#anyways i’m terrified for the world and for humanity and its strange urge to destroy itself

[bakugous-bitch-boi]

BNHA AND G/T STORY

So I wrote this back in January for Amino and thought "Hey I have a Tumblr now, why not post it there?" So yeah thats what I'm doing-

For reference the borrower in this story is my OC Thomas. He's not explicitly BNHA related but I just thought it'd be cool to see him in that universe so I slapped a quirk on him and did what I usually do with him.

Throw him into danger-

Anyways uh yeah so enjoy the short story- if enough people like this one I'll continue it and it can be a series UwU

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They were barely audible inside the colorfully decorated dorm room, the tiny steps only just being heard above the natural ambiance of the building's various series of ventilation. The source of the tiny steps was also similarly barely detectable, wirh the noise originating from the movement of a young borrower boy named Thomas who’s height only just reached a measly one inch. The boy also made sure to stay as low to the ground beneath him as he possibly could to eliminate the easy viewing of his silhouette against the cream colored wall behind him. Granted, the terrain the child was walking on was a flat one dotted with figures around three times his size at their smallest of a man he didn’t recognize, so their was ample space to hide in case the inhabitant of the room decided to return.

Thomas was used to this sneaking around, he had been doing it ever since he was born after all, it was just how borrowers made it in the world. However this time was different from every other living arrangement he had found himself in. His last travel companion had abandoned the young child in the bitter cold around a week ago, leaving the kid to fend for himself. It was something new for Thomas, and already seven days in he had made up his mind that he didn’t like it. The world had always appeared scary, again that was just a prerequisite for being a borrower born into a world where eighty percent of humans are born with the most terrifying abilities, however being near someone always managed to make it better for Thomas. Without that extra layer of an adult's protection, simple acts like going mere meters away from his hole-in-the-wall home seemed like the most daunting thing imaginable.

The child had tried his best to limit his borrowing activities due to this extra fear, however that was something a lot easier said than done. When Thomas had clambered inside the closest building for protection that stormy night, he quickly realized that no matter where he decided to make a home inside said structure he’d be without one resource or another. He found that the layout of the building was fairly simple, it was almost like a square ring that held a garden in its center with a open indoor room flanking this courtyard on the first floor which was followed by the floors above split into a hallway and several other smaller rooms, however no one place in the large building had everything he needed. His old traveling friends had shown him what objects were most essential to gather, and while some were easily found if he went to the right spaces like cloth or tape other’s like the basics of food and water were incredibly scarce no matter where he went. Or, in the areas where they could be found easily, they were guarded by “quirked” humans which essentially made them inaccessible unless he was able to wait for the human to leave. Some rooms were completely off limits in fact due to said quirked beings having particularly terrifying, in one case quite literally explosive, predispositions. This left Thomas’ options severely limited and obviously made his life ten times more difficult, however he had managed it so far and was able to get things down to a pretty consistent routine.

Thomas’ steps remained quiet and his body close to the ground as he reached his final source of resources for the day, after he grabbed this he would be able to try his best to fall asleep. Granted, this resource wasn’t necessary or even a particularly consistent one, however the child’s sweet tooth obviously couldn’t resist a lazily opened and forgotten chocolate bar when it was so close to his space inside the wall. He approached the candy from an untouched side still kept snuggly inside it’s wrapper, however tearing into said wrapping to get the freshest piece would make his presence incredibly obvious so doing so was completely out of the question. He was pushing his luck even going for the candy in general to begin with. His head swiveled towards the door as he slowly reached the opened side of the candy bar which lead him to leave the safe area behind the assorted colorful plastic figures and make his way out in the open. He noticed the sound of people approaching the room he had situated himself in, easily recognizing one of the voices as the teenage inhabitant of the space. His eyes grew as he heard the distinctive sound of speech, he had to make this as quick as possible. The fluffy haired borrower darted over to the exposed and somewhat mangled chocolate and bent down on his knees, his feet slipping the slightest bit on the slick wood of the dresser he had been sneaking around on. He grabbed a small piece of metal he had gathered in his travels from the sack strung over his shoulder which he then drove into a chunk of relatively untouched but still exposed chocolate. He used what little arm strength his young arms had built up to saw a lump of chocolate away from the rest of the bar which he then wrapped in a bit of shredded wax paper he had gathered from one of the rooms. He was quick about the whole action of cutting the chunk and then wrapping it up, so when he stood up and noticed that the voices were still firmly outside he was only a little surprised.

