#i am queuing this at midnight and its dark so i have no idea if the colors are good but WHO CARES

[gl1tchxr]

hitting juxt with my dragon beam

[clevercatchphrase]

You Monster Chpt. 34

(This story is also available on ao3, under the same username as here~! I am no longer linking the chapters here, or else tumblr would hide the results in their search engine. Sorry for the inconvenience!) 

It’s a couple hours before all the amalgamates are back with their rightful families.

With you, Sans, Papyrus and Undyne as her moral support, Alphys makes her way through each of the Underground’s main regions, returning Reaper Bird, Lemon Bread, Endogeny and Mrs. Drake to their respective homes.

While there were a few harsh words given to Alphys, mostly from Astigmatisms and Snowdrake Senior for not telling them what had truly happened to their loved ones, most of the monsters seemed so overjoyed at having their relatives back, they couldn’t have cared less if their appearance had changed, or if they now shared a mind with a dozen other monsters. All that mattered was that they were alive and they were home.

It’s almost midnight when you finally get back to Hotland.

“Hey pal,” Papyrus says when he catches you yawning on the couch near Alphys’ huge monitor. “While we were in Snowdin, I ran by my house and got your things.”

He hands you a plastic bag with your yarn and green sweater.

“Thanks Papyrus. You didn’t have to.” You smile. “I was gonna trade them back for your cellphone, remember?”

“Yes, I know, but…” Papyrus trails off. “I figured giving them to you now would make the inevitable goodbye a little easier… in the future.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“I also took the liberty of washing your shirt. I remember you remarking how it felt nice to change into clean clothes, and figured it was a small kindness I could do to make your day a little easier.”

“Yeah, I could REALLY go for a shower right now,” you say. “I think I saw one in the basement lab-”

“W-wait, I do have a bathroom on the ground floor, believe it or not,” Alphys says. “It’s the first door on the left by the front entrance.”

“Thanks, Alphys,” you yawn a second time, suddenly drained as all of the day’s excitement catches up to you. “Guess it’s too late to go to the king again, huh? But tomorrow for sure, yeah?”

“Y-yeah… Say! Let’s have a slumber party!” Alphys suggests. “I’ve still got the movies queued up, a-and we’re all already here, a-and… there might be more things I need to get of my conscience. It would be nice to have some friends nearby.”

“Hey! Yeah! A slumber party sounds like fun!” Undyne agrees.

“I second that notion!” Papyrus says. “We can tell secrets and make friendship bracelets! It’ll be great!”

“I dunno, guys,” you interject. “I should probably get some sleep if I want to see the king first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Kid, you’re within spitting distance of the stinkin’ castle now!” Undyne points out. “All the elevators are fixed, so it’ll be a straight shot up there tomorrow. I think you can afford to watch one more movie with us!”

“Y-yeah! You can’t go back to the Ruins before I can get a chance to introduce you to anime!” Alphys pleads. “Please? Will you watch just one with us?”

You shift your eyes to each of the puppy-dog faces and sigh in defeat.

“I guess just one more movie wouldn’t hurt…”

“Great! F-feel free to take a shower while I go g-get some sleeping bags!”

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting on the couch with Papyrus, freshly washed and fiddling with the new features on his phone while Alphys rewinds the deer movie you had left off on, and while Undyne makes a fresh round of snacks. Together, Papyrus and Sans introduce you to the world of texting, showing you how to make faces out of the letters and symbols while the movie more or less plays as background noise.

The deer movie ends, and the third one, the one with the lions, starts to autoplay. Alphys perks up excitedly. The royal scientist says this one technically isn’t anime, though it’s argued that it might be a rip-off of an anime with a similar name. Undyne asks why they don’t just watch that one instead, and Alphys explains with a bit of nervous apologizing that she doesn’t have that many episodes on VHS.

You shrug it off, and turn back to the screen to give the movie your full attention. Based on Alphys’ reaction, this was one of the better movies she had and you wanted the best experience, but as you watch the movie, that curious sense of familiarity begins to tickle the back of your mind. There was something about these characters and songs…

“I think… I’ve seen this movie somewhere before…” you say vacantly, staring at the screen.

“Impossible!” Papyrus interjects. “You confessed yourself you didn’t know what TV was until two days ago!”

“I… didn’t see it on tee-vee…” you trail off.

That strange déjà vu feeling was beginning to rear its ugly head yet again, and this time you weren’t going to let it get away. Sensing it coming, you mentally grab it, and focus on it until-

You see flashes of darkness and a bright screen in front of you. There are other kids around you, laughing, crying, screaming. The air smells sweet and savory, much like the popcorn you’re eating- JUST like the popcorn you’re eating. There’s an adult on each side of you, telling you to sit up, listen up, SHUT UP, you should be happy They’ve given this treat to you, you should be thankful because They’re being nice to you when you haven’t earned it, but the room is too cold and the noise is too loud and you don’t like it, so you hum nursery rhymes to yourself until it’s all over, and on the car ride home all the streetlights blend in with the stars above, and the air smells like cigars and alcohol, which you don’t like but don’t mention, because if you complain then They will give you something to REALLY cry about-!

You don’t realize you’re convulsing until strong arms are holding you in place. People are yelling at you, but their words are meaningless. It’s just noise, noise, noise, too much noise-

“Kid! Kid!” A concerned voice breaks through to you. “Deep breaths! Stay with us!”

You force yourself to inhale and blink until the halo of faces staring down at you come into focus. Everyone is staring at you in fear and confusion.

“A-are you alright?” Alphys asks.

You roll your eyes to see the legs of the couch beside you. Cold tile presses against your cheek.

“Why am I on the floor?” you croak.

“You tell us, kid,” Sans sighs, rubbing his neck. We all thought you were super into the movie the way you were just staring at the screen. The next thing we know, you’re eyes are rolling back and you’re having a seizure. What happened?”

“I… don’t know…” You admit. You touch your face to find your cheeks are wet with tears. You don’t remember crying. “I… I don’t think I want to watch this movie anymore,” you sniff.

“Th-that’s okay! All these Disney movies are kinda wearing me out too. W-would you like to skip to anime now?” Alphys asks.

You shrug, not really caring as you cradle your pounding head.

Alphys skips ahead to her last movie while you snuggle between Papyrus and Undyne on the middle cushion of the couch. You try your hardest to read the captions on the screen translating what the characters are saying, but your mind keeps drifting back to the vision you had, struggling to make sense of it. What was that place you saw? Who were those people? And why did thinking about it fill you with such dread?

You shake your head, trying to force yourself to stay focused on the screen in an effort to distract yourself, but it isn’t working all that well. Your most recent episode seems to have drained you to absolute zero with how heavy your eyelids feel. Blinking several times, you struggle to stay awake and look back to the movie. You forget what it’s called, but it’s about a goat and a wolf who become friends despite being natural enemies. The animation gets a little weird now and then, but the colors are nice, you guess. You have no idea what the story’s supposed to be about since you keep nodding off. Before long, you decide to rest your eyes and just listen to the movie, despite not being able to understand a word. It’ll only be for a little while. Just until your eyes stop stinging. And at least the music is calm and soothing… and without even realizing it, you’ve fallen asleep.

________________________________________________________

Sans is first to notice that they’re out cold. He nudges them with one slippered foot, but they don’t respond.

“Welp, looks like they’ve finally checked out for tonight,” he says. “It’s nearly three a.m. With any luck, they’ll sleep through the whole day and give us a few more hours to come up with a better plan for what to do next.”

