The man chuckled and shrugged, hearing Cassius drunkenly roaring at him. Cassius’ rancid breath did not even phase the strange-looking person, despite the horrendous smell easily being capable of peeling paint.

“Now now, Cassius, you should calm down. I'm no threat. ” The man said calmly.

The individual's voice was off. It sounded almost as if several were speaking at once. Cassius wondered if his brain might have finally fried from the rather heavy bender he was currently on.

The man also looked just as strange even to Cassius, who generally considered most people living in this podunk corner of the world to be less than usual. He did not seem quite natural; No matter how hard Cassius tried, the man's clothes and face would not come into focus—as if he was halfway made of the shadows of the old oak.

“I'm just swinging through town; I figured stopping by to see you would be good. Luckily for me, you came ambling out of town when you did,” The man smiled, patting Cassius on the shoulder.

“Do I know you?” Cassius questioned while continuing to struggle to focus on the man's details.

Cassius could make out the man had a thick beard and a rather unassuming build. But that described half of the men in the county, and with Cassius having run the only clinic in said county for years, he could have met this man dozens of times.

“Oh no, you don’t,” The man chuckled, stepping back from Cassius.

“Oh, come on, you stupid hill folk. Don't play a game with me,” Cassisu grumbled.

Cassius gripped his trousers tight, trying to keep his composure. Having been already thrashed and treated like an insect by his brother-in-law was enough of a beating for him, at least for the time being.

The man chuckled at the comment before looking up at the gnarled and desiccated oak tree, holding an odd mourning look. He traced his hand along the edges of the bark before looking back at Cassius.

“I assure you. Like you, I am no hillfolk,” The man said, pulling his hand back from the tree. “I wanted to stop in and have a bit of a chat, but I can tell you don't seem to be in much of a talking mood, so let’s be brief.”

“You're damn right, so cut to the point,” Cassius replied.

Cassius was glad the stranger was at least sound of mind enough to pick up on his generally foul mood. It was a rare sight amidst this area of Appalachia. Most of the folk here called it charm or hospitality but calling a spade a spade, the gesture was just a nuisance to the disgruntled doctor.

“Alright, I wanted to tell you of a fine opportunity,” The man started, holding his arms in a broad gesture.

“What are you trying to sell me? Something like the Finlan boys,” Cassius growled.

“No, no sale, no tricks, just information,” The man quickly replied, holding his hands up, trying to appear unimposing.

“Yeah, right, no one starts any conversation like that without trying to shove snake oil,” Cassius replied.

Cassius turned and wandered away from the man, uncaring of whatever stupid backwood remedy or healing tincture he would be pushing. The Fillian boys and countless other silver-tongued snakes tried to sell him and the other people of Marrion random garbage, claiming it would fix all their life's problems.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

None of those slick-tongued bastards ever did anything other than keep people from coming to his clinic, cutting into what little amount of money he did manage to rake in. Instead of seeing him as an actual medical professional, they wanted to rely on magical tinctures and their miracle cures. Only a few months later, when their precious witches and snake oil men inevitably failed, they would end up crawling to the clinic, begging Cassius to fix their actual problems—- at a notable markup for the rushed job.

“If you don’t want to hear me out. That's on you,” The man yelled. “I hope you are cautious when the crow comes to visit. She will be less caring than I am.”

“Bah, go pound dirt, you coot,” Cassius grumbled, waving the man off.

Cassius was not willing to play whatever game the man wanted to play. The people out here always spoke in odd ways or were disruptively cryptic. Assuming everyone would know their old and stupid lore and myths.

With Rose, Cassius thought it was cute. She was quirky but at least still relied on some form of logic and reason, even if she insisted on moving back here to feel more connected to her root. Cassius always assumed that was just a term she used to describe her family, but once they got here, he learned she was referring to this place.

Not just Marrion, but the entire mountains; every tree, every rock, and every little animal. Cassius could still see her brimming sunlight-like smile when she described the woods around here as if the place was truly magic.

Suppose there was magic in these hills; as far as Cassius saw it, any magic died with Rose. Now, he was stuck here with no way out. He had no money, no family, and now he did not even have a saloon he could go to. These hills might as well be a prison.

Before Cassius rounded the bend, he glanced back toward the man at the crossroads. Yet there was no one there. Cassius assumed the man must have gone off to find his next mark, but he did wonder where the odd man kept whatever he was selling; he had no cart or horse. There was nothing there but the man wearing his funeral-like clothes.

Cassius wandered up through the hills, meandering along the road. He stumbled and misstepped a few times, but he had made this walk far drunker than he was now; this was an easy enough task for him. However, the lessening light of the Appalachian mountains did not make his return home any more straightforward.

By the time Cassius was home, the sun was well down, having settled in for the night. The only company as his walk home ended was the fireflies fluttering around the clinic—their green incandescents outlining his home in a wan light.

The house was nothing special, at least when compared to the other homes scattered amidst the trees. It was a simple single story with only a few rooms. Nearby was the outhouse and his tool shed; one had not been touched in months, and the other was tossing up his latest drink daily.

Cassius looked up at the buzzing insects that helped guide him home. Hanging over the front door was his sign. His wife painted it in bright red and insisted his name be on it; for some reason, he still did not understand. She seemed proud of it then, and he did not want to upset her by telling her she was wasting her time on the sign.

“Cassius’ Clinic,” He chuckled while shaking his head.

Cassius carefully plodded through the decaying garden. Rose used to tend it nearly daily, keeping his much-needed supply of herbs well stocked for more earthy treatments. It helped save them money and helped Cassius save his reserves of proper medications. Not that the yokels out here wanted his drugs anyways.

Cassius cast his gaze off to the side. A large garden section had been crushed, along with the surrounding fence. His mind flickered to the visions of Rose lying in the dirt, bleeding to death. A knot formed in his throat, seeing her pleading for him to save her, but it was too late by the time Cassius found her. All of his training, practice, and medication did not matter when he needed it to work.

Cassius wondered if he had listened to her and stayed in for the day if he could have saved her. But he insisted on going out hunting to stock their reserves of food for the winter.

Now, instead of being her savior, her good husband. He was the murderer, the outsider, the other.

Cassius sighed, shoving the guilt deep into his gut, and opened the creaking door. He did not even light a candle to illuminate the clinic. Cassius knew where everything was in the room by heart. Drunk or not, he could find his way through his home in the dark.

When Cassius went to the bedroom, he quickly stripped off his soiled garments, wanting nothing more than to sleep through the night.

Cassius nestled himself in his covers; his head was pounding, and his body felt heavy. Cassius looked off to his side; Rose's pillow was still empty. Even after months and months of seeing it, he still could not accept it. Cassius would give anything just to have the chance to see Rose again so that he could hold his lost love and tell her how sorry he was.

Cassius eventually fell asleep, but his slumber was not restful; it was filled with the cackling of devils in his mind and, strangely enough, the fluttering of a crows wings.