For as long as you can remember, Sunday was the day to go and visit your grandparents. When you were quite young, you spent several hours on Sundays reading with your granny and watching more television than you were allowed at home. Now that you’re older you’ve come to the realization Gran gave your parents a brief respite on Sundays by watching you.
When you were in the fourth grade, your grandfather died. It wasn’t a Sunday, and you didn’t really understand why you didn’t go to Gran’s house when Sunday did come around. Your memories of your grandfather are quite a bit more vague than your memories of Granny. Now that you’re older, you assume this is because he died when you were so much younger, but when you really try and think back, there’s nothing but a vague place that the memories of your grandfather once resided. It’s easier to just assume that you don’t remember him well because he has been gone half your life. And so you do.
[[Speaking of being older…|Leave]]Starting in high school, Sunday visits to Gran changed just slightly. You were now old enough to run errands and Granny was getting old enough she needed someone to run errands for her. By then you’d picked up that when you were smaller, Granny was babysitting. But you’ve built a solid relationship and you to enjoy your Sunday visits. Also, it meant you got to have the car for the day, it was a pretty solid trade.
You celebrated your twentieth birthday this year. Even though you’re in college, you still drive across town to visit with Granny every Sunday. Today is one of those days; Gran is still hale and healthy and lives in her house on the edge of the woods.
(set: $groceries to "yep")[[Pick up a bag of groceries on your way to her house.|Drive]]
(link:"If Gran wanted groceries she would have called you.")[(set: $groceries to "nope")(goto: "Drive")](if: $groceries is "yep")[On your way to the woods on the edge of town, you stop at your favorite grocery store. After picking up a coffee beverage from the standard chain in the front, you fill your cart with milk, veggies, pick out the best apples you can from a strangely over-picked bin, and Gran’s favorite cookies from the bakery.](if: $groceries is "nope")[You check your phone before heading out, just to make sure Gran hasn’t texted to let you know she needed milk or apples. Usually if she has things to be picked up in town before you head to her house, she’ll text or call to let you know. It also saves you a few dollars because you’re not lured into buying coffee at the chain coffee stand at the front of the store.]
When you pull your car up to Gran’s house, nothing seems particularly amiss. The trees of the woods are a brilliant mixture of green and yellow and a few are just turning red here in the early fall. Tall, dark evergreens stand out amongst the more riotous and showy deciduous trees. Even though the sun is bright, the shadows under the trees are quite dark and you cannot see far under the canopy. You stroll up to the door and knock, even though you’ve had a key to the front door since you were seven.
Gran’s house is beautiful and maybe one of your favorite places. It’s tied up with a lot of memories, mostly good but a few are less pleasant. There’s a deep bed of flowers in the front yard that Gran tends carefully. Last week they were immaculate but they seem to have become a bit overgrown with vines in the last week since you were here. The apple tree in the front yard hadn’t quite reached a level it was ready for really picking the apples off of it, so far mostly deer had been eating the fallen and early ripe apples. You’re still contemplating the apple tree and if Gran is going to have you up on a ladder getting apples or not when you realize you’ve been waiting a long time for someone to come to the door.
[[No one is coming to the door, might as well let yourself in.|Go in]]It’s quite unusual that your Gran hasn’t opened the door by now. But maybe she’s in the garden in back. She doesn’t drive so it’s unlikely that she has gone anywhere. Since you have keys, you let yourself into the house.
“Gran? Gran are you home?”
There’s no answer. You set your things down in the kitchen and it’s only as you do that it strikes you the smell of the house is all off. The house smells stale and boxed up. You make your way to the living room, then the bedroom, now worried that Granny has fallen or otherwise hurt herself. You pull your phone out and try texting her when you can’t find her in the house after an initial search. Nothing. You didn’t even seen Gran’s grey cat, Pudding.
(set: $firstlook to "inside")[[Do another search of the house. Maybe there’s a note?|Look inside]]
(link: "Check out in the garden!")[(set: $firstlook to "outside")(goto: "Look outside")]
(if: $firstlook is "inside")[You decide to start with a more thorough search of the house. Granny’s bedroom is in the back of the house so you start there. ](if: $firstlook is "outside")[It's warm and musty inside after being in the yard, but it's a pleasant, familiar feeling not oppressive. ]If it wasn’t for the thread of worry you can’t let go of, it’s almost like looking for presents, which you haven’t done for at least a decade. Nothing but some dried leaf detritus under the bed and a few stray dust bunnies made of Pudding’s hair.
The bathroom is empty but for an echo as you call for Granny there. You check the kitchen one more time and then finally take a deep breath and decide to brave the basement. It’s perfectly valid to be twenty and still have a slight apprehension about going into the dark basement, right? It’s always given you a feeling of being not right even when you were little. Gran always assured you that it wasn’t haunted but you’ve never been able to shake the feeling something was down there.
You reach gingerly around the door frame to get the light for the stairs. If the lights are off there’s no reason Gran should be down there, right?
“Gran?”
Nothing. Just before you take the first step down, there’s a rustling deep in the general darkness of the basement and you immediately withdraw your foot.
“Hello? Gran? ...Pudding?”
As though you’d summoned her, the grey cat shoots up the stairs and disappears into the house. You’ve never been on good terms with Gran’s cat so you twist to see where she might have gone. But if Pudding was down there you’d better check if Gran is too. There are no other rustlings so it seems safe for the time being to descend into the depths of the house.
There is a second light switch at the bottom of the staircase and you try not to look into the general gloom of the basement just in case something should be looking back. Once the light is on, it feels safer to look around and you’re willing to look into the main part of the basement instead of just keeping your gaze to the stairwell.
Gran isn’t in the basement.
You peek into the chest freezer just in case but there’s nothing but a turkey the size of three bowling balls in there. You still can’t shake the feeling someone is watching you and your heart leaps into your chest when two gold eyes are watching you at the top of the stairs. It takes a moment before your brain catches up and identifies Pudding staring down at you.
“Dumb cat,” you grumble, trudging up the stairs. You still can’t look into the dark shadows behind you as you turn the lights off behind you.
(if: $firstlook is "inside")[[[Better look outside.|Look outside]]](if: $firstlook is "outside")[[[Call your folks and tell them you lost Gran somehow.|Call]]]You step out into the backyard and immediately breathe in the cool, mossy air coming straight from the forest. The front yard is for looking good; cute house, cute garden, picturesque apple tree. The backyard is the place you really spent time with Gran. Her vegetable garden is here, wild and growing tomatoes beside beets beside runner beans. Your grandfather’s toolshed is still out back, Gran generally uses it to store garden tools and hang herbs to dry in it at the end of summer. From here you can see the forest, dark and green and neither welcoming nor forbidding. The forest feels like another world almost, you’ve played at the edges as you grew up but Gran never let you get beyond the first shade of the trees.
“Gran?” You cup your hands around your lips and call in the general direction of the woods. “Gran are you out here?”
Nothing.
You struggle with the swollen wood of the door to the shed only to find that Gran isn’t inside, even going so far as to peek into all the corners and check inside the few boxes that might fit a healthy old woman if a serial killer had chopped her into pieces.