“Phew, I’m glad they feel asleep during this,” Alphys says pausing the VHS. “The only other movies I have that don’t have humans in them are the Ice Age sequels and I wouldn’t want to force anyone watch those. That would just be cruel and unusual torture.”

“I’ll put them to bed,” Undyne offers, carefully cradling the child in her arm as not to wake them, and takes them upstairs.

“So… What do we do now?” Alphys asks. “W-we can’t just let them go to the king. He’ll exicute them as soon as he sees them.”

“Should we call ahead and let the king know?”

“And what would we tell him? ‘Hey, Asgore! We’re bringing the last human soul needed to break the barrier to your place because they need a favor of you! Could you be so kind as to let them live, pretty please? They’re a real good kid and we like ‘em, so we’d prefer you don’t kill them on sight?’ Get real.”

“We could go with the kid and meet him there?”

“Oh, and have him say, ‘thank you my loyal subjects and royal scientist and guard for personally hand delivering me this human. As a special treat you can watch me take their soul?’”

“We could always tell the kid the king got sick and he doesn’t want us to catch it!”

“Do you really think they’d fall for that?”

“We could say he’s out grocery shopping!”

“No, that won’t work either.”

They toss ideas back and forth, bringing up dozens of potential scenarios and shooting down why each one wouldn’t work. Soon their arguments become circular and repetitive, with still no solution to be found.

“The thing is, none of the ideas will work ‘cause the kid won’t believe us.” Sans says. “They’ve caught wise to us and know anything we try now would be a ploy. We can’t try to hold them back now or they’ll cut us off and go it alone, which would be a certain death sentence. We gotta find a way to make ‘em choose not to go to the king.”

“We’ve guided ourselves into a corner…” Papyrus nods glumly.

“Nothing else much we can do at the moment…”

“And if anything… we can at least say we tried.”

“Well… th-there is one last option we have…” Alphys says. Undyne, Papyrus and Sans look to her, waiting for her answer. “W-we can tell them the truth; let them know the s-situation, gently break it to them.”

“Alphys, you know we can’t do that.”

“A-and why not?” Alphys argues. “They’re g-gonna find out sooner or later! I-if not tomorrow, then for certain when they meet Asgore! What’s the worst thing that’s going to happen? If they go to the king tomorrow unaware or not, they’re going to die. I-I let a lot off my chest today. I came clean with all my secrets, but being a part of this one m-makes me afraid I’m going to relapse into a fibbing mess again! I can’t keep making exceptions like this, or I’m just going to go back to my old ways.”

“Maybe… maybe we should just go to Asgore first without the kid and explain the situation,” Undyne suggests. “I’ve trained with Asgore for years, and I know the guy. Sure, he can fight when he needs to, but he probably doesn’t want to. He’d spare an innocent child… right?”

“He didn’t the last six times,” Sans points out.

Everyone looks down solemnly at their feet.

“Say, we’re all p-pretty tired,” Alphys says. “L-let’s sleep on it a-and see if we can come up with any new ideas tomorrow before the kid wakes up. You know, it’s always easier to tackle a problem with a clear head and fresh eyes.”

The four agree, seeing no better solution in the moment, and reluctantly head upstairs to join their sleeping friend, and secretly praying tonight’s dreams wouldn’t be their last.

_______________________________________________

You sleep. You dream. You see your reflection.

And yet…. The closer you look, the less it looks like you. You know your skin is not that pale, and your hair is not that light, and your eyes are not that RED. The reflection tilts its head and you find yourself copying it, and that’s when you realize with rising panic that this is not your reflection-- you are ITS.

“You have come so far,” the doppelganger mouths, and you startle when it’s YOUR voice that comes out of YOUR mouth though you didn’t put the words there.

“I realize what you are trying to do,” the voice says against your will as the replica in the mirror speaks. They look straight at you while they force you to talk, yet you cannot help but feel as if these words are not for you, but are instead directed at someone else. “Your plan is noble, but ultimately it will not work. They have impressed upon too many.”

You want to look away, but you can’t. Your actions are left to the mercy of the onlooker, whose movements you are slave bound to. As long as they stay focused on you, you have no choice but to return the notion.

“But maybe…” the person in the glass blinks at you, as if seeing you for the first time. “Maybe… if I can take it NOW… I can make a difference.”

The reflection raises its arms and you’re forced to do the same. They bring their fingertips up to the glass, until they’re touching. Your hands stop against the cold surface, but the copycat’s don’t. You can only watch passively as your mind yells in horror as the hands phase through the glass while yours are stuck in place.

The apparition’s arms pass through yours, and then violently grab your sleeves and start pulling, pulling, pulling you forward, trying to force you to go through the mirror, trying to take your place, and with every ounce of will power you can muster you scream in your mind, desperate to move even a single muscle but to no avail.

The hands are clawing up your shoulders, grabbing at your shirt, at your chest, at your SOUL-

You jerk awake. Your eyes fly open and you almost scream. Beside you, someone grunts in annoyance, your spasm apparently disturbing their rest.

You try to sort out where you are and the memory rushes up to you like a tidal wave as it all comes flooding back. The amalgamates, the slumber party, the movie. You sigh in relief. It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. Already it was quickly fading from your mind as if it had never happened, and you decidedly chose not to think about it to let it be forgotten even faster, but when you close your eyes you can’t help but glimpse the bright red afterimage of two eyes staring back at you on the inside of your eyelids.

Geez, you hadn’t had a night terror that bad in years. But you were admittedly close to the CORE. It wasn’t unlikely that stray magic could reach this far in high concentrations and mess with your dreams. Unfortunately you were far too awake now to go back to sleep.

You sit up carefully and look around to find your friends dogpiled around you on the bed and half hanging off the sides. You exhale with a smirk at how tightly everyone is packed on the mattress. Who thought it was a good idea for all five of you to share one bed when Alphys got sleeping bags for this very reason? You had to admit, though, with friends packed together so close, you certainly did feel safe and secure.

Gingerly you untangle yourself from the pile, trying your hardest not to disturb the other sleepers until you extract yourself from the mess. You stand up and stretch and search for your borrowed phone. It’s just past six a.m. You know you didn’t receive a lot of sleep, but you feel remarkably rested regardless. The rest of the Underground should be waking up in the next hour or two.

You look back at your friends, heart panging with melancholy. Right from the moment you met each one of them you knew you would be dreading the minute when you’d have to say goodbye, but for now they were at peace with serene faces, blissfully unaware of your fast-approaching departure. At least they weren’t looking at you with sadness or worry anymore. You decide to cherish this moment of tranquility by letting them rest a bit longer. They would wake up when they were ready.

As quietly as you can, you pad over to the escalator and make your way downstairs. Alphys has packets of instant noodles in her fridge along with a few cans of soda and a carton of ice cream in the freezer. You take a packet of noodles on the assumption it was the healthiest of the three options and try to read the cooking instructions, but it’s all written in a language you don’t understand. Out of famished curiosity, you try eating the noodles dry and discover that they aren’t half bad uncooked. You throw out the flavor packet, though. You can pick out enough context clues to decipher the nutrition label and would rather not ingest something that contains enough sodium to kill a small mammal in one little bag.

Nibbling on dry noodles, you go back to the television, turn it on and turn the volume down way low so you don’t wake the others. Inside the tape player is still the movie about the goat and the wolf. It seems Alphys and the others paused it right after you fell asleep, so you continue watching from where you left off. You still have no clue what’s going on, but thank goodness for subtitles so the TV isn’t too loud and noisy.

