The Village of Elkcub

As Nel climbed out of the hole, Ollie would help her up. He seemed different, though. His clothes were cut slightly differently, and he was growing a rather scruffy beard. At his feet sat a basket of turnips, plump and succulent. Ollie grinned at her, chewing on a piece of grass.

"Hiya there! I'm Ollie. Who are you, and how'd you get down there, huh? You were down an awfully long way, and not even on the ladder. We've got a ladder for a reason, you know."

If Nel looked about, Buckle would seem...off, somehow. The clock tower seemed to be facing the wrong direction, the bakery was a different color, and the bricks in the street weren't quite red enough. Perhaps she was just imagining things, though. Exhaustion and pain did that, sometimes. Meanwhile, Ollie polished a turnip, rubbing the dirt off of it.

Ollie shook his head, confused. When Nel mentioned the succubus books, however, he groaned in exasperation and flung the turnip in his hands into the pit. It smashed against the side, falling in pieces into the vast nothingness beneath. He stared at her, eye twitching alarmingly.

"Succubus books? You too? I don't even know you, and you're asking about succubus books! I'll have you know that there was a lot more than succubi in my books! I have a talent, you know! A true gift! I picked up the pen at a young age, and wrote a tale for the ages. Sure, there were a few lust demons here and there, but that's not the main focus. Everyone loved it, but for the wrong reasons! Does anyone ever talk about the dramatic character development of Harold the Mute King as he realizes that all his troubles are the result of his own inflated sense of self-importance? Does anybody mention the brilliant satire in the Court of Fools that Perseus discovers in the Rat Emperor's lair? No! The only thing that anyone ever focuses on is the detail in the sensation of the Succubus Queen's tongue on Perseus's Spear of Justice as she lowers herself upside-down from a golden trapeze. Nobody takes the work for the serious social commentary that it is!"

He pulled a rather worn book with a red cover from his backpack, shaking it in Nel's face.

"You see this? This book ruined my life! I'm a celebrity among the townsfolk, but nobody takes my work seriously. I'm a laughingstock among the other writers. I'll never write again! That's why I've given up the pen to work in the fields, growing turnips."

He sighed, sitting down on a rock. He clutched the book in both hands, fixating it with a forlorn stare.

"Perhaps I couldn't avoid it. It runs in the family, you know. My mother made her living carving nude statues out of marble, and my father was an illustrator for The Wild Witches of Wendelton. It wasn't a book series for children."

Ollie frowned, clearly confused. He put down the book, giving her a concerned stare.

"Perhaps you did...there wasn't any crowd here, miss. Nor was there a knight. I don't recall seeing you climb down there either, and I've been sitting here all afternoon. Are you feeling quite alright? Where did you come from? You don't look like you're from around here...perhaps you should sit down and take it easy for a while. Do you want to come over to my place for supper? I've got, uh, turnip soup. It's not bad, if I do say so myself. I've been growing some pretty nice turnips this season. They're real juicy. Succulent, even."

He hefted his basket of turnips, showing how well-developed they really were.

"What's your name, anyway?"

Ollie blinked at her, confused. He crunched on a turnip, chewing thoughtfully as he considered what she'd told him.

"Did you? No, I don't think I've ever seen you before. How long ago was this? How long were you down there? I tend to be awfully forgetful sometimes. Maybe it's the turnips. People say that eating too many turnips leads to poor memory...or maybe they just give you gas. Who knows. Also, what kind of name is Buckle? Awfully silly, if you ask me."

He glanced up at the sky, which was in the process of turning a pinkish-red. Sighing, he picked up his book and basket of turnips and made to leave.

"Well, we'd best get inside. You should come to my place, if you don't have anywhere else to go. After all, it's going to be dark soon, and it's not good to be outside when the darkness falls. Who knows when the sun will come up again? Come along, Nelisara."

Ollie laughed, as though the very thought of living in a town named Buckle was ridiculous. Carrying his turnips, he headed through the cobbled street, passing various butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers. The streets were oddly empty, with the few citizens hurriedly making their way home. Shutters banged closed and doors were locked, as everyone seemed to be closing themselves in for the night.

"Buckle? No, this place is called Elkcub! Don't you be silly, Nelisara. Come along now, it's not far now. It's getting dark, and we don't want to be out after dark."

He hurried down an alleyway and past a flowershop, finally reaching a bright red front door. Heading inside, he locked the door after Nel walked in.

"Ahh, there we go. I hope the sun comes up again soon. Would you like some turnip soup, Nelisara? Or perhaps some fried turnips? Also, here."

