The front door was locked. 

An old protector formed of ancient wood bound by rusted iron had been forgotten by time, yet it still sat resolutely within the entryway to bar entry to unwelcome visitors. 

“Is anyone home?” 

Autumn hoarsely called as she hammered her tired fists upon the weathered wood. Into the chamber beyond her knocking resounded and only the creaking of wood was her answer. Nothing living stirred or called back in reply.

The door rattled in place as she shoved upon it, hardly budging from its frame.

Autumn had to resolve herself to the fact that nobody was home and, judging from the overgrown state of the grounds, they hadn’t been in a long time. She needed to get inside as her blood loss was getting dire. Her mind was growing increasingly hazy as the adrenaline that had been coursing through her wore off. 

Casting her gaze, she noticed a cloudy window beside the door. 

Retrieving a discarded rock, she smashed in the dusty pane. The crashing noise resounded around the clearing. As carefully as she could in her cold and naked state, she picked out the remaining glass from the window frame before hauling herself in. 

A cloud of dust greeted her as she tumbled, causing her to cough and sneeze into the silence. Once her fit had passed, Autumn cast a tired and fugitive glance about the dark chamber lit only by the pale moonlight streaming in through clouded windows. 

An ominous atmosphere, to be sure. 

Hanging from the ceiling all about the room was a myriad collection of dried herbs, vegetables, and near petrified remains of unidentified animals. At the far end of the room was an unlit fireplace stained by soot and ash. A chimney ran up the back like a crone’s spine from the cozy hearth, twisting until it breached the ceiling. 

Within it a warped black iron cauldron hung, awaiting use. The firewood that had been once fresh beside it now had colonies upon colonies of mushrooms growing upon it. 

Near the fireplace and taking up a majority of the right-hand side of the shadowed chamber was a tattered bed that was practically blanketed with dust. The musty sleeping space was only shielded by a hanging molded curtain that was so moth-eaten that it could be mistaken for lace.

An old broken wardrobe filled with rags that might once have been clothing sat at the foot. Opposite, on the left-hand side, was a workspace laden with shelves of dusty jars filled with various unidentifiable substances, some even softly glowing to Autumn’s concern. 

A fetus of some strange creature still pulsed and moved with one jar beside another, just packed with eyes of every colouration. 

Across every unoccupied surface was a scattering of unlit candles that had melted down onto whatever surface they graced. A humanoid skull ran with waxy tears. Autumn wondered what they had done to receive such a fate as a candle-holder in death as she shakily entered the space.

By now exhaustion utterly wracked her body but she had to tend to her injuries first before the bed could claim her, lest she not wake in the morrow. 

Woozily, she made her way across to the old wardrobe, leaving behind bloody footprints. Reaching inside, she grabbed a few old dresses and shirts and began cleaning herself. The gross soul water that still clung to her and her still-flowing blood stained the rags immediately. She tore the cleanest of the rags into strips with her teeth and uninjured hand till she had enough to bind herself. 

Autumn was in a sorry state. Bruises and cuts covered her skin from her flight, and every point where a ghost had touched her was irritable and red. The handprints stood out on her pale flesh. 

The first of her injuries she sought to mend was her hand, as it was in the worst state and without its use, the rest would be much harder to tend. 

Autumn eyed her hand. The stumps of her fingers torn ragged with the white of bone peaking through. Even if she had the fingers, she doubted that could have saved them. As best she could, she cleaned them of the dirt, and grim tears sprung into her eyes as the throbbing pain became much more. 

Once done, she turned her attention to the fireplace. 

The wood placed beside it was nearly unusable, but there were a few pieces that were just dry enough to light. With one hand, she awkwardly built a fire by stuffing a few shreds of dry cloth under the kindling inside the hearth before fumbling with a flint till sparks caught.

She gently blew upon them, hoping they would bring warmth and light into her nightmare. Thankfully, they did and soon a fire began to grow and shed a billowing heat upon her tender frozen flesh. Autumn basked in the heat a moment before plucking an old iron poker from beside her and thrusting it into the fire, tending it till the metal glowed red.

Like an angry devil, it blazed as she withdrew it from the fireplace until she held it before her bleeding stumps. As she clenched her teeth upon a bite of wood, she pressed the heated metal upon her ravaged flesh. 

She screamed into her teeth as a white-hot pain engulfed her.

Autumn found herself unnerved and disgusted at how hungry the smell of cooking flesh made her as the remains of her fingers seared close. Sweat poured down Autumn’s forehead and plastered her tangled black hair onto her face. 

She took the cleanest of the rags and wrapped the hurting and burnt wounds. She knew she needed to keep them clean, as she’d die if they got infected.

Moving on, Autumn turned her attention to her feet.

They were ruined. 

It surprised Autumn that she could even walk, given the state of them. The skin had been worn off by who knows how many hours of dancing and the flight that had followed had embedded thorns and stones within. 

Pure adrenaline had fueled her into ignoring the pain and only now was she feeling it and it was hell. Holding in her whimpers, she pulled free the invading fragments from her soles. 

