#but I don’t care I wrote it for my offline friends 😆

[mrsjellymunson]

If You Go Down to the Woods Today…

Summary: Strangeness occurs in a forest

WC: ~2.4k

CW: Suitable for all. Implied threat, very mild innuendo, food mentions and consumption.

A/N: Okay this is a total departure for me because this is not Eddie or ST-related, but I thought it would be fun to share a little Halloween tale that I wrote for my small offline gaming group. Before I stumbled into this place I would never have imagined I would write anything, let alone an actual sort-of original story, and much less share it, but here we are, and it’s all thanks to you guys. Happy Halloween!!! 🎃👻🦇🤍💀🖤🍄🧡🕯🕷🌲

Background (please read so it makes even the smallest amount of sense 😆): This is a medieval murder mystery. The characters have been thrown together to investigate, and have recently met for the first time in a tavern. Flavia is a low-ranking soldier who’s been unexpectedly promoted to de facto mission leader. Blossom is a chef and knife enthusiast who has a penchant for ‘charming the gentlemen’. Amelia is an inquisitive, rational alchemist with limited social skills and an intelligent/trained rat companion named Pancetta. The orphans, Ursula and Urchie, are two young street urchins who have recently become acquainted with the party. The story is wielded and guided by our Games Mistress/GM. The group is discussing heading into the forest, parts of which are said to be dominated by the mysterious Fae, to commence their investigations.

The noise and general clamour in the tavern steadily increases as the afternoon wears on, as more and more soldiers, guardsmen and assorted military types finish their duties and seek refreshment and relaxation.

Amelia is feeding Pancetta some small pieces of cheese, sharing the remains of their lunch, and Blossom is cutting up more cake, the others wondering quite where she’s managing to keep it all stashed. The latter comments, as nonchalantly as she can,

“So, does anyone have any thoughts about these forest people rumours?”

Flavia hefts her new weapon in her strong hands, feeling the weight and inspecting the workmanship.

“I think it’s just old customs. Tradition, y’know? I heard something about hangings, and a few most likely over-embellished stories regarding…” She clears her throat and tries to say the next two words as quickly as possible,

“blood sacrifices. But I’m sure it’s all gonna be fiiine.”

She spreads her arms wide, forgetting for a moment that she’s still holding her sword. Amelia ducks, narrowly avoiding receiving an accidental haircut, and the alchemist eyes her companion sideways, before stating,

“I do hope you’re right. One really shouldn’t undertake potentially dangerous investigations without at least a modicum of accurate information.”

Blossom speaks through a mouthful of cake, spraying crumbs across the faded tablecloth.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s all bluff and bluster. They’re just trying to keep outsiders away from their villages, that’s all. I’d be the same if people wanted to study me, or saw me as some kind of… curiosity.”

Flavia and Amelia eye each other briefly, before eventually nodding in agreement.

The three continue their discussions as Pancetta hops off Amelia’s forearm and makes her way to Blossom’s side of the table. She gathers the largest of the abandoned cake crumbs before settling into a crouch near the cruet set and beginning to feast with gusto, squeaking happily.

— — —

Myths forgotten and wheelbarrow packed, the investigators make their way into the forest. It goes reasonably well at first, barring unfortunate altercations with some shepherds, a boar (which did, advantageously, provide the party with a welcome addition to their rations) and the much-mourned loss of said wheelbarrow.

The intrepid band bed down for the night under the forest canopy, after a good meal of roasted boar meat and foraged berries.

A light mist is rolling in, chilling the air, and Amelia and Blossom offer to shelter an orphan each to share body heat, Ursula curling up with Blossom and Urchie lying next to Amelia, with Pancetta snuggling between them. All the blankets are put to use to help keep the party dry, and Flavia piles the fire high with wood to keep them warm overnight.

All is initially quiet and uneventful, save the snuffling of a few diminutive woodland creatures and the hooting of nocturnal birds.

But then, there’s some peculiar and unexpected noises.

Rustling.

Giggling.

The shuffling of feet.

Flavia rouses first, her finely tuned soldiering senses alerting her to the peculiar changes in their surroundings.

She’s quick to rouse Amelia, however, when it becomes clear that they’re not alone amongst the shrubs and trees.

The alchemist awakes from Flavia’s shove to the sound of low laughter and screeching and she sits bolt upright, taking the blanket with her, much to the disgruntlement of a grumbling Urchie.

Blossom is the next to rouse, blearily rubbing her eyes and absent-mindedly pulling a piece of cake from her tunic and starting to munch lazily as she murmurs,

“Woss goin’ on? Is it breakfast already?”

The noises continue. More shuffling, more giggling, rapid footfalls.

The adventurers glance between themselves, as Amelia states as assuredly as she can,

“Now, everybody just stay calm. I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation for all of this.”

