FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

II

Robert awoke screaming. The old man hurriedly stuffed a filthy rag in his mouth.

"Hush, you!" he said. "D'you know what time it is?"

Robert didn't know. It was too dark to tell. "_Mphpmph,"_he gagged.

"Well, I can tell you it ain't day. Don't know what you're used to, but unlike you city folk, I don't enjoy being woken up in the middle of the night by some screeching lunatic beside my bed."

"Mphmphmm Mphm."

"I'll accept your apology this time, but do that again and I'll throw you outside, hear?"

"Mphm."

The old man removed the rag and tossed it onto a pile in the corner, leaving Robert to cough up the taste which had accrued in his mouth. He was seated on a hard, bare, poorly-constructed wooden bed at the rear of what seemed to Robert an even more poorly-constructed wooden shack. There were no windows, but shafts of moonlight seeped regardless through cracks in the walls and roof due to the irregular paneling of the boards. The shack was not large. The bed took up most of the floor, and the remaining space disappeared with the inclusion of a small thin table barely large enough to lay one's dinner on, and a set of uneven wooden shelves upon which lay a strange collection of clear jars, which housed even stranger collections of assorted powders, fruits, and pickled bits of animals. This set-up resulted in an aisle through the middle of the room, leading from the bed to the door -- or at least the place where a door should have been. In its stead, a free-standing board covered the entrance, obviously meant to be removed whenever someone came in and put back when they left. In the aisle was a blanket and pillow, which likely meant to go on the bed Robert was on, and the old man, who was slowly laying himself back down to continue sleeping.

A thought suddenly occurred to Robert, and he whipped his head around in a panic. He remembered the eyes. The giant boulder. The monsters.

"It was just a dream," he told himself. "I'm not crazy."

"Sure," said the old man, crawling back under his blanket. "You're not crazy. Now shut up, please."

"It was just a horrible nightmare. Oh gosh! But it was so real! T-there were all these eyes chasing me, and then this boulder -- o-only it wasn't actually a boulder at all! It was th-this, th-this... thing, this monster!"

"Old Kragg," corrected the old man.

"Sorry. Old Kragg. And then the eyes came out from the shadows, but they weren't actually eyes either! They were monsters, too! In my dream th-there were these giant, er, flapping... umm... purple..."

"Purple?"

"Terrifyingly violet."

"Venomoth, then."

"Well, these venomoth were just, just everywhere really, and making horrible noises. It was awful. And there were these creatures with bones on the outside of their bodies and horns on their--"

"Houndoom," interjected the old man.

"W-what?"

"The pokemon you're talking about." The old man yawned. "They're the ones who dropped you off here."

"Oh, yes. Of course. Umm..." Robert scratched his chin. "W-where was I?"

"I don't care. Go to sleep," said the old man, and promptly did so himself.

After a time, snores filled the shack, and Robert was left alone with his thoughts. He tried to remember where he was, and why he was in a shack. He thought about the old man, and tried to recall who he could be. Perhaps he worked at the office, he thought. They could be co-workers. Couldn't they?

The dark around him was close and pressed against him like a wall. Outside the shack, he could hear the sound of water babbling. The wind softly whistling through the cracks brought the smell of pine needles to Robert's senses. It was cool in the shack, but wasn't it the middle of November? Yet the bed was warm, and his thoughts were dull. Robert lay back down and closed his eyes. He forgot the monstrous dream. He forgot the strange old man, and the strange shack, and the strange forest. The word "pokemon" flitted through his head, trying to find something to connect with. The low chirrup-ing outside reminded him of crickets and made him feel safe, and a blanket sleep enclosed him utterly.

Robert dreamed.

--

Robert awoke screaming. The old man was already attempting to gag him with an even filthier rag than the first, and Robert had to clutch the old man's arm to keep it at bay. "They're back!" he yelped. "Dear merciful God, they're back!"

"Quit hollerin', lad! It ain't even a second past dawn. Who's back?"

"The Giant, Flapping, Purple Things!" wailed Robert. "They're outside! I saw them through the wall!" And he pointed a trembling finger at a hole by the bed. It was barely dawn. Only the feeblest rays of light shown through the cracks. The old man knelt down and peeped through.

"Ah," he said calmly, "the venomoth."

"Oh God, you see them, too?"

Robert held his head in his hands. "Then it wasn't a dream. No. It wasn't a dream at all." He looked at the old man pleadingly. "What do we do?" he said. "Fight them off?"

"Fight them off?"

"Well, they're dangerous, aren't they?"

The old man shrugged. "Only to bugs, maybe. It's what they're eating right now. Do you want to look?"

"No! I never want to see them again!" said Robert, his voice cracking from hysteria. "What are they even doing here? Why don't they leave?"

"I expect they're just here for their snack."

"Th-their snack?"

"Yep. Make it for 'em myself. Bit of honey on a rag. Flies stick right on. The venomoth appreciate it, I think, whenever I leave a few out there."

Robert glanced at the pile of soiled rags in the corner, thought, and immediately wanted to throw up. "H-how many are out there?" he asked, trying not to think about anything anymore.

