Will walks down the one street of their little village of Nalan with his hood drawn over his head and a pie in his arms, freshly baked. He’s on a delivery from his mom, who’s most known in town for her exquisite baking, not that they have much to compare to. To call the town ‘small’ would be like attempting to compare an ant to a mountain, which works because the town is most often compared to the mountain range that they’re sitting at the base of.
Nalan is composed of a single street surrounded on all sides by higher ground, precisely nine buildings lining both sides, with only one or two of these not actually being houses. The road travels from south to north, beginning at the entrance to the valley in the midst of the mountain range, travelling north into open fields and connecting into the main road keeping the majority of the kingdom of Humania together. Different stands with different products sit outside of nearly every home, everyone in town looking to make some meager living. Not that they’re starving or anything, but money is money, and what you don't eat from the garden gets put outside.
Will’s last job of the day is to deliver a blueberry pie to Ms. Lingham, the same woman convinced he was some kind of Satan-spawn based entirely on his weird hair. He doesn’t really get why the color has to matter so much, but hey, old ladies are weird from what he can tell. At the very least, she doesn’t recognize him with his hood up. Guess her sight ran off to whatever hole her sanity was hiding in.
Soon enough, he finds himself on the very edge of town, faced with the most run down and decrepit home in town. Most homes here are made of brick, but this one is made from rotting wood, the once marble-white paint now a mottled and moldy grey, peeling from the skin of the house and revealing the rotten boards beneath. There used to be a porch, but all that’s left is an outer frame without a floor, the only place to stand on being a rickety pile of milk crates positioned in front of the door. How she gets in and out of her own house without breaking her neck is a mystery in itself, though he wouldn’t question her agility. It’s unfortunate for an old lady to be holed up in a sorry place such as this all on her own, but no one in town would dare take her in for fear of losing a few fingers. The pastor, Brother Jay, is the only one who really cares for her, giving her food, taking care of household chores, and even giving her some money from church donations so she can afford things like the blueberry dessert in his arms.
Approaching the door, he tugs his hood down as far over his face as he can. The last thing he wants is another sandal to the face. Balancing the pie in his left arm, he brings his right up to knock at the door. Despite the sounds of the people nearby going over their own daily routines, the sound of his knuckles pounding against the door feels hollow and seems to bounce off of every surface in town. Perhaps a trick of the mountains being so close? He doesn’t have time to think about it as he hears a noise from inside. “Come in,” he hears the woman croak.
Breathe in, breathe out. He turns the rusty brass doorknob and opens the door.
He’s immediately blasted with the familiar smell of Ms. Lingham’s home. Now, Ms. Lingham isn’t the only old person in town, there’s plenty elderly in Nalan, and each of them seem to have a distinct “old person” smell to their homes. Now just imagine that smell, multiplied by a thousand and squeezing itself directly up your nostrils all at once at 90 miles an hour. You might get pretty close to the first step into Ms. Lingham’s house.
Will Newbie, now breathing exclusively through his mouth, steps inside.
The floorboards creak with every step he takes, and the house moans and groans at the slightest breeze. It’s pitch dark inside despite the early morning sun pouring through the doorway, and he stumbles his way in, already bumping into a tattered lamp. Despite only having two rooms, the entire place is filled to the brim with miscellaneous junk and furniture. Lamps, chairs, tables, a stuffed deer with a twisted leg, a plastic owl with a clock stuck in it and an eye missing, and a weirdly realistic looking lizard that he soon comes to find isn’t quite “realistic” as it scuttles back behind the piles of junk. Nasty.
Nowhere else to go but forward, he supposes. Conveniently enough there’s a path cut out in the miscellaneous trash allowing passage into the deeper part of the house. It follows like a labyrinth as he navigates the impossibly large house, going down several different paths that all end in dead ends, trying his darndest to keep from causing a disturbance. That doesn’t quite go as planned when he steps on a squeaky rubber rat toy, and the few times in which his cloak snagged on some random junk, but he believes himself to be in the clear, at least in that department. But, soon enough, he finds himself at the far right side of the house, where a fireplace sits smoking empty, and a comfy looking chair contains a heaving, purple, velvety mass. There she is.
