“Get off of me!” I aggressively mutter as I squirm and shove the face of the woman currently lying in my bed. She easily overpowers me and continues her hug, not even rousing from her sleep. 

This unreasonable behavior had somehow gotten even worse than when she was awake, which was a hard bar to topple.

She did so easily nonetheless, wearing a ridiculous expression as she crushed me half to death.  How on earth did I get here?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

My heart was pounding with a combination of trepidation and excitement as I entered the room where my first conversation would be held, a feeling that took me back to elementary school when I was about to take a test. Already, I was strategizing, thinking of what I would say to avoid sounding like I was speaking for first time in a month.

“Welcome, guest”

No, “welcome, traveler”.  Why would I be saying that? It’s not like I’m not running a hotel. Oh no, I’m out of time. Just do a regular greeting.

I swung the door open and spoke my piece:

“Welcome, traveler, to my humble abode”

That was the opposite of normal. What am I doing? 

The woman in main doorway just looked at me with an unreadable expression. Is that a glare? Ah, I messed up. It’s alright, I can still salvage this. Deep breaths. Remain calm, act normal —

“What have you done with Fredrickson, fiend?”

“ What?”

I was so confused I couldn’t help  but blurt it out.

“I know your kind. You’ve probably locked him up in a basement and blindfolded him so that you can take advantage of him to your heart’s content.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“ I bet you enjoyed yourself as you tied his cute little face up and ravished him over and over without rest, delighting in every moan as you ***** his ***** and *******************”

My mind auto-censored some of that. Well, more like the second half. Somewhere along the line she got caught up in her own fantasies and was distracted from the point she was trying to make.

“Umm. . .”

“So you don’t deny it!”

Her face, which really should have been one of righteous anger, was instead one of jealousy, such that I could only question her right to go looking after this Frederickson.

“No, really, I feel there is a misunderstanding her—“

Before I could finish, I was interrupted by a wrathful dagger, which flew a finger’s width  from my face before embedding itself into the wall.

“Save your words for the afterlife!”

She shouted, already readying another one.

“I was originally a boy!”

“Wait, what?”

Now it was her turn to be confused.

An awkward silence filled the room with tension before I finally spoke some normal words

“Would you like to come inside?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I apologize for my earlier behavior. I have shown you something unsightly. Forgive me.“

“No, rather, I am also at fault for my own miscommunication. If I might ask, who are you, and who is this Fredrickson you are looking for?”

A much more cordial conversation was currently taking place across the dinner table as I struggled to refrain from stuffing my face. It would feel rude considering as she had not taken a single bite. 

“My name is Abigail Hemsworth of Hochenrost, and it is my life’s calling to  create a world where the sanctity of little boys is never threatened. To that end, I travel the world and slay perverts wherever I cross them. I also entitle myself to the honor of assisting boys in defense of their cuteness. The cutest is Fredrickson. He just recently opened up enough to allow me to call him Frederic. Isn’t that just adorable? I had really hoped he wouldn’t run away, but, then again, that’s also part of the appeal. It wouldn’t be fun if it was too easy, you know? Somehow, the chase only stokes your desire. . .”

 While she began the ramblings of a predator, I occupied myself by properly analyzing her appearance.

 The fist and most obvious thing was that she was definitely not from modern earth. Studded leather armor coated a body too finely trained to belong to anyone but a warrior. A belt of daggers, each crafted with a unique and wicked edge unseen in the work of factory machines. Curiously, she had shoulder length hair, which no soldier would keep at risk getting grabbed.

Which either meant she was inexperienced at fighting (judging by the accuracy with which she had thrown the dagger before, she wasn’t), or that the foes she dealt with were not human. Could it be? The famed adventurer? The backbone of the fantasy genre made living in the flesh?

“I am flattered by your fascination, but I regret to inform you that I am only interested in little boys. ”

”Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just, it has been a very long time since I last saw another human.”

“No matter. I of all people should be forgiving when it comes to matters of unwanted gazes” 

“Then I thank you for your graciousness. I’m somewhat curious. Could you let me know if the next few phrases I say sound familiar?

New York. World War Two. Nuclear apocalypse. Television. Electricity. Refrigerator.”

Against my expectations, she seemed to vaguely recall something.

“I believe I once heard a professor talk about  something similar. Does that help answer your question?”

It did. It also opened up a million more.

If we weren’t on earth, where were we?How were we communicating? Were other earthlings here as well? More specifically, we were in the middle of a pitch black forest. How did she find this place? Did she know her way back? Why did she think Frederickson was also here?

I wanted to ask these questions and more, but there was a limit to what I could say without sounding suspicious. So instead, I only asked the most pressing question on my mind

“Why did you trust me?”

“Well, if I had to say, that was probably because it was cute?”

“. . .You called me a fiend earlier and were prepared to kill me, but reversed the decision because you found my reaction cute?”

“Well, truthfully, I imagined Frederic in a little girl’s body shouting such words and my heart was moved. It was in thanks for that image that I spared you.”