"Couple dozen, looks like," said the old man, "the venomoth, I mean." Robert made a noise that sounded a cross between a sob and a wail. The old man looked at him funny. He gave him an appraising look and put a finger to his white-haired chin. Then he went over to the shelves and brought out a rock which Robert recognized immediately. It was the rock he had snapped from the living boulder. The piece of the monster.

"What are you doin' here, lad?" said the old man, rolling the rock in his withered hand. "You got your suit and your tie and your nice leather shoes... look like you're ready to sit at a desk all day and start filing taxes. Yet here you are, in the middle of nowhere, stirrin' up a fuss. Heard it all last night. Old Kragg up again. The forest pokemon stomp'n all over the place tryin' to calm him down. And you, scream'n your head off like a sissy. You decide to come this way for a reason, lad? Got lost on your way to some important meeting? 'Cause all you've managed to do since coming here is run rampant through their territory, maim this forest's protector, and yell my ear off all night."

"That's... well..." stuttered Robert. "I'm very sorry."

The old man gave him a hard look. "Sorry ain't gonna cut it with Old Kragg." He held out the rock to show Robert. "You took a nice chunk out of his temple. I wouldn't be surprised if he took a chunk out of yours, just to be fair."

Robert's hand flew up, and the old man gave a wheezing chuckle. "Now, now," he said. "I doubt he'll do it. Old Kragg's not so old-fashioned as he used to be. Maybe he'll just ask for one of your teeth or something."

There was a clamor as Robert leapt to his feet. He was halfway to the sliding panel before the old man got a hold of him. "Let me go!" he yelped. "I'm making a run for it!"

"No, you're not! D'you not know nothin', boy? Old Kragg will sense you runnin' before you're even a hundred yards out."

"What?!"

"He's a rock-type. He lives in the ground. Knows his dirt, you know? You're clumsy and oaf-footed. Your fat feet will be poundin' in his ears with every step! You can't get away from this, lad. It's over."

Robert stopped and gaped at the old man. What he was spouting was nonsense. Utter nonsense. And yet, the image of that beast rising from the earth would not leave his mind, and gave him reason to pause. Slowly, and with encouragement from the old man, Robert returned to the bed. After a moment, Robert looked up at the old man, who was standing over him apprehensively.

"W-what is he?" asked Robert, forcing himself not to picture that horrifying creature any more than necessary. "A monster?"

The old man relaxed a little and picked his chin. "Well, maybe to some. But he's an onix, of course. A bit bigger than others, maybe, but they get like that when they're that old. And Old Kragg is plenty old. Truthfully, I'd reckon he's the same as any other pokemon around here, except for the obvious thing--"

But Robert was distracted. There was that word again: "pokemon." Robert was tired of guessing what it meant and finally asked the old man.

At first he didn't get the question.

"What do you mean, 'What's a pokemon?' " he said. "They don't got any from where you're from?"

"I'm... from Milwaukee."

The old man looked at him. "That supposed to be a city?" Robert glumly nodded. "Hmph. Sounds like a sickness."

"You wouldn't be far off."

"And what is it that you do in Mill-Wall-Key?"

"Err, I'm an accountant."

The old man raised his eyebrows. "Ah," he said, "how, umm, useful. Very good outdoors, you accountants?"

Robert gave a tight smile. The old man pressed on.

"Well, no matter. No matter, Mr... err--" he gestured at him.

"R-Robert. Robert Whist."

"Well, Mr Robert Whist, pokemon are... umm." The old man scratched his head and for a moment did not speak. "Well, they're those things out there," he said somewhat lamely. "And... umm... well, they've always just kind of been there, I guess."

"Always?" asked Robert.

The old man seemed genuinely confused and thoughtful. "I think so," he said slowly. "Can't imagine a day without them."

Robert shivered. "That sounds terrifying."

"Well, most of 'em are friendly. The trick is just not piss'n off the not-so-friendly ones."

"And..." Robert gulped. "Which ones are the 'not-so-friendly ones?' "

Shafts of red morning light pierced through the cracks like flaming arrows. The old man noted the change. "Sun's up," he said, although his face was grim. He looked at Robert and gave, what seemed to him, a fleeting, last look.

"Those houndoom will probably be back for you soon."

There was silence. Robert's throat had gone dry. "Excuse me?"

The old man looked away. He handed Robert the piece of Old Kragg.

"Try to make a deal with him," he said furtively, as though attempting not to be heard. "He may be old, and that disease of his might be rotting him soft, but he's a gambler at heart. Strike a deal, no matter what it takes."

"W-what are you saying?" said Robert shakily. He was suddenly very scared again. "Strike a deal? What are you--"

"Those pokemon who brought you here weren't being charitable, lad. They only wanted to buy some time."

Robert was fighting for clarity. "Time? Time for what?"

"You're trial."

"Trial?! I haven't committed a crime!"

Now the old man looked at him. His face was sympathetic, and his veritable age seemed to emanate with a profound empathy that Robert could not fully understand. The hardness in his eyes returned, though, and he said brusquely, "Their ain't but one law in this place, lad. And you broke it tah splinters."

"And what's that?"

"Don't wake Old Kragg."

At that moment, there came a scraping at the door. And over the two men inside the shack, there came a low, rising whine, which to Robert even now seemed to be coming from the very hounds of hell.