Ms. Lingham.
Approaching the old woman, he’s allowed a good look at her face, though maybe “good” is the wrong word for it. Her skin appears to be several sizes too large, sagging off of her flesh like it were nothing more than a suit. The idea makes him think about how snakes and other reptiles shed their skin, born into a newer, younger form. If only that was how people worked. Her pure white hair comes down in a tangled, stringy mass, her bangs hanging over her eyes, making it impossible to see them. Will can’t even recall ever seeing her eyes. As for her clothes, all she ever wears is the same, faded grey dress wrapped entirely in a plush, purple robe. He has to say, she looks quite comfortable like that, he almost feels jealous.
But then he notices something that strikes fear into the very reaches of his soul.
In the shadowy corner to her right is a pile. A tower, perhaps. A mountain, if you would. Of sandals. Different shapes, sizes, colors, ones for guys, ones for little girls, sandals of all types. Ripe and ready for the picking… and throwing. An old lady’s weapon of choice, and Ms. Lingham’s got an arsenal.
Now the real problem arises: Should he try and wake her? Her breathing is even, and she hasn’t acknowledged his presence since he knocked on the door earlier. Which is weird itself, since she was apparently awake enough to let him in, but not enough to receive her pie? Curiouser and curiouser. The thought occurs to him that this could all be a ruse, that she’s just waiting for him to get close so she can hit him with a sneak-attack… He finds his eyes wandering back to the stockpile of shoes…
There’s no other recourse. He doesn’t exactly feel like shouting in an old lady’s ear, so he’ll just have to take the gentler approach. Slowly stretching his hand out, he approaches Ms. Lingham, taking soft, smooth strides towards her. Up close and personal, he’s made aware of how the house’s smell just seems to emanate from her, as if it were some dark miasma leaking from her very soul. Trying to keep his face as stony as possible, he brushes his hand against her shoulder, keeping a tight grip on the pie.
“Ms. Lingham, I brought yer pie…”
Instantly the woman launches forward, her arms swinging wildly as she shouts and screams, “Ya damned Devils! Damn ye all! Devils! DEVILS!” Will is thrust back, his right hand gripping the side of the fireplace for balance and his left dancing around in the air with the pie in his palm, desperately trying to keep it from wobbling out of his grip. The homunculus of a woman continues her crazed tirade, shouting about Devils and Sins and “The blasted Demons got ‘em, Ah’ll get ‘em fer it! AH’LL GET ‘EM!” while her flimsy limbs thrash wildly about.
This continues for about a minute until she’s left hunched over the front of her chair, panting and gasping for air. For an old lady on death’s door, she’s quite the bundle of rage. Will eventually managed to get the pie under control, gripping the tin with two hands and shaking with adrenaline. If he couldn’t feel his heart beating his ribs open he would be checking for signs of a heart attack. “I- I broughtcher pie, ma’am,” he gasps, scared out of his mind. The woman looks up at him, as if only now becoming aware he was there. She looks back down in shame. “Ah- ah’m sorry, boy… Ah di’n’t mean fer ye ta see me like that…” she says, her lips parting and her toothless gums revealing themselves in an apologetic smile. “Her, ah got me sum money-” she stops, her head snapping back up to look at him. He can’t see her eyes, but he just knows they're boring straight into him.
“Devil Boy…” she rasps, reaching a thin finger out towards him. “Devil Boooooyyy…!” No, how could she have known?! His hood- His hood. Ah crap, his hood! It flipped back when she jumped at him and he was too in shock to notice…! He slowly backs away, keeping one hand gripped tightly onto the pie with the other gesturing in front of him defensively. “L-look, I-I brought yer pie, just please, don’t do this-!” “SHUT IT!
