Song in the Dark, Day 2

Welcome back, folks, for the second installment of my Night in the Woods fanfic. In case you missed it, the first chapter can be found here.

It occurs to me that I should point out that -- in case it wasn't obvious by the first chapter -- events of the story will overlap with events in the game. And while I'm not going to be rewriting game events to confirm to my story or anything like that (though there is a 'canonical' set of story choices I'm sticking with for the sake of this story), that does mean that future chapters will spoil certain events of both the main game and the Lost Constellation 'side' game. Eric Hostetler and Mae Borowski are having somewhat-parallel adventures, but their individual stories diverge enough that this story won't spoil all of the big reveals in the game. At the same time, while Song in the Dark draws upon Night in the Woods for its 'mythology,' it will delve into places the game doesn't go.

So after that unnecessarily-long disclaimer, you'll find the second chapter under the cut. If you want to read the story on other sites or find a PDF download (on the FA page), you can find it on FurAffinity and SoFurry (note that both sites are generally considered NSFW even though you have to sign in to see anything like that).

Song in the Dark

A Night in the Woods fanfic by Chris Shaffer

Night in the Woods is copyright Infinite Fall, story and original characters copyright Chris Shaffer 2019, all rights reserved

Day 2: Unsettled In

"Oh my god, was that a dream?" Eric groaned as he sat up.

He looked around. He was in his old bedroom at home, which felt both too small and too large at the same time. He disengaged himself from where he'd apparently fallen asleep on top of the covers and tangled himself up in tossing and turning. He felt half-dead, and even showering and throwing on some clean clothes didn't help much. He realized as he dressed that it was afternoon; he'd slept through the entire morning, somehow.

"You feeling okay?" his mother asked when he came downstairs. The microwave hummed behind her.

"Yeah, yeah, just... didn't sleep great." Eric rubbed his eyes and his cheekfur and plopped himself down at the kitchen table.

"You haven't been home in a while, it's practically a strange bed now," his mother said.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Got any plans for today?" Lyn asked as she slid a plate of reheated bacon and scrambled eggs in front of him.

"I didn't really make any," Eric said as he dug in. "Honestly, I'm not sure what I could do."

"Are any of your friends still around?"

"I dunno, I didn't keep up with most of my friends from high school and I'm pretty sure the ones I did keep up with left town for college when I did." He left it unspoken that few of them were likely to come back if they had the choice.

Eric realized that his local social life was likely to be an issue if he was going to be stuck back in Possum Springs again. He frowned at that thought, and took a few more bites of the food.

"I'll have to figure out something to do," he said as he chewed on his bacon.

"Well, there's the bulletin board out in Towne Centre, it might have a lead on something fun to do. I think there's one up at the church as well."

"Isn't the one at the church going to be all fundraising potlucks and support groups?" Eric asked skeptically.

"One way to find out."

"Touché." He let that thought carry him through his microwaved breakfast. It was something to do, at least.

* * *

Eric stood next to the entrance to the trolley tunnels, looking over posters and such on the bulletin board. He had trouble really seeing most of it, as a missing persons poster for Casey Hartley drew his attention. He knew Casey in passing; a redneck cat who was a couple of years behind him. Had a cousin who blew himself up in a meth-lab mishap.

Casey had been gone a year but the poster itself was relatively new, suggesting that his parents held out hope. Apparently he was last seen near the tracks out behind the Food Donkey. Reading that sent a shiver up Eric's spine that he convinced himself was just the autumn weather.

"So glad I came out here to cheer myself up," Eric sighed.

The rest of the bulletin board consisted of ads for things like the usual landscaping, firewood for sale, babysitting services ("Katie Washington has NEVER lost a child," one flyer insisted), and so forth. There was a poster for Harfest, the town's upcoming Halloween/harvest festival. And behind it all, a poster advertising Possum Springs itself with the tagline "More like 'Awesome' Springs."

"How do you do, fellow kids," the fox half-heartedly muttered to himself.

He shook his head as if he could physically dislodge his malaise and looked up the stairs that led up the hill towards the church. The passage leading into the trolley tunnel ran underneath the stairs, and something about the darkness called to him. He remembered the noise of the rain and the music...

