The nearest town was only a ten minute or so walk down the road. A few days after dissecting the buzzard, you decided that you would venture down there, despite being (literally and idiomatically) a bag of nerves.
You weren't scared of the outside. You weren't scared of people, either, although that was debatable depending on the day. What you were scared of was crowds, because a busy street meant that you might see a few extra faces that shouldn't be there.
You knew exactly why you saw them. An incident when you were a child left you on the verge of death thanks to a being that you called 'No-Face,' and you awoke in the hospital with a fuzzy head, staring up into a face that shouldn't be stared at.
The grey-ish face was normal if you ignored the stitches that ran across his cheeks and neck, trailing down to the skin that was hidden under a striped scarf. His forehead was covered by a mop of brown hair, and a pair of bright green eyes looked down at you with mild interest.
You barely reacted. Blinking in silence, you held the man's gaze with confusion slowly building up inside of you. The face would change the longer you looked at it, like someone was flipping a switch in your eyes. The stitches would vanish, his skin wouldn't be grey, and his hair would tidy itself up. Then you would blink and it would return to how it looked before.
'Who are you?' you croaked out. 'What happened?' You could barely remember the events leading up to your admission, and all you could recall was an empty white face and long, abnormal limbs.
Your questions took the man by surprise, and he took a wary step back. Once you sat up, weak arms struggling to push yourself upright, he scurried away towards the wall like you were an infectious disease.
'Wait,' you begged, 'please don't leave me. I don't wanna be alone.' Tears welling up in your eyes, you waited for the man to either leave or speak.
Thankfully, he chose to speak. 'Can you see me?'
A nod.
'Can you hear me?'
Another nod.
'What's your name?'
'(Y/N).'
'Okay. (Y/N). My name's Liu.' He seemed to regain some confidence and sat down on the chair to your left, giving you the most comforting smile that he could offer. 'A very nice lady is going to come talk to you soon and explain things. She might look a bit scary, but she won't hurt you, alright? Before she comes, though, I want you to make a promise.'
At the age of seven, you didn't really understand the severity of what was going on, but upon hearing the word 'promise' you said, 'I'm very good at keeping promises,' in the most serious voice you could muster, wiping your eyes to rid them of tears. The man's switching appearance was making you dazed.
'Good.' Liu held out his pinky. 'Promise me that you won't tell your parents that you saw me or the nice lady, or anyone that other people don't see. Can you do that?'
'I can try.'
'Good,' he said again. 'I'm going to stay here until the nice lady comes. If anyone else comes in, pretend I'm invisible.'
The man kept his word and stayed until 'the nice lady' arrived. She explained that you had been given a gift that allowed you to see through a veil that hid monsters from human eyes. She didn't expand on what the monsters were, but after doing an extensive amount of research a few years later, you realised that the monsters were the henchpeople of No-Face—things called 'creepypastas.'
Their existence became an unnerving second nature to you after a while, and it no longer came as a surprise when you watched a monochromatic clown suddenly gain colours so bright it hurt. All it meant was that you had to observe people a little closer in the hope of catching the 'switch' between what you called their corrupt form and original form.
You hoped that you were safe in the forest, but you weren't sure. It wasn't like you could look it up on the internet; as far as everyone else was concerned, they were fictional, but you figured that the more of them that you saw in a single day meant that your chances of encountering No-Face for a second time grew higher and higher, and the longer you spent in the crowds could speed up that disgusting reunion.
It was a blessing that town was quiet that day. The remains of a market was being packed up in the square, and a small congregation of bingo players were making their way towards a café.
Despite the variety of shops, not many piqued your interest as you wandered down the paved path, yet you made a mental note of what was there anyway, just in case you ever needed them. There was a supermarket, smaller shops selling local produce, stationary, clothes, cosmetics, antiques—
Coming to a halt, you stared through the grimy window of the antique shop. A sign above the door said, 'Good as New' and a little bell tinkled above you as you stepped inside.