“You Devils have taken everything from me! Monsters, monsters, all of ye!” She thrusts her hand to her right and rips out her first missile, flicking her wrist as it suddenly flies from her hand and directly at Will. He quickly swats it out of the air, his legs spreading into a defensive posture as he considers his options. He can’t just fight an old lady, but he also can’t let her ruin the pie. He’s decided now that he will defend this dessert with his life, so he needs another option. But he isn’t given a lot of time as she starts reaching for another shoe, so he goes with the most obvious option: running.
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He quickly dashes behind another pile of junk as a second sandal soars past his head. His back against the wall, he calls out to her, hoping to negotiate. “Listen, lady, I’ve gotcher pie right here, so please stop throwin’ stuff and let’s talk!” he shouts over the ramparts. “ShutupshutupSHUTUP!” and a sandal smacking into the wall behind him is the only response. Okay, negotiations are out the window. But as he’s coming up with a new plan, the situation changes. He hears the squeaking of upholstery, the rustling of cloth, and the tumbling of shoes.
And then a step.
And then another.
And then one faster than the last.
And faster and faster…
Until Ms. Lingham’s face grins toothlessly from behind the corner.
“Gotcha, Devil Boy.”
He doesn’t even think as he’s running straight past her, delving back into the labyrinth of trash. He needs to get out of there now, he doesn’t even care if his mom’ll be mad at this point, he just needs out. His mind races as he takes a left, then a right, then another left, doing everything he can to get the hell out of this house, all the while he can hear the woman’s mad screeching as she hunts him around every corner.
Another dead end. Turning to run back out, he can already hear her heavy steps coming right over the corner, so his only option is to throw himself to the floor and huddle into the corner, clasping his hand over his mouth as he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Her steps grow closer and closer, her insane ramblings slithering into his ears; “Ah’ll kill ‘em… Ah’ll kill ‘em all…” over and over she mutters, her lips flying in a blur. Slowly, she creeps into Will’s view, her head twisting from her left… to her right. And she’s staring directly at him.
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t breathe.
She doesn’t look away.
She just stares.
Then she lets out a howl, something so inhuman and unearthly that he could never in a million years comprehend what that sound could possibly mean.
And then she continues walking.
Once she starts moving again, her insane mutterings returning, he lets out the breath he’d contained all at once, before immediately stopping. She didn’t notice. So her elects to take a second to rest, taking his hand from his mouth and propping himself up on the floor.
Squeak.
That damn rat toy.
Instantly, her head snaps over to his hiding place, her mouth opening in yet another deafening howl, her grip tightening on the sandal in her hand. She steps forward, hr legs flying from beneath him as she runs directly at him, her hand reaching back, ready for the beating of a lifetime. He thrusts his hands out, sliding the pie away from him in hopes of keeping it safe. And as she’s running, he finally catches a glimpse of her eyes, and it startles him far more than her flying directly towards him.
Her eyes are a beautiful color of amber, almost golden, but it isn’t the color that shocks him.
It’s the pure, unabashed feeling of anguish he can see as she barrels towards him.
Her cheeks are moist with tears and her eyes are reddening from her crying and, even as she’s coming to beat him, he can’t help but be more afraid of what it is that could cause such agony. He lowers his arms, resigned to his fate. He’s not getting out of this, so his only option will be to take it until she tires herself out.
About thirty seconds pass before he fully registers that he’s not being beaten into a pathetic pulp by a crazy old lady with a shoe. Opening his eyes, only now realizing they were closed, he looks up at the woman and finds her standing straight up, stone-still, and smiling that same toothless grin. And it’s then when he hears it: from beyond the wall, in the direction of the church, comes a voice, sweet as honey and smooth as cream. The voice of an angel.
“Oh, dear, is that Newbie girl out singing again? She always had the sweetest voice…” her hand slackens, the sandal slipping from her hand and landing on the floor with a soft thump. Her expression is pure serenity, nothing compared to the unadulterated suffering Will had witnessed just earlier.