When you’re convinced she’s not in the shed, you wander through the paths of the garden, calling for Gran and peeking behind as many plants as you can manage. Despite helping to weed it last week, the garden is really overgrown, the same trailing vines you’d seen in the front yard working their way into the vegetable garden. You’re not really sure what they are, now that you look a little bit closer.
Gran isn’t in the garden.
Uneasily, you peer off into the depths of the forest, looking for signs of movement that might be Gran but certainly aren’t moss monsters out to get you. Nope. Definitely none of those. She wouldn’t have gone off into the woods, certainly not alone. Not unless Pudding had run off or something. And then she would have left you a note. Or called you over early. Or left some sort of indication she’d been abducted by aliens. Right?
(if: $firstlook is "outside")[[[Time to look inside, maybe she didn't hear you|Look inside]]](if: $firstlook is "inside")[[[Better call your folks and tell them you lost Gran somehow.|Call]]]
Once you’ve finally given up on finding Gran, you head back into the house with your phone. As soon as you’ve settled on the couch (of course it’s a floral pattern, it’s literally a grandma couch), Pudding sits on the coffee table to stare at you.
“What?” Even though you’ve thoroughly searched inside and outside, you still feel guilty under that golden stare.
Instead of explaining yourself to the cat, because only crazy people do that, you grab your phone and text your dad. As soon as you’ve hit send, you dial Mom up, putting the phone on speaker so that you don’t have to hold it to your ear like a heathen.
“Hi sweetie! How are you?” Your mom chimes into the phone from her end. The background sound on her end of the call sounds like she’s driving.
“You okay to talk, mom? Are you driving?”
“I’m just dropping Gran off back at her house, what’s up?”
The tight feeling in your chest relaxes, replaced by a hint of annoyance you spent your afternoon worried about monsters, broken hips, serial killers and getting guilted by a cat for something you didn’t even do. “Oh. Nothing, ma. I’m just at Gran’s waiting for her to get home I guess.”
“Oh, I forgot to leave you a note,” Gran says, talking too loud because she feels the need to shout at the speakerphone from the front seat. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“It’s okay Gran. Pudding was in the basement though?” You grit your teeth and talk at a normal volume, valiantly attempting to set a better example of how to cell phone. It never sinks in.
“She snuck down there just as your mother came to pick me up. I’m so glad she came out for you, will you make sure she’s got food in her dish? She’s probably hungry,” Gran shouts at the phone. You sort of feel for your mother, being stuck in the car while Gran yells at the phone.
You glance at the cat and judge that she’s probably very hungry, based on the level of glare. “Anything else I can do before you get home, Gran? You want me to get started on some weeding in the back-”
“No. You stay out of the garden,” Gran pretty much cuts you off and you briefly wonder what peak decibel of the human voice can be. At least Gran sounds healthy enough, whatever she went out with your mother for doesn’t seem to be a medical emergency.
“Alright, I’ll stay out of the garden. Apples? The tree looks ready, we can press them if you want.” You offer.
“That would be lovely, I’ll see you when I get home,” Gran finishes at top volume.
“See you then,” as always, you find yourself shouting just to keep up with her. Good thing no one is home to judge you except Pudding. Probably she won't tell anyone.
[[Better feed the cat!|Feed the cat]]
[[The cat’s fine, might as well start on the apple tree picking.|Pick apples]]
“Here Pudding,” you put a few handfuls of kibble in the cat’s food dish, and wait for her to come and start inhaling her food.
Pudding hops down off the coffee table and saunters over, but only eats a few bites of food. Probably out of politeness or to prove a point, you’re not sure which. Cats.
[[Apples ain’t picking themselves, friend.|Pick apples]]On the way out to the apple tree you stop in the shed to get a shoulder basket and a pair of work gloves. It’s not that you’re super picky about the state of your hands but you’ve more than once found thorns growing from the apple tree. You asked Gran about them, the thorns, and she said it was just the way the tree grew sometimes. You’ve never seen another apple tree that grows thorns though. Also from the shed you bring out a ladder and spend a few minutes making sure that it’s well balanced on the side of apple tree.
You idly wonder how far Gran and your mom are from whatever they were doing while you ascend the ladder. It’s peaceful up in the apple tree. Now that you don’t have to worry about Gran being lost in the woods or wandered off in a fugue state, you can relax in the leaf-gold shade cast by the leaves of the tree. It smells like apples and sunshine up here. Instead of just wasting time leaning against a certified thorn-free branch, you get to work picking the ripe and the nearly ripe apples. Already your mind is full of all the delicious possibilities that could come from them. Aside from making cider, Gran makes the best apple pies and she’s sure to send you home with one either this week or next.
By the time your mom’s car pulls up the driveway to the house, you’ve already brought two full bags of apples down and deposited them in the kitchen. Who knew one tree could produce so many apples? Once you asked Gran what kind of apple tree it was and she’d told you it was just “the best” and left it at that. She wasn’t wrong but she also wasn’t terribly specific, even a little mysterious. Gran was frequently a bit unspecific and a little mysterious.
“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry I whisked your grandmother off without either of us leaving you a note,” you mom is the first one to reach you as you come down the ladder with a bag full of apples.
You smile, both at your mother and at the shorter figure of Gran coming across the yard as well. She looks as healthy as the last time you saw her, even though you’d heard her yelling into the phone you only really feel better when you see her for yourself.
(set: $help to "mom")[[Help carry the groceries, you ninny!|Help Gran]]
(link: "Give Gran an arm to lean on, just in case.")[(set: $help to "gran")(goto: "Help Gran")](if: $help is "mom")[There are several trips back and forth to you mom’s car before all the groceries are in. It seems Gran thought there would be some sort of run on nails or salt because you carry in a bag full of nothing but nails as well as one of different varieties of salt. There’s also a lot of baked goods, maybe the stove is on the fritz; the volume of baked goods isn’t that unusual, just that they’re from the store.](if: $help is "gran")[You mother seems to have the groceries under control, there’s not that many bags. You walk over to Gran and sweep her into a good, solid, Grandma Hug. She’s not very keen on accepting help, so a hug and then walking alongside her into the house is usually the best way to help her in. Not that Gran needs help but you can’t quite shake the feeling that something is amiss.]
Once both Gran and the groceries are in the house, you mom excuses herself to get back to her work and give the two of you time to catch up. Given that you saw Gran last week and Mom saw her last month you find this a little funny.
“So nails, Gran? Are you going to do some work on the house?” You set the nails by the back door for now and start putting the assorted baked goods into the cabinet where Gran keeps them.
“Oh? Oh. Yes. Some work on the house,” Gran answered, but she’s lying. You’re not sure what gives it away, maybe it’s the way she looked surprised before agreeing or the way her eyes don’t quite meet yours like they should.
