FSE

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Christ, you've gotta be kidding me…

I gradually shift to my side, rolling over just enough to get a good look at the double-pane window opposite my bed. The soft pitter-patter of the rain from earlier has grown to a raucous drumming against the rooftop, and unfortunately, this spells the end of any hope of getting a good night's sleep.

“God damn it," I mutter, rubbing my bleary eyes. With an outstretched hand, I reach for my phone that's lying face down on the wooden end table. I can only wince upon reading its digital face.

Too early to get up for the average Joe, but too late to catch any more Zs.

With a brief moment of clarity, I swing my leg over the mattress and force myself to stand up. It's definitely chilly inside, but anything is better than counting the cracks in the ceiling again. Who knows, maybe this is the opportunity to make some more headway in that good book I picked up yesterday—that is, if I'm truly coherent enough to read it properly.

I take a few lumbering steps towards the doorway, moving in relative silence, except…

Hold on a second. Did this always make that noise?

I press my big toe against the floorboard that had disrupted my peace of mind, listening for a response. It's not much of a surprise that this home has achy bones, considering its age, but I'm normally pretty good at taking note when things are in disrepair.

This place must be eagerly awaiting the opportunity to collapse on me. That, or I'm being haunted by a former tenant.

Sporting a wry smile, I attempt to move forward with a little more haste—

CREAK.

I don't even get to plant my foot again before hearing it this time around. It's an absolute impossibility, but it's like the board expected me to step on it. All the worrisome thoughts vying for my attention force me to shake my head vigorously. Maybe it's worth calling out to see if anyone answers.

“Hello? Show yourself, wherever you are!"

No takers? Huh, guess not. Just to be sure, I make the most of my limited flexibility to take a long stride into the hallway unscathed.

Okay, so far, so good. Still, the coast isn't clear just yet.

Darting my eyes back and forth, I check against the walls, around my desk, and near the clothes hamper, but nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. No shadows, no silhouettes, nada.

I really don't like this. I'm not cut out for dumb horror movie crap or anything else that relies on cheap scare tactics. Then again…what if this was a movie?

“Hey, if there's a monster out there that wants to kill me," I holler, “you'd be doing me a favor since I wouldn't have to go into work this morning!"

My attempt at morbid humor yields no laughter or applause. A shame, but to be fair, no response at all is probably the best kind at this point.

With uncanny timing, a loud rumble of thunder erupts from outside, as if to answer in assent—followed in quick succession by a thud and a barely perceptible “ow."

“…'ow?'" I echo in disbelief, struggling desperately to figure out the source of this unfamiliar voice.

Where? Where? I'm sweating bullets. Truth be told, there's a part of me that wishes I had a few made of metal instead right about now. But that's just me, propping myself up to be slightly less of a coward than I am in actuality.

Do I move? If I don't, it certainly will. That means I've got to think on my feet.

Slowly, from heel to toe, I retread my path back inside my room. As a kid, my dad always told me to check under the bed for monsters. At the moment, I'm gambling on this being the most pertinent advice I could ever hope to receive in my lifetime.

Kneeling down from a short distance away, I gaze into the abyss housed between the bottom of the footboard and the floor…and two wide eyes gaze back.

“Please, don't hurt me!" The rushed, plaintive plea is enough to make me leap out of my stance. My eyesight isn't the best, especially at night, but I swear there's a pitch-black hoof starting to poke out past the extent of the bed frame.

“I-I'll leave you alone, I promise!" My stomach turns several times over as I digest the underlying tone of dread in its voice. “Just let me go free, and I w-won't trouble you anymore!"

Whatever it is, it's terrified. To be bargaining for its life this early in the exchange is worrisome, to say the least.

“Wait! I guarantee I'm frightened just as badly as you are," I concede, observing my own shaking hands. “But…who or what are you, exactly?"

There's a brief silence that fills the air with tangible tension. “Me? Well, actually…"

A pair of brown arms suddenly emerges from the darkness—hold on, is that fur?—followed by a head resembling that of a deer—or perhaps a regular person—maybe both? Definitely female though, judging from the initial contours of her body and the pitch of her speech.

“…I'm not too much different from you." She takes a quick look at me and smiles impulsively, as if to reassure me that she's calmed down some. Her sentiment, however, is betrayed by the fear that's still lingering in her eyes. Before I can say something in return, she wriggles the rest of her body free, revealing a rather lanky frame that is marked by a variety of small gashes and adorned by a couple of damp, tattered garments of clothing.

The dreadful sight strikes a resonant chord within me. She's not exactly on death's doorstep, but she's in bad enough shape to shift my brain into emergency mode. “Are…are you all right? I can try to provide medical attention—"

“Don't worry about me, honest," she interjects, catching me off-guard. “I'll just get out of your hair now before I cause you any other problems." It's hard to believe that she's going to play it cool all of a sudden, but I suppose an enigmatic personality goes hand in hand with an enigmatic appearance.

