NOVEL EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

A MISUSE OF PILLOWS
 

Aileen slowly awoke, unravelling herself from beneath a thick, fur blanket, that had been placed over her as she slept. At first, she could not remember where she was. The room was dark, and her mind was still groggy from sleep. She was at the foot of strange, uncomfortable bed, and whatever room she was in smelled nauseatingly clean. The only noises audible to her were the snoring coming from the opposite end of the bed; a quiet groaning elsewhere in the room, and the winds howling outside. 

 

She looked towards the source of the snoring, and saw her father, looking deathly pale and weary as he slept, and everything started coming back to her. She was in the medical cabin, a small, makeshift hospital in the Caliberian town of Croproot. Where her mother worked during the day, and her father had been admitted to after his injury. She had fallen asleep at the foot of his bed. Her mother must have left her there. 

 

Her drowsiness beginning to dissipate, Aileen noticed that she was hungry. She was not sure what time it was but judging by the inky blackness beyond the ward's snow-logged windows, it was well past midnight, and she hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day.

 

Carefully manoeuvring herself off the bed as to avoid waking her father, a courtesy he was not paying others on ward with his snoring, she searched for her shoes that had presumably been taken off as she slept. Finding them at the foot of the bed, she hopped off the uncomfortable mattress, and knelt to slip them on. She then began fumbling around in the darkness, careful not to make any noise, for an oil lamp that had been on her father's bedside table. Finding it, she lit it, and the ward was bathed in a warm but eerie orange glow. 

 

Taking it off the table and holding it ahead of her, she started creeping down the ward, passing by several empty beds, and one occupied. In it lay a young man, an outdoorsman, no older than twenty-five with untidy, greasy blonde hair and an angular, pointed face. He let out another quiet groan as she slept

 

He had been found out in the forest by tree-fellers, according to the nurses, collapsed in the snow with a bullet in his right arm and right shoulder. They had decided he had to have been the survivor of an attempted robbery, and Aileen had little reason to disagree with this theory, but she thought that he had been dressed unusually for an outdoorsman in Caliberia.

The near year-round snow and low temperatures of the region, which only dissipated around mid-spring, and returned just before the end of autumn, demanded the use of heavy furs or wools. Most outdoorsmen hunted game, wolves, and occasionally bears, wearing the pelts to keep warm.

 

The young outdoorsman had been dressed in an expensive looking, finely made woollen overcoat, which he had worn over an equally exquisite looking woollen jumper. Alongside this, he had worn thick combat trousers with many exterior pockets. His boots had been well made, but unpolished and his hands had been wrapped in woollen fingerless gloves. The nurses had tutted particularly harshly at this, disparaging the idea of wearing such gloves in the freezing cold temperatures. All his clothes had been white as the snow he had been found lying in, including all the metal buttons of his coat, which had been painted in an unreflective matte white.

 

The nurses mentioned that the men who had brought him in had admitted to nearly stepping on him before they noticed him. Clearly the man had been attempting some form of camouflage but to what end nobody could tell.

It wasn't his clothes that were the most unusual however, after all some could afford to have finer clothing crafted by the scavenged and refurbished knitting machines available to the seamstresses at Simmers Point. At worst he seemed to be dressed a tad lightly for the winter weather, but then he wouldn't have been the first underprepared outdoorsman to be found by the mill workers of Croproot.

 

No, it was not his clothes that were unusual, but what he had been wearing over them. Plate metal armour, worn across his shoulders, down his arms, around his torso and all the way down to his shins, pock-marked with dents from where, presumably, he had been shot but the bullets hadn't punched through. What he had lacked in warm clothing, he had made up for in physical protection.

 

The armour had not been like the old suits of armour that Aileen had seen in her story books, or that were occasionally recovered from the ruins of old castles or museums, rusted to ruin, useful only to be smelted down for the steel that remained. This armour had more interlocking pieces and seemed far lighter and had no intricate ornate designs on them, they had simply been painted matte white to match the buttons on the man's coat. The armour had flexed comfortably with his body as he was manoeuvred into the bed, the interlocking pieces not hindering movement at all. He had been curiously equipped indeed.

 

The nurses and the millworkers had chalked it all up to the man being the son of wealthy energy baron from Simmers Point, who had managed to simultaneously overprepare and underprepare for his lone hunting trip and had been shot by brigands attempting to rob him. Everyone seemed to agree with this and were nonplussed by his presence.