At this, I was  nearly at a loss for words.

“That’s a rather . . . relaxed attitude to take toward your life.”

“Ha! That’s exactly what my master said when I attempted to make diplomacy with a bear. Although, he might have actually been right in that case. I got some terrific scars out of that one.”

I was more terrified by the idea that she fought a bear and won than anything. Although, perhaps that was less impressive than I would think. My old definition of normalcy could be far off here, after all.

“Also, to get to the point, why were you attacking me in the first place. I don’t see myself as different from any other human and would think that others think the same. Unless I’m wrong?”

“Hmm. If I had to say, you look like a monster, I guess?”

“. . .Right. You wouldn’t happen to be able to elaborate on that, would you?”

“I simply go with the flow of things in life. Well, I make a few detours for the cause of my personal justice, but generally I take things as they come.The result is that I know you look like a monster, but I can’t tell you exactly why: it’s an intuition I developed over years of experience.”

“Do you have a lot of experience fighting monsters?”

“Well, that’s already enough about me. What about you? What’s your story? I’ve never seen a monster so amiable before, though you pretend to be a human.”

What was with that rapid change of subject? Well, if she could deflect my question with a question, then I could conceal the truth. Only, what could I say? The best lie, I decided, was one that utilized half truth.

“I was once a human boy from a village far away. I don’t know exactly how I died, but once I did I found myself alone in this dark forest. I wandered around for what seemed like an eternity, though I know not how much time had truly passed. Eventually, whilst wandering around I was suddenly sucked into this mansion, unable to escape. It keeps me here, bound to this body and too afraid to die again. I  have lived a quite comfortable, albeit very lonely second life ever since.” 

I framed things this way for two reasons.

Firstly, as long as I didn’t say anything that proved I had no  idea what I was talking about, my story provided a plausible explanation of my circumstances that did not go into the details of parallel worlds. Second, it gave me the grounds to ask favors.

“If you see others who seek to venture this forest, could you please notify them of the presence of a peaceful spirit? Specifically, that while I take  the appearance of a monster I mean no harm ? I would be more than willing to provide them refuge. However, I would also like not to be killed.”

“It would be the least I could do to repay you after the ill will I have shown you. However,if I might ask one request, could I stay the night?”

Well, who was I to refuse?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When she had asked to spend the night, I hadn’t anticipated that she would immediately go to bed, in my bedroom nonetheless. Perhaps it was late at night for her. The clock said ten o’clock, but that could be am or pm after all. Without the sun as reference it was pretty much useless anyway. For better or for worse, I  was left alone again, with nothing to do but mull over everything I had learned. Which really wasn’t a lot.

It was comforting to know that an outside world existed, but I knew virtually nothing about what it was like or what it contained. That’s not to say I didn’t I have some plausible guess. While the evidence was somewhat unreliable, I had good reason to believe that other earthlings were or had been here in the past. Either that, or technology had progressed enough at least for things like electricity to be on the horizon. There were also a few insights I could glean from Abigail’s word choice and behavior: for instance, monsters existed here and civilization was advanced enough to have specializations such as a professor. Although that might have already been obvious considering the quality of her armaments. Additionally, I had a tentative picture of an apprenticeship system based off of her use of the word “master”. But overall, I had many more questions than answers. The only source of the latter right now happened to be sleeping. Which, by the way, was extremely weird. No matter how I looked at it, she was way too trusting in strangers. She hadn’t even bothered to take out the dagger embedded in the wall, so if I wanted I could ambush and kill her at any time. 

Wait, the dagger!  This was the opportunity I was waiting for!

I had to use both hands and all my body weight to pull the dagger out of the wood, but once I did, I finally had the tool I needed. Not for any criminal pursuit, of course. No, I needed the dagger to test the latest theory of mine. To use it, I would have to go to the sketching room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I began by testing the connection between  each surface in one room, painstakingly carving an x’ on the floor, a circle on the north wall, a line on the east, and two more shapes on the remaining surfaces. I then exited the room and checked the results. Copies of each marks coated the various walls, but it was not these I was interested in. Instead, I directed my attention toward the ceiling, where a circle lay. North it was, then. 

I took a minute to breathe and rest my arms, already tired after fifteen minutes of effort. Ah, how I missed having actual stamina.

With that out of the way, I could begin the real work. With a child’s weight behind me, I dashed toward the north wall, knife in hand—only to bounce off due to an inprecise angle. How on earth had she lodged this thing on her first try?

Luckily, I had time on my side, and my second and third attempts saw the dagger placed firmly between the grains of the board. Now all that remained was to do that another fifty more times. Yay.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

After spending the rest of the day repeatedly thrusting knives into the wall and taking plenty of breaks in between, I finally achieved what I was aiming for: a small hole a fist across and about half a foot deep. I’d have liked to have gone farther, but the blade itself could only go so deep before the wall hit its handle. All of this was a laborious and roundabout way to set what up what I really wanted: a glance into the third floor. So I went around to the other room and, sure enough, the hole was there. I had to crane my neck to look at it, but the ceiling of the third floor was visible. Unfortunately, for this to be a valid solution to the problem I was thinking of, I was missing two parts. 

