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uncannyinthegrove · 10 months

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Uncanny in the Grove Chapter Three: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Table of Contents

Chapter One

(Content Warnings for Violence and Disturbing Imagery)

“So,” Yarrow began after a long stretch of silence that had only been punctuated by the ambient audio of their trek through the undergrowth. “You come here often?”

The desk clerk stumbled, one foot catching in the other in a manner that sent him awkwardly hopping forward as he tried to reestablish his balance. He caught a branch to the face for his clumsiness and his groan of frustration was laced with both pain and what Yarrow assumed had to be embarrassment.

It was honestly a wonder that this sad, scruffy young fellow had at one point been a threat. Yarrow couldn’t help but liken him to a deflated, chastised puppy or something equally unthreatening.

They patted him on the back pityingly and ignored the way he flinched back from them like they’d wronged him somehow. It was deeply unfair given he’d just been trying to keep from getting buried alive. He’d started it.

Or the ghost possessing him had. Either way, Yarrow felt entitled to a little self-defence, though they did feel bad about his hand—still cradled against his chest protectively. That might have been a bit much. Still, it’d probably keep him from swinging any hammers at unsuspecting skulls or dragging any bodies around. So maybe it’d not been that unwarranted after all.

“Watch your step,” Yarrow cautioned, choosing not to pick a fight about how twitchy the desk clerk was. “Can’t have you getting too beat up!” They smiled winsomely, if not a little sarcastically.

The desk clerk tugged a branch out of his hair in frustration and sighed. “Sorry.”

Yarrow shrugged and patted them on the shoulder again. “What are you apologizing for? Accidents happen!”

The desk clerk’s face twisted, and he blinked uncertainly at the ground, refusing to make eye contact. “Right,” he agreed and looked a breath away from apologizing again, but chose to continue onwards instead.

Yarrow chased after him for a bit before they cleared their throat. “So. Do you?”

“What?” This time he didn’t trip, but the desk clerk did turn to peer through the gloom at Yarrow with a constipated expression that made Yarrow wonder if their question was a very difficult thing to answer, or deeply offensive for some reason.

“Do you come here often?” Yarrow took care to speak slowly and emphasize their words pointedly, their eyebrows rising in pointed expectation.

The desk clerk squinted. “I… work here?”

“Well, sure. But is it a recent gig? You local? Or did you move nearby recently? My family comes through these parts pretty often to visit Gramma, and I don’t recognize you.”

The desk clerk stared for a moment longer, before exhaling slowly through his teeth and turning back to face forwards. “Well, I am. Local, that is. Haven’t worked at Pinefort before though, so I guess that’s new.”

“Huh.” Yarrow peered at the desk clerk’s back suspiciously. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’re you working at Pinefort?”

Now the desk clerk’s voice was certainly laden with confusion. “Why? What do you mean, why? I needed a job.”

“Hm.”

They both continued forward a few steps, stumbling over roots bulging forth from the ground, and ducking by the low-hanging branches in suspended tension before the desk clerk drew to a stop once more. He sucked in a breath in a clear attempt to wind himself up, and Yarrow ambled to a halt behind him, idly snapping off a twig from a briar when it caught on their sweater and flicked it into the distance while they waited.

“Alright, what are you getting at? You’re acting… well, I dunno. Weird. Why else would I be working here? Do you think I’m… hiding something? Is this because you still think I’m part of a cult?” The desk clerk finally blurted, turning to face Yarrow as he did. He still didn't manage to make eye contact. He directed his face anywhere but towards Yarrow’s own.

“Are you?” They rebutted.

“No!”

“Well, good then. But I was just trying to get to know you a bit. I need clues if I’m to solve this mystery! For all we know these are the embittered ghosts of your ancestors calling to you across the veil of time to act as their sword of vengeance.”

