Chapter Text
Cold, rough stone, and the tingling itching in her fingertips. Dark matter pulsing at the edges of her vision, at the edges of her. Even the weak sun hurt her eyes as she scrambled forward, the vision she had locked onto the Ferryman. Him. It was his fault. Perhaps there was shock in his long loose face, his hands outstretched to grab her, leaving his boat to turn her around and take her back. No. She would not be going back. There was nothing living worth saving.
The Ferryman was the only one she touched. He couldn’t just die. Even as life left him she buried her hands into the skin of his neck, screaming out the first sound she’d made since she’d left the City. He splintered, burned, disintegrated under her touch, the wind whipping what had once been his body out to sea. Slowly, Six opened her hands and let the last of his ashes blow away. She stared at her palms, black with dirt, soot, blood, her nails scrapped and bitten raw. Skin on muscle on bone. Alive.
Squwa-eek.
She whipped around. The Nomes – the surviving ones – scuttling away from the lifeless body of another.
“It hurts you too,” Six whispered, backing away.
Her world began shaking, she was shaking. Her knees knocked together, and her hands trembled as she collapsed onto the wet rocks below her. She couldn’t control it. She hurt. Her vision swam, her cheeks were fire and ice, and everything was pain.
Squwswuh?
Soft Nome hands pressed insistently against her face, trilling in concern. Six sat up and let them surround her, pressing their little hands against her legs, arms, and jacket. Eleven of them now. How many had there been in the Maw? She’d seen so many, were these the only ones left? Her face was hot and damp now, it was hard to keep the Nomes in focus.
She pressed herself up and with unsteady legs she got into the boat the Ferryman had left behind. One by one, she lifted the Nomes into the boat with her, then took up the oars. Built for a being much bigger than her, she could barely wrap a hand around each one. Gritting her teeth, arms straining, with a great scrapping Six pushed the rowboat off the Maw’s rocky cap.
The rowing got easier, or maybe her arms grew so numb she could no longer feel the strain. The pain. Her whole being hurt. It was either row or die. The Nomes helped, their fragile, pale arms reaching and pulling at the oars.
“Should we row?” the boy asked.
Six glared at him, hugging her knees to her. The door glided over the water.
“I guess it would be more paddling.”
In the distance, the city loomed.
“My name’s Mono. What’s your name?”
“Six.”
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The lighthouse was dark. Dark in the way that silence is the absence of noise. In the way that promised both safety and danger. Against the bruised sky, it was a scar of wrongness that matched the world. Six’s numb fingers slipped from the oars to find her lighter, thumbing the metal groove between the lid and body.
The boat crunched against the rough sand of the shore. The Nomes jumped out, leaving Six alone, eyes glued on the darkened glass. She wanted – no, needed – no get up there. She needed to set it right.
The television static roared in Six’s ears, her fingers pressed against them to stop her thoughts from ringing into the open air. Mono stood before the TV, his hands pressed against the screen, the pixels warping and twisting under his palm. And then he was gone, flickering out of existence.
“No!” Six stumbled forward, ear drums abandoned in favor of the pixelated version of her friend.
What if this time he didn’t return? What if this time the television took him? She pressed herself bodily into the glass…
The lighthouse was damp and dusty. Her breath was short, mold and salt clogging her mouth and nose with every inhale. Behind her, she could hear the Nomes on the other side of the broken window. The shards bit at her bare feet, but what else was new?
Six flicked on her lighter.
The walls gave no sign of occupant. No photographs, however faded or marred, no empty hooks or hung clothing. Just water stains and dirt caked into weathered wood. No creaks echoed from the upper floors to signal a monstrosity she’d have to face, no flies buzzed to warn her of corpses. Just the wind following her up from the shore. Six moved further in.
In the fine layer of grime and decay, a set of footprints headed up the stairs.
The footprints were no larger than the ones she left in her wake. It was just the one set, going up, further into the lighthouse.
“How’d you get out?” Six asked.
The girl in the yellow raincoat shook her head.
“I wasn’t trapped, not like you.”
“How d’you mean?”
The girl gave a soft laugh. “I was supposed to be visiting.”
“Visiting?”
“Yeah.”
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
Six stood up, startling the girl.
“You’re one of them.”
“Not anymore.”
The lighthouse stairs were rotting, giving out in places. Wet splinters dug into Six’s knees, and if there was anything in the lighthouse it had heard her coming. If whoever had made this climb before her was still there, they had ample time to run. Or prepare an attack. Six pocketed her lighter as broken shafts of light illuminated the stairs. A damaged wooden door blocked her ascent. The salt was again overpowering the smell of mold and decay, which told Six she’d reached the top. With a shove, the door swung open and Six stepped inside.
In front of her lay the heart of the lighthouse.
Something barreled into Six, knocking her to the floor with jolt of pain. Wincing and writhing, Six barely caught glimpse of something white catching in the door as it shut behind her assailant. In the orange, purple light, Six took a moment to catch her breath before setting to her mission.
The lighthouse’s beacon was missing parts. The door Six had come in from was too high to reach on her own. With a long, curved pipe and some expert climbing she managed to hook the handle and pull the door open to let herself out. She needed to find the missing pieces. She needed to find the other child.
The white thing caught in the door was a small sheet, or possibly an old pillow case. The edges were frayed and dirty, the whole thing was stained so it was more grey than white, and there were two round holes close together near the middle. Six folded it up messily so it wouldn’t drag and held it to her. If she returned it, maybe the kid wouldn’t run from her.
The steel blade of an axe crashed through the heavy rotting door and Six scrambled for cover, abandoning her music box. Peering out from under her bangs, she watched the strange child approach - head covered by a paper bag and hand outstretched.
She crawled forward, eyeing the darkness beneath the bag with the same intent she fixed on an un-sprung trap. Why were they here?
Glancing behind the stranger to the broken door was all Six needed to gather the strength to knock past the bag head and leap over the abandoned axe.