Day 25,

Mist day again.  Staying at home this time.

Decided to push my luck with the mist this morning and attempted to take care of laundry I’d been putting off by taking it to the stream.  I got back before the mist was too thick to find my way, but I’m not sure I actually got anything clean, just wet.  Of my pre-Village memories and skills, doing laundry by hand is not one of them.  In retrospect, a day filled with heavy mist probably isn’t conducive to hanging clothes up to dry either.

I’m sitting out on the porch now, watching the mist.  For the most part that’s been as boring as it sounds, but for a few minutes about an hour ago the mist lightened enough to see halfway across the nearest farm field.  At the edge of that visibility I could make out a blurred figure, a darker grey on white.  It walked on two legs, sluggishly swinging its arms that stretched down past its treetop-high knees.  It was a ponderous creature, seeming to pass by in slow motion yet given the sheer length of its gait I suspect that if I were closer I’d be hard pressed in running to keep up with it.  I’d think that something so large must make a tremendous noise with each step but the day remained deathly silent despite its passage.

But again, the thinning of the mist lasted but a few minutes and as the world beyond my porch once again faded from view, the giant still had not reached its destination.  There’s been no more sign of the creature since – or anything else like it –and the sun will be setting before too long.  I’ll be heading back inside soon before the shades start appearing.

Tonight’s been more eventful than anticipated.  I’ve found myself paying forward the aid rendered to me last mist night sooner than I anticipated.  As I write this my guest is watching me from the corner of the room she’s claimed for herself.  I’m speaking of course of the red woman I’ve been seeing about these past weeks.  Maiko, I’ve now learned her name is.  We’ve spoken a bit, but I don’t think she’s used to falling asleep while other people are around.

But I ought to back up to how we got to this point.

The nature sprite’s newest prank was to lock me out of the house.  My initial reaction was exasperation more than anything else, but as the sun went down and I looked through the window at the entity holding it closed from the inside real fear began to creep in.  Sure, its kind was said to be mostly harmless, but “mostly” still implies some capacity for harm.  And even if it wasn’t intentional, it wouldn’t be hard for the sprite to accidentally keep me out a little too long and let the shades get me.

Since the house is raised up (presumably a rainy season flood precaution) I couldn’t even properly reach the window to get a good angle to try smashing to open with my elbow as a last resort, and I wasn’t yet willing to risk getting lost looking for a rock or sturdy stick.  Once it began to truly get dark panic started to set in and I began bodily throwing myself against the front door.  Had I been more clear minded I might have realized this was the punchline the sprite was waiting for.  As it was, the door flew open just before I made contact with it and I went sprawling on the floor.

I scrambled to my feet, shut the door, flipped the latch, and spent the next I’m not quite sure how long trying to calm myself down.

This was the state I was in when I heard the door rattle.

Thoroughly tired of the sprite’s pranks at this point I ignored it.  And then the rattling moved to the back door.  And then back to pounding at the front.  My patience wearing thin I grabbed the broom and headed to the door, resolved to be the one shrieking menacingly in the sprite’s face for once.

That in mind, imagine my surprise when in a reversal of roles I opened the door just in time to be barreled into by someone expecting to slam herself into a locked door.

We both tumbled to the ground, her on top of me, both momentarily stunned.  If I didn’t hear the sprite’s laughter I suspect it was only because the being preferred to have me as its sole audience.

My guest recovered her wits before I did, kicking the door closed, rolling off me, and springing to her feet in one fluid motion.

We stayed like that staring at one another for a long moment.  Me lying on the floor propped up on my elbows, and her half crouched by the door.

She was head and shoulders taller than me, not counting the horns, and visibly toned and muscled.  Combine that with her fiendish features, fight or flight posture, and half-panicked facial expression, and I was thoroughly intimidated.

Hoping to diffuse the situation, I broke the awful silence, awkwardly attempting an affected nonchalance as I asked if she wanted aught to eat.  Of course, it came out as a stuttering, nervous mess and I had to repeat myself.

Her face now looking more confused than afraid, she made a twitch that I chose to interpret as a nod and I slowly pulled myself to my feet and began making my way to the pantry, concerned that if I made any sudden moves it would further upset my tightly-wound visitor.  I retrieved my usual nighttime fare, set it on a pair of plates on opposite ends of the table, took my seat at the far end, and told her to help herself.

With some hesitation she eventually crept forward and claimed her plate to take back to her spot by the door.  After a few bites she looked up and said “Thank you,” then resumed eating.

These first words I’d heard from her came out raspy.  Or maybe hoarse?  I’m not sure off the top of my head which applies better.  Not really the sound of dehydration or a sore throat; more like a voice that rarely gets used for words and isn’t quite accustomed to the particular muscle movements employed by speech.

I had to stop myself from making a glib comment along the lines of “I was wondering if you could talk/understand me.”  Might have been too condescending/othering/inquisitorial.  After another uncomfortable silence, this one brought on by my brain blanking out and getting stuck in a loop of attempting to come up with responses and discarding them, I finally arrived at the obvious “You’re welcome.”

By now I’d more consciously settled on the plan of trying to put her obvious discomfort around people (or at least around me) more at ease by trying to be casually hospitable and acting like this was all perfectly normal.  No matter how I burned to ask questions like “What are you?” “Where are you from?” “Are there others like you?” “Are you an outsider too?” On top of excited questioning potentially freaking her out or coming across as hostile, it struck a part of me as simply terribly rude.

That said, the “act casual” plan faced some difficulty as around this same time it had also finally consciously registered for me that she was wearing… well, not much.  Enough to technically preserve one’s modesty, as they say, but little enough to make my own face go red.

I broke the silence once again by telling her my name.  She told me hers in return.  Maiko, as I noted at the start of this entry.

I told her that next mist night I’d be sure to leave the door unlocked for her and that she was welcome to come inside when it rains instead of just sitting out on the porch.

She told me that she’d been doing this since she found the empty house last rainy season but had been afraid to since realizing someone else had moved in.

I assured her that I was harmless.  Half tripping over my own chair on my way to the sink as punctuation to this statement was only mostly intentional.

Looking out the window over the sink I saw that there was indeed at least one shade outside.  I said as much to Maiko and encouraged her to look out the window herself.  She did once I’d taken my seat again and made a nod and grunt by way of verification when she saw it.

I asked if she wanted any clothes and offered to get her some.  The old archivist’s would probably fit her better than me.  She turned down the offer.

I went to my bedroom and brought out my blanket and some towels and offered them to her along with the couch in the other room for sleep.  Alas, to my shame, I am not such an excellent host as Vernon that I can bring myself to offer up my only bed to a stranger.

And so we’re back to where we started this entry with me going through my pre-bedtime ritual of writing down the day’s events while Maiko stares at me.  I’ve stopped a few times now to explain what I was doing, what I was writing, and why I didn’t just go to bed already.

On that last note, I should go ahead and call it a night.  I’m obviously keeping us both up.

At least she seems to have relaxed a bit since wrapping the blanket around herself.  It is a nice blanket.

Thank

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