Quickly realizing the situation, he throws his hood over his head, jumping to his feet, pie in hand and entirely undamaged, keeping his face down. “M-ma’am… would you like yer pie, now...? It’s blueberry… yer fav’rite…”
---
Will breathes a sigh of relief, sucking in that fresh noon air, far better than that stuffy old lady house. After she’d calmed down at last, the transaction went on without a hitch, her apparently forgetting the entire chase in a flash. That howl, though… It still rings in his ears… Whatever it was that could turn a poor old lady into… that, he’d rather avoid.
He quickly pushes it from his mind, deciding there’s still things to do. Stepping down from her death trap of a porch, he decides he’ll stop by the church next door to thank his savior.
The church isn’t anything special, the only thing differentiating it from any other building being the wooden cross painted white and splashed with red standing on top. Oh, and the massive crowd of villagers standing around outside watching, and listening, to the main act. Standing on a box, her head barely managing to poke out from over the heads of all the people, is his sister, her hair glowing golden in the afternoon sun, singing her praises to The Author.
Elizabeth Newbie, the pride and joy of Nalan village, and the only reason anyone under the age of 40 goes to church anymore. Her voice has always been something truly magical, and she’s always dreamed of singing for as many people as possible. So, she volunteers outside the church, bringing in patrons from across town to uphold the dwindling faith. And it apparently works, judging by the grin on Brother Jay’s face, the local pastor. His dark skin might have blended in with the shadows if it weren’t for his pearly teeth and brilliant white suit. He always somehow managed to be the cleanest in town, even despite going into Ms. Lingham’s daily. He was also probably the kindest in town, and his sermons were full of vigor and fire. While Will didn’t go as much as he used to, many of the man’s sermons still stuck in his head.
But, for the most part, Will was focused on Elizabeth. He always looked forward to Sundays, if not for church then to hear his sister’s gorgeous singing. Her vocal cords must have been spun from holy thread, because every note seemed to want to bring him to tears. Hopping onto a rickety fence coming off of the church, he looks up and watches his big sister go.
After two more songs, she finally finishes, giving the crowd a smile as they all clap and cheer for her, Will thinking himself the most vocal. And she takes notice, beaming directly to him as he hollers for her. Stepping down from her pedestal, she squeezes past the thinning crowd and over to him, her smile never faltering. The two of them head off in silence, waiting to leave the people behind before finally talking.
“Well, my knight in shining armor, you just saved my life,” Will chuckles as they make their way down the street. She looks to him quizzically, and he quickly clarifies. “Went ta Ms. Lingham’s to deliver a pie, crazy old bat chased me down with a shoe till she heard you singin’ outside!” He elects to leave out the screeching and crying. Elizabeth starts laughing her head off, imagining the fantastic scene as Will stoops his head. “Wow… can’t believe she even managed to get up,” she gasps as her laughter finally calms down. “Were you alright?” “Well, th’ mental trauma might last me a good while, but as fer her, she’s all good, ‘pparently.” She laughs again, and they talk on and on for a while until finding themselves back home.
Will stops at the door, hesitant to enter just yet. He looks over his shoulder, gazing up at the mountains, then looking back down at the old house at its base. “You’re thinking about tomorrow, right?” Elizabeth says, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nods, staring off into the distance, not really looking at anything specific. In truth, yeah, he’d been thinking about it all day, save for the events at Ms. Lingham’s.
“Going out in the mountain’s is big, y’know?”
“Yeah.”
“No one’s been up there in years.”
“I know.”
“We don't know what's up there.”
“That’s the idea.”
They look into each other’s eyes, a rare feat on Will’s part. They’re both dead serious. He’s been planning this for a month now, and he wouldn’t be swayed now. Elizabeth gives a lazy smirk, knowing there’s no way he’s letting himself get talked out of it now. It took weeks of begging and nagging to get Charlie to agree, and now the day is just around the corner. She’s worried for him, of course, but this is Will we’re talking about. Once he’s got a plan in his head, he can’t be stopped, no matter how stupid of a plan it might be.
They smile together, before opening the door and walking in together as well, reminded at once that doorways are meant for just one person at a time.