Wrapped up in a blanket burrito, you passively watch the movie while you wait for your friends to wake up, but apparently you were a lot closer to the end of the movie than you realized, because the next thing you know, the names of the cast are rolling. You search the couch for another movie, but all the ones available are the ones you already watched last night, and after your episode yesterday, you don’t really want to risk triggering another one by watching the same thing that caused the first. Wait, didn’t you see a room filled with video tapes down in Alphys’ true lab? You bet that’s where Alphys is keeping some more. Surely she won’t mind if you browse for another movie? She was very adamant about introducing you to anime after all.

Dragging half of the couch blanket with you, you shamble over to the elevator door and stumble sleepily inside. The doors close behind you and lower you down. Alphys’ true lab is a lot brighter now that the amalgamates are gone, especially Reaper Bird with their photosensitivity to bright light. The place practically felt hospitable.

You retrace your footsteps, even following the arrows Undyne had carved on the walls until you stumble upon the video room. There’s a television ready and waiting on a table in the middle of the room. Four tapes are scattered in front of it, with one tape already in the player. You scan the shelves for a potential movie, but nothing catches your interest. Every title is either a documentary or in a language you can’t read. You skip over them without a second thought.

When nothing the shelves have entices you, you turn to the TV and push in the tape just to see what Alphys was watching last, grab the remote, and hit play. The screen flickers from a dull grey to black, and muffled audio crackles from the speakers. Huh. Either the TV or the tape was on the fritz. You’re just about to hit ‘eject’ when suddenly the audio pops and comes through loud and clear.

“Howdy, Chara! Smile for the camera!”

You freeze, finger poised over the button, and listen closer.

“Ha, this time I got YOU! I left the cap on... ON PURPOSE! Now you're smiling for noooo reason!”

Your heart skips a beat and a strong sense of foreboding grips you. The speaker said your name. They were talking to you, but you don’t recognize the voice. You don’t remember this conversation. Heart pounding, you shift your fingers away from the pause button and hit rewind instead. The gears inside the tape player cough and chug as they scroll back the tape, and you watch the screen closely for any clues, but the video remains dark until-

There’s a flash of white, a blur of green, and suddenly two kids are on the screen, doing rapid movements in reverse. Your fingers fumble with the remote, mashing the play button repeatedly until the TV finally gets the message.

The tape stutters and chokes and then at last a grainy image comes on the screen. At first you can’t tell if the recording is out of focus or if it is just the kid; a young monster with white fur and long ears. Looking at him fills you with a sense of apprehension. Half a thought forms in the back of your mind that this is what you’d imagine your mom would have looked like when she was younger, but you’re far too focused on the other child in the background. That kid- that kid with the brown hair and pale skin. Something about that kid is making alarm bells go off in your head. You’ve SEEN them before. It’s the same kid you’ve seen in your dreams. In your nightmares.

That kid... there’s something unsettling about that other kid. You realize with horror and awe that they look just like you.

Well, maybe not exactly- their hair was lighter, their skin paler, and their eyes were unique shade of brown that bordered on being red in the right light, but you looked so similar you could have been siblings. What’s worse, they have your NAME. But why?

The furry child smiles, his face far too close to the camera. “Okay… the red light is blinking. I think that means it’s working now…” He mumbles to himself, before turning the camera around onto the other kid. The recording bounces in time with the filmmaker’s footsteps as they get close to their subject who’s reading a book.

“Hey, Chara,” the filmmaker snickers. “Look over here.”

The other child looks up, semi-annoyed at the request. When their eyes meet the camera they flinch and throw their hands up to cover their face.

“Stop it, Asriel! I don’t want to be filmed!”

Asriel… You’ve heard that name before, but where? Didn’t… didn’t Kid say something about a monster named Asriel once?

A cold, nervous sensation starts to grow in your gut and spread up your spine.

You pause the video and take several deep breaths. Something ominous lingers on the edge of your awareness. Something warns you not to turn your head to see it clearly, because once you see it- once that connection is made it can’t be undone.

Curiosity and caution war within you as your trembling fingers hover over the play button. Who was this monster who looked like you and had your name? You… you want to know, you have to find out- and yet, something deep within you warns you you’ll regret it if you do. You hesitate, thinking and thinking… and against your better judgement your curiosity wins out. You hit ‘play’.

“C’mon, Chara! You promised me you’d make one video with me after I got the camera fixed!” The child wielding the camera whines.

“Oh, alright, put it on the table and I will be in your silly vlog. Let us get this over with.”

The camera is set on the table and faces a blank wall.

Wait, you’ve changed your mind. You don’t want to watch this anymore. Shaking, you grip the remote and hit the stop button, but the TV doesn’t respond.

The goat kid jumps in frame from the right. “Howdy! I’m Asriel! Prince of the Underground!”

“Greetings, I am Chara,” says the other kid stepping in from the left.

You desperately hit stop again and again, but the TV’s sensor is old and unresponsive. You don’t want to see what happens next, intuition tells you that you already know. Something bad was going to happen if you kept watching, if you kept pushing. You had to stop it, stop it, stop it now!

“And together we are the future!”

“-Of humans,”

“-And monsters!”

The children clasp their hands together and raise it triumphantly over their heads before dissolving into laughter over how silly it looks.

The remote control falls from your hands and hits the floor with a hollow clack. The tape finally stops and jams on the frame of them together.

“No…”

Humans... and monsters. Humans and monsters. Prince Asriel. You remember now, the story Kid had told you in Waterfall, how he had befriended a human who fell here years ago.

“No.”

A human child that had gotten sick and died which in turn led to the death of the prince. A human child named Chara that looked like you, because-

“No, no, NO! IT’S NOT TRUE!”

The room around you begins to spin and you’re stumbling backwards as you lose your sense of balance, but dare not take your eyes off the TV, all the while shaking your head in denial. Your knees give out at the same moment your back hits the wall, and you slump to the ground, grabbing your head as the world falls apart around you.

_______________________________________________

On the ground floor, the credits finish rolling on the VHS left unattended, and the screen fades to black before flickering to a soothing blue. Despite the TV’s volume being turned down to nearly zero, when the tape hits its last inch of film, the blue cuts to static that thunders like a thousand avalanches crashing at once.

Upstairs, the four monsters jolt awake, and tumble off the bed in a tangled heap of bones and scales.

“Whaszat!? Where’s the fire?!” Undyne demands in a drunken daze.

“Did someone turn the TV on?” Alphys says.

“Hey, where’s the kid?” Sans asks.

Everyone scrabbles to their feet to check if one of them accidentally flattened the kid in their sleep. All eyes turn to the bed only to find it vacant. A wave of dread washes over them.

“Q-quick! Downstairs!” Alphys says. Papyrus and Alphys dive for the escalator while Undyne vaults over the loft’s railing and Sans winks himself down. The couch in front of the TV is empty.

“Look!” Papyrus points to the blanket trailing off the couch. It’s pointing to the elevator.

“They went back down to the lab?” Undyne asks. “Why?”

Beside her, Alphys gasps. “I have more tapes down there.” She says. “B-but If they’re not careful, they could end up seeing something they shouldn’t!”

“Well then what are we standing around here for?” Sans says. “Let’s go stop ‘em!”

