The Harvest Of Souls (beast wirt X reader short story)

2: Dear Sleeper

"If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time."
-Marcel Proust

Waking up in a different surrounding, my brain started panicking at first, yet somewhat enjoyed of the relief of being cozily tucked into a warm bed. My eyes scanned around for anyone before reluctantly getting up from the soft snug bed, wondering who brought me here.

My senses noticed that the room seemed to be underground, from the hint of all the roots peeking in corners, and no windows to be seen. A small desk sat next to the bed, a few books and writing materials placed neatly into drawers and shelves. Yet the one thing that stood out on the desk was a single sheet of paper, laying perfectly dead center on the table, as if waiting to be read by me.

"Dear sleeper,

I decided to give you a place to rest for the night as a small thanks for the crosses you made. I'm not sure if  someone you knew closely was a victim, or if you just felt pity for the trapped souls, but I would still like to say thank you. The next town should be over north, about two miles ahead if you wish to find your placing. I'll be gone for the remainder of the day, so I wish you'll stay safe, and have a peaceful trip back.

Sincerely, ...

Wirt" 

It seemed short and to the point of it's message, yet I still sensed some heart into the writing. Nonetheless, I still felt happy that my good karma led to something in my favor.  Once I had finished writing a small thank you note back, I set it on the table at a place they could easily find it.

Knowing that one should never overstay their welcome, I found where my backpack was, and headed out. After I reached the exit of the small hobbit hole-like building, I  decided the best plan of action was to actually find that town they mentioned. Maybe my new start will be different than I originally planned. I'm still not sure how the afterlife works yet. But I'll figure it out eventually. 

Walking in the direction he guided, I noticed more trees with emotions painted on their bark. So stopping for a break, I took out the remaining crosses I made, and set them underneath, spending a few minutes at each of their graves. After all, what's the use of making a grave without giving it the proper respect? Just a pebble with no meaning. Realizing the terrifying amount of blood stained trees, I figured I have a lot of work ahead of me.

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My toes and fingers dripped off frost as the cave in my stomach writhed and danced around my ribcage . I really shouldn't regret marking those graves, but in this lost state, how will I find my way back? The sun drops down, closer to the end of my light, as I again wonder aimlessly through the woods, searching for some sort of place to avoid the demons that lurk in the shadows, masquerading as light. My thoughts are stopped by the sound of a abrupt slam! Of a door. It sounded close by. Getting closer to the sound, I could see a light seeping through the twisted trees and branches. It wasn't calling out, as it was welcoming and warm.

The house looked as simple as Dick and Jane. It's flowers never faltering, yet the paint chipped, and it's shudders waiting for replacements that will never come. I knocked on the door, while waiting for the slammer to answer, and that she did. "Oh, um, yes?" She asked, wiping her face by the door, it seemed like she's already had a rough day. "I'm sorry if I was interrupting anything" I apologize "oh no dear, don't sweat it" she assures as her eyes told a different story. "I got lost in the woods and was hoping I could get a place to stay for the night? I don't have much, but I'll be willing to do some labor in exchange" I explain quickly, hoping they would possibly understand my predicament.

"Oh. Of corse, of corse, come in. I did need the house re-painted anyways" she thinks out loud, ushering for me to step in. Getting a smack of the room's aroma, it smelt of cinnamon and fish. "I haven't had a helping hand in a while ya see" she explains, seeming to be obvious by the crayon scribbles decorating the wall, and the mud tracks left on the floor. "Not since my husband left... And since.." She stops in her tracks, on the verge of tears, I go to comfort her, yet she builds up the strength to stop herself from sobbing "I'll go make us some coca" she mutters, walking towards what I assume is the kitchen.

I set my shoes by the door and took a seat in a rocking chair. Knitting work was strewn about the side of the couch, a half knit sweater was in the progress of being made. An assortment of books sat besides the yarn and needles. Ranging from family photos to children's books, seeming to have been slightly torn from being read over the years. Taking a book, I thought she wouldn't mind if I skimmed one.

Oh, I remember this children's book, the one about the boy that would never listen to his grandma's advice; first he went on a quest to gather ingredients so his grandma would make him griddle cakes, but ended up fighting a bear, eagle, and a bull, only end up falling into a well from his own stubbornness. The drawings looked as warm and colorful as they did back then. It wasn't as creative as dr.suess, but at least it wasn't Dick and Jane.

Hearing the kettle howl from the room over, I set the book to my side, expecting that the coca was done. She looked a little more put together than she was the moment before, but her eyes still bore the sense of grief, it really made me feel bad for her. I set the book down as I took a seat by the kitchen table. "Oh" she sniffled, taking a look at the faded book as she set the kettle off of the stove top "I remember, th-that was his favorite book" she comments, reaching for a set of mugs in the cupboard. "He went missing just yesterday. I looked all over the woods to find him but I couldn't" her actions slowly grow more tense, the more she talks "I just hope he's safe. I never should have taken my eyes off of him... Is. Is there any chance you've seen him?" she looks directly at me, I try recalling what the child yesterday looked like; black hair with overalls is all I seemed to recall of the kid. "What exactly. Is his description?..." I question her ".. Brown eyes, black hair, oh! He was wearing his favorite purple boots that day, with a pair of overalls" oh no.... Oh. Oh no.........

My head conflicts with itself on whether if I should tell her or not, as I sit there frozen in my mind. Yet if I was her, I'd want to know what happened.... Looking up at the woman, I start to speak, but nothing comes out, I try again "I-I'm so sorry" I start, her eyes change emotions as fast as a bullet "he. I could only watch as he was taken by that monster" I admit "the beast..." She corrects me in my tracks "and you did nothing to stop him?" She asks, tears welling up in her eyes "I was too scared...." I repeat myself "you could have done something" she says, sniffling away the tears, changing her face to that of hate "he was my only light in this house, and now you take it away from me?" She questions, drawing closer to me as I prepare to get out of my seat "I gave them a-"

She interrupts me with a fist to the face, knocking me out of my seat, I scramble backward towards the living room. She jumps on me, repeatedly beats, and claws at me with her bare fists, shouting her emotions at me, guilting me like a stove to the face.  she goes in for hit after hit, like I was her punching bag. And me? I crawl towards the living room, seeing that as my only way out of this. And after a few good lashes, I finally make it closer to the couch, drawing my hand closer to the sewing supplies, I