Chapter Text
You fall.
The bed of grey flowers does not seem soft nor thick enough to cushion your fall completely, but cushion completely it does. You stand easily, finding not a scratch or bruise on your body.
You look around. Sunlight streams through a crack in the rocky ceiling, illuminating you and only you. A tall passageway leads… somewhere, probably. You’re not going back the way you came, that’s for sure.
You spend another moment standing still before heading down the passage.
...So. Monsters, huh.
The talking frog with the weird face on its belly had been surprisingly informative. Told you a lot about where you are: some place underground called the Underground. Populated entirely with strange, fantastical creatures, self-described as monsters.
...This might be a dream. You think it’s not a dream. It doesn’t feel like a dream. But considering the circumstances, so far out of the ordinary, like something out of a strange storybook… it’s something to consider.
You keep walking forward, encountering some mildly challenging puzzles and a one-eyed bully monster (Loox, apparently) that keeps throwing magical circles at you. Thankfully, thanks to the Froggit’s helpful tutorial, you figure out how to ACT and SPARE him in short order. Continuing onwards, you encounter more puzzles and more FIGHTS, all of which you manage to resolve peacefully. Without even losing that much HP, either—dodging apparently comes second-nature to you. It’s almost as if you’ve already got all the muscle memory you need to avoid Whimsun’s shy flutterings, Moldsmal’s jigglings, Vegetoid’s attempts to feed you greens.
Another friendly Froggit mentions something concerning: you’re coming up on the house belonging to the caretaker of the Ruins, the area of the Underground you’re currently in. You hope he’s friendly.
Finally, after taking some free candy, you reach the end of the section, the aforementioned house. It’s… very large. And purple, like just about everything else in the Ruins.
The door is large, too. Large door for a large person.
You knock.
After a moment, the door opens, and you’re greeted by a very tall monster. Very tall. An adult by human standards. You actively have to tilt your neck to get a good look at him, scanning his body and attire in the process.
He’s wearing almost all black, from his shoes to his trousers to his leather (leather?) motorcycle jacket. And he’s bulky, with broad shoulders, a wide body. Solidly built. A small white patch is sown into his jacket over his heart, depicting a symbol that seems distantly familiar. He smells like absence, lack of scent so strong it somehow counts as a scent by itself.
Your gaze moves up past his white undershirt and his popped collar, all the way to his face—no. Not a face. A skull. A bleached-white skull with empty black pits in place of eyes and a mouth, teeth stretched in a grin. Like a living Halloween decoration dressed up as a biker.
His head tilts down, nonexistent eyes gazing down at you. And even though he literally doesn’t have a face to read, you still get the sense that he’s just as surprised to see you as you him.
“Um… Hello, kid.”
The Ruins caretaker’s voice is deep and rumbly, cementing your impression of him as an adult. On closer inspection, not only does he possess a skull (and only a skull!), his fingers, the only other part of him exposed to the elements, are also skeletal, thin bones and joints. A full-fledged skeleton, then.
“...Why don’t you come on in. You look hungry. I’ll make you something to eat.”
You almost say you’re not hungry. Then your stomach rumbles like an active volcano, bringing to mind the question of how long you’ve been down here, how long it’s been since you last ate.
The caretaker takes that bit of comedic timing as an affirmative response, nodding and heading back through his big doorway into his big house. You follow behind him.
His house, as you surmised, is, in fact, big. Very big. Too big, and yes he’s a very big person but the house is just so much bigger than him it’s almost ridiculous. There’s no way he makes use of all this space, the basement, the large living room, the multiple bedrooms down the hall, the fully-stocked, fully-equipped kitchen he leads you to, complete with a big table. With two chairs.
“Please, sit down. Tell me how you arrived here. I’ll prepare some food while I listen.”
There… isn’t much to tell, really. You climbed the mountain. You fell down. You talked to some monsters, solved some puzzles, then you arrived here.
Meanwhile, the caretaker does as he said he would, going to the fridge, pulling out a box of hamburger patties (you’re surprised they have those Underground), and throwing a pair of them into a pan on the stove. The air fills with the smell of cooking meat. Afterwards, he turns back around, putting his hand to his chinbone, contemplative.
“Hm. Is that all?”
Yyyyyyyes?
“Interesting.”
The caretaker turns back to the stove and flips the burgers, leaving you to stew in silence, unattended. You have next to no idea what he means by “interesting.” Interesting as a science experiment? Interesting as an engrossing novel? There are so many differing subtle connotations associated with that simple word.
Was there something he was expecting? You don’t know that much about monsters and their culture yet. Did you break some secret taboo? Should you have taken your shoes off at the door? Broken all the pottery on your way in?
The suspense is killing you. You fidget.
The sizzling of grease in the pan reaches a crescendo, then cuts off as the chef turns the fire down. He retrieves a pair of hamburger buns from a cabinet, sets them down, flops the burgers over onto them, and brings them over to the table. He sets them down carefully in front of you before taking the opposite seat.