The desk clerk stared in frozen bewilderment for a moment and then turned back around and hurriedly continued walking. “I…that seems a little far-fetched. It's not like this is some Hollywood thriller”

Yarrow clicked their tongue and shoved their hands deeper into the pockets of their sweater. “Far-fetched? You’re saying that at this stage in the game?” Even though the desk clerk couldn’t see it, Yarrow shook their head pityingly. “You need to get your story straight. Oh, wait! I should have asked your name first!”

The beam of the flashlight the desk clerk was holding lowered slightly, sagging towards the forest floor in a way that expressed the emotions obscured by his turned back.

Yarrow pressed onwards all the same until they were aligned with the desk clerk, leaning around to peer into his face. “C’mon. What if you die? It’ll suck so bad if I have to tell the police that 'the desk clerk from the motel' died without even being able to give your name! And maybe using your name will help if you go all crazed killer on me again? That kinda thing does seem to happen in the movies and books quite often. You know, like it is an anchor, or whatever. My father always said that there’s power in names and it sounds weird, sure, but there is no guarantee it wouldn’t help. Probably nicer than another fistfight, for sure!”

The desk clerk cringed back from Yarrow partway through the explanation, shifting so that there was more space between the two of them and the moment he got a chance to cut Yarrow off, he did. “Okay, I get it! Yes, alright. I’m Colton. Buckley.” He shrugged, the motion dull, bordering on listless. “Happy?”

“Nice to meet you! Officially, anyhow. Nothing like a little attempted murder to get to know a person, am I right?” Yarrow joked. “I’m Yarrow. They/them if you would.”

Colton grunted. "Oh., yeah. um. He/him for me?" He said hesitantly. "Wait, nevermind that. I know who you are. I checked you in. And I,” he paused to clear his throat, “went through your phone.”

“What? When? Wait, no, when I was out of it, right? Why’d you do that? Where is it? Give it back!”

“I mean, mostly I was focussed on getting rid of you, but I just kinda… you know, figured it might be good to know who you were. And make sure…” Colton trailed off and shrugged. “You know. It all happened so fast and I was so out of it but, well, it seemed like something I should do. I, um, I got rid of it though.”

“Dude, how’d you even get into it?”

The desk clerk shrugged. “They’ve all got fingerprint scanners or face recognition. It’s not like you were in a position to stop me.”

At this, Yarrow squinted. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“No! I mean yes. I’m sure. But it's not like I’ve never watched a mystery or crime show, so that much is basic knowledge, right?”

“Huh. Maybe you’re just cut out for this kind of thing after all,” Yarrow mused and gestured for Colton to continue leading the way back.

Yarrow’s assailant did not have anything to say to their accusation, so silence settled over them again.

A cold gust snaked through the trees, and Yarrow shivered. They wiped at the layer of water that had been building on their face, swiping a hand across their eyes to clear their vision as they peered up through the forest canopy at the pre-dawn sky. Daylight was a long way off yet, though at least the rain had begun to subside to a meagre drizzle. Still, it was far too late to spare them from being soaked to the bone, never mind the mud that was smeared all over them from their fight with this odd Colton fellow.

At least it was serving to keep the blood from drying where it streaked down over the side of their face, and down their neck and chest. There’d likely be no saving of their sweater or shirt, but at least they wouldn’t have to spend an hour trying to get the gore to wash off. Then again, the thought of a warm shower after such a dreadful and involuntary venture into the woods was a welcome one. If they had been chilled when they arrived at the old motel earlier that evening, they were now completely frozen.

Of course, that begged the question of what they should do about the desk clerk in the interim. For all they knew he’d go all blood-crazed homicidal maniac and try to cave their skull in again without supervision, regardless of his injuries. He certainly hadn’t shown much of a reaction to pain when he’d been possessed before.

At the very least, Yarrow would much prefer not to be caught unawares again. If he was injured, regardless of evil spirits taking control of him, Yarrow could get clear if they weren’t taken by surprise.

Probably the best thing to do was let Colton do something about his hand and then tie him to a chair or something. Prevention, their mother had always said, was the best medicine.

