Six: The Woodsfolk
Ethan finally stumbles into town... but to what reception?
Ethan began to walk down the path in the original direction that they previously had been heading. He was terribly lost in thought and hoped that the more fresh air he breathed, the more things would begin to make sense. Miranda walked quietly behind him for a moment, before finally speaking up.
“It’s pretty heavy, right?” She asked.
“Yeah, I’d say. There’s a magician---,” Ethan started.
“Sorcerer,” Miranda corrected.
“Whatever, I don’t care if he was just some guy trying to fight outside of a bar, I am in no way equipped to handle this,” Ethan said as he clawed at the ring on his hand.
“Well, at least keep it together long enough to have a damn conversation with people who are hopeful,” Miranda scoffed, stepping ahead of Ethan and into a new clearing.
There were small huts scattered about, and a bustle of people walking to and fro different buildings. Ethan was a bit shocked to realize that this place really did look like it was stuck in the 1700s. Their clothing was similar in style to Miranda’s, plain in color, and unflattering to everyone. He was… unimpressed, to say the least. His head seemed to hang a bit lower, a bit of his I hope no one notices me defense mechanism. It was a common, unifying trait among people on his earth.
“Miranda!” A soft, older voice shouted. In a flash, a spry old woman came rushing out from one of the doorways. She rushed over to Miranda, eyeing Ethan as she gave her a deep hug. Her eyes searched him and eventually made their way down to his finger.
“Well… shit,” she said.
“H-Hi, my name is Ethan,” he stammered, becoming increasingly aware that she was not that excited to meet him. She looked him over one more time before disregarding him completely.
“Meemaw, be nice. Maybe he will surprise us,” Miranda offered.
“Or maybe he will get us all killed” the woman fussed back. She turned and wrapped her arm around Miranda, beginning to lead her back toward the hut that she had run out from. They whispered together, leaving Ethan harkening back to his high school years when women would shoot glances at him while softly speaking to each other. He shivered, and then pushed the feelings back down inside.
“Let’s go inside and have a nice cup of tea,” Meemaw stated happily as she crossed the threshold with Miranda.
“Yes! Now we---,” Ethan began to speak before Meemaw’s old, arthritic, incredibly boney hand pressed into his chest.
“No, not you. You must go see Abraham,” Meemaw said, scolding Ethan. She pointed her other rigid fingers down the street.
Ethan looked up at Miranda, who shrugged back at him. Before he could respond, the door closed in his face. He stood in shock for a moment before finally turning away. As he did, he could see the eyes of everyone left on the street peering at him. He nodded politely and stepped back out onto the street.
“How the hell am I supposed to know which house is Abraham’s?” Ethan muttered as he began to walk. His question was seemingly answered as he passed near the oldest of huts. It was dark, covered in foliage, and huge plumes of smoke were spewing from the makeshift chimney. A large sign hung over the window that said “Beware the end!”.
There was enough smoke, in fact, that Ethan nearly missed the small figure of a man seated in a rocking chair next to the door. There was no porch, and the man was basically just out in the yard. He was wearing a robe, like the ones Ethan remembered seeing in crude drawings of the Apostles back in Catholic school. He shivered yet again. The figure slowly stood, and Ethan was shocked as the man continued to rise taller and taller.
“Abraham?” Ethan said shakily.
“Nice ring you have there. Come on in and let’s talk about it. I think I have a lot of explaining to do,” Abraham said as he opened his front door, allowing a cloud of smoke to pour out. Ethan kicked at the dirt for a second, then straightened the collar of his jacket and walked down the short path and into the house.