They smell amazing. The epitome of greasy ground up meat between two slices of bread. No garnishings, no seasonings, just… fresh(?) meat cooked to perfection. You take a deep breath, get the feeling that the mere smell of heavenly junk food is almost as nourishing as actually consuming it would be.
“Feel free to dig in.”
You’re right.
You scarf down the Dark Burger, getting your hands and sweater covered in fat and cowstuff and breadcrumbs. It’s just as delicious as you imagined. By the time you’re done, you’re completely full and feeling amazing, but still gaze longingly at the remaining burger.
“You can take that, if you’d like. I’ve already eaten.”
You gladly do so, stuffing it into your inventory. You’ll eat it later.
“It’s getting late. Do you have a place to sleep? Somewhere to live?”
You just got here. No. The concern is appreciated, though.
“If you’d like, you can sleep here for tonight. I have a spare room. I wouldn’t mind some company.”
Now that you’re full, you do feel a bit tired. You nod, hesitantly. The caretaker stands, motioning for you to follow, and heads back down the hall, placing a skeletal hand on a doorknob, opening one of the bedroom doors. You peek inside.
It’s pretty empty. There’s a bed, a stack of books atop a dresser. A simple red shag carpet.
It doesn’t look like it’s been lived in at all.
“Good night.”
The caretaker shuts the door, leaving you alone inside the barren bedroom.
...Well. Like you said: You are a bit tired.
You think it’s morning.
There’s no sunlight down here, you’ve come to realize. Your last view of the sun’s light was back in that cavern with the crack in the ceiling. You don’t know if you will ever see it again.
Also, unless you’re in one of those really weird dreams where you wake up within a dream and find out you’re still dreaming, you’re not dreaming. Everything feels just as real as it did yesterday. The bed is soft. The floor is cold. The air, slightly musty with dust. And the taste of that delicious Dark Burger you had yesterday is still on your tongue.
You were pretty sure you weren’t dreaming yesterday, to be fair. But this is confirmation. You’re not entirely sure what conclusion you should be drawing from that fact, but it is…
You push the thick blankets off yourself and stand up, then pause. You don’t remember getting underneath the blankets. You recall simply flopping on top of the bed, mental functions growing blurrier and fuzzier as you fell asleep. And yet, here you are—were—snugly fitted under the blankets like they were a second skin.
Did… did the caretaker tuck you in?
Huh.
Speaking of which. You’re not sure what to think of him. He’s been calm, considerate. Let you stay in his big house overnight for free, made delicious food for you. The perfect host. The question is, why? Why is he doing all this for you? What does he have to gain?
...do monsters eat people? Do they have cows down here? Where did he get the meat for the burgers? Does human meat really taste like chicken? Or pork? Or beef? Is the caretaker fattening you up like the witch from Hansel and Gretel? Does he plan to serve you to the next child that comes through here? How many children have come through here? How many survived?
You think of the skeleton dressed in all black, soulless eye sockets looking down on you. You really hope he’s friendly. You’re getting some, uh, mixed signals.
You move with a little more urgency, examining the dresser, pulling out all the drawers. You find a toy knife in the bottom drawer and what might have once been a scarf, now reduced to thin red fibers—a ribbon—both covered in a thin layer of dust.You tie the ribbon into your hair (it looks nice, you think!) and take the toy knife, swinging it about experimentally.
It probably won’t do much good if the skeleton caretaker does have malicious intentions. He’s a lot bigger, probably stronger than you, definitely a lot scarier. But it’s kinda reassuring, having the dull plastic toy in your hand. For some reason.
You tuck it into your inventory, then cautiously exit the room, back into the hallway. The Ruins caretaker (and jeez does that sound fifty times more ominous now that you’ve had your paranoid freakout) isn’t in sight, but the door to the other bedroom is ajar.
...He won’t mind a little snooping, right?
Slowly, trying to make as little noise against the stone floor as possible, you creep over to the other bedroom, squeezing yourself through the small opening without opening the door any further. And then you’re inside.
The caretaker’s room is about the same size as the one you’re occupying, with a few more furnishings. The bed is larger. The open dresser reveals a dozen more motorcycle jackets, identical to the one he was wearing. A set of boxing gloves dangles from a hook on the wall, recently used. And a desk is tucked away in the corner, a small book laid flat atop it.
You get close enough to find that it’s a diary. You start reading it because you have no respect for personal boundaries.
- August X7
- Did not know the training dummy had become occupied by a ghost. Did not know at all. I’ll need to find them another suitable vessel at some point in apology.
- August X3
- Got some groceries from the store, saw an interesting article in the news about Regent. Good to see he’s making it big. Wish I had a television so I could see him—perhaps I should ask Taylor?
- August X3
- A human child fell down today. I made them some food and allowed them to sleep here.
- I am not sure what to do but
- They cannot be allowed to leave the Ruins. The basement exit may have to be sealed.