He took those few seconds of breathing room to look up at the wall behind him, his eyes trailing up the massive poster that spread across it which was slightly obscured due to his viewpoint. The poster was of the same man in a colorful outfit that the many figures and other posters in the room depicted, however despite him being so abundantly shown in the small space Thomas was always drawn to this one particularly large image. He didn’t know why, after all the sight of a human was hardwired in a borrower's brain to be like looking at death itself, but the aura the man gave off was similar to that of the adult borrowers he had been traveling with all six years of his life. Maybe it was just the smile of the man in the image or simply the colors he adorned himself with, but the past few seven days spent in the terrifying collection of horror filled rooms was made just a little brighter and easier when he was met with the warmth of this particular poster. His eyes were lost, so lost that the movement of him slinging the pack over his shoulder once more was slowed and without haste. As he looked up a childishly pure smile grew on his tiny face, a smile that was unaware of the motion of an opening door behind him and the sounds of rising voices and shuffling feet until the very last second.

When Thomas finally turned around after breaking himself away from the happiness of the poster, he was greeted with a sight that would take the smile off of even the most grizzled borrowers face. He saw the boy who inhabited the room standing in the doorway, and while his silhouette did not appear too imposing when considering the other people living in the building, he was still a human with a much more capable build than most typically had. At first Thomas’ heart hitched in his chest as he immediately assumed he was seen and therefore completely finished, however after a second of looking he noticed the boy was busily scrolling through his phone and thusly hadn’t noticed the tiny child staring at him in terror on his dresser. The tiny boy wasted no time after realizing he was safe, and with one push from his little legs he sprinted over to the zigzagging crack in the wall just big enough for him to squeeze through. He didn’t focus on keeping hidden, he didn’t focus on staying quiet, all he saw in those few heart wrenching seconds was his sliver of hope and safety. As he ran he heard an audible “Hmm?” from the freckled green haired teen who had apparently noticed the sound of rushing tiny steps and the puny silhouette of a minuscule boy sprinting for safety. While he heard the sound, Thomas didn’t stop. He kept running, pushing his speed higher and higher with every step, determined not to get captured. While he tried his best to stay calm, his breath couldn’t help but quicken and tears managed to loosen from the corners of his eyes. He could see the gentle glow of his quirk beginning to activate around him through blurred teary eyed vision, however he managed to push down his body's instinctual urge to protect his young, fragile self so he could focus on getting back into his hiding spot.

He launched himself into the cracked space cutting through the wall, his body scraping against the tight jagged sides, tearing at his baggy self-made shirt and cutting up his skin. He didn’t care about the slight pain in that moment however, instead he was concerned with making sure it looked like absolutely nothing strange or out of the ordinary was happening behind the small hole in the wall. The child gathered himself and the few belongings he had before pushing them all against the side of the tight space just out of view from someone looking in, he himself sitting against the drywall with his head tucked into his folded arms to look as small and inconspicuous as possible. The inviting shine of his quirk appeared once more as he felt the teens presence just outside his miniature room, the thought of him peering in looking for an intruder to destroy with glee only forcing out more pitiful tears from the young boys eyes and the continued growth of his quirks effect. He stayed quiet however, not letting a sound slip from his tiny mouth as he waited for the teen to either pass him by or try and find a way to get to the quivering borrower.

After a few tense moments, the massive green haired teen reluctantly decided that the noise he had heard shuffling across his dresser was just in his head, leading him to walk off over to his bed. In the new, less pressured silence Thomas was able to let his rising emotions out as much as he wanted to in the form of quiet stuttering sobs. By this point his quirk had fully activated and created a bubble-like shield around him as it was supposed to do when he was in danger, and behind the glowing force field the tiny child tried to calm himself down as best as he was able to after his perceived brush with death. As his hands trembled he went to grab his makeshift pack, his fingers nimbly curling around the small wrapped piece of chocolate he had borrowed mere moments ago. He didn’t want to waste the sweet substance so quickly, however the poor kid rationalized that he was scared enough to deserve munching on the cocoa flavored chalk. He took small, feeble bites, only stopping to let loose another hiccuping sob.

After all, what was a tiny kid to do under such heart-stopping pressure?

[natamoko]

UNEARTHED by @nakamoto

for @11thsense (3.7K)

(There is a reason why Aidonsvalley stands alone, makes its own decisions, attracts and denies, takes and leaves. There is a reason why it has a heart of its own.)

