It was already dark by the time I dragged myself back to the house.
After Weeny Man vanished, I’d wandered the town in silence, trying to gather my thoughts. Not that they were anything worth collecting. Still, walking helped. Nimorran wasn’t as soul-splintering in the absence of thick coats and scarf layers. For once, the air didn’t feel like a thousand tiny blades slicing into my cheeks.
For the first time, It felt...freeing.
Maybe it was what Weeny Man said, about the cold only killing people who meant the town harm. Apparently, I wasn’t on Nimorran’s hit list again. Which meant, in theory, whatever I came here to do was safe.
Including going near The Crater.
Just kidding. Doing that would be me getting on my knees at this point and begging death to slaughter me in the coldest way possible. Maybe the cold had backed off because it could sense some part of me was starting to give up.
Ignore whatever’s pulling you to it.
Right, I’d try to overlook the gnawing curiosity eating me alive from the inside out. I’d sever whatever invisible string kept tugging me towards that pit like it owned me. Maybe Weeny Man was right.Maybe The Crater was calling me to my death. But no matter how many times I’d tried to get close, there was always something in the way.
Eight days in, and all the hope I arrived with had quietly collapsed in on itself. I was suddenly exhausted. There was no burning hunger to unravel something ancient like The Crater, just that relentless pull. I’d come here thinking I could get answers. Maybe even write the kind of thesis that would awe every person who read it.
The Crater was unreachable. Untouchable. Like a god you weren’t supposed to look in the eye. What the hell was I thinking? That I could just waltz to the edge of something so old and powerful and massive, jot a few notes, and stroll away with academic gold?
How unbelievably arrogant.
And dumb.
The thought of picking a new thesis topic scraped at my chest like claws, I actually shivered.
What would I even research now? Folklore? Historical architecture? Cow migration...patterns?
Ugh.
The train wasn’t leaving until next month. So maybe I’d kill time by being productive. Maybe read a few books on other histories and legends, learn more about this town that still quietly breathed magic and see if I’d get a spark.
My fingers were tucked deep into my coat pockets as I walked, shoulders hunched against the chill. The town was quiet. Most houses had gone dark, their lights swallowed up by the thick rural silence that crept in at night time.
I passed houses, each one spaced further apart than the last. The farther I walked, the lonelier the street became.
Until I saw my place—alone at the very end of the road.
I sighed, a strange emptiness clinging to my insides, echoing in my ribs.
Maybe all I needed was rest. Just one good night. I could reorganise my thoughts tomorrow, and build a new plan. Maybe. My feet moved quicker with that lie dangling in my head, and I brought out the key.
But as I slid it into the keyhole, it didn’t catch.
No, I was sure I locked it before I sought out for Weeny Man earlier. And I made sure it was locked. I’d locked it. I’d definitely done that.
Dread filled me as my sweaty palm stayed on the knob, debating whether to go back or suck up courage and push the door open. If I went back, where would I even go?
The town was asleep. I didn’t know a single person around here. A thin film of sweat broke out on my skin as I stared at the door like it might turn and swallow me.
If someone was inside...if this was a break-in—
I took in a shaky breath, closed my eyes briefly and pulled myself together, then pushed the door open, wincing at the quiet sound of the hinges moving. My head darted in first, scanning everywhere for an intruder.
Everything looked exactly the way I left it. But that meant nothing.
I stepped inside, the stillness of the house nearly strangling me. Shouldn’t a break-in be messier? A shattered window? Something torn or toppled? But they picked the lock. Or did they have a key? I knew the smartest thing to do was call the police, but really, I wondered if they had one around here.
Closing my eyes to silence my racing heart, I crossed to the stairs. The lights downstairs were turned off, and I didn’t want to turn it on in fear I might alert the burglar.