 

Everyone it seemed, but Doctor Bernard. He was usually very nice to everyone, and very patient. But at the sight of the young man, he had become tart and dictatorial, and had ordered his clothes be hidden until the man woke up, along with his armour, all of which was now stored in the medical cabin's basement. He had then stridden out of the room, with a face full of thunder, muttering something about "how he couldn't get away from them, even all the way out in bloody Caliberia". Aileen had never seen the man she had only ever known to be kind and caring act like this.

​

Moving past the man, who continued to groan quietly, Aileen carefully opened the thick, wooden doors that led to the front hall and reception desk, which would be staffed by either Doctor Bernard; Heather, a friend of her mother; or Aileen's mother herself during the day.

 

Though it was called the medical cabin, it seemed more like a small mansion crafted from stacked logs. Aside from the twin wards either side of the building, there was an operating room, a small canteen, and several other rooms in the middle section of the building, with a basement for storing medical supplies. At the rear was a second, l-shaped corridor linking both wards to the operating room, the basement, and the kitchen, as to allow the staff to avoid pushing through any potential patients and visitors while moving from ward to ward. The kitchen also connected directly to the front hall and reception.

 

She continued to creep through the building, careful not to make a sound, though it occurred to her there really was little need to take this precaution, as she doubted she would be heard through the thick walls, though she decided to maintain stealth anyway, just in case.

She wasn't sure what food was kept in the canteen, but she was sure she would at least find some bread, jam, and butter. Entering the kitchen, moving more confidently and loudly than before, she moved past two large dining tables to where meals were prepared. A sizable worktop next to a large cast iron stove, separated from the twin dining tables by a long island that functioned as a second worktop, or a table. A metal tub that would be filled with water and used to clean dishes lay under the second worktop.

 

She placed the oil lamp on the first worktop next to the sink as she began raking through the cupboards for food. She quickly found some reasonably fresh-looking bread loaves, which had been wrapped in brown paper. In another cupboard, she found jars of preserves in many different flavours. Strawberry, blackberry, gooseberry, bunchberry - all of which tickled her tastebuds. But at the sight of some fresh honey, Aileen decided she would much rather have that spread across some toasted bread. 

Gathering her raw ingredients, she turned to the enormous, cast-iron stove and began studying it's knobs and switches, attempting to ascertain how each one differed from the stove at home. She quickly grasped which dial did what and within a few minutes the oven was alight, and her freshly sliced bread was toasting away. Only a few more minutes after this, and she was crunching into rich, golden-brown bread, slathered in honey.

​

With some food in her belly, and the sugar of the honey helping to wake her up, her mind again began reflecting on the events surrounding her father. He had claimed to be injured operating the enormous circular saw at the wood-mill, guiding a redwood tree log as it was being sawn into planks, when the next log to be loaded had come loose and fallen, hitting him and knocking him off his feet, causing him to, in his own words, 'Try and give the bottom hualf o' the saw a good boot up the arse for jamming al' the bloody time'. He had chuckled as he said it. 

This story had been told to Aileen and her mother by their father immediately after they had arrived in the medical cabin, where they rushed upon being informed of what had happened by Heather, who had rushed to Aileen's home to inform them all that Aileen's father had half his foot cut clean off.

 

Both Aileen and her mother had given her father identical, doubting looks. Though she was only a teenager, Aileen had come to know when her father was lying. He would always try to sell it with some sort of joke and a chuckle. She had learned to spot this after her father had arrived late for dinner once, and he had tried to tell some outlandish story about having to oversee a pair of new hires at the mill when they had supposedly been caught stealing lunches. He had claimed to be the one who had punished them and had done so by having them cut down one of the enormous redwoods using only handsaws.

 

At first Aileen had believed this, until her mother had pointed out her father's tells, and that he would have been gone all night if that had that been even remotely true, that her father wouldn't punish the family dog let alone a pair of young lads, and even if he absolutely had to, he would never put them in danger by having them cut down a four hundred foot tree with nothing but handsaws.

Despite the lie having been unravelled immediately, Aileen's father had committed to this story for an approximate ten minutes, all while Aileen's mother had continued to grill him, his face growing so red that he was scarlet by the time he eventually admitted that he had, In reality, spent the evening drinking with these new hires and his other friends from the mill, and that he had stayed away from the house till he had sobered up as not to upset anyone over dinner with his drunken foolishness. 

Aileen's mother, after hearing the truth had simply sighed and exclaimed loudly "As if it that would have been the first time you came home a wee bit drunk Barclay! It would've been the first time in, what? Months? Honestly, you act like I'm the biggest prude in Croproot!".