Granted, he probably wouldn’t take all that kindly to Yarrow’s suggestion, which meant they were going to have to remind him again that they were a victim of unwarranted violence which would have typically been resoundingly traumatic, if not fatal. For the sake of their sense of security, the least he could do was comply.

Still, it would probably best to spring that on him when they weren’t in the middle of the forest.

Yarrow glanced up from where they’d been watching the uneven terrain, as if Colton’s dark silhouette in the woods could offer some insight as to how badly he was going to react to getting restrained, when something skittered out from the undergrowth into the path of his flashlight, startling the both of them enough that they jerked to a halt.

Staring back at them, seemingly as startled as they were, was a small rodent, spotlit by the glare of the flashlight, staring at them in frozen disbelief.

It twitched and shuddered slightly, but didn’t run off, even as the beat of surprise passed.

Colton cleared his throat and chuckled nervously. “Just a squirrel. They can be so brazen.” He stepped forward.

The squirrel twitched, its bedraggled tail spasming like a rattlesnake’s, but it didn’t run away.

Colton drew to a halt again.

Yarrow maneuvered up behind Colton, smirking slyly at his remarkable skittishness. “Is this your great evil in the woods? A gutsy squirrel? Pretty cute. But my fingers are about to freeze off, so if you wanna get going—“

The squirrel jerked upright, standing at attention when their voice crested out into the wilderness, allowing them to see for the first time that it was a mangled little thing. It had torn ears, its fur was matted, and one of its limbs was little more than matchstick thin bones dragging through the dirt.

Yarrow squinted in bewilderment. “Is that normal for wildlife in these parts?” Even as they said it, the squirrel’s skin heaved with a mass of small bugs living under its rotting skin.

“Uh, n-no,” Colton replied, voice rasping quietly against the unease in his throat.

Yarrow nodded. “Figures. Oh well. What’s it going to do? Bite us? One good kick should do.”

“After you then,” Colton muttered back.

Yarrow sighed, and took a step forward, toward the squirrel, which continued to strain to stand upright. Something that might have been a chittering sound at one point escaped its hollowed-out face. “Sorry, little guy, but despite whatever’s going on, you should have just stayed dead.” Honestly, it was a little pathetic how easy it was to send it flying back into the brambles of the woods with a quick flick of their foot.

“Gross,” they whined, peering down at the toe of their shoe to see if any bits were still stuck to it, feeling at once sad and very weirded out.

Colton was staring off into the woods where the body of the squirrel had gone, his face a picture of discomfort. “What the hell was that?”

It seemed rather obvious to Yarrow what it had been, but they figured Colton hadn’t been exposed to the same influences as they had during their childhood. Colton, it would appear, had learned things like checking the phone of one’s victim and disposing of it, or how to fake a power outage to lure innocent and well-meaning individuals out in the woods for a little attempted murder. Yarrow, however, knew the undead when they saw them. “Zombie Squirrel,” they offered with a shrug. “Not the most effectual type of corpse to use, but everything has to start somewhere, right?”

“I’m sorry, did you just say a zombie squirrel?”

“Sure. Can’t think of anything else it could have been. I mean, I guess a ghost could have possessed it. Maybe that’s where your ghost went when it stopped possessing you—nearest available corpse-type deal.”

“What? That’s so gross. This is awful. What the hell is even going on here?”

“I know. Pretty stupid, possessing a squirrel, of all things. And a dead one too! Had to be better pickings out here in these woods. But I’ll actually take that over the first option. Zombie plagues are the worst.”

Finally, Colton met Yarrow’s eyes, staring with a slack-jawed sort of awe that Yarrow had a sudden intuition would turn to full-on distress in seconds. They were right.

