NICHOLAS
I was ensnared in darkness, my thoughts a chaotic swirl, accompanied by a relentless ringing in my skull as if a gunshot had echoed beside my ear. Opening my eyes required a lot of effort, and even then, I could only manage brief glimpses before the light forced them shut again. It felt akin to staring directly into the sun. Yet, with tentative persistence, I finally succeeded in keeping them open.
My vision, though blurred, began to discern my surroundings: the airbag that had thwarted my near certain ejection through the windscreen, the unexpected tree that seemed to have materialized from thin air, the crumpled hood of our car. As my senses slowly adjusted, a wave of nausea overwhelmed me, threatening to expel the vodka and food I had eaten earlier.
In search of fresh air and a moment's peace, I managed to open the car door and stumbled outside. My legs failed me, and I collapsed to my knees, scooping up handfuls of snow to clean my face in a desperate attempt to anchor myself to reality. Despite this, the world continued its relentless spin around me. I fought back the urge to vomit, reaching for my phone to call for help.
"No connection. Fucking great," I muttered, staring at the empty signal indicator. But it was barely noon; darkness was hours away. Hope was still there. My head throbbed. My voice sounded alien to my own ears, adding to the surreal nature of the moment.
"Eric, we need to call for help. Give me your flare," I said, expecting a response. But only silence answered, punctuated by the distant murmur of a stream.
"ERIC... Fucking ERIC!" Panic injected strength into my limbs as I lurched toward his seat, only to freeze at the sight that greeted me.
My brother was gone.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as I turned, my heart pounding in my chest. What I saw next defied all logic and reason, making me question the very fabric of reality. Lying in the driver's seat, utterly still, was a teenager. His features were hauntingly familiar, down to the short raven-black hair and the oversized winter green jacket adorned with an array of leather pouches. He couldn't have been more than thirteen, yet the resemblance was unmistakable. This boy mirrored the man I had come to both respect and clash with over countless trivial matters. It was Eric, but not as I knew him. It was as if I was looking at Eric from 30 years ago, a glimpse into the past of the brother I thought I knew inside and out. The boy was unconscious, his chest rising and falling with the shallow breaths.
image [https://i.imgur.com/9FQaceg.jpeg]
The thought hit me hard, somewhere between confusion and the lingering buzz of alcohol: was I imagining my brother as a teenager because of the booze or a concussion? Either way, my mind was playing tricks on me. Despite the oddness of it all, I knew I had to get him—or this younger version of Eric—out of the car. It took way more effort than it should have, as if my usual strength had just disappeared.
Thinking it must be the shock from the crash, I grabbed the first aid kit from the backseat, ready to do what I'd learned in those driving classes long ago. But when I opened the kit, everything seemed off. The gauze, the bottles—everything looked way too big, like I was suddenly too small for the world around me. It was bizarre, holding those oversized items, and it made me second-guess what was really happening. Was it all just a result of the crash, or was something else going on?
Under my "gentle" encouragement, which involved deploying some smelling salts from the kit, the person who looked remarkably like a teenage Eric snapped awake. He jolted upright so fast, he nearly headbutted me, then vigorously shook his head as if to scatter the dizziness from the crash or the sharp bite of the salts. For a brief moment, his eyes locked with mine, eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and recognition, before he scrambled backward, his voice hitting a volume and pitch I hadn't heard in years.
"What the FUCK?! Nick... why do you look like a kid?!" he blurted out, more baffled than angry.
"You're the kid, Eric!" I shot back, equally perplexed and pointing an accusing finger as if the bizarre turn of events was his fault.
In a flash, he whipped out his smartphone and flipped the camera to face us. The image that greeted us would have been comical if it weren't so shocking. There, on the screen, was a kid who barely looked to be entering his teens, staring back with wide, bewildered eyes. My reflection bore an uncanny resemblance to a younger me, complete with a mop of unruly red hair and eyes as green as Christmas baubles. The older, ginger version of me was nowhere to be seen. Instead, here was this boy, swamped in clothes that looked like they were borrowed from a man twice his size, a white sweater and grey jeans hanging loosely on his frame.
image [https://i.imgur.com/P0aLTA5.jpeg]
"Oh my god..." The words escaped me in a whisper, the absurdity of the situation momentarily overshadowing the panic.
"What happened while I was asleep, Nick? Please, explain it slowly and in DETAIL." Eric's demand snapped me back to reality, his tone oscillating between incredulity and a desperate attempt to make sense of the nonsensical.