He shook his head again.

Okay, Eric, you've gotten into a weird mood, he thought to himself. Stoppit. Maybe you do need help at the church.

He zipped up his jacket a little more and walked up the stairs, noticing signs of recent repair as he went.

* * *

Possum Springs' Church of the First Coalescence was pretty standard as far as small-town churches go. Large building, glass windows, a lot of sunbursty-flowery looking iconography. A few cars were parked out front, even though it was a weekday. Just past the parking lot, a small wooded area led up to a cliff. A statue of a bird in a tall hat covered in autumn leaves, representing a saint or a pope or something, stood off to the side.

Eric's family mostly stuck to the big religious holidays and sometimes accompanied his grandparents when they visited. He'd never really kept up with it himself. In fact, he was reasonably sure he hadn't been inside any church since he'd started college.

He stared at the building for a minute or two, debating whether or not to go in. Would it be weird, going in just to look at the community bulletin board for hobbies and such? Surely they'd understand, if they're all about peace and love and a kind, loving god. They'd understand if a guy came in to just poke around looking for a cure for boredom and... Officially feeling awkward now that he'd overthought it, Eric decided to take a little stroll up the hill first.

He walked past the church, stopping every few steps to scrape damp leaves off of his shoes as he walked by the ivy-covered statue. A sign next to the statue helpfully informed him that church services were on Sundays, all are welcome, bingo on Tuesdays, and the 'Trans4m! Youth Ministry' on Fridays.

Eric officially regretted wasting his 'fellow kids' remark on the bulletin board down the steps.

A figure moved around among the trees up the hill. Thankful for the brief distraction, the fox decided to head up there. Maybe it was someone who worked for the church and they could help him feel better about taking advantage of the godly folk to pad out his social calendar.

His nose twitched with the smell before he got a good look at the guy. Sweat, cigarette smoke, and dirt. Someone who hadn't washed in a couple of days. He reached into his pocket and wished he had some sort of weapon for defense there, like a knife or something.

"Hey there," Eric said, keeping his tone neutral as he carefully angled his approach so he could be just passing by on the way to... shit, what was out that way?

The man turned to face him. He was a gray cat with a messy beard and yellow eyes, wearing a hoodie, jacket, and jeans that hadn't seen a washing machine in a while. A lit cigarette hung between his fingers. Now that he was closer, Eric could see a makeshift tent behind him.

"Afternoon," the man said as he took a drag off his cigarette.

"Sorry if I startled you, I didn't think there would be anybody out here."

"Not a problem," the man said after a momentary pause.

Eric realized that pause was the man sizing him up as a potential danger. This was someone used to having to watch his back, and now the young fox felt guilty about his brief wish for a weapon. He'd briefly dated someone in college who'd have given him grief for that.

"I'm Eric. You been in town long?" he asked, withdrawing his hand from his pocket and holding it out.

"Bruce. Not long," he said, shaking Eric's hand.

Eric resisted the urge wipe his hand on his pants as he withdrew it.

"Nice little setup here. Hope you've got a plan for winter, though. They get wet and miserable in this part of the country, even when it's not snowing."

"Pastor Kate's working on it," he grumbled.

"You sound like you're not sure about that."

He hesitated before answering. "She does a lot. More'n maybe she should."

Eric wasn't sure to say to that. He glanced around, remembered that back behind Bruce's tent was a cliff that offered a good view of much of the valley. From this far back, most of what you could see was trees and the water tower and a little bit of Towne Centre.

"If nothing else, you've got quite the view up here. A postcard photographer would get a good portfolio out of the leaves this time of year. Quiet little town, all that."

"It's got its moments."

"Yeah, it does. I've lived here my whole life, barring the last couple of years for college."

"I actually worked the mines here for a bit back in the 70's." He took another drag off his cigarette. "Don't remember much of it, but some things are different now."

"Like what?" Eric asked, curious.

Bruce was quiet for a moment.

"You hear things, on the road," he began. "Towns get reputations. People sometimes vanish. Folk on the rails don't like to stop here."

An autumn wind danced over Eric's spine again. He thought about Casey Hartley vanishing out by the train tracks.