“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. You’re crazy. I’m crazy! I tried to kill you! And you keep going on about ghosts and zombies like it’s all real! This is insane! We need to call the cops. Or the ambulance. Jesus, I thought you were dead. Like for real, actual dead. I checked your pulse! You, your brains were leaking out. I killed you. And now you’re acting like this is some kind of supernatural ghost story and it's impossible and I-I-I c-can’t—”

Yarrow grimaced as Colton started to hyperventilate, rocking back on their heels as they tried to wait out the hysteria. They didn’t wait very long though, because Colton swayed on his feet, one hand—the one holding the flashlight—flailing out blindly to catch his balance as his uneven breathing short-circuited his brain. It sent a pale beam of light spinning into the dark mist, glancing off of wet bark and leaves like the worst strobe light of all time.

“Woah woah woah,” they exclaimed, stepping forward to catch the panicked young man before he collapsed. “Hey, this is good for you. If it’s ghosts, then we don’t have to ship you off to court for attempted murder. And I don’t have to call my family and explain why I also have to go to court and testify. And then they don’t have to get all freaked out and come here and deal with you. Although I guess we could just skip the police part and go straight to the 'take care of' part.”

“What?” Colton would have shrieked if he’d been able to breathe deep enough for that. As it was, his words were shallow pools of alarm crackling in the cold like thin ice. “Are you part of a gang or something?”

Yarrow wrinkled their nose. “No. Ew. What about this said crime ring to you?”

Colton couldn’t answer as he gaped like a fish suffocating on land.

Yarrow shifted awkwardly from one foot to the next, unsure of how to proceed. It was hardly as if they had a paper bag on hand, and trying to get him to breathe through their damp, filthy sweater would have probably been the equivalent of a war crime. Beyond that didn’t know what else to do to get their terribly skittish and fragile assailant to settle down. Managing emotional distress wasn’t their forte.

Belatedly, they realized there was another solution, and reached out to offer Colton a few reassuring pats on the back. This did not go over well, as he tripped over himself to get away from them, eyes wide as he collapsed back into a tangle of underbrush.

Behind Yarrow came a wet scraping, dragging sound and they stiffened. Colton, from his prone position on the forest floor, looked even more panicked. He pressed a forearm over his own face as he tried to muffle his erratic breathing, the whites of his eyes showing like he was a panicked dog being taken to the vet.

Yarrow slowly turned to look back at the source of the sound.

The deer could hardly be called that anymore. Its head lolled on its slender, broken neck, and its ribs were a hollowed-out cavity where scavengers had torn free its insides. its back legs barely functioned so that it had to pull itself forward in a horrific mimicry of seal-like movements.

Colton retched, and even Yarrow pressed a delicate hand over their mouth in disgust.

“Oh dear,” they quipped. “Or, deer, as it were. Your ghosts have terrible taste. If they’re trying to kill me, you’d think…” Yarrow shook their head. “Well, I can’t kick that one away, but I imagine we could outrun…”

Their words got cut off when a small bird, far too small to be out and about during the depths of the night, plummeted out of the branches above and smacked into the earth with a faint crunching sound. It did not still though, no. Instead, its wings weakly flapped against the earth as it tried to heave itself closer to Yarrow.

They were pretty sure they heard the desk clerk whimper.

“That,” they observed needlessly, “is probably not so good.”

Behind them there was a flurry of motion as Colton sprang to his feet, a string of curse words rupturing out of his mouth as he suddenly jerked towards Yarrow’s side and away from another bundle of bones and dried, mummified flesh that appeared from the undergrowth next to him.

“Huh. Maybe it is a zombie plague after all,” Yarrow pondered, quietly reaching out to start tugging Colton away from the slowly expanding hoard of animated corpses.

Another creature plummeted out of the air, bouncing off tree boughs as it dropped towards them, nearly landing at Yarrow’s feet had they not hopped back a step in time.

Whipping his flashlight between one shuddering, staggering creature and the next with enough fervour to induce a seizure, Colton asked, “What do we do?”

“Run probably. That motel is starting to look even nicer—“

The bugs descended on them, a thick cloud of tattered wings, hard shells, and tiny squirming bodies. It was a swarm of undead detritus that caught indiscriminately in their hair and clothes, crawling for their noses, mouths and ears.