 

Her father offered no words in retort, only a coy smile and a raised eyebrow, prompting Aileen's mother to playfully slap him and tell him to sit down so everyone could eat. 

His lie about his hospitalization had not been met with the same unspoken forgiveness. Instead, her mother had sent Aileen out of the ward, drawing the curtains around the bed as she went, and had then proceeded to whisper furiously at her husband after she thought Aileen was out of ear shot. Aileen had crept back up the ward, standing as close to the curtain as she dared, as not to disturb it. 

"Who did this Barclay? Who? You expect me to believe you were sawing wood this bloody late? If Aileen can tell that you are talking out of your arse, you know full bloody well I can! So, tell me what happened!" Her mother had said. Her words had come careening from her mouth in a blaze of fury and concern. Aileen's father must have known better than to try and uphold his lie under the circumstances.

"You know old Graeme?" Her father had asked in response, his deep Caliberian brogue hoarse from weakness.

"Course I do, what does he have to..." Her mother had begun impatiently. 

"I'll get to it Emma, give me time!" Her father had croaked agitatedly, waiting a moment to see if his wife would interrupt again before continuing. "I caught his lad pocketing sweet-root from the stores two weeks back, thought he must have been selling it oan' the side.  I wasn't even gonnae turn him in, just gave him a bollocking, but he acted like he hadn't been caught red handed. Then he threatened me, said he'd have his faither do me in if I told anyone, and ran off." he finished.

"And then you went and told auld Robert." Aileen's mother had said with her fr0wn prevalent in her voice. Old Robert was the representative of the Simmers Point brewery in Croproot. He was a man in his sixties and owned the entire town. Her father had once called him 'a sour faced git, but a good man.'

"Course I did! Little arse woulda’ kept on pinching the root if I hadn't!" He father had replied defensively, picking up on his wife's tone. "What Emma? you think I should've left him to it? Auld Robert's been good to us, it would have been a poor man's idea of gratitude not to!" 

"I know." Aileen's mother had replied, though she had not sounded as though she truly agreed. She had sounded as though she had wanted to go on about how her husband should have just kept out of it, but at his words had realised this would seem quite a selfish suggestion, and had chosen not to voice her actual opinion. 

"Well wee Grant gets the boot, and he's been staring daggers in ma back since." He father had continued. "He and his father showed up tonight as I was closing down the mill. They held my foot to the saw and threatened me to keep my gob shut in future, I told them to earn a living like everyone else, so they relieved me of ma’ toes to make sure I took them seriously." He said, giving a nervous chuckle only to breathe through his teeth in pain, he must have attempted to flex his toes to illustrate his point. 

"Shite." Aileen's mother had said flatly. Aileen too had noticed the patterns that indicated a lie. 

"Shite nothin! Look at my foot!" Her father had exclaimed, his voice rising above a whisper before his wife had shushed him. 

"There's more." Aileen's mother had stated sharply, no hint of a question in her voice. 

Her father had looked determined not to say anything further, but as if by divine intervention, his attempts hold his tongue had been thwarted by a violent hacking cough. 

"Barclay, that's blood!" Her mother had exclaimed. 

Her father had choked out a response. "Aye, I can see that Emma, hard to miss it." he had said sardonically. 

"What else did they do!?" Her mother demanded in a slow, whispered fury. 

"They.... they shoved about half a pound of sweetroot down my gub, Emma. they wanted it to look like I hurt mysel' after getting roasted on raw root, make it look like I had been the one stealing, blamed it on Grant." He said reluctantly.

​

Aileen felt her blood run cold, and there had been unpleasant silence between her mother and father.

 

Consumed untreated and raw, sweetroot was deadly. Some men chewed on small amounts for the feeling it gave them. When she had been younger, one of the children around her age had been dared to eat the raw root for a bet. He had only eaten a handful's worth, not much at all, but he had died in under a week. With the amount her father had been forced to eat, she doubted he would last the night.

It was Aileen's mother who spoke next. Despite her shock at the revelation her husband was dying, she still seemed to have doubts surrounding the story.

Why... why do this? Why didn't they just kill you then and there? Why put you through, through... this?" She had forced herself to ask.

"Suppose they were hoping I'd just bleed out while I was off of my head on the root. Lucky for me, one of the other workers came looking for me. We had been intending to go out for a drink after I had closed down the mill." He had said with a sad finality. Again, there had been silence.

"I'll speak to Bernard, he'll..." Her mother had started, her voice finally cracking, sobs forming.