On the door of the Church of St. Agnes, a page was stamped: “1 PETER 2:4-6 — As you come to him, the living Stone - rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him - you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says: See, I lay a stone in Zion, a chosen and precious cornerstone, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame.”

A crimson thumbprint was displayed alongside the words, and Raheem didn’t know whether to take it as some extremely obvious omen or something that should be ignored. He shrugged and went on his way. He had things to do. Nothing necessary, of course.

Aidonsvalley attracted a healthy amount of tourists due to its strange nature. The sun appeared at dawn and left at dusk just like it did everywhere else in the world. Everything worked as it should, but evidently something was amiss. The land chose what it acquired and what it discarded. It chose what it claimed and what it dismissed. And if you did everything right, (and you had to—those who didn’t could never die, those who didn’t would wander and lead a life of toil forever) then the land embraced you warmly enough and you would never get to leave. Raheem had been claimed not too long ago. Partially because of his transformation when he was fifteen, partially for a reason he had not yet understood. That knowledge was long overdue.

Aidonsvalley loved the supernatural, he knew that much.

Despite the wonders it did for the town’s tourism, he couldn’t help but mess with the newcomers everytime they arrived. They marvelled at the aging billboards (“Look, honey, this is the ‘56 ad! From the D’Arcy era; you know I love my beverage trivia—”) and the churches at every corner, more churches than convenience stores. They usually arrived in the evening times when it was cooler, because that was when the neon electronic advertisements would light up. No one ever donated their used dreams, but they sure loved staring at it.

Raheem, from a folding chair situated near a rhododendron bush, noted that these particular tourists looked alike, but not so much that you could mistake them for siblings. They were both wiry and tall, limp blonde hair; one was pulled back in almost identical ponytails, while the other was closely and badly shaven. Diligently poring over the maps in their hands.

The couple peered at the statue before them—Edmund Aidon, the founder of the town. His image was said to be greatly exaggerated, as his biceps were larger than what seemed humanly possible, and his canines were unusually blunt. Still, he looked important, so tourists adored him.

The woman, the one with a fascination for old Coca Cola television advertisements, tapped lightly against Aidon’s thigh. Her partner asked, “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“I’m not too sure,” she said, giving it another light knock before straightening and snapping a photo. “Smile, Edmund Aidon. 1834 to 1911. Timor dei in terra. I think that’s his own personal motto, or maybe something for the town. You studied Latin in school, Geoff, what does that say?”

“All I got was ‘terra’,” he said with a shrug, “Land. And are you okay? Why are you obsessed with that thing?”

Raheem had never offered the statue anything other than a sidewards glance. The tourists in the area generally camped near the lake, hoping to catch sight of the legendary local siren (or something close to that—there wasn’t a word to accurately describe her). Or sometimes they lingered near one of the many churches, over-analysing the scripts hung to the doorposts or trying to catch a word or two from one of the sermons. A rumour had started spreading amongst the tourists a while ago of demons being summoned in church, the house of God being used as a cover. As a demon himself, Raheem knew that was untrue. But its unlikeliness didn’t stop the persistent, eager tourists.

If they were going to remain here, poking at the statue and conversing, they should spend some money on him and make themselves useful. Raheem continued listening to their conversation, considering whether he should use his influence. But unfortunately, he wasn’t really in the mood to make them both walk off the pier, hand in hand, and become April’s supper, or cause them to develop a sudden intense fascination with his father’s restaurant.

The woman turned to her partner. Raheem could see her face from here, all sunburned skin and worry in her eyes. She scratched at her crooked nose and gave the statue one last tap. “I don’t know. It feels hollow, almost. Forgive me for this, but slightly corrugated, even.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” ‘Geoff’ said, not even bothering to check for himself. Idiot. “The guide says it’s made of marble. Marble doesn’t echo.”

“This does.” She sighed and stood up. “Whatever. We should head to the hotel now. I’m starving.”

• • •

It started with Alex losing sleep. Then his jaw would begin to grind against itself while he was both sleeping and awake. His eyes would redden and become sore, the skin on the tips of his fingers would begin ache before breaking and bleed in preparation of what would happen next.

It did not matter whether he was indoors or out, visible to the moon or hidden, awake or asleep. It was an inevitable part of his life. There would be a chanting in his head (run run run), the urge to find someone and pull them apart. Then there would be prey underneath his fingernails and between his teeth, blood would taste more like fear than copper, and the ground would move beneath his feet so quickly it would hear but beneath him. When the sun would rise he would become still and straighten and look eastwards, then shortly find himself waking on the forest floor. That was routine.