Her voice is steady, but the furrow between her eyebrows and the speed at which her eyes are flicking around their surroundings belies her rational and confident exterior.

The shuffling seems to come closer, and Blossom, ever one to state the obvious, mutters,

“It’s… it’s getting louder…”

Amelia’s eyes are wide as she clutches the blanket, Pancetta now taking refuge beneath it. Her pouch of alchemy supplies is just out of reach, but she reasons she could feasibly lunge for it in an emergency. Flavia fingers the hilt of her sword, and Blossom's palm rests instinctively over her tied roll of kitchen knives. Ursula and Urchie seem more intrigued than troubled, the others surmising that their years of living on the streets in the city was likely quite often scarier than this.

Suddenly, the form of a bipedal figure darts past, illuminated just enough from the firelight to momentarily be seen. It looks like a small creature with a pumpkin for a head, and it’s laughing maniacally.

Following it, there’s a slightly taller figure, covered in what appears to be blood, screaming and pursued by two others brandishing a carving knife and a small hatchet. Yet another figure is covered in fur from head to toe, has raised, clawed fingers, and is growling.

The small figures head in all directions and seem to encircle the small camp. Some are dressed in black with tall hats, others are in rags, yet more are wrapped in what look like torn sheets.

They move towards the camp and begin to chant, low at first but building to a disturbing crescendo,

“Trinkets or Trunks. Trinkets or Trunks! TRINKETS OR TRUNKS!!”

Suddenly, everything stops.

In the silence, and much to her embarrassment, Amelia lets out a small,

“Eep”.

Someone else lets out something different. It’s silent, but deadly…

One of the figures is the first to speak, and in a discombobulatingly light and high voice, asks,

“Come on, it’s Galloween! What’s it to be then? Trinkets? Or Trunks?”

Amelia sits stock still, unmoving, and Blossom takes another nervous bite of cake. Flavia’s communication skills are on top form, as she mumbles,

“Errrrrrr..?”

Two of the figures move closer, striding confidently into the firelight.

The taller of the two states quite matter-of-factly,

“You know, Galloween! Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it?”

It’s Amelia’s turn to attempt language now, as she looks between the two small figures and mumbles,

“Ummm…?”

Blossom swallows her mouthful of cake, and, suddenly the most eloquent of the three, murmurs,

“Erm, is this a forest thing?”

The smaller figure speaks with the voice of a small boy, as he shifts happily from foot to foot.

“Oh, so you’re not from around here? Now it makes sense! It’s All Gallows Evening of course, where we celebrate all The Outsiders that we’ve put to death on the gallows!”

He cackles and claps his hands, dancing in a small circle, and a few of the other figures cheer.

The taller figure, apparently an older girl, steps across and shoves him lightly on the shoulder.

“Shh, Bobbin! We don’t do that anymore. Do we?”

The boy looks suitably chastised, and clasps his hands in front of him.

“No, Mumpkin. Not anymore… But we still like to have fun! And we shorten it to Galloween now because it’s easier to say.”

Various other figures step forward now, and the party sees that they’re mostly, if not all, children. They speak over each other in a rush to explain.

“Trinkets means you have to give us something fun.”

“Like a toy, or a bell.”

“Or a nice rock.”

“I got a hat once.”

Some of the younger children pipe up,

“Or a scone!”

“Yeah, a scone!”

”Especially one with fruit or bugs in… mmm.”

All the children hum in agreement, and there’s much chatter amongst them all about who’s received the absolute best Trinket prizes.

Ever the inquisitive one, Amelia eventually asks,

“So, what about Trunks? What’s that?”

The small boy, Bobbin, speaks again.

“Well, if you don’t give us a Trinket, we get to take one from your trunk! Or, we hit you with a stick. It used to be tree trunks, but they’re way too heavy to carry around, so these days we just use sticks. See?”

He pulls something from his belt and brandishes a not-very-scary-looking tree branch, swishing it in front of him, making it whistle through the air. The other children ooh and aah, glancing at the boy’s twig like it’s a deadly weapon.

The three adventurers consider this for a moment. Sure, a stick like that could probably do someone a mischief, depending on how close it came to an ear or, especially, an eye. But generally speaking, none of them feel terribly… threatened.

Smirking at each other, they decide to play along.

Amelia screeches, voice comically high-pitched,

“Oh, brave sir, don’t be waving that in our direction!”

Blossom interjects,

“Gosh, I’ve never before seen one quite that big…”

But the pièce de résistance is Flavia, who, still dressed in her amour and imposing military finery, throws herself onto the ground in a shivering crouch and pretends to cower, shielding her face and head with her arms and whimpering,

“Oh, never have I faced such a formidable foe! Please, please, small guardians of the forest, take pity on these weak and lowly travellers. We shall choose Trinkets, and hope and pray that you will allow us to spend just one night beneath your mystical and protective canopy!”

