interitus×decay

1: The Rot

   Frisk, even as determined and stubborn as they were, was hesitant at first. Down here, outside the safe confines of their old orphanage bedroom, it was cold, and damp, and it smelled horribly of mildew. Even through their mask. They weren't in their safe bed anymore, out in the elements, and they were scared. Not to mention that they'd always been the type to worry. Frisk worried about everything, more than a child should; they worried about where they left their dolls, or if it bothered the other children in the orphanage that they spoke in ASL. Speaking of which, did they lock their bedroom door? Not important.

   Despite their nerves, they stood and sifted through the bag on their hip for the eleventh time. Supplies were still there, and thankfully not damaged: Sticks, some rations they found in an old soup kitchen, a stack of old Legos stuck together, a cardboard shoebox "full" of well water (they hadn't yet realized their mistake) and a cool rock they found. Then they stood, adjusted the mask and goggles on their chubby kid face, and began to wander. The ground squished unusually under their yellow galoshes. What looked to be dead petals coated the entire ground, and they gave way to their small, grubby hand pressing into them. Frisk pulled back a gooey, blackish brown palm that they quickly wiped off on their shorts. Flies began to swarm around the disturbed area almost immediately after they pulled their hand back.

    Frisk had been out on another supplies run that morning, like they did most mornings. It had been simple enough, the usual - go out, look for people, look for food, be back before four. They followed the same path they always had. Through town, up the mountain, get well water on their way up. But somewhere along the way (they actually weren't sure where they went wrong) something had apparently gone a bit askew and thrown them off completely, because they'd never gotten to the very top before. Usually, they'd have stopped halfway up, at the second well, then turned back. They supposed they followed the wrong trail by mistake, or something or the other, because they just knew it was taking longer than usual to reach their usual stopping point. But, by the time they got there... Clumsy little Frisk, being only six (and nine months, they liked to remember) fell in. So, they ended up here. Amazingly enough, the fall hadn't been nearly as painful as it really should have been. In fact, they didn't feel much anymore. A low ringing in their ears, and a light throbbing in the back of their head, but other than that, Frisk felt fine. Who knew how long they'd been knocked out, though, and some stars still danced around their vision.

    Reluctantly, they pressed on. The childlike desire for adventure eased away any worry they previously had, quickly replacing it with fascination. This new place was all too wonderful to not explore. Yeah, it smelled kind of like a sewer drain and was too dark to navigate, but to them it was a beautiful foreign place nobody else could have known about. Frisk longed for a new place to explore, something else to do in their free time besides play with the same three Hot Wheel cars all day. They had a vivid imagination, surely they could make the most of this. The child would most definitely find some way to enjoy the experience.

    But, almost as if a light switch had been switched off, that wonder quickly stopped, withered, and died.

    In the next room over, laying in the floor, was a corpse. Frisk immediately threw their hands over their mouth, mask and all. The body was old, corroded, decaying... the smell of mildew was getting stronger. Flies, maggots, and moths littered the corpse, which, they noticed, was definitely not human. It looked like a breed of goat, with white, matted fur and little horns, though it had chubby, furry, paw-like hands rather than hooves. For a goat, it looked oddly humanoid, aside from the floppy white ears it had, a tail, goat-like features... the obvious.

    They choked, gagged, and stumbled a few feet back. It reeked of old blood and rotted flesh. No mask could filter a smell so intense and horrible. Mold and fungus grew around the body, and the child fought to cover their eyes. Fingers furled in frizzy locks of dirty brown hair, it threatened to tear out. Had they been able to, they'd have screamed. Where the proper action was absent, they made up for it in emotion, and barely audible sobs. They didn't want to look. They wished they hadn't looked. But now the image of the corpse - lifeless, infested, and gross - was burned into their mind. What was most unsettling, they couldn't ignore, were the gaping, empty eye sockets, eyes likely torn away by some rodent or eaten over time by bugs. Who knew how long the thing had been dead, and who knew what - or who - had killed it. But it smelled long gone, and too spoiled for anything to have wanted to eat it. Tucked away, deep in the skull, there looked to be a flower. They swore they saw it glare at them. Silly child imagination.