Wynn went down the hall and up the stairs to her room. Like clockwork, upon shutting the door, she fell onto the bed. While the day was not hard, it was still quite long. She kicked back to her feet and took off her clothes. She looked at the scar wrapped around her body like a serpent. It still stung after all these years. One of these days, she would find a way to remove it and be healthy again. She knew there were miracles in the worlds beyond that could restore her. But she could never find them. She felt along the scar, shooting pain throughout her body until she reached its end right before the nape of her neck.
Wynn fell into her pajamas and brushed her teeth in a dusty mirror before flipping off all but one light and snuggling into bed. She pulled her notebook out of her jacket and looked over the notes she took that day. It was all loose connections and reminders—nothing too substantial yet. The only big leads she could see before her were the lighthouse on the cliff and the forest. She placed her goggles on the nightstand and watched herself as she slowly dozed off.
Yet, before she could drift off to slumber, her phone suddenly rang with a call. Half-asleep, Wynn flipped the phone open and answered.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Do not open your door. Do not look out the window. Trust me. Don’t and die,” her own voice said through the phone.
The caller dropped, leaving Wynn alone, now wide awake in bed, petrified in fear. She had already been facing away from the window in bed. In the still darkness, Wynn heard the ever-soft sway of the orange curtains—her window was open enough to let a snake of wind slither through. She could feel the smallest chill, like a serpent’s tongue on her skin. Her mind raced with possibilities and questions. Was that her voice on the phone? Why shouldn’t she open the door or look out the window? What is out there? Has it gotten in? Can the voice be trusted? What was she to do now? Sleep like nothing happened or what?
Wynn sat up steadily, making sure not to look at the window—not even a fleeting glance. The blankets wrapped around her as a cloak, but still, the prick of night wind poked at her, reminding her of its presence every other second. Using only the dim light of her phone, she scrounged around her bags for her knife or for some other weapon. The vaguery of the voice on the phone did wonders for her paranoia. It could be anything out there. It would be better for her to have some way of defending herself than nothing at all. That much she knew already.
She gripped her knife heavily and faced the door in the dark. She could barely make out its form with the minute light in the room. It was a heavy wood and could protect from a lot of dangers but the phrasing on the call pointed toward a different kind of threat. She was told not to open the door. Therefore, so long as she didn’t open the door, whatever was out there would stay out there. Still, if somehow the door opened or broke, she would be ready with her knife. Her combat training was only a shred better than average—enough to hold her own against another person for a bit or neutralize an attacking animal.
The silence was drowning the darkness around her. She could hear every creak of wood throughout the inn and the whispers of wind outside. It had been seven minutes since the call. Yet, nothing happened. Still, she faced away from the window and narrowed in on the door. She felt the tip of her knife—accidentally puncturing slightly. It was not mind shattering pain or even bandage worthy. She felt the warm blood slide down her finger and into her palm. Soon, the darkness was filled with the hint of her blood.
The room grew brighter subtly while Wynn focused on her blood. She could see the center of her shadow cast by the moonlight through the window. The curtains had unfurled slightly, enough for the room to shift to a faint blue. But the wind had not grown any louder or stronger. She resisted the urge to crane her head and see the curtains. Her voice on the phone repeated in her head. She could trust herself. She was the only person she could truly trust. Everyone had some gain or agenda in their actions, Wynn included. Suddenly, she remembered the receptionist, Danny. He had made a comment about a scar—a comment which spurred Wynn to contemplate how he had known and whether he had broken into her room the night before. Could he have come back? And through the window no less? Surely, if he did enter, Wynn would hear his weight on the windowsill and the cracks of the floorboards.
Two knocks with crashing thuds like hammers banged on the door without warning. Wynn kept on guard and covered her mouth swiftly. The room was still again after the knocks echoed away. Faintly, Wynn heard footsteps leaving her door and eventually the creaking stairs descending. Was it over? She relaxed her hand, and briefly, her eyes left the door. Like canons, the knocks returned, pounding repeatedly. Wynn flinched and whimpered before burrowing her face into the blankets. The knocks ceased, but Wynn could tell there was something still at the door. It was listening in, trying to hear her. She carefully lifted her face out of the blankets and watched the door. She felt the presence of something terrible on the other side of the door. She could feel its ravenous heat pouring off it and its tremendous weight pressing the inn into the dirt. It was not a person. The possibilities were endless.