As I tried to piece together a coherent story, the absurdity of our situation struck me. Here we were, a pair of brothers turned time-displaced kids, stranded in the aftermath of what should have been a straightforward car crash, now grappling with a mystery that defied logic. The thought was so ludicrous, so utterly bizarre, that it bordered on comical. Yet, we stood there, confronting our inexplicably youthful reflections.
"Eric... I barely know anything myself. Woke up not even five minutes ago, and my head was all over the place. All I remember is that blinding flash, that tree popping up like it jumped out of a fairy tale, and then, boom, car crash! And now, look at us, turned into kids. It's like we've been zapped by some wacky age-reversing ray. I can't make heads or tails of it... Maybe it's some wild trip from spiked drinks or something."
"I didn't even touch the vodka, Nick. But this? This is straight out of Narnia. Would've been thrilled about it as a kid. Heck, I am a kid... again, apparently. But we've gotta find our way back. Let's look for that magical closet, huh?"
With a half-joking, half-serious tone, he motioned me towards the car. I went back to the wrecked truck to grab the compass from the glovebox. While I was at it, I also snagged a hunting knife—just in case.
"You should grab the rifle, Eric."
He looked at me sceptically. "Not sure how I'll manage the recoil now, but guess it's better to have it than not." Eric picked up his army rifle, examining it with an odd mixture of familiarity and newfound caution. "Never thought we'd actually need to use our military training for real-life combat. Guess mandatory service has its upsides."
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I couldn't help but chuckle at the situation, despite its seriousness. "I mean, it's not every day a Swiss guy finds himself turned into a kid, stuck in some mountain range miles from home, right?"
Our banter, filled with a mix of disbelief and forced lightness, was our way of coping with the bizarre hand we'd been dealt. Armed with a mishmash of survival gear and our childhood selves, we set off to unravel the mystery, hoping that our next step would lead us closer to answers—or at the very least, a way back to normalcy.
I looked at our items inside the truck and considered taking them with us for the initial scouting party. However, looking down at my stick-like limbs, I doubted we could carry more than a few kilos before this scouting party would be undermined. I pondered whether we should fashion ourselves a map, but considering our surroundings, it seemed more than a moot point, as we were surrounded by tall pine trees nearly identical to one another. Therefore, both of us decided it would be best if we didn't go far and simply left a sign on each of the trees surrounding us, in hopes that we would glance upon it and find our way back to our home in case of emergencies.
As we braced ourselves for the uncertain journey ahead, an eerie chill cut through the air, heralded by a sound that seemed to borrow from our deepest fears. It was a harrowing cry, part bear's roar and part the screech of a violin string snapping under too much tension. From the shadowy embrace of the forest emerged a behemoth, its size rivalling that of a grizzly bear, marked by a stark white coat.
This was no ordinary bear. Its snout ended in a small beak, and under the furrow of its brow, two beady black eyes fixed on us with predatory precision.
image [https://i.imgur.com/5npoMQA.jpeg]
"Get the flare gun," Eric hissed, his eyes never leaving the advancing nightmare. "No clue if bullets will even phase it. We might need more help."
The monster's presence injected pure fear into my veins. Despite the distance between us, I harboured no illusions about our chances should it decide to charge. My legs acted on instinct, propelling me back to the truck in a desperate sprint. Behind me, the ground trembled with the force of the beast's leap—a leap that felt like it shook the very earth itself.
"SHOOT IT!" I yelled, diving into the driver's seat for cover. The creature's intentions were unmistakably hostile, and any concerns about its place in nature vanished in the face of survival.
Eric, caught between fear and determination, worked his rifle with practised hands. The first shot cracked through the air, a desperate plea for survival. I shielded my ears, then cursed my reflexes, fumbling with the flare gun in a frantic effort to load it.
Shot after shot echoed, Eric's voice threading a line between anger and panic. "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! WHY WON'T YOU DIE?" he screamed, disbelief colouring his words as the creature, undeterred, covered ground with terrifying speed.
With the beast closing in, every failed bullet a testament to our plight, I aimed the flare gun skyward. This wasn't just a signal for help; it was a plea, a desperate cry cast into the unknown, hoping beyond hope that rescue lay within reach.
As the flare pierced the sky, painting desperation in a streak of red, we faced the creature with hearts pounding and breaths caught in our throats, clinging to the slim hope that our message would bring help.
The sight of the flare seemed to unnerve the beast, halting its charge with an expression that bordered on animosity mingled with fear. It was almost laughable, this towering monstrosity wary of kids, if not for the clear danger it posed.
