Intro: A Realistic Encounter

Floris sat in the dark corner, illuminated by candle-light, drinking his mead. His haggard face reflected the light and devoured the shadows by his cracks and protusions on his face. Slow breath escaped his mouth as his mind traveled back to the year before’s incident.1

After the school incident, Floris had left the country. He headed east, past Germany to live with a close friend and try and forget everything that had happened. During the year, his friend seemed to slowly deteriorate until one day he simply disappeared.2

Floris had ran through the village, screaming his name, trying to rally up a search party. The people of the village pretended that nothing had happened; that they didn’t even know Krans. Floris simply went nearly insane with the played ignorance until one day he woke up and noticed a letter shoved under the door.3

“Meet me in the tavern at 9 the 27”4

Now he sat here, waiting for his mystery encounter and any tips he could get. To be honest, he didn’t really have much hope for the man, it had been about 7 monthes since he initially disappeared. The chances he was still alive was slim, and the past percentage of these kind of things held no hope. So, why was he chasing after something he didn’t think existed anymore?5

As his eyes came back into focus from his reverie, he noticed a figure in front of him. He could not recall how the person could have snuck up in front of him.6

“This happens more often than not.”7

An eyebrow cocked, Floris started to ask what he was talking about. He then realized how pointless that question would be, as no one in real life is that utterly stupid. “Is he still…?”8

“I don’t know. But I know the location of his body, and/or soul.” A piece of paper was slid across the table. “Be careful.” Then the man got up and left.9

Floris waited until the man was gone and any possibly directed attention at him was re-diverted to their alcoholic drinks. He glanced at the paper.10

“Take the road until it branches through trees. The path will eventually fade out, but continue in the general direction and another one will appear. Follow it and then up a hill to a door in the wall. He’s somewhere in there. Careful.”11

He read the note one more time, then got up and walked out, heading out of town.12

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Floris cared not for preparing for this; he knew how pointless it would be, knowing the chances he was still alive were near none, and he needed as much as he could to carry back a dead body.14

Reaching the path that lead into the woods, he pushed himself past branches and shrubbery. The wildlife was lacking in the woods, but that was to be expected; it was right beside a heavily populated viallage.15

After numerous cuts and bruises, Floris noticed the path disappeared. He continued walking, afraid he would never find another reappearance by it. After a mile, he did find it, though with a couple more lacerations to his face and hurt eyes from straining.16

Jogging now, he started up a hill, and stared at an ominously placed castle upon a mountain. Erasing the picture from his mind, he ran up the path, twisting and turning along precipices and such, finally reaching an old dilapidated door.17

Swinging it open, he followed a steep incline lit only by torchlight. After a near mountain-climb, he came upon a steel door.18

Floris threw it open and felt a sense of misplacement. There was near to no illumination; just the setting sun filtering through the windows. Chasing shadows up a staircase, he made his way through the castle, throwing open doors and glancing inside them.19

Half-way through, he noticed written across the floor “Closer.” This sort of thing should have set Floris on a one-way trip to ‘That’s fucked up.’ Unfortunately, this sort of thing never happens in stories, so he felt compelled to keep running through an abandoned castle that almost no one knew about, even after seeing giant lettering in blood that dealt with a situation that he was currently on.20

He eventually followed darkness down stairs, into the third room on the right. There was his friend, eyes sunken and skin peeling, barely breathing. Floris couldn’t believe his eyes. He picked his friend up and threw him over the shoulder, carrying him back into town.21

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Hours later, the police were filing out of the room. “I’m sorry about your friend. He was wasting away, and the coroner said it was probably from malnutrition. I would have guessed he just didn’t think he could make it, and believed it himself.”23

As the door shut, Floris muttered slightly under his breath, “He wasn’t the only one.”24