Gran is an expressive woman, she’s a full foot shorter than you but her stooped posture suggests she used to be closer to your height. You definitely remember her being tall when you were much younger, but then again you remember everything being much taller in those days. She has a head full of curly, silver hair that she keeps fairly short. As far back as you can recall, you remember Gran with the same style of hair and color now that you think about it. She doesn’t really dress like a grandmother, not that you have done research on the subject, but she is fond of a flower print.
“What about all this salt?” You’ve crammed most of the baked goods away but now there’s multiple containers of salt. Table salt, iodized, pink, rock; name a salt and Gran might have bought it.
“I just want to try something new,” Gran says, stepping in and taking the bag of salt from your hands. “Here. This one is for you.” She picks out a shaker of fine, organic salt and slips it into your jacket pocket before you can object. You’ve learned better than to turn down Gran’s gifts, she worries about you and if you’re eating right or getting enough baked goods or apples. And apparently if you’re seasoning your food enough. Little does Gran know you’re plenty salty in your non-Sunday life.
“Thanks, Gran,” you pat your pocket, feeling the awkward weight of the bottle there but smiling anyway. It’s not as though it’s going to go to waste, right? “So what’s up with the garden?”
“Oh, the beans have gotten away from me is all,” Gran waves a hand, sounding far more airy about it now than she did over the phone.
[[Ask her why she’s fibbing about salt, nails and beans.|Questions]]
[[Gran wouldn’t lie to you, take it at face value.|Start Adventure]]“No, really Gran. What’s going on?” The smile that had been on your face fades a little and you try to stare down your Gran.
Easier said than done. For all that she’s smaller than you, Gran has a Presence. Her grey-green eyes peer up at you and the part of you that’s still seven knows you’ve stepped out of line and wants to apologize. You square off against one another until Gran finally breaks eye contact and looks toward the empty grocery bags.
“It’s complicated. And the more you know the more danger you’d be in,” she admits.
“Danger. Gran what is it? Is it- is it money? I can loan you some money if it is.” You watched quite a few cop dramas last week and this is the first thing that pops into your head.
She looks surprised again when you ask this but then smiles so gently you know she’s touched you even offered. Gran reaches up and puts her hands on both your cheeks; her hands are soft and cool to the touch, her skin rose petal soft. “You’re the sweetest but it’s nothing like that. I’ll explain later, I promise.”
That’s really the closest Gran has ever come to actually offering to tell you about any of the strange, inexplicable elements in her and your life.
[[Time to do Granny’s errands!|Start Adventure]]
“Sure, Gran,” you smile and accept her words at face value. If she wants to tell you the truth later, that’s up to Gran, it always has been.
She smiles up at you, glowing and pleased and you love every inch of her. “Now, be a dear and take this basket down to Mr. Grover three houses down.”
The basket in question has a bundle of seven nails tied with a bit of ribbon, a loaf of bread from the store, and six apples. It’s not the strangest delivery you’ve made to one of Gran’s neighbors, but you really wish Gran would explain the nails thing to you.
“Mr. Grover is the older guy, two houses toward the highway?” You know perfectly well which house is Mr. Grover’s, you’ve been bringing him apples in the fall on sundays for a long time now. He’s stiff and formal but nice, he always has taffy and when you were small Gran vetted him as acceptable to take candy from.
“Yes, now move along,” Gran gives you a gentle little push toward the door, patting your hip like some sort of pack mule.
The basket isn’t terribly heavy. Who even sends things to their neighbors in a basket anymore? It’s a long walk to the door of Mr. Grover, the lots out here by the woods are ridiculously large. From here the city seems so far away, you can’t hear the highway from here and the city lights are barely a soft glow on the horizon. Maybe if you climb the chapel hill you would be able to see down into the city, but from here it’s almost invisible. Like visiting another world.
[[That’s nice, get moving or these errands will never be done.|Stop Staring]]
[[No one is going to notice if you climb the hill first, apples aren’t time sensitive.|Go uphill]]
You skip past the old, abandoned house. No one has lived there for as long as you’ve been visiting Gran on Sundays. The house is hardly even a house, which might explain why no one lives there, a large ash tree grows through what remains of the roof. It doesn’t really explain why no one has picked up nice property like this and rebuilt. You glance at the weird bundle of nails and wonder, not for the first time, if Gran and some of her neighbors have a secret society that is dedicated to keeping people out of their neighborhood who might try to build a McMansion on the spot.
That’s silly. People simple aren’t in secret societies. And what would be the point out here by the woods? They could just be a society and no one would know about it. There would certainly be no point in passing secret messages to one another with specifically counted numbers of nails tied into a bundle.
Would there?
[[Stop and investigate the old house?|House check]]
[[Apples don’t get much fresher than these, unless you dawdle some more.|Continue to Grovers]](set: $adtype to "chapel")You look back at Gran’s house, pale and familiar in the soft, early twilight. She didn’t say explicitly that you should go directly to Mr. Grover’s. You keep the basket in your hands and turn away from the house down the street, walking toward the old chapel instead.
It’s a hike; you’ve done this countless times growing up but usually in the day. It’s different as the light slowly fades into the grey-dim between day and night. The path itself is overgrown and you have to stop and carefully remove thorns from your shirt to get up without tearing something, be it yourself or the thorn bushes. Gran’s always been particular about treating the flora of the area with respect even if it doesn’t respect you. There’s a bit of light at the top of the hill, you know that theoretically someone could use the chapel but no one ever does.
Some sort of instinct inspires you to step off the path now that you are past the briars and getting close to the top. Your footsteps are much quieter on the grass alongside the road than on the rough gravel. As you get closer still, not only is there the soft glow of light at the top of the hill, you also swear you can hear voices singing. You resist the urge to drop onto your belly and sneak up, instead you move around to the side of the church and sneak that way.
You can’t see anyone, but the glow seems to be everywhere on the green in front of the church.
(set: $adventure to "excite")
[[Get in there and find out what’s glowing!|Be a moth]]
[[Be smart and wait them out.|Patience young padawan]]
(link: "Be even smarter and just go back down the hill and do Gran’s errands.")[(set: $adventure to "boring")(goto: "Continue to Grovers")](set: $adtype to "house")It won't hurt anyone if you look around the old house between Gran’s place and Mr. Grover’s place. No one has lived there longer than you’ve been alive and the soft twilight has put a mischievous air in you. There’s a flat piece of cement near the boarded up entrance and you put the basket on it with your jacket draped over to protect it from small wandering animals. It’s a warm enough night, even though it’s late in the summer, that you’re fine without the jacket. You wear it out of habit when you go visit Gran or she’ll constantly try to put inside-out sweaters on you any time outside of July.
You walk around the perimeter of the house just to see if there’s an easier access point than the boarded up door. Someone has already gone to the work of breaking one of the widows on the forest-side of the house, all you have to do is clear out a few bits of broken window pane so that you’re not going to cut yourself climbing in. Then, a quick hoist and you’re through the window and into the house.
Once in the house, you find yourself in one of the bedrooms; the bed frame is still here, rusted metal with no mattress or blankets. The bed is small and sad, the pictures on the wall lead you to think this used to be a girl’s bedroom. Half of the roof is gone in this room and you walk in the direction of the door and the missing roof, picking through debris and feeling quite brave. It’s darker in the house than it was outside.
