The Adventures of Missus Myrna

Chapter 3

Everything hurt. My head felt like it was going to split open from the pressure in my skull. Had I been hit by a truck or something? Was I in the hospital? I stared up at the incredibly high white ceiling above me and sighed. Recalling where I was before this moment was like trying to piece together an unsolvable puzzle: a memory here, a memory there; all scattered among the hundreds of nearly identical components. And then nothing. If I tried to think any harder, I was certain my brain would fry. I began the slow process of sitting up with both hands placed upon my head and a pained groan buzzing behind clenched teeth. I gasped and tore my hands away from my head. My hands! The book! I suddenly remembered that night in the clearing. I thought I was dead for sure! But... Where was I now?

"Y'may wanna lay back down; ye ain't ready t'get up jus' yet," a voice boomed.

I cowered, my hands quickly moving to my ears, though it did nothing to lessen the deafening sound. Maybe it was the sensitivity of my ears from the headache that amplified the disembodied voice. I began to unfurl, and nearly snapped my neck in a classic double-take. There, to my right, sat gigantic, disgruntled-looking creature. His skin was red like the clay of the earth, and his hair dark brown, almost black. Two tusks jutted upward from his lower jaw, though one was broken in half; a corresponding scar stretched diagonally across his face and the eyepatch slung over his left eye was a grim reminder of what loss lay beneath it. He stared me down with his one good eye, brows furrowed at my tiny trembling form. Retrieving a corncob pipe from the breast pocket of his lapis flannel, he said nothing as he clenched the pipe's bit between his monstrous teeth and lit its contents.

Why are you still sitting here?! Run! Get up and run! I screamed internally, but I didn't budge a bit.

"Won't matter ev'n if y'wanted t'scurry off," the creature said calmly, drawing out quick breaths to help light his pipe, "Took precautions, y'see?"

My legs reacted with a jolt, and that's when I noticed pressures on my shins and thighs. Four black straps held my legs down firmly, too thick to break even by means of cutting. That's also when I noticed a bandage over the entirety of my right shin with small specks of blood spotting all over - I wanted to think it was someone else's, but considering the stinging pain all over, my chances were pretty slim. My other leg seemed fine, and my shoes were missing. I took some comfort in the fact that I could wriggle my toes and see them wriggle.

"Wh-" I started with a wheeze, "Wha - who...?" I never knew what being "lost for words" felt like until now.

"A fine mess y'got yerself tied up wit'," the creature went ahead, his tone suggesting that he was smiling, but I couldn't quite tell, "A well impressive bleeder, ye are."

Usually I wouldn't appreciate the sarcasm, but in this case, it seemed to give me a slight boost in confidence - just enough to actually string a sentence together, "Did you...save me?" I asked.

He said nothing now, concentrating on his pipe which had gone out. Waiting for an answer, and with the limited movement I had, I took in the enormousness of the room. Smooth white walls, clear of any imperfections, coupled with the straps on my legs produced a very unwelcoming feeling in my gut. This was the shit in some horror movie, or a psychological thriller at least. A shrill noise suddenly pierced through my head and I instinctively lay back down.

"...about him," a voice faded in as the noise faded out, "He's just a troll."

The remains of the noise bounced around in my head, throbbing with enough intensity for me to clench my eyes shut, but it eventually waned. I opened my eyes just as the troll was lowering one of his great hands down onto the surface where I lay, a single passenger aboard. The figure gracefully stepped down from his palm and headed toward me. Clad in loose-fitting olive and tan material that swished about their legs as they walked, this person was the manifestation of a LARPer right out of a Renaissance fair. A stone-grey mask concealed their identity and long brown gloves ran up the length of their arms. Stopping right at my side, the figure knelt.