"He'll make me comfortable and issue me his apologies Emma. Don't waste his time." Her father had spluttered. "I'm sorry. I should have kept my gub shut, as you always say." Her mother had issued watery half-laugh, her sobbing having begun in earnest. 

"You bloody fool Alister, you noble bloody fool!" She had blubbered. 

"Aye, I know." He had said grimly.

Aileen had then pulled back the curtain and walked into the ward, both her mother and father turning to stare at her but saying nothing. He mother's face had been red and soaked with tears, her bright blue eyes bloodshot and her red hair a mess from having had a hand run through it chronically. Her father laying on the bed, stone faced, his green eyes staring directly into Aileen’s. His stern but kind face had been sallow.  Aileen had walked over to her father’s beside in silence and had wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before. 

Her father was dying. The idea seemed so foreign to her. Her father, the big, strong burly man who seemed so invincible was dying. Aileen had emptied her tears earlier, lying on his bed. Now she simply had a pit in her stomach that would not go away.

 

Thinking about it all again had put her off her food. She wanted to back and lay on her father's bed. Finishing the meal as not to waste it, an act that her mother would have admonished her for greatly at home, she cleared up her mess, retrieved her lamp, and began making her way back through the entrance hall back to the ward. 

Dunk Dunk Dunk!

A loud knocking echoed through the hall. It was someone was at the front doors. Aileen wasn't sure if she should answer it. It was late and she wasn't a member of staff, but it could be someone who needed medical attention. She stood by the door to the kitchen, staring at the front doors waiting to see if another knock came. 

Dunk Dunk Dunk! 

The knocks came again. Three in a row, rapid but unurgent, and louder. Aileen remained rooted to the spot. Something about the situation was off. If it was an emergency, she imagined that she would hear shouting or yelling, someone calling for aid. Whomever was at the door didn't seem to be in trouble, which begged the question as to why they were visiting so late at night. Aileen's mind raced to thoughts of Grant or his father or both coming in the dead of night to finish off her father before he could tell everyone the truth. They had tried to kill him before, why not again?

​

Dunk Dunk Dunk! 

A third set of knocks, even louder than the last reverberated around the hall. This time Aileen heard footsteps from within the cabin, coming from the other ward. Bursting through the double doors, at a strict pace, came Aileen's mother. Who caught sight of Aileen at once, each of them illuminated by the light of their own lamps.

"Go into the kitchen Aileen. Stay there until I deal with this." She said plainly. Aileen had the sense that her mother was as sceptical about the situation as she was. Not bothering to argue, but intent on doing anything she could to protect her father if he were in danger, she closed the kitchen door and decided to listen from behind it, but not before she could retrieve the largest, sharpest knife that she could find to wield as a weapon, leaving her lamp once again on the worktop next to the stove.

 

Satisfied with a large vegetable knife that came to proud point, she returned to the kitchen door and placed her ear against it, ready to jump out to her mother's aid.

 

She heard only two voices. One, of course, was her mothers, who must have taken the night watch to be closer to Aileen and her husband. The other was a total stranger, Aileen didn't recognise the accent, but it wasn't Caliberian. It couldn't be Grant or his father. 

"Matron." a man said in surprisingly deep, smooth and charming voice. "My apologies, I understand my presence at this hour is irregular" He followed. 

"It is, but go on," Aileen's mother said flatly. She was not lowering her guard at polite words alone.

"My grandson and I were attacked out on the hunting trails, and we were separated. He fled in the direction of Croproot. I heard from the inn keep a man matching his description was found shot in the woods nearby. I would like to see him." The man replied.

 

Aileen let out a sigh of relief, the man was not after her father. But still, she sensed a lie. The man had claimed to be the blond-haired man's family, but nothing in his voice sounded showed that he was actually concerned for his wellbeing.

 

Deciding she wanted to see what this man looked like, she tried peering through the keyhole, The light of the lamp her mother was holding illuminated them both clearly. The man seemed almost impossibly tall against her mother's petite, slim frame. He had short, ungroomed dark grey hair and a thick but somewhat trimmed beard of matching colour. His barrel-chest was covered by a thick, warm looking but ragged and dirty crimson woollen jumper, through which a white vest visible due the holes, Over everything he wore a long black coat with a fur collar that he had not bothered to button up, likely to ensure that whoever answered the door saw that he was armed. He wore a holster around his chest which held a large revolver. His impassive face had piercing glare, his cold grey eyes seeming to dare Aileen's mother to challenge his story.

​

"Two gunshots. His right arm and his right shoulder." Aileen's mother replied curtly, ignoring the man's stare.