The four monsters pile into the elevator and travel down. Alphys takes the lead when the doors open, dashing off straight to the tape room. The four monsters sprint through the halls, skidding around corners until they all close in on the open door.

No one speaks when they get there. The TV is on, a tape frozen on a scene Alphys has re-watched more times than she could count.

The sound of erratic breathing draws their attention to the side. There. Huddled against the wall is the kid, curled into a tight ball. They’re staring at their trembling hands, their tiny body hyperventilating so hard it makes it looks like they double to twice their size with each breath. Their eyes are wide and wild. They turn to the monsters in the doorway.

“I… I… I’m… I am…” They try to speak between exhales, but either they can’t find the words or they don’t want to say them. They swallow hard and try again. “I’m… human?” The choke out at last. They stare at them, silently begging one of them to say it wasn’t true, that the film was wrong, but no one says a word. No one looks them in the eye. Instead they look to one another, lost for words, and then off to the sides or at their feet.

The kid watches them unblinking, a horrible realization clicking in their mind when no one replies. Their eyes go narrow, and then alarmingly wide as all pieces begins to fall in place.

“You… you knew…” They accuse. “ALL of you? And you didn’t say anything? Why-” They cut themselves off from finishing the question. They already know why.

“Pal, it’s not what you think,” Papyrus says.

“Not what I think?” The kid spits back, their voice laced with venom and hurt. Slowly, they unfold themselves and stand. “No… No, I get it now. I GET it. You all lied to me!”

“We were doing it to protect you-”

“Protect ME?” The kid shouts, their face sneering in disgust. “Are you sure it wasn’t to protect anyone else? Because as we all know, humans are malicious! Humans are violent! Humans do nothing but destroy!” They look at each of the other monsters in turn.

“Is this why YOU wanted to study me?” They glare at Alphys, who cowers in shame. “So THAT’S why YOU cut the bridge.” They snarl at Undyne, who flinches like she’s been slapped. “And that’s why YOU attacked me in the kitchen,” they spit at Sans, who eyes go dark as he tries to shrink into his hoodie. “Because I’m human and that means I’m inherently dangerous! Is that why you don’t want me to go to the king as well? Because you all think I’ll hurt him?”

“No! That’s not why at all!” Undyne interjects. “Well, i-it was at first, but not anymore-”

“All this time… All this time I thought you were trying to help me when you really only wanted to stop me. I TRUSTED you, but you NEVER trusted ME! Better not tell them or it could make them unpredictable! Just like I‘m feeling right now!”

“Kid, we were trying to help-”

“I can’t believe you,” they cry as hot, angry tears rolls down their face. “I…I...! I hate all of you!”

The human surges forward. For a split second, it’s everyone’s worst nightmare coming to life; the kid knows the truth and now they’re turning on them, but no one can find it in themselves to fight back. Everyone is frozen to the spot they stand, unable or unwilling to put up a defense. They brace themselves for an attack, but a blow never comes. Instead the human roughly shoves them aside as they make a break for it.

“Kid, come back!” someone shouts, but they don’t heed their words and vanish from sight.

“Shit! Catch them!” Undyne commands. Nobody needs to be told twice. All four monsters leap for the doorway at once and successfully end up bottlenecking themselves.

“Sans, you’re stepping on my tail!” “Undyne, you’re kneeing me in the spine!” “Papyrus, get your elbow out of my eye!” “Alphys, will you stop clawing my ribs?”

Precious seconds are wasted as the four untangle themselves painstakingly slowly until they at last squeeze out the door and race back to the elevator, only to arrive too late. The elevator has closed and was on its way to the ground floor.

“Quick! The emergency exits!” Alphys says, pointing to a door for a nearby stairwell. They burst into the hall and climb the steps two at a time.

Everyone is breathless by the time they get back to the ground floor, but Alphys’ upper lab is empty. Together, the monsters race out onto the streets of Hotland, only to find them vacant.

“Where’d they go?” Papyrus frets.

“Sans, can’t you just do your weird space jumping powers to find them?” Undyne demands.

“It doesn’t work like that, Undyne!” Sans complains. “It’s not a homing device! If I don’t know where they are, I can’t magically find them!”

“M-my access card is missing!” Alphys gasps, catching up a minute later. “Th-they could be heading back to the CORE!”

“Or they could have used it to ride the ferry back to Snowdin!” Papyrus suggests.

“I think I saw something running towards Waterfall!” Undyne says.

“We need to split up,” Sans says turning to the group. “Alphys, you search Hotland. Put the entire region on lockdown if you have to. Undyne, you know every inch of Waterfall. Rally the other royal guards. Papyrus, you and I will take Snowdin.”

“W-what if we can’t find them?” Alphys questions.

“We will find them,” Sans assures, refusing to let doubt enter his soul. “We have to, before they end up hurting themselves.”

“And if they end up hurting someone else?” asks Undyne.

Sans pauses, his eyes going dim for just a second. It was a possibility they had all considered, but didn’t want to acknowledge. “We can’t let that be an option. I hate to say this, but the kid was right. Their entire world view has just been shattered, and right now they’re unpredictable. Do whatever you can to stop them, but proceed with caution. We may have a volatile human on the loose.”

[bby-calum]

“Can I kiss you?” - Tom Holland Imagine (prompt)

prompt: 7 - “Can I Kiss You?”

request: tom x reader fic where you had a holiday romance when you were sixteen together and lost your virginity there and then you meet again ten years later and you are engaged and he is in your city for a month and your fiancee is away on business so you agree to show him around and you fall in love

a/n: i loved writing this!!! thank you so much for such a good request. i hope you like it! i decided to combine it with this prompt request ive had sitting in my inbox for months and months

word count: 1,821

masterlist: (x)

“Oh shit,” you cursed. Burning hot coffee dripped down your arms, soaking the shirt of the stranger you just ran into on your way out of the coffee shop.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “Let me buy you another. It was my fault - I wasn’t looking where I was going,” his British accent was a stark contrast to your Cali girl tone. “Please, I insist.” 

Reluctantly you agreed. You sat at a table in the corner, watching him as he queued at the counter, studying his face. His unruly hair flopped over his tanned skin a little as though he was three weeks overdue of a haircut, and he was in need of a shave as his strong jaw line and upper lip were dotted with stubble. With his brow furrowed, his dark brown eyes seemed familiar as he scanned the board overhead to decide on his own drink and you realised he must have chosen the same drink he ordered for you when he held two fingers up to the barrister. He had sharp, chiseled features that matched his toned body. His biceps bulged even when he held just a coffee cup in each hand, and you could make out his abs from underneath his shirt by the way the coffee soaked, patterned fabric clung to his stomach.

He sat in the chair opposite your own and you thanked him as he placed your cup in front of you. There was a silence as he took his first sip, both of you unsure quite what to say.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” you finally said.

“No worries. I never really liked this one anyway,” he joked. His breezy coolness must have been an act, a very good one at that, as he played with his fingers, a nervous habit you recognised of someone from your past. “I’m Tom, by the way,” he smiled nervously. Tom was a common name, but there was something all too familiar about the way this man talked, the way he moved, that made you think could it be him?

“I’m y/n,” you replied, hoping hearing your name would jog his memory, if he was really who you thought he was. If he did remember you, he didn’t show it, as he didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at the sound of your name. He took a sip of his coffee.

“I used to know a y/n,” he said after a while. “Must have been a good ten years ago now. We had the most amazing sum-”

“It is you!” You interrupted him. “I knew it was you!”

