The Dry Meadow

I awoke in a room. My body felt hot, feverish. As I came to, I noticed that there was a stove to my right. It held all manner of pots that ran with tubes and pipes. As I approached the stove, I examined one particular pot that held a bubbling substance.

The aroma was thick; it was unlike anything I've smelled before. I picked up a bottle that sat beside it. The label told me that tubes carried a gas, a gas that kept something outside at bay. It said that as long as I was in the gas, I would be somewhat safe. I still laugh when I think of that. Somewhat safe.

As I explored the house, I felt several...instincts come alive inside me. Survival. That's the only way I can describe those feelings.

I found a table upon which I could craft virtually anything I would need. Best of all, I found a generator. It was low on gas the first time, but through keen investigation, I found ample gasoline during my travels to keep it running.

After collecting all useful supplies and storing them in the crafting table, I began preparing the house for long-term defense. I barricaded the windows using wood I carved from the nearby table saw, repaired doors and positioned the lamps in corners. This was perhaps the most important of my tactics. No manner of make-shift barricade can fully block light, so I placed the lamps where the light would not shine through.

The bedroom I found to be the best defense in this miserable place. I recall looking at the bed with longing, but I did not feel tired. Nor was I hungry or thirsty, not since I entered the forest. All I wanted were mushrooms.

They pulsed with an energy that called to me, sang to me. It was then that I heard them: writhing mushrooms in the dank, dark corners of the house. As dark as blood, the mushrooms grew in large patches. They shivered as if they were frightened of me, breathing in quick, shallow breaths.

Without thinking, I gathered what I could of them and placed them in the pot on the stove. They seemed to sigh as they melted in the heat, dissolving into a thick fluid that was not unlike blood. I found a syringe during my search of the house, and until that moment, I did not know its purpose. But, when I placed the needle into the liquid and drew it into the syringe, I knew what I had to do to survive.

I injected the mixture into my bloodstream. It felt like the voice of God, singing some sweet hymn into my ear. I collapsed in ecstasy, but a realization came swiftly: I had tasted of a forbidden power, and I would pay dearly for it.

Once I had collected myself, I left the house and ventured into the woods. I did not go far before I came upon a sight more startling than I could have imagined. In the middle of a small rock field, beset by fallen trees and a campfire, was a man with the head of a wolf.

I froze when I first saw him, but he looked at me and gave a cold, but inviting, grin. His coal-black fur was matted and filthy and his eyes shone with a hungry gleam, but I could tell this being was not my enemy.

For the moment, at least. He waved me over and greeted me. Across his back was a powerful rifle, the likes of which I did not expect to see in such a wild place. He caught my curious stare, and narrowed his eyes. He offered to help me escape, but only if I could prove myself. My goal then, aside from finding the key that the Doctor had taken from me, was to make my way to the Silent Forest. He then showed me a few things he was willing to sell. Although he carried a few items of interest, the only real thing that caught my eye was a tool box. With that, I could try to repair my workbench even further.

After bidding farewell to the strange Wolf, I headed for the underground entrance. It was there, the only exit from those fucking woods. I had to make sure the Doctor had not yet found it. It was chilling, that first walk through the trees and sparse clearings. It was all so quiet. Birds had all but vanished from their nests.

The hum of forest life had fallen silent. The plague, it seemed, had stolen everything from this place. The wall of massive trees in the distance had grown so tightly together that nothing, not even sound, could penetrate it.

At last, I found the old shelter, and the underground stairwell. I delved into the depths until I found the rusted, iron door. It had not been touched. There was little I could do. As I turned to leave, a shadow flickered in the distance, barely noticeable from the dim glow of my torch. I was not alone.

I ran until I felt the warm glow of sunlight on my face again. I could hear the tortured screams of something in the tunnel.

It nearly caught me.

The sky turned orange not long after I had left the tunnel. I barely had time to scavenge for supplies, but I had little choice; I had to return to the safe house. The sun had all but vanished by the time I made it back. I quickly turned on the generator once I felt certain there was enough fuel to last the night. Then, I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and crouched into the corner behind the bed.

As the dull, gray light faded from the cracks in the barricade, a soft buzzing began to build beyond the sheer walls of the house. It felt like the night itself were breathing, pressing itself against the house in the hopes of collapsing it. I held my breath for what felt like hours, until a sudden knock upon the front door shook me from my stupor. Tentatively, I moved through the viscous black and answered the door. There was no one there, but a note had been left on the dirt at my feet. It was an invitation to a wedding.

Stunned, I retreated back into the bedroom. There, I remained, amidst the whispering and the distant cries of things unknown, until the beckoning light of dawn crept through the narrow cracks of the house. Euphoria overcame me, filling my eyes with a pure, white sheet of emptiness. When my sight returned, I noticed a gray pall that had fallen across the house. It felt like time had stopped. Cautiously, I moved into the kitchen and found an unexpected visitor.

He was covered from head to toe in thick clothing, and his face was obscured by a filthy gas mask. He was the man who saved me from the Doctor's house. The mask buzzed weakly with his every breath, and strangely seemed like a part of his body, but his eyes twinkled at me with an eager energy.

Across his shoulder, he carried a sack. As the days went by, the traveler would visit me often, yet he never spoke to me. Not with his voice. He scribbled his succinct messages on his glove, and held it up for me to read. Even from that first visit, I knew that he would be the only friend I'd have in this place.

Once I traded with the traveler, I left the house with the strange invitation in hand. It told me where to go, along with a combination I would need to enter. My curiosity could not be ignored. How could something so civilized, so....happy, take place in such a sinister and hostile place. I decided I if were to find any answers, it would be there.

Flowers were scattered capriciously across the ground, but as I drew closer to the field, I noticed a path where the petals condensed. I followed the path through the field and found a large farmhouse. It appeared derelict and run-down; it was hardly the setting I imagined for any normal wedding, but I assumed that these simple people made do with what they had.

I darted past a chained dog and entered the building. It was empty, but I could hear music in the distance. It sounded like it was coming from behind the property. I pushed through and exited through a back door. I found a girl, dancing alone beside some farm equipment.