The boy with the stick looks at it aghast, and his friends cheer and clap, one or two slapping him on the shoulder, and Flavia’s performance garners chuckles and even a smattering of applause from both the camp and the conglomeration of figures.

Discussion turns again to trinkets, and Flavia decides to make something, searching the undergrowth for a sturdy stick and using her dagger to whittle a simple pattern on its surface by removing some of the bark and exposing the pale wood beneath.

As she works, Amelia roots in her satchel, pulling out a small, semi-opaque stone. Its internal facets are slightly iridescent, and the children marvel at the multiple colours and the way it reflects the dim light. She spins an improvised tale about it being gifted to her by a powerful alchemist master, and that the children should be careful not to awaken its devastatingly powerful magical aura, to which they nod furiously, taking everything very seriously indeed.

Blossom offers a small object carved from bone. It looks like it could be an animal, possibly a horse, although it’s not entirely clear how many legs it has. Nobody asks and nobody comments, reasoning that only having kitchen tools available for such artistic endeavours not only limits one’s dexterity, but also allows the creator access to myriad forms of weaponry, should any offense be taken. The children don’t seem to mind, and immediately begin racing it up and over each other's shoulders and across the moss-covered rocks, making a variety of similarly unidentifiable noises.

Tension entirely dispersed, Amelia spends some time talking to the children and making notes about their costuming and customs in her leather-bound book. There’s much chatter as Pancetta feels brave enough to come out and perch on her shoulder, and the children delight in sharing some of their already-accumulated treats with her.

Flavia finishes her crafting by carving a smooth divot into the top of the piece of wood, turning it into a thumb stick, and Bobbin, still holding his twig, casts it aside without a thought as she offers it to him. She explains that it’s not for hitting, but rather for walking and trekking and going on journeys to make great discoveries.

He beams so hard it splits his face in two, and he stands up straight and marches around the clearing as if he’s leading a grand expedition. Some of the other children stride behind him, swinging their arms and chanting some variation of ‘hup, two, three, four’ but in a language none of the three women have heard before.

The children seem more than pleased with these simple offerings, passing them amongst themselves and cooing. Even Ursula and Urchie have been accepted into the throng, laughing and dancing and making animal noises along with them. The three travellers look on fondly, wondering quite how long it’s been since they’ve behaved like this. Like children.

As Bobbin strides past once again, he huffs, slightly out of breath,

“Next year you’ll have to come back to the village and have some special Galloween food!”

Blossom perks up significantly at this, and the children are excited to tell her all about the spread that awaits them. There’s candied turnips, mashed swede, onion and honey sweet biscuits, and if they’re especially lucky, squirrel burgers.

They explain that there’s also a special drink made from rotten fruit that only the grown ups are allowed to have, the children commenting that it smells weird and ‘makes them all dance funny’.

It all sounds delightful, and the three investigators decide there and then that wherever the next year takes them, they’ll reconvene to make a special journey this time next year. They’ll bear trinkets aplenty, and are already planning to justify it to their various superiors as a fact finding mission and cultural exchange.

As the children are winding down their antics and Ursula and Urchie are beginning to tire, there’s a bellow from within the forest.

“Gracie Groggington and all the rest of you Grogglets, you get your backsides back to camp this instant!”

One girl in an especially pointy hat gasps loudly as all the other childrens’ eyes widen, and they all leap to their feet as Amelia questions,

“Who’s that?”

Mumpkin explains,

“That’s Jiemme, she organises our playtimes, but we kinda went off track a little bit tonight…”

Bobbin adds,

“She’s good fun though. Comes up with all sorts of cool adventures for us.”

Another boy interjects,

“Yeah, she sometimes takes our Trinkets off us, mind you.”

Mumpkin continues,

“Well, to be fair Old Man Groggy did give Tiny Pete a flick knife for his third birthday, soooo.”

Bobbin nods knowledgeably.

“Yeah, you usually have to be at least 4 to get one of those.”

He turns and begins running into the darkness of the forest, waving as he goes.

“It was fun meeting you, and thanks for the Trinkets!”

The other children follow suit, and soon the clearing is as quiet as it was before, the only evidence of this most unexpected of shenanigans being some packed earth bearing small footprints, and a moderately impressive twig discarded off to one side.

Just as the weary adventurers are settling back down into their blankets, there’s yet more rustling from the foliage, and the exhausted team are almost too tired to care, assuming it's one of the children coming back to find a lost possession, or perhaps to play a practical joke.

Until there comes the disturbing rumble of a very loud, very guttural belch…

Afterword: this leads on to another adventure where we meet a drunken NPC with digestive issues… 😉

As always, I’d love to hear what you think of this. Especially as it’s so far removed from what I usually share 😙

Tagging my general list (open), but feel free to ignore if this doesn’t interest you 🤭 @joejoequinnquinn, @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @sassidykassidy @richter-raccoon @1deverland @bettyfrommars