Well that’s not ominous at all.
Careful to leave everything exactly the way you found it, you tiptoe back out of the caretaker’s room, then head over towards the living room. He’s sitting in one of the easy chairs, seemingly engrossed in a newspaper, though he lowers it slightly the second you enter the room.
“Hello. I hope you had a nice rest?”
You tell him you did, thanking him for his hospitality. You’d also like to leave, if possible.
“The rest of the Ruins are open for exploration. Feel free to come back here anytime, though. If you’d like, I can try setting your room up to be more to your liking. Do you need toys? Additional clothes?”
No, you don’t want to explore the Ruins some more. You’d like to see what’s past the Ruins. You know there’s more to the Underground than just old purple dilapidated buildings.
“...”
It’s at this moment that you realize the caretaker breathes, as his breath hitches in his skeletal throat. He sets his newspaper aside entirely, standing to his full height, easily towering over you.
“Excuse me. There is some business that needs my attention. Please remain here while I sort it out.”
Briskly, the caretaker exits the room, heads down the stairs. To the basement.
After a brief moment of hesitation, you follow behind.
The basement appears to simply be a long purple hallway, one that curves off in the distance. The caretaker stands at the bottom of the stairs, not looking at you. Brightly fluorescent lights in the ceiling throw your shadows into crisp definition.
“I used to work for the Queen. She hasn't changed much, over the years.”
The skeleton’s voice is distant, faraway. It echoes down the tunnel, down history, down to your bones.
“Made a great pledge to free the Underground, all those years ago. Promised to collect seven human SOULs and break the barrier that’s kept us all trapped down here for so long.”
A scoff.
“She’s too soft. Won’t get her hands dirty unless she has no choice.
“I had to do it for her. And I did.”
He pauses, seeming to recognize your presence. Strange. He hadn’t noticed when he started monologuing?
“Please go back upstairs. I will only be a moment.”
The caretaker slowly strides down the corridor. You could easily catch up to him. It is almost as if he wants you to.
You do so. He doesn’t turn around, but seems to realize you’re still there anyway as he continues.
“Twice over. Two times. I killed the first two kids to fall down.
“The captains of the guard got the third and fourth. The Queen herself took the fifth. And the sixth…”
The caretaker stops in his tracks. Almost seeming unable to continue. Not just unwilling. His feet seem rooted to the floor, the air to heavy for him to push through. You’re not sure how you’re able to so clearly read the body language of someone you just met, but you are certain that you are correct.
“I had a sister once. That ribbon you wear. The toy you have in your pocket. They once belonged to her.”
Your hand drifts down to the toy, feels the handle. You get the feeling that you’re not going to like what you hear next.
“The sixth kid. I do not know why or how. But she found her. Specifically. Of all the monsters in the Underground.
“She brought me her dust. I…”
His voice cracks. Once again, he continues down the corridor at a snail’s pace. Regaining the strength to speak. You continue along with him until he is ready again.
“She said it was justice. Smiling. Didn’t stop. Even as I snapped her little spine.
“That damned smile…”
The caretaker’s skeletal fists tremble at his sides, you’re not sure with anger or grief. You wonder why he has not killed you.
“...I could not continue after that. Brought the Queen the SOUL. Resigned. Moved to the Ruins.
“I think… it is because the kid was correct. Perhaps I did deserve it. Dust for blood. Blood for dust.”
He falls silent. Then continues down the corridor again. He remains silent up until you reach the end, a large ornate door. Finally, he turns around, gazes upon you with empty eyesockets and a grin that, while exactly the same as usual, somehow conveys a deep melancholy. He folds his arms.
“...Kid. You have parents? Siblings?”
You do not reply.
“They will miss you. And you do not deserve to die.
“It is cruel to ask you to end your journey so soon after it has begun. But it would be more cruel to allow you to continue, I think.”
You suddenly get the bizarre impression that the caretaker is psyching himself up, giving himself a strange pep-talk. Justification. For what? Why?
“It is a harsh world, out there. Every monster will be out for your head. Your SOUL.
“So: I beg you. Will you cease? You can live here, if you’d like. I will not mind. We could be…”
He falters. He must have noticed something in your expression, your body language.
“But you will not accept that, will you? Neither can I.”
A deep breath. A rattling of bones.
“Very well then. A test.”
Something moves, out of the corner of your eye. You dare not turn your head to look at it. Something in the shadows.
“Prove yourself.”
Moments later, you realize: it’s not something in the shadows. It’s the shadows themselves. Writhing, growing, collecting themselves into a formless blob, surrounding the two of you entirely, blocking out the light.
In the pure black, the only thing visible is the caretaker’s pure white skull. His black clothes merge seamlessly with the dark, making it seem to hover there, unsupported.
You draw your toy knife, hold it out in front of you like a flashlight, wishing you had one.
“Prove to me that you are strong enough to survive!”