They could hear the other creatures closing in, and there were more sickening thumps as things tumbled out of the air. Most of them missed, but not all of them. Feathers and talons crashed into Yarrow as they tried to bat at the air and shield their face.

It was nearly impossible to see, and the only real landmark they had was the weak flicker of the flashlight through the swarm—it was on the ground, dropped in the chaos. That, and the flailing body next to them, the sounds of his distress muffled as he tried to avoid inhaling the swarms of insects.

Blindly, Yarrow reached out a hand, snagging their fingers into Colton’s jacket, and then with an all mighty heave dragged him after them as they let their feet carry them through the trees. They had no target, and couldn’t have navigated their way through the forest without light and a trail at the best of times, never mind with a hoard of dead things trying to smother and pummel them to death.

A wet crunching sound came from where their foot fell, and the feeling of something giving made Yarrow flashback to when they’d stomped on Colton’s hand, but they knew in this instance that wasn’t what it was. They didn’t stop, continuing to pull Colton after them, heedless of the branches snapping against their face, their heart hammering in their chest. They surged away from the swarm, even as it clicked and buzzed after them, sounding like static in their ears.

A larger shape lumbered through the trees towards them, filling the air with a stench so putrid that even the cold mist couldn’t soften it, and Yarrow yelped in surprise at the speed it was moving with, clearly in better condition than the other creatures which had been thrown at them so far.

They swerved to the side, their feet skidding on the wet leaves as they went, nearly sending them crashing to the ground. It was only by luck that Colton managed to reach out and grab their elbow in a grip that was iron-tight and made something pop painfully.

The undergrowth ahead heaved around them, the dead leaves and needles, the soil and the dirt roiling with bones and decaying matter that wouldn’t still.

It was really no surprise that eventually their blind flight through the dark woods would be brought to an end one way or another. Even as Yarrow jerked them both away from the unnatural heaving mass, something in their head was telling them that this was all wrong, that they were being corralled. Shepherded.

And then, as they tripped and blundered passed a fallen tree, slipping over the rain-slicked moss that cascaded out from it, they came to a steep slope that surged down into the darkness. Their momentum tugged them forward, even as they dug their heels into the soft earth for purchase. But Colton, staggering along behind them, kept going. He was blind to the pitfall ahead, and he tipped them both over the edge with a strangled cry of realization that came far too late.

Abruptly they were falling, tumbling, their feet going too fast to stay under them until they were rocketing down over the drop, bouncing off rocks and roots and barrelling into branches and bushes. It was only by luck that Yarrow managed to twist their body in such a way that it sent them careening away from a tree that likely would have broken their fall by also breaking most of their bones.

And then they reached the bottom, tossed over the edge of a rocky ledge before dropping several feet down into cold, shallow water that did nothing to cushion their landing.

For a moment Yarrow lay there, the breath stolen from their lungs, their mind wailing in panic and shock. The pain took a moment to set in, but when it did Yarrow gurgled a choked moan of abject agony. It almost felt worse than having their skull smashed in, and that said something. They had definitely broken something. Multiple things, even.

Dazedly, they thought they needed to move. There were zombie animals after them, and Yarrow hadn’t a clue how much worse their night could get after being assailed by a hoard of undead creatures, but they figured it’d certainly be even worse.

They peeked an eye open, waiting.

Eventually, they realized the dead things weren’t coming for them. No swarms of insect shells, no ominous shapes surging out of the trees, no birds crashing out of the sky like tiny, disgusting meteors of rotting meat.

With a groan, they shut their eyes again and waited for their body to stop rebelling. The water they had landed in was doing a pretty good job of making it all go numb.

Distantly, Yarrow realized that they were forgetting something.

Desk clerk, they remembered in a sudden burst of clarity.

They didn’t know what happened to Colton. They’d lost him pretty much the moment they’d gone over the edge.

Briefly, they struggled to sit up, but they gave up on that pretty quickly and flopped back into the water with a small splash.

“H-hey,” they tried to call out, their voice wheezing quietly. “Hey!” They tried again, louder, though their chest ached just from inhaling. “You there?”