This moon was particularly awful. Coffee severely worsened things, made the readjusting of bones so much more painful, and he had been drinking it no less than ten hours ago in order to stay awake and supervise his younger sister’s recent dressmaking project. His parents were not pleased with him being left in charge, especially since the moon was so close, but there had been no one else.

Alex picked a piece of bone from between his teeth, imagining it came from his father’s femur or his mother’s skull. They were the more harmless Aidonsvalley folk—or, at least, the sort that believed themselves to be harmless when they were just weak—and he despised them for it. They were related to him but were not his family.

He suddenly felt around for his glasses’ case. He was not especially helpless without them, but they were the key to looking relatively normal. Only a select few people knew who he was. His moon-addled mind had concluded that his glasses were the key to stopping the residents of Aidonsvalley from looking too closely at him and figuring out exactly what was wrong.

Alex gave up and struggled to his feet, holding a tree for support. Within the forest stood an oak, with the beginnings of a treehouse balanced atop it.

He grinned. It’ll never be finished. Aidonsvalley chose what to keep and what to throw away, and buildings would never be included in the former. The most recent home that hadn’t been destroyed by the town had been built in the mid-twentieth century. It was just another strange part of the town that Alex was simply not particularly interested in solving. However he did like to reminisce about Anita Darlington’s attempt to build a windmill when Alex was younger. She was his aging neighbour, and spent an entire season constructing her windmill, which stood next to her vegetable garden.

It was struck by lightning less than an hour after it’s completion. Alex had been riding his bicycle next to her house when the incident occurred. He still remembered the flash in the sky moving downwards, his hammering heart, the smell of burning wood. He remembered the fright in his chest and Umi’s terrified face. He remembered how pleasant of a day it had been beforehand: warm, but not overbearingly so. Not a single rain-cloud had been sighted.

•••

“I’m telling you,” Raheem insisted, his hand holding onto Umi’s upper arm. “I’ve never seen someone stare at it for so long. You have a good eye—”

“So do you,” said Umi. He gave the statue a gentle knock and frowned. “It feels cheap. Too light. It’s almost like sandpaper. I’ve felt something like this before.”

A week had passed since the incident with the tourists, and Raheem had spent it scamming them by selling useless trinkets and completely fake stories about the origin of the town’s strangeness. He usually undertook little projects throughout the year, but it was summer and he deserved somewhat of a break. The ancient Coca Cola bottle he found buried in his garden and had subsequently sold to the blonde, observant woman would support his expensive lifestyle for at least a week at most.

If Raheem scraped the top layer of the soil in his garden, he could find enough things to set up his own museum. It was not a phenomena exclusive to him, and additionally, no one knew where all those things came from originally. Once, when uprooting weeds, one of the townsfolk, Amara, had discovered that her front garden was soaked in blood, not water. That explained why she couldn’t grow anything more demanding than cress.

Kel took Umi’s hand. He had sort of forced himself into this boring excuse of an adventure, but Raheem didn’t mind because he didn’t mind Kel. He was quite fond of anyone who sought out an entertaining experience.

“Never knew a tourist would work you up this much,” said Kel cheerfully, before pointing to a mark behind Edmund Aidon’s knee. “Hey, what’s this?”

“Looks like a square,” said Umi, leaning forward to see it clearer. “How did you spot this anyway?”

“Not sure,” answered Kel, despite obviously knowing that the mark had shifted itself, working up towards their line of sight so it could be seen. Those sort of things were ignored here. Everything had a life, and its own motives and ambitions. “In my opinion, it looks like a jackhammer, a bit. If you turn your head and squint.”

“No it does not,” said Raheem, annoyed. “It’s a cradle.”

Yes, it did appear to be a cradle the longer he looked at it. The thin bars grew clearer. Somehow he could tell it was wooden. But something about it all wasn’t right—it didn’t look like something carved into the statue. Rather, something that had been a part of it ever since it was constructed. Aidonsvalley didn’t have a symbol, official or unofficial. Something strange was certainly going on. Raheem wasn’t sure if he wanted to dig deeper.

“This is odd,” remarked Umi. “This is the only thing that survives Aidon—no other records as far as I know, and there’s something carved here. Should we look into it?”

“Maybe,” said Kel. “This isn’t very strange for this town, but it’ll be fun to investigate. But where? The library won’t be much help. They don’t keep records there.”