“Cape Verde? 2012?” You laughed, not quite sure how the small, skinny boy you had lost your virginity to in the sand dunes late one night of your family holiday ten years ago had grown into the broad, buff man sat before you.  “We had some good times that holiday, eh?”

“I never forgot that trip. My parents still don’t know I used to sneak out of our apartment each night to see you,” you laughed again. 

“Nor mine,” he agreed. “What a small world.”

“Tell me about it. You wanna go for a walk along the beach?” The two of you stood up, leaving the shop, takeaway coffee cups in hand. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with your left hand as you walked along the windy seafront, Tom noticed the engagement ring on your fourth finger. His face grew soft. “You’re engaged?” You nodded.

“Yeah,” you exhaled shakily. “Yeah I am.”

“You don’t seem so happy about that?” Tom noticed your smile fade at the mention of your fiancé.

“No… Yes… I- I am. I mean, I was.” You stuttered. “Was?” Tom tilted his head slightly.

“When he- Mark proposed, it was one of the happiest times of my life. I couldn’t wait to be his wife. And…” you trailed off, collecting your thoughts.

“And?”

“And then the past few months we’ve been so bogged down with wedding planning and pleasing his mother and making everything exactly how she wants, we hardly really talk about anything else and I don’t think I even want to get married anymore,” you admitted. “When we’re not planning, Mark’s away on business, and I just don’t feel the butterflies in my stomach around him anymore like I did when we first started dating. I should still feel like a high schooler with a crush right? He should still make me feel like I’m seventeen again, surely? Just me and him, against the world. I… I don’t feel it anymore.”

Tom gulped, unsure of how to respond to your sudden vent. “Uhm, I-”

“Sorry. Oh God, sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I’m sure I’ll come back round to the idea of getting married again soon. This is normal right?”

“Tell me one thing, y/n. Do you love him?”

Tom’s question winded you slightly in your stomach. Sure, you did love Mark at one point in your life, and he definitely had made you happy once upon a time. But right now, as you walked along Venice Beach with your summer fling from ten years ago, you longed for a romance that was as exciting as the summer you had experienced with Tom, rather than the monotonous life you now led with Mark. 

“Do you love him?” Tom repeated. You stopped walking.

“No.”

Handing Tom a beer, you slumped down next to him on the large sofa in the living room of your apartment. Mark was away with business, so you had brought Tom back to your place as the sun had started to set and the LA air grew cold. He was still wearing his stained shirt from earlier, refusing to wear one of Mark’s clean ones you had offered him. He had his feet propped up on the coffee table that your own short legs tried and failed to reach. 

“Put them here,” he said, scooping both of your legs up in one arm, swivelling you around so your legs lay over him. His arm lay across the back of the sofa behind you, bending it every now and then to swig from his bottle.

“This whole day, I’ve been blabbing on to you about how much of a mess my life is and I’ve never even asked anything about yours. You’re still acting right? That’s what you were doing when we met.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Still acting, but I’m taking a bit of a break at the moment. Had a bit of a rough year last year, you see.” You hadn’t noticed his empty hand had been on your bare leg this whole time until he started stroking your skin gently with nerves.

“Oh?”

“Had my heartbroken,” he drank a large mouthful of his beer before placing the bottle on the floor next to him. “Was pretty shit.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you said, placing your hand on top of his that rested on your lap, giving it a small squeeze. 

“No, I… s’okay. I thought she was the love of my life,” he laughed sadly. “We were together for three years, but it turns out she was only really in it for my money and had another boyfriend in New York she had started seeing during the last few months of our relationship.” You leant down to put your beer bottle next to his on the wooden floor as a tear escaped Tom’s eye. He wiped it away quickly, hoping you hadn’t noticed as you sat back once again. 

“I’m sorry, Tom.”


“S’fine, I’m over it. We’ve been apart for almost a year. I just, I never really talked to anyone about it.” He took a deep breath. “Didn’t mean to get upset.”

Tom turned his head towards you, his face so close to your own that you could feel his shaky breath tickle your skin. You played with a loose thread on the collar of his shirt, not wanting to make eye contact, knowing that you wouldn’t be able resist kissing him. His hand wriggled out from underneath yours, away from its place on your leg and up to your face, where he touched your chin, tilting it so you had no choice but to look at him. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked nervously. You didn’t say anything, instead your lips gently met his own. They were warm and familiar, and tasted of the beer you both had been drinking. His hand made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his tongue entered in and out of your mouth. His other hand was on your waist, tugging at the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You moved your body, straddling him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked you as you both lay naked on top of the beach towel he had brought along with him. You nodded gently, excited at the idea of losing your virginity to the cute British boy you had met on your family holiday.

The beach was deserted, as it had been every night at this time that you and Tom had met up, hidden away in the long grass of the sand dunes just in case anybody happened to be walking by. It had started off so innocent, just taking midnight strolls, hand in hand, at first. Then he’d kissed you, and before long each night you had wound up naked, his fingers touching you in places no boy had ever touched you before. You returned the favour, using your kisses to stifle his moans, carefully making sure you weren’t being too loud. 

It was your idea to have sex. Neither of you had done it before, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about what he would feel like inside you since you shared your first kiss. He’d managed to find a pack of condoms in one of the shops nearby to your resort and you’d gone halves on the price.

“Please. I want to do this,” you told him.

Wrapped up in your bedroom sheets, the sunlight streaming through the curtains you had left slightly open woke you up. Tom lay next to you, light snores escaping his lips as he lay on his back, his bare chest exposed. You traced his abs with your forefinger, amazed at his physique. 

“Mornin’,” he said after a while once he finally awoke. He placed a delicate kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m going to phone Mark today,” you told him as you lay in his arms. “I’m going to end things with him.” You had already taken your engagement ring off last night, throwing it into the city from the balcony of your eighteenth floor apartment after drinking too many beers with Tom. 

“Okay, love,” his morning voice was deep and croaky. “If that’s what you want to do.”

[travelworldnetwork]

Excursion to the beautiful iced rocks of Horin-Irgi or Cape Kobyliya Golova on frozen Lake Baikal. Photo: Shutterstock

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Siberia's cold is unfathomable. It wraps its savage fingers around my neck and crushes the tips of my fingers. It grates my lungs with every razor-sharp intake of breath. It freezes my brain so I can no longer comprehend what the Old Believer, an Orthodox priest, is saying. His black cassock is rigid with cold, his beard a cascade of icicles, his words a warm spill promptly vaporised on the chilled air. What on earth possessed us to come to this most infamous of outposts, this far-flung emptiness where people have been sent to die – or to live, improbably – and in this least humane of seasons?

Nine days and more than 5000 kilometres earlier, we're oblivious to what awaits us as we bathe in the weak sunshine that's broken briefly through a snow shower and is casting long shadows and buttery columns along a charming Moscow prospect. The temperature is a mere minus-four degrees – a veritable summer compared to the frozen perdition we will face down the line.

Still, the cold here is impressive. We snap-chill a bottle of wine in the snow that's powdering our hotel windowsill. We blink away whirling snowflakes and wrap scarves around our tender noses while queuing to see Lenin's corpse lying waxy and wan and warmer-than-the-living in his sombre mausoleum. As we walk back from a supermarket one evening, I slip on black ice and am hauled to my feet by two men even as I am falling, even as the contents of my shopping bag are rolling downhill.