"Heard things last night," Bruce continued.

"What?"

"Out past the water tower." He gestured with his cigarette. "Strange noises. Fire through the trees."

"Probably just high school kids sneaking off to drink," Eric said, his tone giving away that he was more hopeful than confident in that.

Something about that really worried him, his deflection aside. He wasn't sure why, and for the moment he was afraid to pursue that train of thought further.

"Here's hoping," Bruce said as he took another drag.

"Well, on that cheery note, I actually do need to stop into the church for something before I forget to do it." Eric offered a genuinely friendly smile. "Good meeting you, Bruce. Be safe. Hopefully see you around?"

"Sure thing."

Eric waved to him and slipped his hands back into his pockets. Despite any potential awkwardness, he found he really needed the comforting warmth and soft stained-glass light of a church right about now.

As he approached the front door, a quartet of older folks -- a bird, a fox, a bear, and a crocodile -- came out of the church, talking heatedly among themselves and moving to their respective vehicles. Eric faintly recognized them as some sort of town government figures and took the long way around to avoid drawing their attention. At the very least, he didn't want to look like he was listening in.

"The vote's just a formality, right?" one of them asked. He didn't catch who.

"We'll hear her out, and that Bruce seems polite enough, but..." said another.

"But they won't all be like that," the first one said.

At that point he stopped putzing around and ducked into the church before he could feel compelled to pick an argument.

* * *

Ten minutes later, a scrap paper with some schedules in hand, Eric trudged down into the old trolley tunnel again. His previous misgivings about the music aside, he didn't want to go home just yet and needed someplace where he could sit and gather his thoughts for the moment. He swung by the pierogi stand and came away with with one of those paper food trays, lined with that checkered tissue paper you get, all cradling a half-dozen pierogies with sour cream and chives.

As he looked for a place to sit down, he spotted a familiar face at one of the tables. A bear with tan fur, a few years younger than him, sat at a table and scribbled in a small notebook. After a moment's consideration, he invited himself over.

"Hey, RJ," Eric said as he sat down.

The younger bear gave him an annoyed look. Eric winced as he remembered he hated being called that. It was too close to just calling him 'Junior.'

"Sorry, I forgot you prefer 'Randy.' It's been a couple years," the fox said apologetically.

"Yeah, man, it's been a minute," the bear said with a sudden lopsided grin. He quickly closed the book. "I heard you was back." He gave Eric a light slap on the shoulder. "How've you been?"

"Doing alright, not too bad." Eric picked up a pierogi, made sure it had plenty of sour cream on it, and all but inhaled it. "I mean, I'm back here. I could be worse."

Randy snorted in agreement. Eric leaned the tray of pierogies towards him, wordlessly offering one. The bear considered a moment and shook his head.

"Whatcha got there?" Eric asked, nodding to the notebook.

"Been dealing with some stuff, and Dr. Hank gave me this to help organize my thoughts and 'keep me grounded.'"

"Yeah, I remember some folks who went to him in high school. That seems to be his go-to. Does it help?"

The bear shrugged. Eric popped another pierogi into his mouth to buy himself time to choose his words carefully. He remembered what his father had said the day before about the younger of the Ballard sons having a drug problem.

"Anything I can do to help?" the fox asked.

Randy gave him a thoughtful look. It took Eric a moment to recognize his expression as such. Having grown up alongside the bears, he was reasonably sure he'd never seen Randy stop to think before. He'd always just done whatever he wanted, did the bare minimum to get through school (with grades that matched), and his father bent over backwards to spoil him in a way he'd never done with Jim.

"You don't have a car, do you?" Randy asked after a moment.

"Sorry, no."

"I might have to leave town for a bit to take care of some things. It'd be nice if I could get a ride."

...that's not with my father, is how Eric knew Randy wanted to end that sentence. The fox wondered if Randy meant he needed to get out of town so he wouldn't have to face his father, or if he was referring to being sent off to rehab somewhere.

Randy shrugged as if to play it off as no big deal. Eric ate another pierogi and, in an attempt to fill the silence, offered the paper tray to Randy again. The bear nodded this thanks as he plucked one from the sour cream-covered pile and chewed thoughtfully. He glanced at his journal as if he wanted to open it and get back to writing, but after another moment he tucked the notebook and pencil into his jacket pocket.