Wynn shuddered silently and pulled the stuffed Dwarf to her chest. She felt her heart bumping, brushing against her ribcage. The bumping was all she could hear, pressing in, growing louder. Her shadow grew as the curtains eased open more and more like a play. Just like a play, she felt the desire to look out the window and watch what was happening. Again, her voice echoed in her head. There was no maybe to it, certain death awaited her if she looked out the window. The room chilled as the wind seeped in. In the moonlit shadow sprawled across her room, Wynn saw the fluttering of an insect. It was probably a moth taking refuge or in search of food in her room. She watched its shadow leave the light into a dark corner of her room.
She heard something heavy collide with the door, but it was not a knock—it was far too blunt and brutish to be a knock. Then, wild scraping and scratching began on the other side. Something sharp was digging into the wood and cleaving chunks, trying to carve its way in. There were multiple sources of the scraping from what Wynn could gather. They were out of sync and had different weights to them. Could it be multiple beasts at her door trying to break in and eat her in a coordinated effort? She pictured the skeletal king from the statue in the park and imagined a forest of beasts kneeling before him. While it was a fantastical and haunting idea, it was entirely possible. Thresholds were often unpredictable and filled to the brim with the supernatural. But Wynn felt in her heart this was not a vengeful attack by some old forest king. There were not animals past the door but monsters. She could feel the lure of sleep catching her on its hook—her eyelids grew heavy like anvils, and her thoughts stirred together.
The room was fully aglow in the moonlight, the curtains were thrown as open as they could be, and the wind had webbed every nook in its chill. Wynn saw the door effortlessly in the light. It was doing its job of keeping her safe, but at any moment, Wynn could see the monsters finally breach through and do whatever they were so intent on doing. The best she could hope for was just a quick meal, but the worlds beyond were full of worse cravings and beasts. She did not want to become a festering nest for magic bees or be turned into a hat. Wynn did not want to imagine what terrible things the monsters would do. If they were demons, she would run the knife through her heart then and there. Every Venturer knows it is better to be dead than face the twisted torments that please the scorns of reality.
A hand rammed its way through the bottom slit of the door and twitched like an insect—its fingers dancing and tapping on the wood with hate. It was a human hand with skin even paler than Wynn's and gnarled fingernails like rotted glass. Wynn stared at the hand with violent disgust swirling within. She could feel hate flooding her out of nowhere—it was unnatural hate. She gripped the knife tighter and began shaking. Her body and her mind were at odds with each other. Suddenly, a dozen more hands shot from under the door and began pounding on the floor and door like drums. Wynn stood up on the bed and immediately felt the pressing cold wind engulf her. She felt herself losing control over her body to its growing wrath. The knife grew hot in her hand, an emissary of her hate bubbling to enact justice against the monsters past the door.
Right as Wynn thought she lost control of her body, she heard a voice right in her ear whispering something unintelligible. She stabbed the wall, burying the knife all the way to its hilt in wood. The hands receded, and Wynn collapsed into the bed, out of breath. Sweat poured off her, and her lungs heaved heavily. It was sweltering in the room now but much lighter. The monsters behind the door had left her alone at last.
She unbuttoned her shirt and sat upright in bed, fanning her body and trying to calm her breathing. She palmed her chest drenched in sweat, and felt her heart steadily ease. Her phone rang, and without thinking, Wynn flipped it open.
“Good job. You survived. You may sleep now,” her voice said from the phone.
“C-can I look out the window and open my door now?” Wynn asked.
The caller hung up before answering.
Wynn slowly turned to look out the window. Before fully committing, she shut her eyes and clutched the stuffed Dwarf again. 3… 2… 1… she opened her eyes and saw the moon descending into the forest. The landscape was serene and blue. The wind was chilly but pleasant on her skin after the horrors she just faced. She chuckled. This was absolutely horrifying but exhilarating. She retrieved her notebook and detailed the night’s experience before closing with a reminder to leave town after checking out the forest tomorrow. She did not want to experience this again.