​

"I see. Well, I am glad to hear that his injuries are not life threatening. May I see him?" The man asked politely, but again Aileen sensed that he had no real concern for the state of the man. 

​

"I'm sorry sir, but visitors are not allowed this late, and certainly not without Doctor Bernard’s permission." Her mother's voice was cold and business-like. And her words had been delivered with a matter-of-fact tone that she could not hope support with her physical presence. 

At the name Bernard, the man's expression changed, but only for moment. A quizzical, pondering look flittered across his features, before they returned to their previous state.

 

"Please, I am deeply concerned for his wellbeing." The man said in an utterly unconvincing manner that made Aileen's father look like a pathological liar. 

"If the man is indeed your grandson." Aileen’s mother started, thinly veiling her disbelief for the man's story. "You may return tomorrow morning when Doctor Bernard is here. I can assure you the man is stable and will survive the night. Now I must ask you too...." Her mother was cut off. The man had barged past her towards the doors Aileen was hiding behind. His story not being bought, he seemed to have decided to simply look for the man without permission.

Aileen darted to opposite side of the kitchen and departed quickly through the door that led to the l-shaped hallway. hoping her footsteps would not be heard through the thick door. She had just made it out of the kitchen as she heard the other door opening, and her mother's voice. 

"Sir! You must leave!" 

The man was clearly ignoring her at this point, and there was little her mother could do to stop him even if she tried. Aileen stood behind the door, listening intently as to know where to go next. She wasn't sure why she was avoiding being seen by this homunculus, but a feeling told her that he would want as few witnesses to his presence as possible.

The man spoke again. he was still calm and polite, but he was not pretending to be concerned any further. 

"Matron, where is the man that was brought here earlier today?" Though it had been a question, it had the air of a demand. 

 

There was an unpleasant pause as the man let the words hang in the air. There had been no spoken threat, but the implication clear. 

 

"This way" Aileen's mother said with a reluctant, almost timid tone. She must have lost her bravery at the idea of the man discovering that Aileen was in the building. 

Aileen left the kitchen door and moved quickly up the hallway, headed to the other entrance of the ward with the blonde man and her father. carefully prying open one of the twins and peeking inside, the tall stranger and her mother were already inside. 

"Please sir, my husband is ill here, he needs his res..." Her mother began.

"Is that so Matron? I am sorry to hear that. I promise you I will not disturb him" he said with his usual polite, uncaring tone. There was a pause before Aileen's mother moved over to the blonde man's bed and gestured with her arm.

"This is your... grandson." Her mother said, turning to the tall man and pointing to where the young man lay. 

"I see." The tall man replied. "You said he will survive?" He asked. 

"Yes, the Doctor removed the bullets and stitch......" He mother began. But the tall man had not been asking for the details. In a swift set of movements, he strode across the room, retrieving a pillow from an unoccupied bed as he went. He swooped over his prey, who was continuing to groan lightly in his sleep and without hesitation, the tall man pushed the pillow down hard over the man's face, who awoke with a start and began struggling.

​

Aileen gasped quietly, and saw her mother seemed to stagger slightly in fear. The blonde man's muffled yells threatened to wake up her father, but he seemed deaf to what was occurring only feet away. 

 

Aileen was sure that the stranger could have been able to hold the pillow over the younger man’s face with one hand had he wanted to. Eventually, the blonde man's struggling became little more than lethargic flailing, then small involuntary jerks, and then he ceased to move entirely, at which point the tall man finally removed the pillow, tossing it pillow back onto the bed which he had taken it from, staring down at the body of the man he had just murdered.

 

Then he did something peculiar, or at least, even more peculiar than forcing entry into a hospital in the dead of night to kill a man. He reached into his pocket, and retrieved a small crimson orb, which he then placed it on the body, directly where the heart would to be.

 

Aileen's horror had been replaced by bewilderment, but it was quickly replaced with renewed horror. The orb began to glow, shine, and then it became a beacon of scarlet light, drowning the feeble orange flickering of the oil lamp her mother had been carrying.

 

The new macabre lighting intensified the horror of the scene, as the young boy’s corpse began to collapse inwards upon itself with a series of unnatural, cringe-inducing, and disgusting snaps, squelches, and crunches. The toes shrivelled into the feet, the feet into the ankles, the ankles into the shins. The hair into the scalp, the head into the neck, the neck into the torso. On it went, for minutes, the scene sending waves of disgust through Aileen. All the while, the crimson orb remained quite still atop the body, ignorant to the movement of the imploding corpse beneath it. Aileen had to look away to stop herself from vomiting.