"I should probably get back to work," the bear said as he got up.

"Well, look, if you need anything, no matter what's going on, I'm willing to help." Eric got up and shook Randy's hand, hoping the younger man caught his meaning.

Randy just gave him an unreadable look and headed for the stairs leading back up into the sunlit world. The thought of being left alone-ish down there caused an idea to pop into Eric's head.

"Oh, hey, Randy!" Eric called out, his voice echoing a bit in the tunnel.

"What?" he asked as he turned around.

Eric ran up so he wasn't yelling across the chamber.

"This is gonna seem random, but I meant to ask... there's a song I've got stuck in my head, I was wondering if you knew it."

Without waiting for a reply, Eric started whistling the tune he'd been hearing so it'd be easier to hear over the water. While he may have been hearing random noises that brought it to mind, he was somehow sure that he knew this song from somewhere. He had to have heard it somewhere, because nothing else made sense. The notes came to him as he whistled for several seconds, like singing karaoke and discovering that you knew the words better than you thought you did.

"I dunno what it is exactly," Randy began. "But you know what it makes me think of? Papaw used to tell me these fairy tales, like the ones with the astronomer--"

"You mean Adina Astra?"

"Yeah, those. Some of those stories have old songs and hymns in them. It reminds me of those."

"Huh. That's a thought. My grandpa told me those stories, too. Coming back home must have made me think of it." Eric patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Randy. Tell everyone I said 'Hi.'"

"Will do. Say 'hi' to your mom for me."

* * *

"Hey mom, I'm home," Eric called out as he came in and hung up his jacket. "Can I ask ya something?"

"I'm in my office!" she replied, muffled.

He followed her voice up the stairs. Her office was a small room, one wall lined with bookshelves while the other was framed with newspaper articles. Between those and her computer desk, there wasn't space in the room to do much else than just sit at a computer and work.

Which is where Eric found her. She turned around in her chair, one of her newspaper columns currently half-finished on the screen behind her. She gave him a warm smile.

"So did you solve your problem?" she asked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt when you're working," he said. She gave him a dismissive wave and he continued. "And yes, kind of, but before I forget, I ran into Randy Ballard in town, he says 'hi.' But to answer your question, I got something to occupy my attention for the short term. Do we still have grandpa's old books? Like, his old fairy tale books and stuff like that?"

"We had them in your room while you were away, but I think your dad moved them to the wall closet. How come?"

"Something got me thinking about the stories he used to tell, and I kinda wanted to go back over them. I swung by the library on the way home but they didn't have the edition I was looking for."

"That's strange. We've got a pretty good library here in town." She frowned.

"I know, it's actually better than the public library where I was going to school. But as best as I can guess, grandpa had some old rare editions of stuff."

Lyn nodded. "Well, in that case, just be careful with them. I don't know if the boxes are labeled, but I do know they're with the stuff in the closet."

"Great, mom, thanks."

"What do you want for dinner tonight?"

Eric shrugged.

"I was thinking when your dad gets home from work we'd go out somewhere. There's a new steakhouse out in Briddle that opened last month."

Eric raised an eyebrow and glanced at a number of framed restaurant critic columns on the wall.

"Is this a work-dinner or dinner-dinner?" he asked with a teasing half-smile.

"It can be both," she said defensively.

"I know, I know, sorry. Trying to be funny. Didn't quite work." Eric offered an apologetic smile. "I'll go look for those books and let you get back to this. Need anything before I go, save you the trip?"

"I'm good, thanks," she said. She swiveled her chair back around to face the computer before he left and closed the door behind him.

A short ways down the hall, Eric opened a small door leading into a space full of boxes behind the walls, the aforementioned 'wall closet.' Deeper than a proper closet but smaller than a room, it gave access to various pipes and cables and the backs of several walls. A small door lead to a ladder that went to a crawl space under the house. He tugged a string hanging from the ceiling until it clicked and a lightbulb came on, and used his claws to cut open boxes so he could rummage through them.