The pain was almost blinding as she cleaned the bloody mess and wrapped them in strips of makeshift bandages. Soon she had them as clean and covered as she could. 

All that remained to deal with was her ravenous hunger. 

The dried vegetables hung mockingly high above her. 

As getting up again would hurt far too much now that she had become aware of her wounds, she instead crawled over to a moldy broom propped up against the wall and used it instead to smack a few stringy vegetables free. 

Autumn feasted upon what she assumed were carrots. At the very least, they looked like them. The taste was as bland as could be because of their dried nature, but she was starving, so she choked them down.

As the last of her secured food vanished, a rumbling noise outside drew her attention, so she made her way to the shattered window she had entered from. Outside across the wild lawn, the fae hunters had arrived. Not all mind, just a few dozen of the thousands that made up the Wild Hunt. 

Not that it was much of a consolation. 

Each fae being was of a different shape or size than the rest, warped by whatever values of beauty they abided by. The riders had stopped at the edge of the clearing and were warily eying the charms of bone that waved in the wind.

And it seemed as if the charms were gazing back.

Rusted iron nails held each of the charms that Autumn could see in place. Autumn recalled that cold-iron was said to ward off fae-folk. She only hoped that their rusted nature wouldn’t affect them too much. 

As the hunters spotted Autumn peeking out at them, they snarled and cursed at her, furious that she had found shelter.

Nervously, Autumn glanced at the heavy door that had barred her entrance. Now behind it, she could see that a heavy iron bar was latched in place and had rusted shut. Looking upwards, she also saw an old iron horseshoe that hung protectively over the doorway.

Perhaps to ward off evil? Or at the very least, the fae. 

Autumn snuck one last tired glance over at the fae before retreating to the bed. There was nothing she could do right now about the hunters gathered, and this hut appeared to be shielded from their intrusion. 

What better place was there to rest her weary bones?

Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d deal with it.

Autumn dusted off the bedcovers as best she could before crawling her abused and battered body onto the creaky frame. The flare of pain from her aggravated injuries caused her to wince.

Like the saddest of burritos, she wrapped herself up in the tattered blankets and quickly drifted off to the land of sleep, hoping that this was all a nightmare and that she’d awake tomorrow in her bed. 

Yet it was not to be. 

High above in the shadowed night, a duo of shades rested, the third having been rent asunder by a sight best left unseen.

“A deal concluded, a young wench hast been delivered.” The first shade giggled.

“A dram late, one might argue.” The second shade replied.

“Tis not mine own fault that the wretched hag did fail to account that another world might findeth the gall to name their children after the seasons, nor is this year’s Autumn dead yet. That child’s day of birth still looms after all.” The first shade mocked.

“Whilst comical twas it behoveful to setteth the Wild Hunt upon the wench?” The second shade questioned.

“Twas worth it to behold the look upon the Fair Maiden’s visage.” The first shade spoke, “Besides they art destined foes, I just gaveth a dram nudge.”

---

 

When Autumn next awoke, it was to the intense aching in every part of her body. She had pushed every muscle in her body to its limit and then urged them beyond. Somehow, even her eyelids ached. Still, it was that hurt that made her realize she was still alive and that the events before her slumber hadn’t been a wicked and terrible dream.

Autumn’s body shivered in its sweat-soaked state as a building fever wracked her body. 

Despite the alluring urge to surrender to the lull of sleep and ignore the twitching of her muscles, she couldn’t as not only was she hungry once more, but she hadn’t forgotten the fae outside.

With an extreme force of will, she pulled herself upright upon the soaked sheets, groaning in agony as she did so. As slowly as her body allowed, Autumn stretched out her muscles, working to relax those that had tensed up in a cramp. As they loosened, she became more of a person and less of a barely functional zombie.

Nearby, the small fire she had lit before still crackled slowly away, almost finished consuming the wood she had left it. The radiating heat it provided offset the chilling breeze that floated through the space from the broken window she had made.

Aside from the hearth, the only light inside the hut was that soft moonlight let in by the cloudy windows. 

After wiping away the grime and dust as much as she was able with loose bedding, Autumn gazed outward and up. Despite resting what was most likely a full night’s rest, the hateful moon still hung in the sky above, unmoved from its cage. 

It would seem that the sun did not grace this realm at all. 

A loud gurgle interrupted Autumn’s contemplation. She clutched at her stomach as it announced itself. She held no power to make the sunrise, but she felt she could at least feed herself. 

Autumn’s gaze swept the room for any scrap of food. Last night, she had devoured the carrot-like vegetables to the last stringy strand, so she needed to search for another source of nourishment. 

The shelves of assorted jars would be a last resort, so she hobbled over to the fire. There beside it, in a small alcove, was a shabby pantry. It was in as much of a sorry state as herself. Time had rendered anything fresh that may have once been housed within into dust.

All that remained was a meager scattering of dried and desiccated food.

Still, she wolfed those down as her only other option was the garden outside and who knew what lived within. A wineskin she had plucked from the shelf had a mouthful of what may have been wine at some point. Now it tasted like vinegar and sorrow, but she was hardly in a place to complain. 

With that, her voracity was quelled.