Frozen waves at lake Baikal. Photo: Alamy

"Spasibo!" I cry out in response – thank you – and they nod nonchalantly. They are well-practised in the rescue of random ice-trippers, these men.

What are we doing here, in the darkest depths of a Russian winter? Attending to priorities: it's my birthday in early January (a significant one), and to celebrate I'm taking the train from Moscow to Vladivostok. What a pity I wasn't born in June.

I'm joined in my Arctic wanderings by 10 family members – an audacious gang of parents, young adult children and a couple of brave boyfriends (the cold is the least of their worries, I imagine). Swaddled gamely against the extremes, they lug small libraries with which to occupy their minds on this interminable journey, and mental fortitude with which to face off against the infernal cold.

COLDER BY DEGREES

At midnight we board the train at Moscow's Yaroslavsky Railway Station, stopping just long enough in the bitter freeze to acknowledge the monument marking the starting point of the fabled Trans-Siberian railway. The route arcs in a broad south-westerly sweep, traversing 9288 kilometres and seven time zones before terminating in Russia's Far Eastern naval garrison, Vladivostok. It is the longest railway line in the world.

The Ural Mountains are cloaked in darkness when we pull into Yekaterinburg in the early hours of the morning. For 33 hours we've peered out from our compact, four-berth compartments at the uncoiling landscape, at fluorescent cities dimming into canvasses of black ink; at forests glittering with diamond snowflakes; at swathes of farmland gradually solidifying into cities then disintegrating again into empty fields of snow. Overzealous heating has shielded us from an ever-changing climate; we step off the train into an incomprehensible minus-18 degrees.

It's New Year's Eve. Yekaterinburg is lit up like a carnival, the Iset River is a boulevard of ice. The Gosudarstvennyy Akademicheskiy Theatre stands like a baroque wedding cake on a bed of snow. Inside, we queue at the coat racks where patrons throw off heavy swaddling to reveal glamorous frocks forced into hiding by the cold. We join them in jubilantly bravo-ing a performance of The Nutcracker, a Christmas spectacle manifesting onstage in vivid counterpoint to the frosted scenes outside. "Zazdarovye!" we cry at midnight, farewelling the old year with shots of vodka and welcoming the new with flutes of champagne.

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FROM TSARS TO SAINTS

Yekaterinburg is a city of death and rebirth, of constructivist architecture built on the foundations of the Bolshevik Revolution and the execution of the Romanovs here in 1918. Though writers passing through on their way to Siberia recalled an unpleasantly industrialised settlement, Soviet poet Vladimir Mayakovsky​ was deeply impressed by the spirit and ideas of the people, says local guide Olga Taranenko.

"They decided to destroy everything that reminded them of the old regime, and construct a new city."

But the new has been replaced with the old: churches have been re-consecrated and the once-reviled Romanovs – Tsar Nicholas II, his wife and five children – canonised. A cathedral stands on the site where the family died, its red granite walls "reminding us of the bloody events", Taranenko says. Even their once-secret burial site outside the city is now sanctified, a cluster of buildings comprising a monastery dedicated to the Romanov saints. Their remains were removed from here and interred in St Petersburg in 1998.

St. Basil's Cathedral and Spassky Tower on Red Square in Moscow on a summer evening. Photo: Shutterstock

IN SIBERIA

It takes 63 hours to reach Ulan-Ude, capital of the autonomous Republic of Buryatia​. We sail from Europe into Asia, crossing oceans of snow, passing railway stations licked with bright paint and fitted with neon signs alerting us to the temperature: minus-22 at Omsk, minus-20 at Barabinsk where we emerge from the train's swelter into a cold so strident it cleanses our stale bodies and shocks us awake. We buy pierogi stuffed with cabbage and potato at a platform kiosk and watch as a railroad engineer crawls beneath the train, lies upon the snow-caked tracks and fiddles imperturbably with the frozen undercarriage.

Somewhere near Novosibirsk​ four men appear in our compartment doorway and sing us a song. They're from Perm, and are on their way to Lake Baikal to ice-skate. We applaud their cheerful ditty, though we've understood not a single word.

"You write about Baikal?" asks one of them, spying my notebook. I nod; he punches the air with his fist. "Baikal you will love," he says. ''Thank you for visiting in its most beautiful season."

Sledding across the ice of Lake Baikal. Photo: Alamy

On the second day of this leg I awake to flooding, late-morning light. I've missed the Yenisei River and an endlessly evolving landscape. We're fast-forwarding through time, gaining hours as we race away from the sun. Our group sprawls across several compartments, locked in games of chess, trapped inside books, embroiled in conversations or hypnotised by the Siberia scrolling by through ice-rimed windows. At mealtimes, the youngsters squeeze into the parents' compartment for makeshift feasts we've cobbled from shops and stalls along the way: bread and cheese and salami, instant mash, caviar sold by platform hawkers for a handful of rubles.

On the third day, I wake before dawn. We've halted in Irkutsk​; I climb from the train into an ethereal gloom. The train recedes along the tracks, its outermost carriages erased by the silvered fog. It's minus-36 degrees, and today I turn 50. Never have I've felt so cold, nor so joyfully alive.

A LAKE FROZEN IN TIME

All day long the train crawls along the south-eastern edge of Lake Baikal. The water sloshes sluggishly, turns gradually to slush and then to solid ice as we curve northwards along the lake's eastern shoreline. Opposite it, fields slope into gullies, snowy whitecaps ripple the plains, fog cushions the tree-line like some mammoth exhalation. We see runnels protruding like ribcages from beneath thin coatings of ice; buckwheat might still be farmed here, says our guide Ksenia Martynova, though after the collapse of the Soviet Union many of Siberia's farms fell into ruin, too.

Temple of St. Sergius of Radonezh – the Monastery of the Holy Imperial Passion-Bearers. Photo: Alamy

Lake Baikal is the low-point of our journey; the temperatures plumb those unfathomable depths, tearing the breath from our lungs and freezing the blood in our veins. It's the high point of our journey, too, for this place is so otherworldly, so far beyond our imaginings, it stuns us into wakefulness and renewed gratitude for the world. So extraordinary is this shared experience, it will bind our family forever.

We disembark at Buryatia's capital Ulan-Ude, a city that embodies the great collision between Europe and Asia, Russia and Mongolia, Christian Orthodoxy and Buddhism. Stray dogs wag their tails, oblivious to cold, it seems; residents stride along streets wreathed with glacial condensation.

"The real Siberian is not the person who doesn't feel the cold," says local guide Goldan Lenkhoboev. "It's the person who dresses properly for it."

Our own polar-wear has served us well until now, but the cold seeps into our marrow in the village of Tarbagatay, where Fr Aleksei shows us around the ethnography museum he's curated. It's a flimsy, unheated space filled with artefacts belonging to Old Believers – Orthodox Christians who were exiled or fled from European Russia in the 17th century in the wake of church reforms, and whose way of life has changed little since then. The cold here is so piercing I can barely focus; it's a visceral reminder of the conditions into which Fr Aleksei's people – and so many others – were once cruelly banished.

We've seen not a single tourist on our journey so far, and now we have the whole of Sukhaya village to ourselves – except for the young Russian men doing burnouts in their Ladas on the ice-slicked shores of Lake Baikal. This fabled body of water – the world's deepest lake and the largest freshwater lake by volume – extends beyond the village in a brumous mass. It has put up a valiant fight against the deep freeze: waves heave and buck and petrify midair. The ice splinters beneath our boots, and when we skate on it the next day we notice air bubbles and water lilies trapped beneath its surface.