The only library in Aidonsvalley was this stuffy building from the early twentieth century that held absolutely nothing of value. Investigative material couldn’t be brought in for some reason or the other. It was all rejected in some form. The town archives had to be kept elsewhere because of it. As a demonstration of this fact, once, the mayor's niece Stephanie Murray attempted to trace the nearby lake’s history. Her paper had promptly burst into flames, and she decided to complete her project in a café maybe an hour or two away from the town. Really, the only thing the library had going for it was its complete Toni Morrison collection.

“They keep the town’s archive in the church on main street,” said Umi. “You know the one: St. Agnes. Apparently there’s a cellar underneath the altar, but I can’t be too sure.” He turned to Raheem, expressionless. Unsure. “Look, if you can find a way to get in, I’ll help you out. You know I’m not too certain.”

“I know,” replied Raheem brightly. “Doubting Thomas. Do you even think there’s something strange afoot?”

“Well there’s always something going on here,” said Umi, affronted. “If we get caught, it’s your fault. I’ll get Alex in on this as well, it’ll make things easier, I think.” Pause. “Do you want to get ice-cream with us?”

He waved a dismissive hand and turned back to Aidon. “Sure. Go ahead, I just need to check something.”

The two waved—Umi visibly confused but still sure in his own decision, Kel apprehensive and glancing around—and made their way to the nearby parlour.

Raheem placed his hand flat against the statue. Something shifted beneath his touch, he heard a faint noise like a beating drum, and he frowned.

Half an hour later on the other side of town, Alex stood at the lakeside. The lake beside Aidonsvalley (still technically within the town but somewhat shoved to the side) was the subject of many rumours. The tourists all cleared out before the sun had fully set, interested in what apparently went down beside the lake, but still in possession of some sense of self-preservation. Unfortunately, Alex did not have the aforementioned sense of self-preservation.

The only harm that could possibly befall him was if he lost his balance and fell down into the lake. There were pointed rocks below, carefully sharpened at dawn and at dusk, and if he pierced any part of his body, he most certainly would not survive that experience.

There was someone standing on the jetty above the lake. Alex recognised him as one of the Fallow brothers, three siblings from a family of mechanics. They handled the people who “washed up at the town’s shores,” fixed their cars, cleared their memories and sent them away. He was a high school student. Perfectly average. Nearly unnoticed. Graduating this fall.

And April was also below him, treading the water. Her hair floated on the surface. Alex averted his gaze, half out of respect and half to avoid her hypnotic technique. But he still saw her from the corner of his eyes, saw the way she unhinged her jaw and said the Fallow boy’s name: Matthew, in a voice she didn’t possess.

The boy moved closer to the ledge. He crouched and peered through the water. April’s power was clouding the air, turning it green. Matthew moved slowly, as if he were running through a lime cloud as if in a trance. Or a dream. Then he called for his mother and April responded in kind. He, foolishly, reached for the water, looking at her face and seeing his late mother instead of what she truly was. April grabbed his wrist and pulled.

He toppled over easily, and didn’t struggle until April sank her teeth into his neck. He flailed desperately and cried out from under the water. His movements slowed with every second until he finally fell still.

April emerged from the lake a moment later, her upper half collapsing on the ledge. She looked up at Alex and grinned. “It’s rude to watch a siren eat, you know.”

“Really?”

“No,” she said, “But it is an indicator that you’re the main entrée.” Her smile widened. “Kidding, I love you.”

Alex continued to watch the water. “He wasn’t claimed, you know. He can’t die until he gets things right. I’d expect to find him in the sewers. Or in the church.”

“Why’d you think I chose him?” April questioned. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Alex reminded her of the time he saved her from these ‘low-quality’ whalers, as he dubbed it. She owed him, she even said that earlier. Then he told her that he needed her help breaking into her uncle’s church. Her hand shot out so fast, tightening around his earlobe, that he shouted and wobbled perilously on the edge.

“Idiot,” she chastised, “Why’d you wanna do that?”

April had this unfortunate habit of being constantly hesitant. It was not a con, for sure, but it certainly hindered any interesting activities Alex thought up. This was the wrong time to be careful, he reckoned, because if there was a mystery surrounding Aidonsvalley, then it was bound to be serious. She should know this.

“Something weird is happening,” said Alex, separating her fingers from around his ear and trying to keep his tone light. If he appeared to be desperate, she might decline just to fuck with him. “Raheem told me.”

“Raheem is a compulsive liar.”

“Not to me.”

He belatedly realised that it was the wrong thing to say.