A lot darker.
Even though the roof is all but completely gone in the big living room that is central to the house, it’s quite dark here near the big ash tree. The wood seems to glow softly but that’s probably just a reflection of the light from outside. From here you can see that the front door is boarded on both sides, finished, stained boards nailed directly into the frame on this side. You step closer to look at them and it seems that they used to be part of furniture, a bookcase maybe? Weird.
(set: $adventure to "excite")
(link: "Get out while you still can!")[(set: $adventure to "boring")(goto: "Leave the house")]
[[It looks like they left in a hurry, maybe they left something behind.|Hausu]]Light on your feet, you’ve nearly reached Mr. Grover’s place. The house is neat like Gran’s is from the front but you know that Mr. Grover has a high fence in the back between himself and the woods behind his house. The neat order extends to the front and back gardens and you prefer the casual feeling in Gran’s backyard.
You knock on the front door and shuffle a bit on the front stoop while you wait for someone to answer. It doesn’t take long, you hear someone approaching from the other side of the door and then the slow wait while the gentleman on the other side of the door peers out through the peephole. It’s Sunday, he should know there was at least a 50/50 chance you would be stopping by running errands for Gran. Then again, if you were and elderly old man you would probably be careful about who you open the door to as well.
“Hi Mr. Grover. It’s just me, running errands for Gran,” you hold up your basket so that it should be visible as well.
Several bolts slide out of the way before the door finally opens and the tall, reed-thin form of Mr. Grover greets you on the other side. He looks at you, head to toe, and you can’t help but feel you’re being judged for something. Will you pass? You smile and hold the basket out.
“Yes, come in Adrian,” Mr. Grover says. He’s been calling you by one of his grandchildren’s names for as long as you’re known him, you’re not sure he actually knows your name. Sometimes you’re not sure if he actually realizes that you’re not his grandchild. Sometimes you wonder if it doesn’t matter, you’ve never once seen anyone come to visit Mr. Grover any of the visits you’ve made to Gran. You stopped correcting him a long time ago, it just seemed too sad.
[[Stay and chat, free candy!|I like candy]]
[[Make your excuses and head back to Gran’s.|I miss Gran]]You just have an overactive imagination. That’s what your dad always told you when you asked about the monsters in the night and the lights in the woods. You reach out and place your hand on the trunk of the ash tree and stare up at the gold-green leaves and above that the deepening blue of the evening sky. You’re not sure why anyone would ever want to leave this place, you find it quite tranquil.
With your head full of the first glimpses of evening, you wander through the house, not really sure what you’re looking for but you know there’s something to be found. Just at the edges of your vision the little bobbing lights, like lanterns, weave along after you but never in your direct line of sight. They do make it easier to see in the gathering darkness and you appreciate their assistance.
You find the kitchen after a few doors and although every other stick of furniture is gone from this room, the table still sits in the center of the room. A layer of leaves has been spread on the surface like a tablecloth and two apples and half a loaf of bread are arrayed on the table as though someone was about to have a late supper.
[[Have a snack, it would be rude to refuse.|Persephone anyone]]
[[Oh hell no, you read about this in a book once. Fight off the stupor, friend!|Leave the house]]Something about the boards on the inside of the house, boards pulled right from furniture and nailed in place, to keep someone out and away from the former residents has you spooked. Before some sort of twilight monster can get you, you see yourself out of the house through the window you entered. You grab your basket and head toward Mr. Grover’s house.
(if: $adventure is "excite")[When you pull your jacket off the basket and pull it on, you can’t help but notice two of the apples and half the bread Gran sent you with are gone. One last look at the house and you can see those bobbing little lights through one of the windows.]
[[It’s probably nothing but if it’s something, better safe than sorry.|Go back to delivery]]The muffled feeling you’ve had since you touched the ash tree doesn’t feel threatening in any way. It’s warm and comforting and reminiscent of something from your childhood. You break off a small piece of the loaf of bread and nibble. Until just now you didn’t quite realize how hungry you were but you were so hungry. You eat the bit of bread and then tear off another piece. Then another. Pretty soon you’ve eaten the last apple and you’re pretty sure you only meant to have a little snack.
The lights at the edge of your vision guide you now, down this hall, then that one, you can’t actually remember when the halls changed from being part of the house to dark stone and cool air that hasn’t seen the summer sun in a long time. You stumble over your feet once or twice, feeling so tired you’re not sure how you would have made it back to Gran’s anyway.
You find the room already laid out for you. By the door you reach into your pocket and remove the small packet there Granny slipped in while you weren’t paying attention. Salt, iron nails and a bit of cheese you could have offered. It’s a bit late now and you put the linen-wrapped package into the small alcove that’s there for it.
Still wearing your clothes, you settle on the leaf-covered bed. You’re weary to your bones and it is only a matter of a few beats of your heart before you’re asleep.
[[Way to go, Rip Van Winkle.|Rip Van Winkle]]When you wake up, your joints ache and pop when you try to move. How long were you asleep? It’s no wonder you feel trembly and sore, you’ve been asleep on a slab of hard concrete. With a little groan you push yourself to your feet, feeling every vertebrae in your spine pop as you straighten.
There’s a mirror now that wasn’t there when you fell asleep. Was it last night? Gran’s going to be so worried. You glance into the mirror and stop in a cold panic. It’s not your face looking back at you, it couldn’t be your face. It looks more like Gran staring back at you in horror. You touch your face and the leathery, wrinkles are there under your fingers.
You have to sit back down and put a hand to your chest while the enormity of this sinks in. It looks as though you’ve been asleep for at least a hundred years. The tight feeling in your chest gets worse and you’re too weak to get back to your feet.
Long years after your death, the fae living in the woods collect your bones and see that you’re laid to rest.
[[Bad end, you were Winkled. Start again?|Intro]]You step out from the shadows and into the soft light. As soon as you do, the lights go out completely and you are left standing alone in the green before the chapel. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed that the lights were nothing but a trick of the evening light. Probably.
“Hello?” You turn in a slow, full circle; chapel, forest, village and so far away the city twinkling like distant stars. It’s twilight and just dark enough that you can see the city from the hilltop. The view is nice and brings a smile to your lips and you leave the spot on the green where the soft lights had been and move to get a better view. You like living in the city, the bustle and the feeling of life around you. Human life that is. You also like coming out here to see Gran. There’s a different sort of life that surrounds you, green and alien and not human.
“Hello?” This time it’s not you that speaks, the voice is small and young and you can’t place if it’s male or female.
You turn on your heel, startled because you’d thought you were alone. Close to where you’d been a moment ago, a slender child stares at you. They’re beautiful, long limbs and delicate face. But they’re not human. Their skin is warm and brown like polished wood; you can even see the grain beneath the surface of their skin. But have you ever seen wood that picked up the faintest light and it glimmered on their cheeks like starlight? Green eyes are peering at you, too big for the face and not childish despite the rest of the form of the figure.