It took him three boxes before he found one with his grandfather's books. It was full of collections of fairy tales and stories, some from the 'old country,' some from local small press, some with a provenance a little harder to trace. Among them was a book of ghost stories particular to the region, "Little Joe and Other Ghost Tales," that Eric made a note to flip through later, because why not.

Eric sat down, leaned against a stack of boxes, and flipped through the fairy tale books looking for anything that might reference the hymn he'd been hearing. He found, to his surprise, that the books had notes in the margins written in his grandfather's narrow, precise handwriting. Some of them were reminders of how to pronounce names, some were little messages to himself like 'make Corvin a magical talking cat, that sounds better' and things like that.

The notes, for the most part, matched up with Eric's patchy memories of when his grandfather used to tell him these stories before bedtime. It made it all the easier to hear his grandfather's voice in his mind, sharing the stories, making these little tweaks to emphasize the mystery and magic of these old tales. He smiled to himself as he seemed to fall backwards into the old fairy tales.

* * *

"Adina Astra ventured deeper into the mine, seeking out the source of the terrifying song that plagued her nightmares," Eric's grandfather said. "She held the lantern ahead of her, the path lit by the last twinkling of a dying star. Though she could not see it, she knew the pit lay ahead. She could hear it..." He paused to find the right word. "...singing to her."

Even though he was supposed to be trying to sleep, Eric sat up, leaning against the wall and listening. The old fox turned the pages of an ancient, moldering book. The paper crackled and flaked apart even with his delicate touch. He quietly hummed a familiar tune.

"Was the talking cat with her?" Eric asked, his child's voice squeaking a bit with interest.

"I thought you didn't like the cat," his grandfather said without looking up from the book. "You said he was a jerk."

"He is a jerk, but Adina should have someone to talk to."

"The cat did not follow her down into the darkness."

"So she was alone." This bothered Eric.

"She was not alone. I'm getting to that."

Eric sat up straighter, ears perked forward as he listened.

"Adina stepped forward from the elevator with a familiar hissing breath behind her. One she had not heard in some time, both young and so very old. She looked back, and saw the blue wolf girl watching her from the darkness."

Eric gasped in that way all children do when they think they've made a discovery. "Grandpa! She's the one from the witch's hut that--"

"Yes, yes, Eric, I know," the young fox's grandfather said with a chuckle. He turned a page that broke apart under his fingers, though he didn't seem to notice. His fingers moved as if turning an invisible page the rest of the way.

"Grandpa?" Eric asked, his voice sounding a little older, though he wasn't sure why.

"Yes?"

"I don't remember this story."

"But you know this story."

"But I don't. You never told me this story." He sounded like a teenager now, growing older with each breath. "The last Adina Astra story ends with her going into the darkness. It's not this story. The wolf girl promised they would never meet again. They didn't have elevators back then."

"You know this story because it is the story of your town," the thing that looked like his grandfather said, a rasping edge claiming his voice. "It is the story of the darkness, the things in the darkness, and the things outside the darkness. Adina Astra was merely the light, but the things in the darkness didn't follow her."

"They didn't?" Eric asked despite himself.

"She was being led. Someone needed her to see something."

"What's that?"

His 'grandfather' turned towards him. His eyes were empty sockets and his body translucent. Eric's mouth opened in a silent scream and he froze, unable to speak or move.

"There's a hole in the center of everything, Eric." The voice was no longer his grandfather's. It was a bitter, vicious hiss. "And I need you to help carry me away from it before it sucks us both up."

"Grandpa!" Eric yelled as he snapped awake in the crawlspace. He winced and his ears flattened at how loud his voice was in the confined area.

"Eric?" his mother called out from elsewhere in the house. "Are you okay? Are you ready to go?"

He shook his head to clear it. One of the fairy tale books was sitting in his lap, open to pages he couldn't focus enough to read at the moment. In one margin a lantern had been doodled with a pencil, though not the one Adina usually carried in the stories. He filed that away for later and closed the book. The book wasn't the fragile, moldering tome of the dream he'd had, but he was extra-careful with it nonetheless.

"Eric?"

"Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec," he yelled back as he stepped out into the hallway. The hallway was much cooler than the closet, and he took a moment to enjoy the air as he brushed the dust off his pants.

His mother came up the stairs with a worried look on her face.

"I'm good, I'm good, I just fell asleep while reading."

"Are you sleeping okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm... well, no." He frowned. "I had a weird dream last night and slept like crap, and had another one just now. Probably just adjusting to post-college life, stress of graduation, all that."

"Maybe you should talk to Dr. Hank."

"Mom, do you ever think about what it would be like to live in a town where there's more than one doctor, who isn't just the one guy who does all the regular medical stuff, and the dentistry, and the therapy?" Eric asked as he headed for the stairs.

"So you don't want to go to see Dr. Hank," his mother deadpanned.

"I probably just need time to adjust to being back home."

Eric's father waited at the bottom of the stairs, looking equal parts annoyed and worried.

"Everything okay up there, buddy?" his father asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." Eric pulled on his jacket. "I just fell asleep while reading some of grandpa's old books."

"You need to get a good night's sleep tonight, you're not going to be able to work the store if you're falling asleep as soon as we leave you alone for five minutes," Richard said with a frown.

"Am I starting tomorrow?" Eric asked, suddenly concerned.

"Tomorrow's Harfest. I was thinking you could start the day after, if you're up to it."

"I guess..."

"Come on, talk about it over dinner while I'm taking notes," Lyn said as she all but pushed the two of them out the door.

* * *

The drive to get out to the Folio Steakhouse took something like an hour, and then maybe another twenty or minutes or so because Eric's dad had trouble with the side roads. The building was older and out of the way, someplace that could have milked the mystique of being this well-kept secret tucked away, known mostly by word of mouth. According to Lyn on the drive up, the old restaurant had gone out of business a few years ago and someone picked up the building, put in some work, and started spending money on traditional advertising.

The interior showed obvious signs of recent remodeling. Someone had spared no expense building it up into something classy: polished wood and marble, comfy chairs, architectural touches that Eric didn't really know the right words for. Lyn looked around the place like she worked security, paying attention to little details and making note of the layout of the restaurant. Anything that could conceivably impact a diner's enjoyment of their meal would get filed away and later spelled out in one of her anonymous critic columns.

The Hostetlers were all dressed in business casual or something close enough to it -- Eric had worn a polo shirt and khakis that day anyways, while his father was in a dress shirt and pants and his mother wore a tasteful blouse and long skirt. The place wasn't packed, but it had a healthy crowd and everyone else there was dressed similarly. He realized this was the sort of place you didn't just casually roll into with the boys after work.

And unlike the restaurants back in Possum Springs, Eric didn't recognize anybody he saw even in passing. Despite having just spent a couple of years in a town where he didn't know anyone from back home, he still found that refreshing.

They confirmed their reservation and sat down with nobody commenting on how Lyn had gotten them out of the house with plenty of wiggle room on the reservation time. They started with an order of wine, a shrimp cocktail -- ordered by Richard so Lyn could discreetly try it -- and some fried calamari for the table. They made small talk, knowing the routine by now, settling in and covering for Lyn as she pretended to text but instead composed an email on her phone to take notes.

"Are you good to start at the store after Harfest?" Richard asked more or less out of nowhere while they poked at salads and bread during the wait for entrees. Eric, who'd been catching up on various local businesses and relatives he hadn't talked to in a while, needed to stop and process that for a moment before he responded. There was something about his father's tone that caught him off-guard, as well. He needed an answer, not just wanted one.

"Sure," Eric said, resisting the urge to add an 'I guess' to that. "You need me to start keeping an eye on... things so soon?"

"Sooner the better."

The older fox opened his mouth to say more but their food's sudden arrival cut him off. The waiter, either oblivious or professional, didn't react to the awkward silence. A gray cat with well-trimmed fur, he simply set out steaks with pasta sides for the guys and salmon and broccoli for Eric's mother.

"Are they doing something that you need me right there to stop?" Eric asked under his breath once the waiter was gone, trying not to sound exasperated.

"It's not that, it's..." His father frowned and paused as he took a minute to cut his steak and check the doneness. "I just want to make sure you're up on things and ready to step in if RJ has to take off suddenly for rehab."