On Orthodox Christmas Eve, January 6, we drip sweat inside the banya (traditional sauna) at our guesthouse, submit to Martynova's birch whips – said to improve lymphatic flow – then run outside and smother ourselves in snow. Finally, we're learning to embrace the cold.

THE END OF THE LINE

It's another 62 hours from Ulan-Ude to Vladivostok. The frostbitten landscape flicks past our windows like a slideshow. It's inconceivable, from within the confines of this overheated compartment, that the conditions unspooling outside might kill us if we immersed ourselves in them unprotected; the snow-draped fields are beaches of silica, the larch trees jaunty filigrees against a blue sky. Young marines bound for the naval city run for the train, their breath puffs of smoke on the chill air; the temperature is slowly rising: minus 20, minus 15, minus 10, the neon signs say. A cook comes around sporadically with freshly made pierogis; we lie in wait and clear her tray in exchange for a few rubles.

At Khabarovsk the railway doglegs southwards. We will the train to slow down, but at dawn it pulls into Vladivostok. This is a revelation of a city, we will discover, a place of bright skylines and frozen bays, striking harbours and exceptional restaurants. But we're not yet ready to greet it. We linger on the platform – pleasantly bracing at just minus-eight degrees – and pose for a photo beside the monument marking the end of our epic journey. We've travelled 9288 kilometres – a full third of the world's circumferential span. And there's not one of us who wouldn't climb back on that train before it returns to Moscow, and do it all over again.

Catherine Marshall travelled with assistance from Intrepid.

THE TRANS-SIBERIAN IN NUMBERS

9288 kilometres total length, from Moscow to Vladivostok

1916 the year Moscow and Vladivostok were connected via the railway line

7 number of time zones crossed

60 average speed at kilometres per hour reached by the train

1/3: span of the globe covered by the railway line

7 days it takes to complete the journey, without getting off along the way

16 major rivers crossed by the railway

87 towns and cities the railway passes through

FIVE OTHER JOURNEYS WORTH TAKING IN EXTREMES

DEATH VALLEY IN SUMMER

If you visit the US's Death Valley at the height of summer, you might find out just how hot hot can get: 56.7 degrees as measured in 1913, the second hottest temperature on record. As long as you take all the necessary precautions (such as keeping hydrated and ensuring you have mobile contact) you can enjoy the landscape at its most primordial and without the shoulder-season crowds. Or enter the annual midsummer Badwater Ultramarathon, which starts at 85 metres below sea level and ascends 4000 metres across 217 kilometres and three mountain ranges.

VICTORIA FALLS DURING PEAK WATER

You'll need to take a raincoat if you visit this world wonder in the wet season, when islands upstream from the falls – accessible by boat in the dry season – are drowned by summer's deluge. View the spectacle of hundreds of millions of litres of water a minute gushing into the great cataract separating Zimbabwe from Zambia. Peak water, as it's called, runs from around March to June and (in good news for the bottom line) precedes peak season.

AMERICAN MIDWEST DURING TORNADO SEASON

Eye-of-the-storm itineraries exist for those who dream of observing springtime twisters up-close in a region of the American Midwest known as Tornado Alley. Journeys centre on midwestern states such as Texas, Kansas, Oklahoma and Nebraska during May and June. Sightings aren't guaranteed, but participants are likely to see supercell storms and the impressive lightning shows that often accompany them. See stormchasing.com

ICEFIELDS PARKWAY IN WINTER

In winter practically everything is iced over along this 230-kilometre-long route linking Lake Louise and Jasper in Alberta, Canada: lakes, waterfalls, peaks, forests, glaciers and bitumen. Winter tyres or snow chains are essential. Travel cautiously, dress warmly and stop regularly at lookouts for views of glacier-licked valleys and snow-laden forests. Bears will be hibernating but you'll see bighorn sheep, elk and caribou – and possibly wolves.

KAKADU IN THE WET

Most people assume the NT is off limits during the wet season: too damp, too sticky, too hot. But the wet season is a wild and magical time when waterfalls overflow and floodplains brim with water, intensifying the landscape's lushness and attracting numerous birds. Some roads are closed during the wet (which runs from around November to May) limiting access to sites, and animals are more dispersed; but visitors will have the park almost all to themselves – and it will cost as little as half of what it would in the high season.

FIVE MORE GREAT COLD WEATHER JOURNEYS

EUROPE'S CHRISTMAS MARKETS

These festive markets have been brightening winter-darkened cities since the 16th century. Cities such as Prague, Vienna and Berlin are transformed into charming bazaars selling an assortment of artisanal food, arts and crafts and merry experiences. The markets draw crowds onto light-spangled streets – and help draw travellers who might otherwise visit during the continent's unbearably busy summer season.

QUEBEC'S WINTER CARNIVAL

The people of Quebec City have turned their iciest month, February, into a celebration of all things winter: ice slides, outdoor cinema, dance parties and ice-skating, night parades, snow baths, dog sledding and a canoe race in which competitors paddle along the St Lawrence River through masses of ice.

ANTARCTICA

Strictly speaking, a visit to Antarctica is a summertime jaunt, since this is the season when pack ice melts enough to allow cruise ships to pass through. Nonetheless, the landscape is still a magical realm of ice – pack ice, sea ice, icebergs, glaciers and that icy water in which brave adventurers can take the briefest of dips.

GLACIER EXPRESS

This storybook voyage between Zermatt and St Moritz began as a steam train journey ferrying well-heeled holidaymakers between these glitzy Swiss ski resorts. The 275-kilometre route transports passengers through a winter wonderland filled with dazzling mountain peaks, soaring passes and snow-filled valleys.

HARBIN'S ICE FESTIVAL

Residents of this this northern Chinese city harness its unfathomably cold winters during the International Ice and Snow Festival, creating elaborate ice sculptures – including recreations of famous landmarks like the Great Wall of China. Brave festival-goers can join swimmers for a ritual dip in the frozen Songhua River.

TRIP NOTES

MORE

traveller.com.au/russia

russiatourism.ru/en

FLY

Etihad flies to Abu Dhabi twice daily from Sydney and Melbourne and once daily from Brisbane and Perth, with onward connections to Moscow. See: etihad.com. Korean Airlines flies several times a day from Vladivostok to Seoul, with onward connections to Sydney and Brisbane. See koreanair.com

TOUR

Intrepid Travel's 15-day Russia Expedition: Winter Trans-Siberian Adventure is priced from $3055 a person twin share and has many departures beginning from December 2019. Private group bookings are also available. See intrepidtravel.com.au

KEEP WARM

Appropriate winter gear is essential for this journey. For the coldest outdoor excursions, layer clothing in the following sequence: thermal vest and leggings, jeans or thick pants and a long-sleeved shirt, thermal jumper, polar jacket and waterproof shell, tube scarf, beanie, glove liners and waterproof polar gloves. Snow boots paired with warm socks are essential – Sorel and Colombia are highly recommended. Pack lightweight clothing for the train; it will be warm and quite possibly overheated.

STAY SANE ON THE TRAIN

Compartments are compact but comfortable, with two bunks sleeping four people each; clean bedding is provided. There are two toilets with hand basins and cold water at the end of each carriage. A provodnista or provodnik (female or male carriage attendant) is in charge of each carriage; they keep it clean, provide passengers with beverage glasses and ensure the samovar is filled with hot water. It's a good idea to buy a few snacks, teabags or sachets of coffee from them as they receive a small commission from sales and appreciate the custom.