“Uh.” You’re very eloquent when you’re surprised.
“Why did you interrupt my dance?” The tone is almost accusatory and you try to remember any story that you’ve heard in the past about fairies.
[[RUN!|Because they never chase]]
[[Give them a gift.|Kill with kindness]]You crouch lower in the brush and wait, breathing in the cool air of the night and trying to be one with the shadows. The lights bob and weave and make a beautiful pattern. It’s mesmerizing and soon you find yourself losing track of time. It would be hard to say just how long you watch the lights; minutes, hours, days, years. The leaves are crunching beneath your feet before you realize you’re less Batman and more Robin and are being drawn to the light instead of being the night.
When you step into the moonlight on the hilltop, the lights pause in their dance and then swirl around you.
[[Time to go, if you make a break now you can get away.|Because they never chase]]
[[Dance along.|You just hum and dance along]]You turn on your heel and try to make a break down the hill. Whatever fresh Keebler hell has happened up here by the chapel you want nothing to do with. You expect to be attacked as you run but nothing stops you; until you get halfway down the hill and the first thorns catch at your clothing. Your shirt tears and then you feel the prick of pain as the sharp points catch your skin. This was a bad idea. There’s just enough time for you to think this, present self feeling smarter than past self, when your foot catches on a root and you fall headlong into the thorn bushes.
When you wake up it’s daytime again and you’re laid out on the couch in Gran’s living room. You hurt from head to toe, almost as though you hadn’t had that crazy dream and actually fell down a hill because some sort of… child fairie elf thing scared you. That would be silly because the dream thing was clearly half your weight and wasn’t much of a threat.
“Gran?” Your voice is rusty but there’s a bustling down the hall in the kitchen and then Gran appears.
“Oh sweetheart,” she moves to your side and offers you a glass of lemonade.
“What happened? I had a weird dream and I feel awful.”
“There was an accident last night,” Gran tells you, smoothing your hair and not bothering to hide the worry in her eyes.
“Is the car okay?” That’s the most logical reason you have scrapes all down your arms, right? Car accident.
“The car is fine, you fell while picking apples yesterday. Some good rest and you’ll be fine,” she assures you. “Now rest, your mother is going to come pick you up later.”
You settle back onto the couch, soothed and reassured by the cool logic of a world that is orderly and makes sense and doesn’t have strange fae creatures dancing in the twilight. That’s the stuff of dreams and childhood.
[[Well you survived, so that’s a thing. But it was awful boring. Start again?|Intro]]
“I wanted to give you a gift.” That’s something you’ve picked up because you’re a bookworm. If this really is a fairy and not some weird looking little kid, they can be bargained with for boon or at least not to leave you with an ass’s head. You keep your hands obvious as you hold out the basket and flip it open.
The strange child drifts closer, footsteps so light you glance to see if they are even wearing shoes. Nope. They have the feet of a deer, cloven hooves and everything. The transition from beautiful, brown skin to soft fur is so smooth you didn’t even notice until you directly looked.
“Would you like some bread?” you ask, as though you talk to cloven-footed children on a daily basis. You feel like you’re pretty smooth and doing quite well.
“You have poison in your basket, human.” The child hisses and steps back once they have gotten close enough.
“Wh-no! Oh… the nails. They’re for the neighbor, I was supposed to bring those to him. Look, the bread is good, perfectly nail-free.” You reach into the basket and pull out the bread to hold it up for the fairy’s inspection.
They narrow their gaze and you get the feeling that you would have a hard time lying to them. Those green eyes almost glow, picking up the ambient light around the two of you like a cat’s. A long, slender arm reaches out and accepts the offered bread. “Traditionally this ought to be fresh baked, I don’t like preservatives in my bread.”
You laugh, a manic and nervous titter because of course they want to talk about the quality of the bread. “I’ll bring organic next time and bake it myself.”
The creature smiles, pointed teeth making the otherwise reassuring gesture half-threat. “See that you do. And what would you like in exchange for this gift?”
[[Just ask to be friends!!|Friends 5ever]]
[[A token will do, you can call in a favor later.|Token Friendship]]“I just want to be friends,” you say hopefully. The idea of a bond flashes through your mind and being able to call this strange, beautiful thing over for coffee or fresh muffins has a certain sort of appeal.
The fairy pulls a face indicating their distaste at this proposal. “No, I am not friends with humans. Your lives are too short and that friendship would end in nothing but sadness. I only have so much emotion, I do not choose to waste it mourning you for the rest of eternity.”
[[Well fine but they didn’t have to be rude about it.|Token Friendship]](set: $token to "coin")“Um, a token then. Something to remember this by and maybe if I’m in trouble later I can call in a favor. Nothing big though.” You smile back at the fairy.
“Very well, but I shall arbitrate what sort of favor is too great for preservative bread. If you wish a greater return, do remember to bring something better next time. I like maple bars if you must pick something up from the shop.” They raise another hand and a large, silver coin is in their fingers. “Don’t bother trying to spend it, this has not been currency anywhere for such a long time.” And then with a laugh and a spin of soft lights, the child is gone.
You catch the falling coin and turn it this way and that, inspecting both sides. One face has a profile of a human on it, worn down so much that you can make out no features other than a hawkish nose. The other side has an owl, also worn down but more discernable than the face on the other side.
“Thanks.” It doesn’t hurt to be polite. The thorns don’t even catch at you as you walk back down the hill and turn toward Mr. Grover’s house.
[[Please give me the normalcy of Gran’s errands.|Go back to delivery]]You tighten your grip on the handle of the basket, feeling like something inside you has changed somewhat. You’ve always been prone to flights of the imagination, happy to pretend there are really creatures in the woods and trolls under bridges. That these are real things you’re not really sure if you should be excited or scared. Somehow you’ve ended up on the excited side of the fence. (if: $token is "coin")[You pull the silver coin from you pocket and flip it one way and then the other, pleased with the weight of the metal in your hand and that it’s real. ](if: $adventure is "excite")[”The more you know the more danger you’d be in”. That’s what Gran said. Are you in more danger now? You feel like there’s something important you need to talk about with her anyway.]
[[You’re almost to Mr. Grover’s house, pick up the pace!|Continue to Grovers]]
“How’s it going?” You ask, once Mr. Grover finally takes the basket from your hands.
Pale eyes look at you from behind oval glasses, and he is as unreadable as ever. “It has not been particularly remarkable for me. How is school?” He makes a vague gesture toward the couch.
You settle on the couch, a soft and faded affair with a flower print. You’ve never met a Mrs. Grover but he does have grandchildren. It’s not the sort of thing you’ve ever been close enough to ask, despite that you see him at least once a month. The living room is dated, lit by a single floor lamp beside an old chair that perfectly matches Mr. Grover; straight-backed, wooden arms, a table beside it with a couple books on it.
“School is good. We’re out of the beginner stuff and into the actual interesting classes finally. And I’m taking a painting class on the Saturdays this quarter,” you help yourself to the taffy on the coffee table, trying not to be too obvious you’re looking for the peppermint ones specifically. It’s sort of like a game. You try to eat mostly peppermint taffy without being too obvious but every time you come by there seems to be a far greater number of that flavor than any other.