Nothing.

“Did'yah die?” Yarrow slurred, staring blankly up into the sky overhead and straining to hear any sort of answer, even if it was just a whimper of pain.

Still nothing.

Yarrow’s eyes slid shut in resignation. Either he was unconscious, which they couldn’t do anything about at the moment, or he was dead. Humans were terribly fragile, after all.

“Shit,” they swore, and waited for the pain to ease, for their body to right itself. It took a long time. They lay in the icy water, waiting for the white-hot pinpricks of pain dancing under their skin and along their bones to subside, attention snapping to every errant sound in the surrounding woods, wondering if it was the desk clerk, wondering if it was zombie animals come to trample them or smother them or whatever it was they would try to do. In their more delirious moments they thought it was their Gramma there to help, dragged out into the woods by the unnatural disturbance.

Eventually, after they’d either blacked out and had a weird dream, or a tree had informed them that hypothermia was setting in, they realized the sky was beginning to lighten. Just barely. Its deep black was easing into a dull denim colour with a gradualness that Yarrow hadn’t noticed until it suddenly wasn’t as deep and endlessly dark anymore.

That was also when a bloody and bruised Colton staggered into view, staring blankly down at them. He almost looked as bad as the zombie animals, his nose broken, and blood smeared all down over the bottom of his face, while ugly red-purple bruises ringed his eyes.

He’d lost his hat, Yarrow noticed blearily, before noting the rock he had picked up in the interim.

They groaned and struggled to push themselves up. However, there was no rapid fire lurching to their feet this time, no lighting quick turning of the tables. They flailed, not unlike the bird that had crashed to the forest floor, breaking itself against the ground and then struggling to move with shattered wings.

For a moment Colton swayed, and it seemed like he might have been too weak to do much either. Except there was that same wooden expression on his face that went beyond a case of shock or a concussion. He dropped to his knees, one crashing into Yarrow's ribs and sending a fresh wave of pain washing through them as he weighed them down.

Yarrow got the chance to see him robotically lift the rock over his head before they squeezed their eyes shut in automatic rejection of what came next.

They just hoped they’d be lucky enough to once again wake up before he managed to bury them again.

—

Yarrow had always had a tumultuous relationship with luck. This time, it showed them mercy. They came to right where they had been. This time they were feeling marginally better than the last time they’d had their brains beaten out, though the bright sunlight filtering down through the trees was blinding and stung their eyes.

When they managed to sit up, they found Colton in the mud not too far from them, bloody rock close at hand. He was so still and pale it seemed likely that he was dead. They’d almost thought that when he’d appeared after the fall, another zombie dragged into action by some unknown cause, but hadn’t had a chance to formulate the idea before he’d tried to kill them. Again.

“Told you,” Yarrow huffed, between the chattering of their teeth. “I’m pretty… pretty damn sturdy.” They dragged themself over to his still form and collapsed down next to him, sitting with their arms on their knees, their head bowed as they tried to figure out what to do next.

Fortunately, Colton had unwittingly given them a hint earlier that night.

They fished through his pockets for his phone.

“Salut?” Their mother answered on what was nearly the last ring, voice fogged by sleep.

Yarrow opened their mouth to answer, but the words caught on sudden emotion.

“Hello?” she asked again. And then, after a moment, “Yarrow?”

They blinked back sudden tears, and quickly fumbled the phone away from their ear, mashing a thumb against the button to hang up. For several minutes afterwards, they stared at it, half expecting it to start ringing. It did not.

The moment stretched. They sighed.

The desk clerk groaned, his eyes fluttering, and they lurched away from him like a crab, scuttling backwards on their hands until they were well out of his reach.

He didn’t move and after several more moments of tense waiting, they hesitantly scooted closer again. They tapped him with the toe of one soggy boot, but he didn’t react. So they did it again, harder. This time he exhaled sharply, and his eyes fluttered again.

“Great,” they snarked into the space between them. “Looks like I’m not the only sturdy one. Dammit.”

(Next)

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