Note: when I say “just one more post” I do not necessarily imply a short span of time at all. I’m crafty like that.
Also, this isn’t even and RPG post. Fancy that.
The moon was beginning to tint the raw snow blue when he collapsed on their doorstep.
The cabin that Ed and Roger co-owned was so isolated that they could drive the snowmobile in the driveway in any direction for hours and not encounter any evidence of another living soul. They hadn’t seen a human being since they moved out here, and they weren’t accustomed to visitors. Turning this one away, however, would be murder.
His lips were a chalky cobalt color, and his bare hands and feet looked like they had been scoured with steel wool. All he had on were a pair of torn, crusty jeans and a white shirt. When he opened his eyes to plead with them, the web of veins that spread out from his filmy brown irises was like a map of a subway drawn by a paranoid schizophrenic.
Behind him, a long, uniform line of footprints grew progressively more ragged as they approached the house. He couldn’t speak. His throat was frozen just like the rest of him, and they supposed he must have been eating snow to keep from dying of thirst.
They took him inside and wrapped him in one of the blankets that Ed’s mother had sent them as a going-away present. She said they had come from some aboriginal tribe somewhere, and they were authentic, which they guessed was a synonym for scratchy. They were warm, though, and that was what the stranger really seemed to need.
Ed boiled some water in a pitted steel kettle that they never used, while Roger set the stranger down in the enormous high-backed armchair that loomed just beyond the door.
While the kettle boiled, they stood perplexed as the stranger gasped and huddled in the chair, tightening his lean, skeletal frame into it, letting it devour him. He was so cold that when they had brought him in that the temperature had seemed to drop a few sympathetic degrees.
Eventually the kettle shrieked, and Roger, unaccustomed to the noise, flinched before pouring the water into a tarnished tin mug. Ed fished a few bags of primordial peppermint tea out of the bottom-right cupboard and dropped them into the water, then placed them on the mahogany drink-table next to the armchair.
They waited.
At length, the stranger reached a quivering hand out of the folds of the blanket and grabbed the steaming liquid next to him. Ed realized he’d put the tea in wrong, so that the worn strands at the end of the bag had fallen into the mug. The stranger realized this, and reached a hand into the tea to pull it out.
Ed gasped and covered his mouth. The tea was scalding. The stranger, however, seemed to like it. He let out a sigh like he was sinking into a hot bath and let his hand rest in the boiling tea for a moment before throwing the bag carelessly out.
He drank with celerity and avarice. When he was finished, he laid the mug down on the table and curled up, as if letting the warmth swell through him.
Roger broke the silence first.
“Can you talk now?” he asked tenuously. The stranger was so gaunt, so pathetic and frail, and yet he seemed to command the whole room as if he were the only person in it.
“Yes,” said the stranger, in a reedy, thin voice.
“Where did you come from? There’s no one around for hundreds of miles,” asked Roger.
“Can’t remember,” rasped the stranger. “I’ve been walking so long.”
“Where are you trying to get to?” asked Ed.
“I think it must be here,” said the stranger.
Ed and Roger exchanged a look of worry.
“Here?” they asked.
“This is where I ended up,” said the stranger. “It must have been my destination.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would you come to see us?” asked Roger.
“I didn’t say I was here to see you. I was just heading for this location.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ed.
“Neither do I,” said the stranger.
He shifted in his chair and Roger and Ed looked at the floor, taking solace from the unfamiliar stranger in the extremely familiar resin-oak floorboards.
“I think you should sleep and talk to us in the morning,” said Roger. “You’re probably sick from walking so long.”
“Yes, that sounds wonderful,” said the stranger. “Only, I’ve been walking so long it almost feels like a dream now that I’m here. How do I know that you’ll even be here when I wake up?”
Ed leaned over the chair. “We’ll be here. Just get some sleep.”
The stranger smiled, his frostbitten face cracking with the unfamiliar movement. He closed his eyes and nestled into the armchair.
Within a few minutes his breathing had slowed and evened, the rasping, frozen-lung breaths of consciousness giving way to a steady in-out.
While he fell asleep, Ed looked over at Roger and asked, “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Roger. “I don’t even know what direction we can take him in to find people. We might just have to pack some food and take the snowmobile out along his tracks before the snow can cover them up.”
“I can’t even remember the name of the closest city anymore,” said Ed.
“I can’t remember the names of my parents or where I was born,” said Roger.
They both looked at the stranger, and realized with a peculiar sort of calm that nothing around him seemed to exist anymore. The armchair and drink table, the tin mug and even the floor underneath him had all become indistinct and fuzzy, and they were beginning to dissolve. The only definite thing in the room was the stranger, the blanket now vanishing from his body.
Ed and Roger watched the house and the snow and even each other begin to blur and destabilize as the stranger lost consciousness completely.
“He is dreaming, isn’t he?” asked Roger in alarm.
“We don’t exist. None of us do. We’re part of his dream and now he’s waking up,” said Ed, his tongue vanishing as he spoke and slurring his syllables into incoherence.
Roger’s teeth began to disappear. He reached imploringly towards the sleeping stranger, but it was pointless: he saw his hand dissolve into fuzzy nothingness as he extended it, and the blur rapidly ate up the rest of his arm. He didn’t try to to stop it.