“What sort of painting?”
“Acrylics. They’re different than I thought they would be to work with. I thought I would be like Bob Ross, but it’s not the same. He has some good ideas that might work for the medium though,” you get a little more animated talking about this than you meant to. You didn’t know you had that depth of feeling for the activity even though you enjoy it.
(if: $adventure is "excite")[[[He’s looking at you like he has something important to say.|Chat with Brover]]]
(if: $adventure is "boring")[[[He smiles and listens and it’s nice to have someone this attentive.|Chat with Brover]]]The walk back to Gran’s is quite dark, and you spend a good portion of it looking toward the woods. You know, just in case wolves come running out. Or trolls. Or there’s a really sweet patch of late raspberries and you can run over to get them and surprise Gran. Not that you would have much chance of spotting them in the dark. You’re not precisely a superhero and able to see in the darkness.
On the front of Gran’s house, the porch light glows like a beacon, soft and warm. You home in on it, not all that different from some sort of evening moth. Worries about wolves and monsters and other things in the forest seem less threatening as you get closer to the warmth, closer to the welcome, protective presence of Gran.
You let yourself in the front door and the smell of dinner is almost overwhelming as it hits you full force. You didn’t even realize you were cold or hungry until you came back into the house and were engulfed in it.
(if: $adventure is "boring")[“Gran I’m back! Sorry it took so long, I was talking to Mr. Grover. We got to talking about my classes and I lost track of time.”](if: $adventure is "excite")[”Gran I’m back! Sorry it took so long. Some of the weirdest things happened and then Mr. Grover and I were sort of talking about it.”]
You vaguely hear an answer but it’s not really words you can make out easily from the front door, but it’s coming from the direction of the kitchen. Given the delightful smells wafting your way from that room, it’s where you would have gone anyway. You lock the door behind you and walk from the livingroom to the kitchen, depositing your shoes on the way. You’re a little afraid to admit to Gran that you walked all through the house looking for her earlier without removing them.
“Hey Gran, hey Pudding,” you greet both occupants of the kitchen and settle in a familiar seat.
“Hi sweetheart,” Gran smiles at you across the counter and starts putting food onto a plate for you.
There’s a pile of mashed potatoes you could sink the entire Titanic in, smelling a little like garlic and a lot like butter and potato. Gran makes the best mashed potatoes and you’re pretty sure there weren’t any potatoes cooking earlier so you’re not entirely sure where these came from. You have to remind yourself that it’s best not to look gift mashed potatoes in the mouth. Or something like that. Beside the potatoes, there’s what looks like fish with a crispy coating that is probably pesto. Gran has also produced some homemade, crusty bread (why did she have so much store-bought bread if she was going to make her own?) and seared brussels sprouts. You know Gran likes to cook but this is something else entirely.
“Wow Gran, this looks amazing,” you breathe in the smell now that it’s right in front of you and smile at her. “What’s the occasion?”
“I just want to make sure you’re ready to run one more errand for me,” Gran smiles. “For tonight anyway.”
You have to chew and swallow before you can ask her anything, so that gives you a bit of time to think about what to ask. Of all the people to talk with your mouth full in front of, Gran is not one. Your knuckles have felt the crack of her wooden spoon rarely but she’s not afraid to help instill the will to be well-mannered in her home.
(if: $adventure is "boring")[[[Ask about dinner|Food Porn]]]
[[Ask about that errand|Errantry]]
(if: $adeventure is "excite")[[[If excitingAsk about the fair ones|Let's talk about F A E]]](if: $adventure is "excite")[“Adrian,” it’s still not your name but you’ve gotten used to responding to it in Mr. Grover’s house.
“Mneah?” You mouth is stuck together with toffee but his tone makes you pay attention. It’s the same tone Gran was using when you tried to go weeding earlier in the day.
“You have been careful, haven’t you?”
“I’m always careful,” you answer but it’s not as carefree as you would like it to sound. The events of the evening start to weigh heavily on your mind suddenly. (if: $token is "coin")[You finger the metal of the heavy coin in your pocket, still cool even though it’s been close to your skin for some time now.]
“I know that we have passed Midsummer, but tonight there are things out there which are so deeply of this world. But they are powerful,” his light eyes bore into you. It feels like a fairy tale. Perhaps that’s what it is. But until tonight fairy tales felt like something for another time and place, not something with any real relevance to you.
“What are they?” You venture to ask, tucking your knees in the hope you’ll get a good answer.
“The Fair Ones. The Wildlings. Changelings. The Fae. Fairies, I suppose, though they’re not too keen on that name these days. Too many lofty associations, little white babies with pink cheeks, striped socks and butterfly wings,” he waves a hand as he speaks, as though he could wave away hundreds of children’s books depicting that very thing.
“Yeah but what are they?” You asked, feeling the panicky, manic laughter make your voice tremble slightly at the edges.
“They’ve been here longer than you have,” Mr. Grover says.
You’re still ruminating on his choice of words when Mr. Grover gets to his feet and you do to like autopilot.
“You should get back to your Gran, it’s dark and it will be late soon.” Mr. Grover politely ushers you to the door, putting three peppermint taffies in your hand on the way out the door.
Did he really say fairies, no, fair ones have been around longer than you have? Not we have? You’re out the door already and it’s too late to ask, but it’s still rattling around in your head.](if: $adventure is "boring")[You chat with Mr. Grover, not really saying anything of importance, but you’ve always had the feeling he enjoys that you come to see him. That anyone comes to see him. Maybe Gran sends you with apples and nails and other weird errands, but you’ve been onto her for some time that she just wants someone to spend time with a nice, old man.
“Look at the time, Adrian,” he says, still getting your name wrong but it’s sort of endearing now. “You ought to get back to your Gran before it gets any later. It’s quite dark, so be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” you say with a soft little laugh, but he puts three peppermint toffees in your hand on the way out the door anyway.]
[[Head back to Gran’s.|I miss Gran]]“So what made you go all out on this dinner, Gran? It’s amazing.” You swallow a huge bite of mashed potato before asking this. They’re perfect and smooth and rich and you just know there’s no way this is in any sort of diet plan other than Gran’s plan to fatten up her grandchild.
“It’s nothing special,” Gran answered, but you can tell she’s flattered by the compliments and glows a bit as she goes back to washing the last of the dishes in the big sink. “There’s nothing for dessert I’m afraid. Going out this afternoon took a bit more time than I thought it would.”
“This is fine, Gran. It’s more than fine.” There is far more on your plate than you could really eat in one go anyway. Maybe you’ll get lucky and Gran will send you home with a bucket of these mashed potatoes when you get done running errands.
Pudding is trying to arrange herself in your line of vision without being in the forbidden land of on the counter. She really would just like for you to know that she would also like to find out how good the fish is. It’s really, really good. The pesto crust is just crisp and gives a texture bite to the otherwise soft fish, it also kept the fish moist and delightful. If Gran wouldn’t tell you it was rude, you’d probably let Pudding know this. You settle for taking a slow, luxuriant bite while she is watching.