First, the hole had to be large enough to fit a child. Not a terribly demanding task assuming I had all the time I needed, but unfortunately the caretaker would erase all of my accumulated progress when it cleaned up at the end of each day, making a gradual approach impossible. I would have to create the hole quickly enough to complete it in one day, which was impossible with the methods currently available to me. Separately, there was the matter of getting up there. There wasn’t really anything I could use as a ladder in the house, and the walls were completely devoid of handholds. To get to the third floor once a hole was made, I would have to figure out how to make up for the difference in elevation. One approach was to make notches in a surface, such that the other room’s wall would gain the necessary handholds. The problem with this approach was that it relied on the floor of the first room’s floor to be connected to one of the second’s walls, as otherwise there would be no way to make the notches go all the way to the ceiling. Additionally,  the placement of the notches had to be directly under the hole, which could become complicated if my method needed to be executed in places away from the edges.

Despite these problems, I was happy with today’s results. I had proven the existence of another method to reach the third floor, which I could improve and refine starting tomorrow. I open the door to my room dead tired and yawning only to be greeted by the sleeping figure of Abigail sprawled all over the bed. My bed. I had grown attached to that thing and was pained to be separated in leu of a less comfortable one in a guest room. I went on nonetheless, regretting my fate as I went to sleep with my pillows tragically ordinary.

It was not the same.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

And that’s how I got here, with her arm safely if somewhat painfully wrapped around my body and no longer threatening to crush my larynx. What is she mumbling about, anyway?  Are those the names of previous victims? For what reason does she wear that dumb smile on her face? Also, did she seriously get up and change rooms just to use me as a body pillow?

Such mysteries may never be revealed to me. Unfortunately, I can’t really sleep this way, so I find myself somewhat limited in options. Rather than waste energy escaping, I consider the day’s events.

Losing my humanity in the eyes of others was certainly an unfortunate side effect of the change, but not one I think I should particularly concerned about. I would be much more alarmed if I had actually been turned into a monster, but luckily I hadn’t . Unless I was afflicted by some kind of psychic manipulation that prevented me from recognizing myself as a monster?

At that point, I might as well give up on everything, because for all I know my past is a lie and my toes are made of goldfish. 

No, that would be a useless argument. I’d sooner expect the simpler answer: that people’s perspective on what qualifies as a monster is broader than what I’m used to. After all, in the 1700’s, you could get called a witch and hanged for practically no reason. Considering my paler than usual skin and my unusual location, it’s not impossible that I was labeled superstitiously. The only issue with that idea is that it implies Abigail’s analysis is incorrect, which is a claim I’m not sure I have the authority to make. I’m not the one who fights monsters for a living, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if similar locations deep in the wilderness really did host child kidnapping monstrosities.

“Don’t be shy, hehehe. I’ll keep you safe warm for as long as you live. All I require is that you trust me.” 

The slurred and sleepy murmurs of the individual beside me reminded me that I was beside a greater threat to little boys than any mystical creature could hope to be. 

I shudder, and for once am glad that I am not a boy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“Oh my, to think you were this forward”

“No, really, you are definitely misunderstanding something”

“Whatever you say. Just know that you have nothing to be ashamed about.”

This was a complete disaster. To my utter embarrassment, it was not she that had climbed into my bed, but me that had climbed into hers. But how this had happened, I had no idea. I certainly did not have memory of doing so. Was I experiencing some sort of psychological break? No, it must have been the caretaker’s fault. It always had an odd obsession with ensuring that I be properly sleeping in my room. But even if I explained, Abigail would not believe me. So I instead maneuvered to change the conversation.

“Would you endeavor to join me for breakfast?”

“I’m afraid I really must be on my way. Dear Frederic is waiting for me to save him, and it would not do to leave him without salvation.”

“Then I wish you fortune in your travels. Do let others know of my presence here, and my harmlessness.”

“I will, and perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, I wish you peace within your loneliness”

“Goodbye.”

I waved, and was filled with a minor sense of wistfulness as she walked into the darkness. It occurred to me that she had not even asked my name.

My polite and somewhat lecherous guest left just like that, and I was plunged back into my days of peacefulness. I abided by the same routines, sleeping and waking and eating in comfort I had long taken for granted and doing little work in between. I made some progress in journaling, at least . Such was what it was like living under the influence of drug cultivated happiness. Stability had become addictive before I knew it, and change seemed unnecessary and bothersome.

But my idle days were interrupted one morning by an earsplitting screech from the coockoo clock, which woke me up in time to feel an immobilizing weight on my chest and see the downward thrust of a knife just inches from my face. As time slowed down, I saw the visage of the haggard girl kneeling on my body, and could only wonder what I had done to deserve such poor luck with women and their daggers.