The Retired Anarchist - A Dream SMP Story

The Killer In The Village

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CHAPTER SIX

The Killer In The Village

Tommy

A horn blares, startling Tommy out of a nightmare. He sits up in alarm, his eyes frantically searching around for the origin. Is Dream here?

The place around him is unfamiliar. Books surround the small room, the bookcases stretching up to touch the roof. No, this is Techno's place. Tommy takes a minute to mock Techno for buying so many fucking books before surveying the rest of the room.

A small poorly crafted dresser is pushed into the corner. An armour stand takes up space in the other corner, the armour on it is gone. A tiny window is above the bed, offering small rays of daylight into the room. The only other light source is the lantern on the bedside table.

The mattress he slept on is covered in hides of rabbits and a... bear? Tommy isn't sure it is a bear, he failed his hide test five times before Dadza decided he should take a break. He never took the test again, though Wilbur wouldn't let him live it down.

"You failed your hide test, again?" He had snickered and then launched into a twenty-minute laughing spiel. Tommy had wanted to slam his fist into his jaw but Dadza was in the room. Not that his father's presence had stopped him before.

The bed is also covered in small piles of fluff. It looks like stuffing from the massive hole in the bed. Tommy wrinkles his nose in disgust, what the fuck did Techno do when he was in bed?

Grimacing, Tommy slides out of the bed. His sock feet land on the floor with a satisfying thump. The grey socks are a little too big on him, he had to stretch them up to the beginning of his shin and then roll them. Tommy had forgotten Techno had large feet, he wishes he didn't have to remember.

The majority of his clothes had been replaced with Techno's, the oversized grey shirt, the baggy black sweatpants and his signature red cloak now makeup Tommy's attire. Techno's fashion sense is severely lacking much to Tommy's disgust. Tommy's fashion sense, on the other hand, is most exquisite. He hopes he used that big word correctly. He'd have to ask Techno what it meant later. Or maybe not.

"Techno?" Tommy calls through the house, hesitantly. His voice is hoarse and chalky. Tommy swallows the gross substance in his mouth and creeps out of the room.

There are no other rooms at the top of the house besides Techno's bedroom so Tommy wanders down the stairs. He grips the handrail as he carefully makes his way down. Tommy's legs shake with every step he takes. The bones on the hand gripping the handrail can be easily identified.

Tommy chews on the inside of his cheek, silently thanking Techno for installing a handrail, without it, he is almost certain he'd fall into the living room. Not that he would admit that out loud.

"Techno?" Tommy calls lightly, reaching the bottom step. He looks around the house, sunlight beginning to light up the room. The fireplace is empty, the remaining wood charred. The stools have been moved back to the tiny table in the middle of the room. Instead of pictures, the windowsill is cluttered with brewing stands of all different sizes.