“Seriously, it's not a big deal for me to help you," I press. Am I really so detestable that she'd rather take her chances outdoors instead?

“I said don't worry about me!" Trying to move nimbly, she stands and manages a couple of unsteady steps, but it's all she can muster before crumpling to the floor with a gasp.

“Shit!" she exclaims, respiring heavily as she attempts to suppress the apparent pain. “I'm all right, just…just a slight twinge, that's all."

I watch in disbelief as she awkwardly rises once more, only to be brought down just as swiftly by whatever injury is debilitating her. It's then that I realize it's not me driving her to leave. It's her overwhelming sense of pride refusing to let her relent.

“Stop it!" I shout, putting my hands on her bony shoulders for support. “Don't be foolish; you're in no condition to walk out of here on your own."

She stares at the floor, avoiding any and all eye contact with me. “You're right," she rasps, “I am the fool." Shaking me off, she straightens out her posture just enough to no longer be slouching. I suspect that she wouldn't dare cry in front of me, even if she was practically begging for her life mere moments ago.

“Sorry, that's not what I meant—"

“I'm not asking for your pity!" she bellows, slamming a fist into the ground.

“Are you done?" I typically don't have the patience for people who have a penchant for interrupting me, but I suppose I should be a little more lenient. You know, given her outward appearance and all.

Reluctantly, she glances at me. It's an improvement from getting the cold shoulder, but it wrenches at my heart to see her cast such a downtrodden expression. I get the same feeling as if I were looking at a wayward stray whose last worldly appeal has been delivered unto me. I'm no saint, but I'm not a heartless bastard either.

“I don't mean to impose," I offer, taking a deep breath, “and it's not my intent to talk down to you either. However, you're a stranger taking refuge in my home, and normally, guests introduce themselves before getting comfortable here."

“I'd hardly call being sprawled out under a bed frame being 'comfortable,'" she states flatly, finding some semblance of composure again. “Is it really that hard to fathom why I'd be here, when there's that going on outside?" She gestures to the window, emphasizing the downpour of the storm that is still raging as the two of us converse.

The sheer instinct for survival runs deep in every living being, but there has to be something else about this deer girl that she's unwilling to divulge. Maybe I can coax it out of her.

“Sure," I acknowledge, “any reasonable creature would want to find shelter from heavy rain. But that doesn't explain how you've gotten all dirty and banged up, does it?"

She flinches, although I can't tell whether it's from a physical or emotional wound. “Does it even matter to you? Why do you care?" She's lowered her voice some…for now. “You've probably never even seen someone like me before, so why are you letting your guard down?"

“Well, I don't find you particularly scary or threatening."

“Oh, is that so? You think I couldn't hand you your ass on a silver platter?" She points at me, condensing her emotions into the tip of her index finger.

“I never said anything like that," I assert, puzzled by her defensiveness. “Quit putting words in my mouth, and put aside whatever bravado you're clinging to. Otherwise, this is going to go nowhere fast."

She listens, but doesn't answer.

“Look, I'm not going to cause you any harm. Consider yourself lucky that you stumbled into a home where your life isn't immediately in danger."

I get the feeling she's not satisfied with that answer, even if she knows it's true. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. She must be priming herself for her last stand.

Inhaling audibly, she finds the will to start. “Like hell I'm lucky. I'm a spectacle at best and a monster at worst, just as you said."

Oh yeah…come to think of it, I did say that earlier. I didn't mean much of it at the time, but it's apparently carved out a much stronger significance in her mind. Inadvertent or not, I feel a pang of regret for unearthing such tightly rooted feelings.

Pausing, she makes a half-hearted effort to sustain her resolve. “So don't fuck with me…and try to convince me…you're any different than they are!"

She's still trembling, either from the cold or out of sheer anger. Regardless, she's pretty damn stubborn. These sorts of outbursts, though, aren't productive, plain and simple. Maybe the best way to defuse the situation is to let her make her own judgments, rather than to enforce my own upon her.

“All right, you're the boss." Before walking away, I open the closest cabinet door to pull out a fleece blanket, casually tossing it in the deer's direction. “You should take this to keep warm until the rain dissipates. It's too cold to be dressed as you are."

She locks eyes with me for a few seconds, wholly untrusting in my motives. While I don't have a clue what she's thinking, I hope that this olive branch helps to smooth the edges of her disposition, even if it's only by a little.

Clutching the blanket with a firm grasp, she grudgingly wraps herself up, leaving just her face, long ears, and wiggling tail exposed. I almost expect her to crawl into my bed too, but she appears resigned to sit as still as a statue until I leave her presence. Nodding, I break away to go find the book that inspired me to get up in the first place.