A small corridor let to the main shop, where the till was immediately to your right. An elderly woman sat behind it in a comfortable looking armchair, reading the thickest book you had ever seen. She looked up as soon as your shoe hit the wooden floorboards, and she waved.
'Afternoon,' she said. 'Are you looking for anything in particular? I haven't seen you around here before.' Her voice was croaky with age and was heavily tinged with the thick, local accent that you barely managed to understand.
'Oh, I just moved in not too long ago. I thought I best check out what's in town, so I'm just browsing.'
'Are you the one who bought that old house in the woods?'
This surprised you, and you couldn't hide this as you asked: 'How did you know?' Please don't tell me this place has a psychic grandma.
'My granddaughter's an estate agent, you know, and she told me this morning that someone moved in.' She gave you a toothy smile. 'It's so nice to see young people moving into the area. Do you like the house?'
'Yeah, it's nice.'
'Good, good. There's a few tales about it—would you be interested in hearing one?'
'If you wouldn't mind.' I'm gonna get shot in the arse for this.
Your answer seemed to cheer the old lady up, and, with the assistance of a shining walking stick, got to her feet and tottered towards the cabinets full of antiques, gesturing for you to follow her with a shrivelled up hand.
'When I was a girl,' she began, 'me and my twin would play in the forest and talk with the old man that lived there; his parents built that house, you know. He would sit us down in his living room on cold days and tell us the stories he used to be told as a child. There was one story that my twin and I adored, and we would beg and beg to hear it every time we went to see him.
'It was about how his parents picked where to build their house. Apparently, they took one look at the land and said that it would be a site of great importance in a few centuries. The son never got told all of what happened, but he always told us he thought they said a demon would have an attachment to the house and an act of God would be defied. He always said it was like Beauty and the Beast, even though he knew my twin and I were never too fond of it.' She came to a stop in front of a large framed photograph on the wall. 'Those two there—do you see?'
You nodded, gazing up at the grainy faces of the couple. 'I do. They must have been incredibly resourceful to build an entire house themselves. Did they have help?'
'I'm not entirely sure, dear. I would imagine that they did, but I certainly wouldn't be surprised if they didn't. Are there any pieces that you want to hear the story of? Everything in this little shop has a tale to it.'
You were certain that it was a ploy to make you buy something, and who knew that little old ladies could be so persuasive? Turning away from the photo, you made your way to the back of the shop, which was darker and more cramped. It was filled with items that no one wanted.
Shuffling past a ceramic lamp while trying to gave a moth-bitten teddy bear a wide berth (you did not like the look in its button eyes), your attention gravitated towards a pocket knife that sat next to a porcelain teapot.
It was the prettiest knife you had ever seen. Flipping the blade, you ran your finger against the flat edge, the cold metal sending tiny shocks through your system. Your other hand gripped the handle, which was engraved with an ornate pattern that pressed against your palm.
The price tag told you that it cost £35, and you internally reasoned with yourself about how to manage your limited finances until payday. You could manage.
'Hey, uh...?'
'Marigold.' The old woman popped up on your side, demeanour filled with the innocence of someone who had been standing there the entire time.
'Right. Marigold. Can I buy this?'
'Of course.' She took the knife from you, turning it over in her fingers as she began to walk away. 'I remember this one well. Lord, how along ago was it? Three or so years? A lovely young man brought it in, saying it belonged to his best friend before he disappeared. Ah, what was his name? No matter.'
'Did they ever find his friend?'
'I don't think so, dear. The young man said that no one remembers his friend except him. A rather strange thing, is it not?'
You paid for knife, which was wrapped in gold tissue paper and placed in a small bag. When your fingers closed around the string handles, Marigold clasped your hands with her own in a rare display of strength that threw you off guard.
'Your house has seen many days pass,' she said. 'If the Lucas' were right, you will be faced with many things. Do not let them scare you. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to come to me.'
'Thank...you?' You didn't waste any time in hanging around; your exit was swift, and when you stepped out into the street, you weren't sure if the air was harsher than it had been before.