The Ghost Town

From the hill where they had stopped, dozens of houses could be glimpsed nailed tightly together in the hollow of a misty valley.

     If the place where the travellers had spent the night was one of the rare locations still spared by the brambles, here they had grown galore. Trapping what could be guessed of this village’s shape.

“Would it be okay if I leave you there?”

     The bespectacled little man glanced at Henox and Gretel, sat behind him.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

     Granting Tomoo a nod, Henox let himself slide from the saddle.

“I thank you. We’ll continue on foot from here.”

“Very well. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for. I don’t know if our paths will cross once again, but I never liked farewells… So, see you again!”

“If we wish very very strongly to see each other, then I am sure it will happen.” Gretel chimed in with a cute little pout.

“Maybe you’re not wrong. It is said that among all the wishes the creatures of this world make, the goddess chooses one from time to time and fulfils it.” Tomoo remembered with a reflective expression. “In that case, I will not fail to wish for it.”

“Hmph…” The sorcerer began to walk away for a few steps, straightening his goatskin back in place. “Given the number of wishes that must be sent to her, don’t expect a miracle.”

“Haa, naughty Sir Henox! Don’t be a killjoy!”

     He pretended to roll his eyes, though instead an amused look crept across his features.

“We will see each other again!” The little fairy added, turning her chocolate eyes towards bespectacled Tomoo. So, paint a lot of paintings! I’d really like to see others next time!”

“It’s a promise. Until then, I’ll have many paintings to show you.”

     Then he raised a hand to say goodbye, offering them a smile. This latter one was simple. Not melancholic nor joyful. As simple as the heart of this little bespectacled man.

     And as Gretel returned the gesture by waving both her arms as high as she could, Tomoo’s faithful prancer turned back. Glancing briefly with her citrine eyes towards the travellers, she gave a croak before releasing the pressure in her hind legs, bounding off towards other horizons.

     In turn, Henox and Gretel headed in direction of the valley.

***

She was so ridiculously small that a squall could have been enough to blow her away, so naive that she could have easily been fooled. Small, weak. Too pure.

     Purity was worshipped. Though it only brought misfortune. Irremediably, it attracted all that was adulterated. Like moths enclose light until concealing it, what is rotten feeds on what is healthy.

     A being as her couldn’t survive without leaning on others. On someone who would counterbalance what years hadn’t ripped from her yet. Someone this world would have moulded.

     And this was because of this insignificant nature that the sorcerer was quite annoyed. Because despite that, the sorcerer couldn’t understand her.

     She often acted fearfully, shivering as an autumn leaf. It wasn’t surprising, per se. Once having lost the only advantage nature had gifted this puny creature, all around became a source of danger. A threat.

     Nevertheless, sometimes she acted in spite of that.

     Henox’s thoughts drifted back to the moment they had been at the bottom of the rift. It would have been foreseeable for her to remain curled up in the folds of his goatskin, like she had enjoyed doing since the beginning of their journey. But no. The little fairy had willingly taken risks as laughable as the fear he had seen in her eyes even as she climbed the rocky face.

     Was it that same fear allowing her to do that? No matter how many times he rewound his pondering, each time Henox came back to the same unpleasant point.

     As they approached the village’s entry, the sorcerer glanced at the little fairy, at her too soft features.

     This little one. The more she was afraid, the more she was able to act boldly.

     A thin layer of fog lingered, making it difficult to distinguish the construction’s tip and even more the wings of the mill’s edges, same as a water-wheel skimming a greyish sea.

     The sound they made while rotating was the only one which spared them an uneasy silence.

“There’s nobody?…”

     Gretel looked around her while a knot was forming in her stomach.

     At the houses’ windows, no child’s cheek crushed against the glass while making a face. No merchant damaging his vocal cords to recall anyone not wanting to hear it the authenticity of his counterfeit products, the freshness of his two-weeks eggs.

“Maybe this village had been fled.” Henox noted.

     Then a pungent smell hit his nose, more heady that the one of cinders, of burnt wood. He turned his head towards the house it was coming from. The coffee’s smell.

“…In which case their departure has been hasty. I wonder what could have been the reason.”

     The little fairy shivered, not daring to glance around her, as if afraid of spotting a shadow in the corner of an alley. She swallowed her saliva.

“M-M-M-M-Maybe this village is haunted!”

“Mmm… It’s a possibility.”

“It is?!” Gretel squeaked.

“Let’s keep searching a little more. We’ll eventually find some clues.”

“I’d prefer if we didn’t find any…”

     Emerging from the mists, the jet black wings of a raven, soon perched on a roof. It scrutinised the travellers pursuing their inspection, staring at them with its dried-blood orbs.

     While they were walking between the houses, a creaking caught this time the sorcerer’s attention. He then looked at the half-opened door the wind enjoyed rocking.

     If they couldn’t find any clues outside, the inside should be more willing to give up its secrets, right?

“Sir Henox? Sir Henox, why do you get closer to this door?”

     Displaying an anxious smile, the little fairy observed him as he approached his hand to the knob, impotent. She had never so much regretted not having the possibility to fly away.

“It- It’s not polite to enter another one’s house without them being okay with that.” She pleaded.

“Unless said someone isn’t able to be any more.” He added with a mischievous smirk.

     Grabbing the doorknob, Henox was about to pull it. He had felt, guessed the shape of a shadow leaking through the hinges. One only eyes like his could behold. Necromancer’s eyes.

“Can I help you?”

     Gretel made an indescribable noise, somewhere between the squeak of a mouse and the whine of a cat being choked.

     His hand still, the sorcerer’s fingers released the knob before turning to face a hooded figure, a wide smile apparent through the shadows cast on her face.