 

The sounds continued for several minutes. Only when they had ceased did Aileen turn back to see what was happening now. Where once had been a sleeping, injured young man, was the original orb, with a second, smaller duplicate floating just beneath it. They then fell onto the bed, clacking together like marbles as they landed. The crimson light fading away to be replaced once again by the orange flicker of the lamp.

The tall man retrieved the larger orb first, placing it back into an interior pocket in his coat. He then picked up the second one, taking a second to stare at it briefly, before placing it on the floor and stamping down on it. He pulled his foot away to reveal a small pile of red dust. he then scuffed the pile with his heel, again and again until there was no evidence that there had ever been a second orb, let alone a blonde-haired young man, in the room to begin with.

 

His task seemingly complete, he then turned to face Aileen's mother. 

​

"Where is your husband?" He asked. 

​

For the second time that evening, Aileen's blood ran cold. her mind raced with questions. Who was this man? why had he murdered the other man? Was he going to murder her father? Would he murder her mother too? Herself? 

​

She still had the knife she had taken from the kitchen. She toyed with the idea of leaping from behind the door and charging the man. But something about the way this man moved, spoke, and acted told Aileen that her plan would only end in failure. So, she only watched on in continued fear and horror as the man strode over to the bed her father lay in, as he was now the ward's sole occupant.

"Please! don't! He won't talk; We won't say anything! I'll make sure he does..." Her mother began to beg.

​

The tall man turned to Aileen's mother, and as suddenly as he had changed from being polite, to threatening, he had switched to an almost gentle voice that posed no threat whatsoever. 

​

"I mean you, nor your husband any harm matron." He said, and to her surprise, Aileen heard no lie in his voice,

 

The man was now bent over her father's bed, having lifted the blankets, and was inspecting the bandaged foot, sniffing at it.

​

“Wha... what?" Her mother stammered.

​

"What is wrong with him? I can see he is ill, but this sickness would not be caused by his injuries, and I smell no infection" The man said, seemingly deaf to her fear. 

​

Aileen's mother went to speak but hesitated for a moment. She looked at the man doubtfully before answering.

​

"Swe... sweetroot poisoning,"

​

The tall man said nothing at first. He simply nodded thoughtfully before saying "I will not be able to restore his foot." 

​

"Oh." Aileen's mother said, as if the man had just told her a sad, but not upsetting piece of news. "We... Well, that's alright, if you can cure poisoning, I know he'll repay you up after he...." She was interrupted by the man again. 

​

"Say nothing of my presence here, nor what happened to the boy." he said at once, reaching again into a pocket of his long coat. Aileen had to squint to see what he had in his hand.

 

He had retrieved a plain looking wooden ring, carved from what looked to be redwood pine. It was speckled with a green material that almost looked like lichen or moss, which glistened in the in the light of the lamp. 

 

"This, matron, is a construct. do you know what a construct is?" Aileen had no idea what a construct was. It looked like a ring to her. But her mother seemed to, who simply nodded in response but said nothing.

​

"Good. it is named 'Intake No Evil". Your husband must wear it for several days. He will appear to get worse. You will think he is dying. You will think I have found some method to kill him faster and more painfully than he would have otherwise. These will be nothing more than your own fears, not the truth. His pain will simply be a reaction to the construct drawing all poison from his body. he will survive so long as you leave this." He paused, and Aileen watched as he slid the ring onto her father's finger. "On his finger." 

​

"I... I..." Her mother stammered. 

​

"When your husband has recovered, visit me at the inn, I shall remain there until this ring is returned to me. If your husband dies, feel obliged to inform anyone you please as to what I have done." The stranger said. He then walked past Aileen's mother, out of the ward, his coat billowing behind him. Aileen then heard an opening and closing of the front doors that signified that the man had left the medical cabin.

​

Aileen stood behind the door, barely breathing, not uttering a sound. Aileen's mother did the same, both had been stunned in silence at what had just occurred. Aileen decided to enter the ward, she walked through the door, but her mother did not seem to notice this, only turning to look at Aileen as the door closed behind her, causing her mother to jump towards the source of the noise. 

​

"Aileen." she said, a look of pure terror spread across her face. "What did you see?"

 

Aileen didn't answer, this seemed to be enough of an answer for her mother. 

"Say nothing, not to anyone. Not even your father. Do you understand?" Her mother said, regaining her composure.

 

Aileen simply let out a squeak that indicated an agreement.