin now filled with a thin layer of water.
The wind picked up once more and the seed landed directly in the crack on interior surface of the fountain’s basin. It’s shape fit the crack perfectly and its landing momentum pushed it deeper into the crack until it lay snugly at the bottom, hidden from sight.
Clove scented water washed over the seed, causing it to flinch and shiver slightly at its touch.
In a blink of an eye, the seed suddenly swelled, it’s previous shrivelled appearance now replaced with a plump, glossy exterior.
— — —
It had been a while since the runes covering the tavern had appeared, so when they flashed one night with a brilliant blue, Florence immediately woke up in a fright.
Scrambling to stand up, she brushed her roots over the door, feeling the strong thickness she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
What was going on?
This time, instead of being shut out without a clue, she was inside the building and could witness the changes to the tavern first hand.
The previously rickety windows now flickered with a dull sheen. Like the doors and the walls, they felt very strong to the touch.
However, she could not open a single one.
She tried all the doors, windows — even the root cellar.
It was as if someone had deadbolted the openings with a thick iron bar. The harder she pushed, the stronger it felt. She could only retreat to her rug and lie down hesitantly to wait the darkness out.
Sometime during the night, she fell asleep again.
Slurp.
???
Slurp.
Crunch.
Her eyes flew open in a flash, and she found herself staring groggily at a dark ceiling. The fireplace had gone out at least a few hours ago, but the building fortunately retained the heat perfectly throughout the night.
“Hmm?” she groaned tiredly.
She thought she had heard the faint sound of someone eating something in big slurps. It had sounded so realistic that she had started to dream about slurping up a big bowl of chicken noodle soup.
After many days of photosynthesizing and drinking only water, her body was dying for some flavour.
She would have continued this incredible dream had she not been jarred awake by a loud crunch. The shocking sound penetrated to the core of her head and she had to rub her ears as something akin to goosebumps appeared on her skin.
It was a crunch that could break through bones.
After waiting for an extended period of time, she no longer heard the chilling sound.
As she lay back down on the rug, she could have sworn to herself that she heard something slowly slither away just as she drifted off to sleep once more.
— —
The next morning, the house reverted back to its original form, and she stepped outside with a puzzled look on her face.
Despite sleeping late, she woke up very early, determined to investigate the source of the noise.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The sky was clear, as usual.
The house stood tall, as usual.
Her seeds were not growing, as usual.
She had a strong feeling that something was terribly wrong.
The sun rose higher and a glistening spot on the fence caught her eye. It sparkled and twinkled, its undulating light patterns attracting her attention. Had she woken up a little later, she would probably have missed it completely.
Feeling somewhat frightened, she grabbed her stick and slowly moved closer to the fence.
As she looked for the source of the shine, a movement caught her eye.
In the tiniest corner of the fence, a slimy string of liquid dripped downwards, swaying gently in the cool morning breeze. If not for her recently improved eyesight, she might not have spotted it at all.
As she watched, the sun’s rays became more intense, and the spot of liquid rapidly shrank, disappearing into a colorless mist.
“Where did this come from?” she breathed suspiciously.
What frightened her the most was the fact that this place did not rain.
At all.
So it was impossible that a liquid would appear on the fence.
Unless of course, something brought it here.
She glanced at the intricate swirls and edges of the fence, not finding a trace of the liquid on any other parts. There might have been more, but most could have had already evaporated in a similar fashion as this one.
At this point, another detail caught her eye.
There was a mound of soil right below the spot of liquid. This wouldn’t be so interesting as similar mounds scattered the land in great number. Yet, the soil of this specific mound seemed rather loose.
She couldn’t find the right words to describe it.
After working with soil for such a long time, she prided herself on being able to tell the difference between hard, untouched soil and softer, recently dug soil.
Gently poking the mound, her suspicions were confirmed when the stick slid in without much of a sound. The expected crisp sound was nowhere to be found.
She pressed the stick deeper and deeper, but a quarter way up the length, she hit an obstacle.
Frowning slightly, she tried to break past the object, but her stick kept sliding around it, not finding purchase on its apparently slick surface.
Deciding against that avenue, she changed tactics and used the stick to push away the soil surrounding the object.
She wondered what it could be.
When she was tilling soil for her plot, she found it very easy to push past any obstructions. Most of the time they were large roots, but after being dried up for such a long period of time, they gave way easily under her force.
Pushing the last of the soil away, she stared at the object in shock.
After a few moments she leaned over to the side and wretched uncontrollably, a pale acidic liquid pooling at her feet.
Right beside the puddle of her vomit, the hole she dug was exposed to the sunlight.
Within it lay a glistening, pearly-white skull.
— — —
It was the first time she had seen another larger life form other than herself in the area. She had hoped to meet one eventually, but definitely not in such a...deceased manner.
Unearthing the skull, she couldn’t help but shudder at its raw appearance. On closer inspection, it was too narrow to be a human’s skull, but rather closer to a wild animal.
The thing that troubled her the most was at the corner of the skull, a tuft of gored fur was still attached to its shiny surface.
The skull was fresh.
It been alive recently.
“Something ate this in front of my fence,” she mumbled shakily.
When she first arrived, she had checked the perimeter of the clearing attentively, as well as the garden and the house itself for clues about this place.
She had never thought of looking at the outside perimeter of the fence.
Taking a deep breath, she walked out of the garden with her trusty stick in hand and started her patrol of the outer fence. Carefully scraping the stick on the ground directly under the fence, she was horrified to find multiple mounds.
They numbered in the hundreds.
Many of them were very old and held a similar crust to ordinary earth, but each one held some kind of skull; some as tiny as a mouse, while others were bigger than a human’s head.
One mound in particular caught her attention.
It was a relatively new mound, but had a slight hardness to its exterior. Almost as if it were a few weeks old.
She froze in sudden realization.
Looking towards the tavern from the position of this mound, she discerned that it was exactly opposite from where she had been sleeping the first night in this world.
The flaring of the blue runes made much more sense now.
They were in response to this thing.
She couldn’t help but feel slightly panicked.
Something had tried to get at her the first night here, and if it wasn’t for the tavern... she did not even want to imagine the result. The more important point was that it had attacked the tavern multiple times, and did not seem likely to give up in the slightest.
In addition, it did not seemed bothered by the obvious border of the clearing. Unlike the poisonous fog, it appeared to be able to enter the clearing, only reaching a roadblock at the fence.
It looks like the role of the house was not only against the fog. It also powered the fence to keep something out.
The reaction of the house of was a defense mechanism that stopped something that could easily come into the clearing. She thought back to the hundreds of mounds that circled the fence’s perimeter.
This was something that has been going on for a very long time.
“What exactly is it?” she murmured restlessly.
She couldn’t focus on anything throughout the whole day, not even checking on her precious seeds (that still hadn’t germinated yet).
— — —
That night, the tavern once again lit up a with a pale, resplendent blue.
This time, she stayed up all night and heard it loud and clear.
The thing was also much louder this time, as if it knew someone was in the house. After all, the orange glow of the windows and the smell of the crackling fireplace was a dead giveaway.
A slurping sound, followed by a crunching sound. This terrifying cacophony repeated itself over and over for a long time. She lay staring straight ahead, eyes wide as she didn’t even dare to blink.
She quivered in unease as the dissonance was punctuated with a disgusting sucking finale.
Fear shot through her heart as she scurried against the side of the fireplace and huddled deeply into the rug.
Fighting the urge to peek outside the windows, she pulled the quilt tightly around her and forced herself to fall asleep.
“I will need the energy tomorrow,” she stated resolutely.
That night, her dreams were filled with the hideous glisten of pearly-white bones