"We've got to act, Nick. Bullets aren't cutting it. I'll draw its attention," Eric declared, his resolve flickering in the face of the creature. Despite the bullet wounds, the beast seemed unfazed, its gaze locked on us with renewed vengeance as it prepared to charge again.
The air filled with the echo of Eric's gunfire, a desperate attempt to slow the beast and shift its focus. Meanwhile, my hands, guided by a mix of panic and adrenaline, scrambled to prepare a makeshift weapon. With the vodka bottle, some spare gasoline, and engine oil, I fashioned a Molotov cocktail, praying it would turn the tide.
Glancing outside, I caught sight of Eric dashing into the forest, the beast thundering after him. My heart sank as he stumbled and fell, tumbling down a slope, coming to a stop against a tree, motionless.
With determination hardened by fear, I lit the Molotov and aimed the flare gun at the beast, now charging towards my fallen brother. The previous encounter had shown its fear of the flare more than bullets.
"HEY! OVER HERE!" I roared with all the ferocity I could muster, challenging the beast directly. The flare streaked across the sky, a blazing comet aimed to distract the creature from Eric.
My gamble paid off, or so it seemed, as the beast skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding the flare. Its instincts to survive were as sharp as its menacing gaze, now fixed squarely on me. With my heart racing and a reckless disregard for my own safety, I struck the lighter and ignited the Molotov cocktail's wick, hurling it directly at the monstrous fusion before me.
"LOOK AT ME, YOU SHITTY EXCUSE OF BEAR GARBAGE. I AM YOUR FUCKING DADDY!" The words tore from my throat, a defiant challenge as the bottle shattered against its target.
An explosive burst of flames engulfed the creature, its fur and head alight with searing flames. It roared in agony, a sound of such primal fear and pain that it echoed through the trees, scrambling to extinguish the blaze that threatened to devour it whole. I couldn't help but let out a wild, triumphant laugh, turning back towards the truck to arm myself with another Molotov cocktail.
But my victory was short-lived. A sudden, bone-chilling gust of wind slapped against the back of my head, urging me to glance back. The sight that met my eyes froze the blood in my veins. The beast, though charred, its flesh singed and coat partly destroyed, was not downed by the fire. The flames that had once consumed it were now gone, extinguished by its sheer will or some unnatural resilience. What remained was not just the beast itself but its pure, undiluted hatred, burning brighter than any fire could.
In a panic, I dove into the car, slamming the door shut just as the beast, fuelled by vengeance, launched itself at the truck. The vehicle groaned under the beast's fury, metal crumpling like paper as it tipped onto its side in a desperate bid to reach me. The moment was a stark, terrifying reminder of the creature's resilience, a testament to the fact that it would not be so easily defeated by fire or bullets.
In those desperate moments, trapped in the truck, I found myself praying. Praying to God, to any deity that might have been listening, for deliverance from this nightmare. Yet, as the beast's efforts turned the truck into a metal coffin, shrinking ever closer to me, it seemed my prayers would go unanswered. I braced for the end, staring into the eyes of the creature bent on extinguishing my life.
But then, amidst the chaos, a distant sound pierced the air—a sound like the howling of the wind, growing louder with each heartbeat. The beast, consumed by its blind rage, paid it no heed. That oversight was its downfall. Without warning, an icy arrow burst forth, striking the creature directly in its throat. The impact was catastrophic, ripping through flesh and bone, extinguishing the creature's life force in an instant. Blood, dark and ominous, splattered against the windows, painting my makeshift shelter in shades of terror.
Frozen with fear, I weighed my options. Staying put promised a slow, inevitable death, while the unknown outside held its own dangers. My brother, Eric, was still out there, vulnerable. Strengthened by this thought, I mustered the courage to leave my precarious shelter.
Climbing out, I was met with a sight that stalled my breath. A young man, no older than twenty-five, approached. His appearance was striking—a neatly trimmed black beard contrasted against a shaven head adorned with intricate tattoos, reminiscent of ancient runic symbols. Clad in a heavy black woollen cloak suited for the harsh winter, he offered a genial smile as if the horrors we'd just faced were but a minor inconvenience.
"Здарова товарищ," he greeted warmly, an unexpected camaraderie in his voice.
image [https://i.imgur.com/Tcdt7Y2.jpeg]
His presence, so calm and assured amidst the chaos, suggested a story far beyond the ordinary. Who was this enigmatic saviour, and what brought him to our aid at our darkest hour? As I stood there, taking in his unexpected appearance and the surreal peace that followed the storm, I realized our journey through this nightmare was far from over.