The Eidolon of Godwyn

Chapter Six

The dusk filled with the ghostly echoes of wolves hiding away in the woods. Ossie opened his eyes begrudgingly.

"Faye, you won't believe the dream I just had. It was completely bonkers." He spoke groggy as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The tips of his hair brushing against them as he tried to recalibrate his eyes. They were wet. As was the rest of him. "sorry I've gone and sweat up a storm it was so bad." He sat up and ran his hand through his hair, he still felt very drowsy, what time was it?

"Ah, your finally up! Got quite the bed HEAD chap."

Ossie's eyes grew wide; he suddenly wasn't feeling so tired. The familiar voice he recently dismissed as a nightmare insisted in joining him in reality. He took a long look to each side, only to find that trees had replaced all his furniture and belongings. A dim dark eerie light shining through. He looked down at his hands in disbelief, if only he wasn't there. Matted straw clung to him in its dampness, resilient as he tried to brush it off on his pants. Though he wished it wasn't, there was no denying that his ordeal of torment was his new life.

Jacks hat spun on his collar to gaze at him.

"Anyone ever tell you that you blabber in your sleep Cap'n?"

"Once before, yes." Ossie shook his head; he couldn't believe he was still in this situation. How many times could he lay his head to rest only to awaken in this dark fantasy. At least the sky finally showed signs of letting up on the night, giving day a chance. Maybe with it, it'd bring some luck. The storm looked as though it had finally settled, a scattered assortment of grey clouds the only remains on a navy blue back drop. Most of the stars had retired as well, settling into their final resting place.

"Well Cap, here she is. Feast your eyes on O'l Lorn Mansion, in the flesh."

Ossie gazed upon the decrepit structure that stretched upwards into the sky. A light mist shrouding the top, as if it needed help looking more blood chilling. Jack was right, it was a mess. Drooping roofs that threatened to cave in, warped walls, doors that hung from there hinges, dangling as if their life depended on it; yes, the place was a disaster. The curb appeal alone was enough to make any master house renovator cry; no doubt the inside would hold greater challenges. Ossie examined the yard as the wagon creaked up between two rusting gates, being swallowed by vines. The very plant life seeming to have a desire to drag down any memory of the Lorn family. The yard was covered in weeds, not even graced with uniformity, as it only contained spontaneous patches of dead grass, the rest of it dirt. He was surprised to see it didn't have any tombstones sticking out, all it was missing was its own personal cemetery. They must have kept it out back, he joked to himself. Yes, judging by its looks it couldn't be anything but haunted. An eerie howl rang through the night once more, though this time closer than before.

"Well sir it's been a pleasure, but this here's your stop. If ya still think you're up to the task. If not, now's the time to turn tail cap?

"Well Goldwyn's aren't known to back down. I think I'll be fine thank you."

The cart came to a stop and Ossie climbed down, his feet partially sinking into the mud. Great. He flipped through his wallet looking for a bill to hand Jack for all his trouble. He usually kept it decently stocked, generally having one of each bill on his person. The exception this time being the hundred-dollar bill that he had gave to "Cristopher Walken" previously.

"This cover it?" Ossie asked, presenting a Fifty.

"Well gosh captain that's mighty fine, but there's no need to pay me."

"I insist."

"Well okay if ya insist'n and such I'll happily take it." Jack swiped the money with his bony gloved hand, depositing it into his metal tin. Ossie taking note that it was empty, once full of biscuits now a tiny empty coffin; except for the fresh payment he had deposited. He couldn't shake the ominous feeling he received when Jack acquired his tribute, fresh visions of Charon coming back to him. Was he more like the undead ferryman, or the headless rider of sleepy hollow, it was hard to say. He remembered the little treasure box had been filled with cookies when Jack had offered him one. When had Jack eaten them all? He couldn't recall him swallowing a single one.