[[Eat up and get your jacket to run that errand.|Time to go]]“What sort of errand do you have in mind?” You ask, arranging your mashed potatoes into a small model of Pudding with the back of your spoon. It’s not terribly accurate but it is sort of fun and a way to keep your hands occupied so your brain can focus on what Gran is saying.
Gran looks uneasy and this makes you worry. “Eat up, sweetheart, I’ll tell you about it when you get done.”
You’re not sure you’ve got the same appetite as before, but with food as good as Gran’s it’s hard to stay inappetant for long. The mashed potato Pudding sculpture is just begging to be eaten. The potatoes have a perfect, smooth consistency, smell a little bit like garlic, and taste like butter. What more can you ask from a potato? You crack the pesto coating on the fish with your fork, the sound crisp and any thoughts of not eating are gone.
Pudding comes around to your chair and winds around your ankles, just in case you didn’t know she was there. Her whiskers tickle slightly when you reach down to give her a pet. Pets are okay but you suspect she’s trying to let you know she would really like to try some of that fish, just to check for quality. It’s delicious. You give Pudding’s head a little rub and then sneak a bite of fish under the table when Gran has her back turned.
[[Eat up and get your jacket to run that errand.|Time to go]]“Gran,” you start, settling at the table where she’s put the plate full of food. You’re not sure you could stand all that much longer. The evening has taken the strength from your knees and you suspect her errand has something to do with the night you’ve had. “What can you tell me about the fair ones?”
She gives a little start and looks more closely at you than she had when you first walked in. She gets a piece of crusty bread identical to yours and sits down at the table. Bread in hand she puts the other hand on top of yours, skin soft and cool and feeling soft and delicate and you suddenly try to remember just how old Gran is. She’s never struck you as delicate before but there’s something fragile in her eyes you’re not sure how to account for.
“What happened?”
(if: $adtype is "house")[You run a hand through your hair, thinking back to the empty house between Mr. Grover’s and Gran’s. In a few, confused sentences you try to explain what happened. It gets muddled in the telling though, like trying to relay a dream and it’s all out of order but your words simply won't line up with how it was in your mind. You laugh nervously as you reach the end of your story and finally look back to Gran.](if: $adtype is "chapel")[You poke at your mashed potatoes a moment before pulling the coin from your pocket and setting it out on the table. The sound of the metal touching down seems thunderously loud and ominous. Both you and Gran look at the silver coin on the table and you try to tell the story about the child-like fair one that gave it to you. It feels like you’re reading her a story rather than telling her something you’ve actually experienced. When you get done you laugh nervously and look up at Gran, fingers scooping the coin and putting it back in your pocket.]
Gran pulls a piece of bread from her small loaf, chewing the aromatic loaf while she thinks about your story. She sets it down and puts her hand on yours again. “I thought I could protect you by not telling you too much. Innocence is a form of armor when it comes to the Fair Folk.”
“I’m not innocent,” you say to Gran, not sure if you should feel offended by this label or not.
Gran laughs softly and you know she didn’t mean it as an insult. “No, but you didn’t know. But now you do so you’re not protected anymore. Feel your other pocket.”
“Mmm?” You put your hand into the pocket of your jacket. You generally don’t use them because it’s easy for someone to slip important things out-- or in it would seem. In your pocket there is a small, linen wrapped parcel.
[[Open it!|Ooo presents]]
(link: "It’s hard and squishy and this is a little weird.")[(set: $opinion to "weird")(goto: "Ooo presents")]And that's the end of the demo! What awaits you in the woods? Did you get here without experiencing anything more magical than a beautiful, moonlight night? There is something magical about that, but perhaps if you played through again you would find something else lurking in the shadows. But perhaps if you play again you could meet an unfortunate end... Did you get here after surviving a strange encounter that seemed like something from a story (or a game)? Do you suspect these "rosehips" have a nefarious purpose? Who are you, why would you suspect your angelic gran of anything like that???
Thank you for playing the demo of this game! I hope you enjoyed it! See more of my writing, ramblings and things that make me tick on tumblr: amrynth.tumblr.com (warning, generally safe for work but occasionally not) Much thanks to TheGorgonist for my cover image, she's amazing and if you want you should check out her work on thegorgonist.tumblr.com!
See you soon when I have the completed version!
[[Care to try again?|Intro]](if: $opinion is "weird")[She laughs at your discomfort and waves her hand at you. “Just open it, sweetie. I made that myself.” ]Gran smiles at you, warm and gentle and everything good. What would she have possibly given you that could cause harm?
You open the little packet carefully, putting the contents on the table as you find them. A small bundle of the nails Gran had been stockpiling, a tiny ziplock of salt and a hard cheese in plastic wrap. “Is this why you had that crazy shopping list at the store?”
You glance around the kitchen and you can see there are nails in every window visible from where you are. The windows aren’t nailed shut, just the iron laying across the threshold. Would that work? You’re not convinced, nothing you experienced tonight feels like something as small as an iron nail could really control it.
“What’s the cheese for?”
“A present,” Gran says, eyes twinkling slightly. “Or, if nothing untoward happens tonight, a snack in the morning.”
“Graan, I’m not eating cheese that’s been sitting out all night,” you say, even though you know that a hard cheese is perfectly edible after it’s been out of the fridge for a night or more. It’s the principle of the thing.
“No, listen to me,” Gran says. “The nails offer a bit of protection, they are iron and will defend you from most of the Fair Folk unless they talk you into taking them out of your pockets. But tonight they are strong and they are awake in the woods so the iron may not dissuade them from coming to you. The salt, you can spill it if you need time to escape. Some the the Folk cannot help but count each grain before they can pursue. It will give you enough time to get back to the house or to Mr. Grover’s.”
“Right so throw salt or nails at them and run,” you say, your laugh strange and high-pitched and dangerously close to hysterics. “Are they all dangerous? Can’t I, you know, talk to them?”
Gran gives you a look and then gets to her feet. “You’ll need a lot of bread if that’s what you would like to do. It would be dangerous but… it could be the best option, if- if you survive it.” Her voice sounds thick with emotion and you get up and offer her a tissue.
“Gran, I’ll be careful. But I’m not going to just assault a bunch of Fair Ones with nails. Or a-salt them?” You pause for the bad pun, trying to lighten the mood in the room.
Gran pushes you by the shoulder but she laughs anyway. “Just tell a few like that and they will surely leave you alone.”
“See? I’ve got wit to keep me safe, yeah?” You laugh with Gran and return to the table to finish eating and re-wrap your parcel.
[[Eat up and get your jacket to run that errand.|Time to go]]Once you’re done with the delicious meal Gran made, you stretch luxuriantly at the table before getting up to pull your jacket off the back of the chair and pull it back on. “So what can I do for you, Gran?” It’s after dark but this is generally a safe neighborhood; it’s too far from the major section of the city for much traffic and no one lives out here but some retirees and some vacant lots.