“No,” April answered with a grin. “Not to you.”

Sensing a serious change of subject, Alex quickly arranged himself to a sitting position further up on the ledge. He balanced his chin against his palm and gave her a long look. She raised her brows in turn.

“Do you not have the stomach for this, April?”

“Of course I have the stomach for this,” she snapped. “I’m just careful, unlike you lot.” She paused. “I’ll help you plan your little heist, but don’t tell me what it’s for.” Despite herself, April grinned at him. “If that happens, I’ll get really interested. Things will all go down from there.”

•••

Raheem sat on the stone steps of St. Agnes, a book in hand. It was in French, a language he didn’t recall ever learning, but he could understand it perfectly. Strange. Even stranger was the fact that he could not walk past the altar for some reason, so Alex and Umi were the ones who had to retrieve the appropriate town records. Raheem was not pleased. He started this adventure, but had been forced to play whistleblower instead.

“How annoying,” he said as his phone began to ring.

“Found something about the town’s origins,” said Umi, breathing hard. From a distance, Raheem heard Alex laugh. “None about Edmund Aidon himself, though. I’m beginning to doubt his existence.”

“Tell me more. Is it interesting?”

A sharp inhale. “Oh, very.”

And it went like this:

The Preston’s were a family known for their hatred for supernatural creatures and how they exercised the aforementioned hatred. Once they were a few generations into the family practice of murder, several other families joined together with them to help achieve their shared goals. They called themselves The Cradle. Soon enough a town was founded for the five thousand or so members, and its name was unpronounceable.

About a century after the town’s creation, someone received word of a counterattack. In just a matter of days, vampires, werewolves and other supernaturals would band together and burn the town to the ground. Fearing something a little worse than death, the townsfolk hypocritically sought out a method to save them. They selected a random person in the town and made them live forever. The exact method, Umi stated, was not stated. Then the other townsfolk transformed themselves into the town—they knocked down the church and all the homes and created new walls out of their own flesh. The altar was made of bone. They drained the lake and replaced it with their own blood. The grass and the trees were fertilised with people, and the person they left behind was meant to bring them back once the danger had been averted, but they didn’t.

With a chill creeping down his spine, Raheem noted that the person might still be in Aidonsvalley. He glanced around in worry for a moment, as if the person might just be standing at his shoulder. Thankfully no such thing existed, but something else attracted his attention.

A porcelain statue near the church’s pillar, of a mother holding its child. It could be mistaken for Mary and the baby Jesus, but its features were hauntingly realistic and unlike the usual paintings of the Madonna and child. Beneath the porcelain was flesh, presumably. Raheem stared at the child holding his mother’s finger, sat in her lap, and felt a feeling both strong and indescribable.

“So presumably Aidon came across an already furnished yet empty town, then re-established it,” said Raheem, “But if that’s the case, wouldn’t there be anything about him? It’s like he just sprouted here.”

Things in this town tended to do that, he reminded himself. He was used to everything here. The tourist had described the statue in a strange manner. Slightly corrugated. That could mean skin, but it was hollow—

“There’s a chance that he was the person left behind,” said Umi slowly, “and no one ever thought to write it down since he’s a constant. You wouldn’t take note of the colour of the sky everyday? It’s either blue, red and sometimes black. We know that.”

They both hung up after Umi agreed to finish up shortly. Kel joined Raheem on the steps, very carefully not meeting his eyes. Perhaps the blue colour was too bright for this time at night, Raheem told himself.

The more Kel touched a stone step with his fingertips, the more it wore away until it revealed a portion of a face. Grey-skinned, open-mouthed, expression trapped somewhere between terror and exhilaration. The person’s eyes, fixed skywards, slowly lolled down to look directly at Kel. If its mouth was visible, Raheem would have received confirmation that it was smiling.

That was two incidents now, he stated privately as his heart jumped. The first was the cradle appearing just as Kel drew near, the second was the face.

When Umi and Alex returned and led the other two away, the stone replaced itself and the face was safely hidden away. As the four followed the path they had followed for well over a decade, Raheem distinctively felt like he was being watched. Perhaps it had always been this way, but now that he knew that Aidonsvalley was a real, living, breathing town, he felt it strongly.

There was one thing he knew for sure, though. When he would eventually sit in his living room, surrounded by relatives that were not family, and press his head against the wall, he would hear breathing. A deep inhale and exhale. It makes the whole world shake, but he’s the only one who feels it. He’s one of the only people that knows this town is made of living stone.