Chapter Text
The fog came first, rolling in thick and silent, swallowing the world one tree at a time. Rhett didn’t remember stepping into it. He only remembered the sudden cold, the scratch of branches against the edges of his cape, and the sinking, inevitable realization that he had absolutely no idea where they were anymore.
He tugged his drooping maroon hat up, squinting into the gray nothingness. “This is bad,” he muttered. “This is really, really bad.” Behind him, cheerful humming drifted through the mist.
“Buddy! Look!” Link appeared like he’d been shot out of a fog cannon, grinning wildly, holding a frog above his head like it was a sacred relic.
“Bartholomew Concernicus Gregory found a stick!”
Rhett blinked at him. “…Link.”
Link held up the frog. “He’s very proud.”
“Link, we’re lost.”
“No we’re not, we’re in Rhett-and-Link’s Fantastic Foggy Forest Frenzy!”
“Please,” Rhett begged, “do not name the nightmare.”
The fog swirled, almost like it was accepting the title. Rhett’s stomach dropped.
Somewhere ahead, something groaned. Not a human groan. Not an animal groan. A groan like an old tree bending in a wind that didn’t exist.
Rhett swallowed hard.
The frog croaked like it was writing its will.
“Okay,” Rhett said, reaching for Link’s sleeve. “New plan. We keep moving, we don’t touch anything, we don’t talk to anything, and no more naming frogs!”
“Buddy,” Link whispered, “too late.”
Rhett froze.
A lantern’s glow flickered through the fog.
A tall figure stepped forward, long shadow stretching across the damp leaves.
The Woodsman’s axe rested on his shoulder; his lantern swung slightly, casting unnatural gold over his solemn face.
“You boys shouldn’t be wandering,” he rumbled. “These woods are…unkind to the lost.”
Rhett tried to act brave. He really did.
“We’re not wandering,” he said, voice cracking like a broken ukulele. “We’re, uh… navigating. With purpose. Purposeful navigating.”
Link nodded. “He’s very official about it.”
The Woodsman eyed Rhett’s pointed hat, then the frog, then Link’s gleeful expression.
“…I see.”
He lifted the lantern.
“Beware the Beast,” he warned. “He hunts those who stray. Keep to the path. Do not listen to the voices in the fog.”
Rhett stiffened. “What voices…?”
SNAP.
A branch broke behind them.
The Woodsman darkened. “Go.”
“Wait, but…”
“GO!”
Rhett grabbed Link and sprinted into the fog.
They ran until their lungs burned.
They ran until the fog thinned into a wide clearing.
They ran until Link tripped over his own enthusiasm and Rhett nearly face-planted into a bush.
Rhett whipped around, hair wild, cape flapping.
“Okay…okay…we’re safe. I think.”
Link popped up with a smile. “This is fun!”
Rhett opened his mouth to argue.
Then he realized the trees around them weren’t trees.
They were…pumpkins.
Massive pumpkins. Jack-o’-lantern heads carved with expressions ranging from cheerful to unnervingly cheerful. Pumpkin people in overalls and dresses and straw hats, sweeping, dancing, sweeping again. One of them spotted Rhett and Link and gasped.
“Oh! Visitors!” the pumpkin-man cried. “Just in time for the harvest celebration!”
Link clapped. “HARVEST PARTY!”
Rhett grabbed his cape. “No. Nope. Absolutely not.”
But the pumpkin people swarmed them with welcome baskets, dancing circles, and gourd-shaped confetti that smelled suspiciously like soil.
“This is our celebration for those passing on!” a pumpkin-woman chirped.
“…Passing on what?” Rhett asked weakly.
The pumpkin-woman blinked. “Life, dear.”
Rhett paled in fear.
Link waved to the pumpkin villagers with delight.
“Cool!”
A pumpkin child lifted a rope.
Two others began digging.
One was fitting a wooden pole into the ground…at a suspiciously Rhett-shaped height.
Rhett’s voice hit a pitch only dogs could hear.
“LINK WE ARE LEAVING NOW.”
Link grabbed the frog. “But BCG likes it here!”
The pumpkin-people advanced, holding extra pumpkin heads.
One of them tried to fit a pumpkin on Rhett’s head like a helmet.
Rhett screamed.
Rhett shoved the pumpkin helmet off.
Link tripped into a barrel of turnips.
The frog escaped and hopped directly onto the mayor’s head.
Every pumpkin-person shrieked.
The mayor shouted, “THE FROG HAS USURPED ME!”
Link yelled, “HE’S THE NEW MAYOR!”
The villagers erupted into chaos, bowing frantically to the frog.
Rhett grabbed Link by the cape, flung him over his shoulder, and sprinted for the trees as pumpkin people threw garlands, tools, confetti, and at least one entire squash in their direction.
“RUN! RUN RUN RUN—DON’T LOOK BACK—”
A pumpkin elder shouted, “BRING THEM BACK! THEY MUST JOIN US IN PERMANENCE!”
Rhett screamed louder.
They burst back into the forest, breathless, stumbling over roots and panting wildly.
Pumpkin voices echoed behind them before fading into the fog.
Rhett collapsed onto the leaf-covered ground.
Link plopped beside him, beaming. “Buddy… we made friends!”
Rhett stared at him, hair wild, hat sideways, cape ripped, heart racing.
“…I hate this forest.”
Somewhere behind them, a deep, melodic whisper drifted through the trees:
“Rehhhhett…”
Rhett jolted upright.
“Oh great. The voices in the fog are back.”
Link hugged the frog. “What a fun day!”
Rhett grabbed his cape, voice cracking:
“WE ARE GOING NOW.”