“I need rosehips,” Gran tells you, finding a fresh basket and passing it to you.
“You can get those from a store, can’t you?” You’re not entirely sure how roses have hips but you know Gran likes a tea from them. It never occurred to you that Gran has been collecting them herself this whole time.
“I could but these are special. They grow in a clearing in the woods, we went there when you were younger, remember?”
[[Not a clue.|What glade]]
[[Oh yeah! You hadn’t thought of that in years.|That glade]]“Gran I don’t remember,” you say, feeling apologetic. It’s not that you don’t want to do an errand for her, but you haven’t spent much time in the woods. Any time really, that you can remember. You were always forbidden to play beyond the first bit of shadow cast by the trees. You’d get lost if you went in there now.
She pats your hand on the basket. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can give you directions to make sure you don’t get lost. You can stay here if you really don’t want to go.”
You look down at her little hope-filled face and it’s hard to say no. She won't even make you feel guilty if you don’t, which someone makes it even worse if you do. The couch does look awful inviting. You know that the alternative to going out and collecting rosehips for Gran is to sit down and watch a movie with her. You’d even get to pick. That’s probably what you would do after a quick run out to get them anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve crashed on Gran’s couch on a Sunday night. You’ve made a habit of not having morning classes on a Monday.
[[Write the instructions down so you can find it.|Instructions are handy]]
[[Stay in with Gran, you’ve both earned a movie.|Movies are nice]]Had someone else asked you if you’d ever been into the woods before, you would have said no. Just gazing into the woods you had no particular recollection of a clearing, of sunlit springs and hazy summers with Gran picking flowers and berries. When she mentions it, you immediately can think back to spending countless Sundays when you were both younger. Getting so sticky with berry juice “helping” Gran to pick the summer berries that she just dunked you entirely in the small stream that run along one side of the clearing. Playing around the old Ash tree that grew in the center of the clearing, pretending that it could understand when you told it stories.
“I’d completely forgotten about that, Gran,” you say, sounding a little stunned.
“Do you remember how to get there?” Gran gently pats the hand holding the basket. “I can write it down for you if you’d like.”
“Yeah. I mean, I think I can get there okay.” Paths you didn’t remember until just now play in your memory like film, but it was so long ago it may have changed since then. “Yeah, I think directions would help.”
[[Get Gran’s directions and head out!|Instructions are handy]]Gran gets a notepad from the counter, the cute one you bought last summer with little owls in the corner, and spends several minutes writing detailed directions to the clearing. “You know what rosehips look like, right dear? The ones you’ll be picking tonight are special though, they’re only in that field and only tonight. Instead of a red color, look for the dark purple ones.”
“You’re sure these are rosehips and I’m not just breaking into someone’s stash of…” your knowledge of drugs isn’t actually comprehensive enough to think of something that could be confused for a dark rosehip, so you trail off.
“Yes,” Gran laughs. “I wouldn’t have to go to quite this much trouble if all I wanted was illicitly grown things.” She folds the paper and puts it in your hand not holding the basket. Alongside that she puts a flashlight in your basket and parcel of the same, crusty bread you had as part of dinner. “Be careful, love.”
You lean down and kiss your Gran on her forehead. “I’ll come back Gran, promise.” Before going out you peruse her directions and zip your jacket up. You’ll be able to find the clearing with these, surely.
The backyard is full of moonlight and shadows. Pudding slips out the door at the same time as you but she’s always been an indoor outdoor cat. You watch her tail bob through the grass ahead of you and smile. It’s nice to know you’re not alone out here, even if you and Pudding don’t always see eye to eye about whom the couch belongs to. In passing, you glance at the garden and it is almost choked with that strange vine you had seen earlier in the day. Now that it’s dark, there are small, white flowers are growing in the upper reaches you would never be able to reach. They glow just faintly in the moonlight and you make a mental note to tell Gran how pretty they are.
[[Head into the woods.|End Demo]]“Why don’t we go get rosehips tomorrow, Gran? We’ll walk out there together and you can show me the way. Start some popcorn and we’ll watch a movie.”
Gran lights up with a smile. “Be sure to pick out a good one then.” And she disappears back into the kitchen to make popcorn.
Even though you just ate a fantastic dinner, there’s always room for popcorn with an after-dinner movie. You crouch down beside the DVD shelf and run your finger along the spines of the movies and settle on Planet of the Apes from 1968. It’s comfortable and it’s perfect and you end up falling asleep on Gran’s couch before the movie is even over.
There’s bright sunlight outside when you wake up and a familiar, old quilt is draped over you. You check your phone instinctively, checking to see if you’ve overslept for class or not. (if: $token is "coin")[You pat your pocket, half expecting to find it empty but the solid shape of the silver coin is still there. It has finally warmed to your body heat after being squished between you and the couch overnight. You’re not sure what that means and you’re not sure you should be relieved or not, but you are. You’re relieved to know last night wasn’t a dream.]
“Gran, I’ve got to get going if I’m going to make it to class,” you holler. A voice comes from the kitchen and you head in that direction to see what she’s trying to tell you.
You find Gran, in the kitchen, up to her elbows in making pancakes. Fuck class, man. There’s blueberries in those pancakes.
“Are you rushing off, sweetheart?” Gran asks, wearing a floury, flowery apron.
“Nope. I’m staying for pancakes, now.” You grin and settle into a chair.
[[Email your professor, this is clearly a family emergency.|Sleepover]](if: $adventure is "boring")[You spend the morning with Gran, eating pancakes and doing a few things around the house before you drive back into town. Really, you enjoy your Sundays with Gran.
Congratulations, you made it through the day. You will, perhaps, not have stories to tell about this day, as it did not differ much for an ordinary Sunday, but at least you can tell stories someday. The end.](if: $adventure is "excite")[You spend the morning with Gran, eating pancakes until you’re ready to pop. After breakfast you walk around the backyard with her; the vines that had been growing in the garden seem to be gone, nothing is out of the ordinary now.
Congratulations! You made it through the day. You’ll have stories to tell and, perhaps, a trinket or two to prove that you may not have made all of it up. Then again, perhaps you will find a use for it another eventful day in your life.]
[[Start again?|Intro]]Double-click this passage to edit it.The lights surround you and instead of listening to flight or fight instincts, you let yourself dance along with them. Although your ears cannot hear any music, there’s a rhythm to the lights that’s irresistible and playful. Even though dancing isn’t particularly a thing you go our of your way to do, you enjoy dancing with the shining lights. They’re not human enough to feel like there’s judgement and it’s freeing to not worry.
By the time the lights disperse, flitting across your shoulders and cheeks ever-so-lightly, you’re sweaty and breathing hard but you’re smiling too. It is somehow surprising that it’s still the same night, that you have not spent days dancing and come back to find centuries had passed.
[[So about that apple delivery you were supposed to be on...|Go back to delivery]]
<span style="font-size: 200%"> (Over the River and)</span>
<span style="font-size: 300%">Through the Woods</span>
A Twine Fairy Tale by Rachel Fahlgren
[[Once upon a time|Intro]]