He handed her some cotton, pulled from a pouch by the door. He took a pinch for himself, and stuffed it into his ears.

Ollie stared at her with an equally confused look, gesturing to his ears with a rather incredulous look on his face.

"Why...it's for your ears, of course. What else? Put them in, it's getting dark out. Man, you really must have hit your head if you forgot about something like this..."

He turned away, heading into a small kitchen. Starting a small fire in the stove, he started boiling a pot of water. All the light in the little flat was provided by candles and oil lamps, and all the shutters were closed tightly. The home was decorated sparsely, with a few paintings on the wall of scantily-clad witches riding broomsticks and licking lollipops. A bookshelf sat against the wall, full of books on turnip-farming and issues of The Wild Witches of Wendelton. Outside, Nel would hear a soft tune playing, slowly growing louder and softer as though the musician was walking up and down the street. It was a rather unsettling piece, but didn't exactly warrant plugging one's ears. Ollie glanced over at her, concern lining his face.

"Come on, put the cotton in. What are you waiting for?"

The music seemed to be coming from outside, but the source appeared to move. It roamed up and down the streets, rising into the air and falling down towards the ground. The tune didn't change, simply going on and on with no sign of stopping. Ollie looked somewhat worried, glancing away from his turnip soup.

"Come on, put them in. It's going to start soon, Nelisara. What's wrong with you?"

The music was suddenly drowned out by a bloodcurdling scream, coming from outside. It sounded like a woman's voice, but it was hard to tell. Clearly, however, it wasn't from a human. It went on without pause for breath, impossible for a human. It sounded as though whoever was screaming was in excruciating pain, and the scream was cut with the occasional choking gurgle. Ollie sighed.

"It started pretty early tonight. Hopefully the night won't last too long this time. Do you like your turnip soup with peppers or no?"

A thump at the door made him jump, and he glanced over nervously. The wood flexed and the hinges creaked, as something slammed against it again, but it seemed to hold.

"Say, Nelisara...could you push that couch up against the door, please? I don't want anything to get in tonight, especially this early."

He pointed towards a rather overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace, which was currently cold and dark.

The couch slammed heavily against the door with a solid and reassuring thud. Ollie glanced over, seemingly unperturbed by the terrifying scream. He dropped a pinch of salt into the turnip soup, tasting it and adding another. He stirred for a moment, before pausing to answer Nel's question.

"I don't know what's out there, Nelisara. Nobody does. I don't know what this Buckle is that you're talking about, but I might be able to answer a few questions."

He checked that the windows were shuttered tight, and put a lid on the soup pot.

"A few weeks ago, the sun stopped rising regularly. Some days it was only up for a few hours before falling again. Other times, it would shine for days and days on end. The nights were equally unpredictable. I think the record was...five days without sunlight, if I recall correctly. People were worried, but what could they do? After a few days, a girl appeared. Not much older than you, really. She was completely mute, couldn't speak a word. The priest and his family took her in. That night, we heard that tune playing, and all sat outside to listen. That's when the screaming started for the first time, coming from the priest's home. Some of us ran to look, and found the entire family torn apart, as though their lungs had been ripped from their bodies. The girl was nowhere to be found, and they all ran home. Not all of them made it back, though. Ever since then, we hear the screaming and the music each night. I think it might be the monster trying to lure us back outside like it did the first night...or maybe it's just mimicking the sounds it heard. In any case, nobody knows. All we can do is stay in and pray for sun to rise again.
He sighed, adding some spices to the soup from an almost-empty jar.

"Of course, we sent a group out to go look for help when the sun finally rose. They set out east down the road, and returned that evening on the road from the west. They insist that they went in a straight line. It's happened to everybody who tried to leave this place."

Ollie nodded absently, ladling the soup into two chipped ceramic bowls. He placed them on the table, each accompanied by a piece of dark brown bread and a mug of tea. Giving a satisfied nod, he gestured for Nel to sit down and took his own seat.

"Don't worry, Nelisara. I've survived this long, haven't I? The house is well-secured. It has to be, I don't want people breaking in and stealing the art. People tried to take the witches before, you know. Some were fans of The Wild Witches of Wendelton, others wanted to sell them, and yet more just liked the art because...well, you can see."

He waved casually towards the paintings of witches hanging from the walls, who seemed to give Nel a judgemental stare as they licked their lollipops and adjusted their corsets.

"My father painted those all. He was quite the artist, you know. Him and mother both. Don't worry about the thing outside, though. Eat your soup and relax. It's not going to get in."