"I ran into him in town today, actually," Eric said as he gave his steak another minute to rest and twirled some angel hair around his fork. "He's apparently seeing Dr. Hank for it, but he didn't seem to have a lot of faith in him. He mentioned he might have to leave town."

"Did he?" Richard asked as he chewed thoughtfully on his steak.

"He didn't go into detail. If I didn't know what you told me, I wouldn't have gotten the subtext." Eric took a bite of his pasta. "He asked if I had a car and could give him a lift to wherever if it came to it."

Richard's ears perked up at that.

"I think he's dreading having that conversation with his dad on the ride out," Eric continued as he cut his steak, took a bite, and made appropriate sounds of approval.

"Yeah, Randall's not happy. He's been taking it out on me because he had to..." Richard bit back the rest of that sentence. "Well, you know. But that's what I mean, though. RJ's not going to be around much longer, and I want you ready to take over."

"Is he doing anything important?"

"No, but I don't want Randall giving the extra shifts to his sister or Jim."

"Maria still works there?"

"She just does the books," Richard said, giving his son a meaningful look to go with his word choice. "But she'll pick up a shift if we get busy or if someone's out sick." He pointed at Eric with his fork. "I want you to be that guy when it comes to it from here on out."

"Have we... have you considered buying them out and just restaffing?"

"I don't know if we could get the loan for it, not with things as they are now. If I could catch..." Richard trailed off. "Some stuff we shouldn't talk about in public."

"Not even an hour's drive from home?"

"Not even then."

"It just feels like... this feels like we're in the first act of somebody's story about 'whatever happened to that liquor store.'"

Eric felt more and more nervous about this. Something about his father's tone and that look in the eye. A shadow had fallen over the conversation. This felt more like battle strategy than business planning, and Eric didn't like that.

"That's only going to wind up that way if we let them ruin the place for RJ's sake," Richard said, visibly gripping his fork tighter. "I'm going to need you to step up and make sure we've got a presence there. They outnumber us, and we can't let them muscle us out of any ability to control what's going on."

"Is there something else going on that you haven't told me about?"

"Hey, guys?" Lyn interjected.

Richard ignored her but he paused before answering.

"Problems in the business association," the older fox said. "Someone screwed up, and--"

"--and good people paid the price, you mentioned that."

"The other businessmen and I are trying to make things work in this town. We want to turn things around. Pastabilities closing is a sign that we can't afford any more mistakes." It looked like there was something else he wanted to say to that, but instead he just stuffed his muzzle full of steak.

Lyn just looked between the two of them. Eric shot her a look with a subtle shrug, as if to say he didn't know where that came from either. Richard didn't even look up from his food, eating angrily. Eric just quietly passed a bite of his steak and pasta over to his mother to try for her column. Catching the motion out of the corner of his eye, Richard did the same, but otherwise the meal continued and concluded in tense silence.

* * *

"Okay, that's the last time I have steak with a side of pasta," Eric said as he came in through the door, following his parents. "It was good, but that's gonna sit in my gut like a lead balloon tonight."

"I thought it wasn't too bad," Lyn said as she hung up her jacket. "They'll get a good review out of me, though."

"A good review out of you, or a good review out of the Masked Diner?"

"You know what I mean, smartass."

"How was yours, dad?"

"It was alright," his father said, the look in his eye and the tilt in his ear suggesting he thought it was more than alright, but mustering enthusiasm was just beyond him. He kicked off his shoes, hung up his jacket, and made a beeline for the kitchen to grab a beer. On the way there, he snagged the remote and turned on the TV.

"Say Garbo!" the crocodile on TV said just as it clicked on.

"Yeah, Malloy?" his dog co-host replied.

"Well, I'm beat, I'm full of meat and starch and I think I need to properly get to sleep," Eric said.

Meanwhile, Richard flopped down onto the couch with his beer and took a swig.

"Crowds like this remind me of our early days," the crocodile replied.

"You seem like it," Lyn said. "You sure you're okay? Don't need to go to the doctor?"

"No thanks, I'm good, I can buy my own journal," Eric snarked.