There are regular stops of various durations; schedules are posted in the carriage. There are often kiosks on the platforms or in the stations selling bottled water and food. Some food should also be bought at supermarkets prior to departure since not all trains have dining carriages. The trains are well-used by locals, many of whom will approach foreigners for conversation. Take small gifts from Australia to share with them.

from traveller.com.au

[vivikawidow]

After finding our home ransacked, Theresa decided to stay with her mother. She begged me to join her but I remained behind alone. In desperate times, my new job at the newspaper was important. It was a restless night. I watched the quiet streets from my window until my eyes burned. After falling asleep on the sofa for a few hours I left to meet Madeline for breakfast at the local diner. She was waiting for me at a table at the furtherest end, a coffee in hand a poor excuse for a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her.

“Are you okay?” she asked as I sat at the booth bench across from her. She hadn’t seen me since the house breaking. She was filled with genuine concern. She had actually spent an hour on the telephone with Theresa the night before, calling from her mother’s.

The décor of the diner was a mix of bright red and clinical white. It was harsh on my tired eyes.

“I’m fine,” I said, probably unconvincingly. “I don’t think they will be back.”

Madeline shook her head sympathetically. A large middle aged, grey haired waitress with thick rimmed spectacles approached. “Just some coffee please,” I told her. She grunted and disappeared back to the kitchen.

“She’s a charmer,” I commented.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Madeline asked again.

“I told you I’m fine,” I insisted. “These kind of things happen all the time these days.”

“Nothing was stolen though. If it was a robbery surely they would have taken something. Theresa told me about your visit to the ‘Knock, Knock’ club. You were threatened!”

“It was just a bunch of crazies. The girl I spoke to seemed to think she knew who my grandfather was.”

“You should be careful Sam,” Madeline warned.

“Do you know the club?”

“I’ve been there once or twice,” she stated. “Its a strange place I was trying to get a story on it but the manager would give me nothing.”

“Well my mother left my father when I was small so I have no idea what he could have gotten involved in but now that I know Theresa is safe I’m going to have a talk with the performer, Tabitha. Maybe I will get you your story after all.”

“Don’t do anything stupid Sam.”

As if I would…

***

That evening I returned to the ‘Knock, Knock’ club. Perhaps my journalistic instinct was getting the better of me or perhaps I wanted to avoid the confinement of my empty home. Either way, there I was knocking on the door as suggested. The man who had greeted Theresa and I on our first visit was at the door again.

“Table for one?” he asked with an ironic smile. “Sometimes it is more hassle than its worth to bring the missus isn’t it?”

“I’m not staying,” I explained to him. “I just want to speak to Tabitha.”

“I shouldn’t let you in at all after the stunt you pulled the other night. Didn’t your mother teach you that it is rude to barge your way into a ladies dressing room? Luckily for you I hate to lose a customer and T isn’t here tonight.” I made to walk away but the man pulled me back. His long fingers wrapped around my forearm. “I’m Dennis. I manage the club. Perhaps I can help.”

I pulled my arm free. “No you can’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. You are Samuel Crusow, right?”

I blurted, “Why does everyone keep saying that like it is something sinister? What is all this nonsense about? You people – whoever you are – have been the bane of my life for the past few days. My wife won’t come home because she is so terrified. Is this about the mayor?”

Dennis raised his dark eyebrows. “The mayor? This is nothing to do with him. It is all about you. Let’s not stand here in the cold discussing it. Come inside.”

I followed Dennis across the club. His lean frame was much taller than mine. He strode confidently with long legs. A girl stopped him. She was dressed in a sequinned leotard. She had a large black bow in her blonde hair. Her face was so thick with make up it almost looked like a mud mask.

“Why can’t I have the headline spot? I am so much better than Meldra is,” she whined.

Dennis shook her off. “Not now Bette. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Bette was relentless. She continued to follow him, pleading her case. “You are showing clear favouritism to that no talent whore!”

Finally, Dennis stopped. He gripped both of her shoulders. He was clearly frustrated but he still spoke with a calm tone. “Listen kid, why don’t you and Meldra fight it out back stage. I will even throw in some knives and you can tear at each other’s throats. Whoever wins can replace T until she returns. It will give me one less whining woman to worry about.”

The girl huffed and pursed her lips severely before marching backstage. Dennis showed me to an office where he gestured for me to take a seat.

“It would be dangerous to tell you everything now. Besides, T knows more than I do,” Dennis began, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle that had been left on the table. “Your grandfather, Samuel Crusow Sr, was the founder of a group of elite members of society. It began just after the last great depression. It was a way of preserving certain statuses so that the members wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of poverty.”

“I never really knew my grandfather why should I care about any of this?” I asked.

Dennis swallowed the whiskey. “Because, Samuel is no longer with us which makes you the next to take his spot in the club.”

“So I get a birthday card, the odd invitation to a game of golf, that sort of thing?”

Dennis laughed. “Not quite.”

“Well if that’s the case then I’m really not interested,” I stated quite conclusively.

“Don’t let the ‘Knock, Knock’ club fool you. I mean I love the old girl like my own but she is an ugly old hag. Our base may not be much to look at but the power of this group stretches far and wide.”

“So what is this group about then?”

“We do whatever it takes to survive,” said Dennis matter of factly. “What we need is granted to us. We have the right to survive, even in such troubled times as these.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?”

“It would be good to have a namesake to take over from where Samuel left off but I will leave that decision up to you. Don’t let the desperation outside take hold of you. There is something here much greater than any of us and it can be yours if only you were to take it.”

“So you are a cult?”

Dennis shrugged his shoulders, unmoved by the term. “Call it what you want but don’t dismiss it until you have seen what we are capable of, what we are willing to do …”

In my head the voices were screaming ‘nutbag!’ but my hands were shaking. My arms were trembling.

The ‘Knock, Knock’ club was a front for the mysterious group. They held meetings at the club and I was invited to the next one. This was going to make one hell of a story.

***

That night I climbed into bed. My head was conjuring thousands of different ideas of what could possibly be involved at the ‘Knock, Knock’ club. I drifted off to sleep just after midnight because I heard the town clock chime faintly in the distance and before the twelfth stroke I had fallen into a deep sleep.

The next morning I awoke refreshed. Slowly I came back from the land of nod into the land of reality. The questions that plaque us every morning queued up like always. ‘Where am I? What has happened?’ I realised quickly that I was at home. The sun was streaming through the window. It was later than I would have liked to rise. As I turned I felt a heavy object beside me. The haze in my eyes cleared. I saw the wisps of my wife’s hair streaming out from underneath the wine coloured duvet. My initial thought was that she must have arrived home late and didn’t wish to disturb me. I peeled the sheets back. The bed was heavily stained with blood. Theresa stared up at me with vacant eyes. Her pretty and pleasant face that never had a sneer for anyone had been completely mutilated. Her throat had been cut and her mouth gaped open as though she was still trying to hold on to her last breath.

The police were alerted. I was arrested on suspicion of my wife’s murder. My visits to the ‘Knock, Knock’ club were not to be taken lightly. It was only going to get worse…

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Check out the story from the beginning.

EPISODE 1

EPISODE 2

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Next chapter of the Knock, Knock blog series will be available 2/4/2017

Knock, Knock (Episode 3) After finding our home ransacked, Theresa decided to stay with her mother. She begged me to join her but I remained behind alone.