"I disagree. None of them are angry and drunk!" Garbo said, pausing for laughter from the audience. "Most of 'em, anyway."

That got a smile out of his mother. He hoped the smile suggested that she wasn't going to go ahead and make an appointment for him.

"I'm gonna go hit the sack, Dad," Eric said. "See you tomorrow?"

"Don't think you're up to watching 'Garbo and Malloy' with your old dad?" Richard asked as if the awkward dinner conversation hadn't happened.

"No, I mean those old nights, those good nights, just the heat of the stage lights and the thrill of winging it!" Malloy explained to Garbo.

"If I wasn't so damn tired, I'd do it. But honestly, if I even just sit down I'll be asleep before Garbo gets to 'It's a whoppah.'"

Also, he was worried his father would use this chance to pin him down and talk about the store again. Not that he'd voice that thought.

"And the gentle thump of an empty beer bottle being thrown at your head!" Garbo said before cracking up in laughter, clearly working up to his catchphrase.

Richard frowned but nodded as the show continued. Lyn shuffled off to the kitchen, probably to get a cup of coffee and lay some groundwork on her review. Eric shuffled upstairs as best he could, one furred hand sliding along the wood of the railing as he did his best to steady himself. Somewhere beneath him, he heard the muffled but distinct sound of 'That's a whoppah!' and the TV audience going nuts.

Eric glanced back for a moment but then turned forward to finish going up the steps into the train station. The train chugged in the distance, and the smoke coming off the engine let him track its movement against the blue and purple swaths of the night sky. The weirdly-eclipsed moon hung in the sky, as beautiful as ever. He took a moment to check his pocketwatch and determined that the train would indeed arrive just on time at half-past whenever.

A breeze he couldn't quite feel blew past, disturbing the leaves on the trees holding up the roof of the train platform. It should have been empty, this time of night, but Eric realized he wasn't alone. A short wolf in a sawmill worker's uniform stood in front of the closed ticket counter. A filthy suitcase rested on the ground next to them. They just stared silently at the closed shutter of the ticket counter window.

"Excuse me?" Eric tried to say. No sound came out of his mouth, but the figure turned to face him as if they heard. The wolf was a girl, younger than him but he couldn't tell by how much. Her build suggested mid-teens, but her eyes were so much older.

"I need to go," she said, her voice audible. "You need to take me somewhere."

Something about her seemed familiar, but in all of his time at the train station he was certain he hadn't seen her before.

"I'm sorry," Eric tried to say. "But there's nothing I can do about that. Also, my voice has left me."

"I can understand you just fine. Neither of us is missing anything there."

Eric frowned, taken aback.

"Regardless," his mouth silently shaped. "I can't command the train. And I can't get you a ticket, either."

"I don't need the train," she snarled, a raspy hiss to her voice. "In fact, I want to get out of here before the train arrives."

As if summoned by her acknowledging it, Eric could hear the train chugging along. The breeze carried music ahead of the engine noise, brass instruments and more. It would be along soon enough.

"No!" she shrieked. She grabbed the suitcase and ran at him, swinging it at his head.

Eric fell backwards out of the way. The suitcase looked like it was shaped out of dirt and leaves, held together by twine. The handle was the arch of a twisted root. The fox pushed back along the ground and managed to scramble to his feet. He ran away from her, away from the train, alongside the edge of the platform.

"Take me back!" she hissed behind him.

He looked back and watched as the fur and flesh rotted off her body right before his eyes, melting over the frame of her skeleton. Her uniform dissolved into tatters, flaking away to reveal a recognizable patchwork cloak. He turned to face where he was going.

The train platform and the tracks alongside stretched on to forever as he kept running. The music coming from the train grew louder. He could clearly make out a sax, a tuba, a violin, and an accordion at this point.

He glanced up at the train. The back of it, wreathed in smoke from the engine, was covered in buildings with orange windows. Atop it all glowed a neon sign that said "Possum Springs" with "Deep Hollow Country" underneath. A flash of bright blue light came from above it, showing off the silhouette of a crocodile coming down from the sky to snap at something on the train's back. The shining light blinded Eric even in the dream, as if it grew so bright it came back around to darkness.