Chapter Text
A sharp, hollow knock against glass made Sierra bolt upright, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Her eyes shot instantly to the heavy curtains sealing off the window wall. She and Dara had triple-checked everything before turning off the lights — she knew they had. But knowing that those things with their frozen smiles were circling their house right now made the air in the bedroom feel thick and cold. Suffocating.
When they had stayed at the Liu house, the nights felt less scary for some reason. Maybe it’s because Dara and her had stayed together. Maybe it’s because the Lius had survived for a year in this township. It’s not as if the sisters didn’t know what to do, but having someone with experience around was comforting. Almost like a shield. Now that shield is gone. Now they’re on their own. Her sister’s life is in her own hands.
Another soft, mocking knock fractured the silence.
Frustration flared through her panic. Throwing the duvet aside, Sierra swung her legs out of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as she approached the glass. She hesitated, biting the inside of her lip until it hurt.
But her fingers gripped the edge of the fabric anyway and yanked it back.
Standing right there on the porch roof was a familiar ginger man. He was staring straight through the glass, a massive smile stretched across his face as if it had been carved into his skin. They locked eyes.
“I’m happy to see you, Sierra,” he said, his voice easily cutting through the pane that was separating them.
A chill rippled down her spine. “How do you know my name?”
“We know all of your names,” he replied smoothly, tilting his head.
Frustration flickered across her face, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I get that part. But how?”
The creature’s grin seemed to widen, his eyes entirely fixated on her. “Let me in. Then I can tell you.”
“Yeah, not happening. Nice try though.”
“Why did you open the curtains?”
“Curiosity,” Sierra shot back, crossing her arms. “Why are you on my roof?”
“Intrigue. I wanted to see a new face.”
“You saw me yesterday.”
“From far away.”
“So? You need glasses?”
The creature chuckled. A low, raspy sound.
So they can actually laugh, Sierra thought, her pulse spiking. Interesting.
“I don’t think I do,” the monster murmured, leaning a fraction closer to the glass. “Do you need glasses?”
“No, but I do prefer my glass closed and intact.”
“How unfortunate.”
Sierra raised an eyebrow, deliberately turning her back on him. She took two steps to her nightstand, grabbed her notebook and a pen, and spun back around. When she faced the window again, she found herself staring right into the creature's puzzled expression.
She clicked her pen, the sharp sound incredibly loud in the quiet room.
"What's the matter?" she asked, her voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring in her ears. "Never seen a notebook before?”
The creature’s smile twitched, the confusion on his face hardening into something slightly colder.
“You’re a strange one.”
“Says the stranger,” Sierra murmured, writing down a quick note:
Can recognize individual names. Can mimic human emotions.
She looked up, tapping the pen against her chin. "Alright, ginger. Let's start with an easy one. Do you guys have actual names, or should I just write down 'Wannabe Joker'?"
“Who is that?”
“A fictional character. You’d love him.” She changed the subject, watching his eyes closely. “Did you have a life before this or were you born here?”
Wannabe Joker blinked. “I’ve been here for some time.”
Old enough to not know the Joker. Before the 60s or 70s? When did the Joker become popular?
“What are you writing?” the creature asked, leaning a bit closer.
“You didn’t tell me your name. You know mine.”
“I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a name?” Sierra let out a dry, breathy laugh. “What, do you guys not talk to each other out there in the woods?”
After several moments of silence, the monster flatly stated, “I’m bored.”
The massive smile vanished from his face instantly. Without another word, he turned his back on her, stepped over the ledge, and disappeared off the edge of the roof.
Sierra stared at the empty pane of glass.
Well, shit.
Sierra was on the way to the clinic, her sneakers slightly dragging across the dirt. She had barely slept, but that was nothing new.
Even when she’s not chatting with weird forest creatures, she just can’t seem to fall asleep. Back in the real world, she’d always blamed it on the erratic night shifts and the residual adrenaline from the horror stories bleeding into her headset. She had tried medication in the past, but possible addiction and other side effects weren't worth it to her. But here? She was uncomfortable asking Kristi for sleeping pills. If anything happened, someone might need those pills more than her, and she couldn’t risk being completely knocked out from pills either. Her preference for green tea might also not be helping the issue.
“Good morning, Kristi,” Sierra voice resounded through the clinic.
Kristi emerged from one of the rooms with a big smile. “Good morning. I’m so glad that you’re here. I’ve prepared some things to teach you.”
She motioned Sierra over to the metal exam table, where a strange assortment of items was waiting: a curved silver needle, a pair of forceps, and a slightly bruised banana with a deep slice cut straight down the middle of the peel.
Sierra stared at it. "Are we making a snack, or...?"
"We're practicing sutures," Kristi said with a chuckle, picking up the metal instruments. "If multiple people get hurt or attacked then I can't be the only one here who knows how to close a laceration."
"With a banana?"
"Hey, resources are tight. I'm not wasting suture pads on a rookie yet," Kristi teased, her tone turning professional as she held up a specific pair of thick-jawed forceps.
"This tool right here is your needle driver. The jaws have a cross-hatched texture inside, so the needle doesn't twist or slip while you're pushing it through flesh.”
Kristi held up a different pair of forceps with longer, thinner jaws. “Don't confuse it with a hemostat, because we use those to clamp arterial vessels and stop blood flow."
She clamped the curved silver needle into the needle driver, locking it with a sharp click.
"We’re only focusing on the simple interrupted suture. If you master this one, you can save 90% of the people who walk through that door," Kristi explained. "For this type of suture, every single stitch is its own separate loop with its own separate knot. It’s the go-to for jagged wounds or facial cuts, because if a patient moves too much and snaps one knot, the rest of the stitches will still hold the skin together."
She gestured to the fruit. "Banana and orange peels actually mimic human skin tension pretty well," Kristi continued. "The orange skin is tougher, like a scalp, while the banana peel is softer, like an arm or abdomen. You have to be gentle so you don’t damage the subcutaneous layers like fat or muscle. If you pull the thread too tight, it rips right through. If you're too loose, the wound gapes. Watch my hands."
Kristi’s movements were fluid as she pushed the needle through at an angle, easily looped the nylon thread around the needle driver, and tied a neat knot.
"Your turn," Kristi said, handing over the tools. "Keep your hands steady."
Sierra took the cold metal instruments. Her fingers were trembling slightly, the sheer exhaustion weighing down her limbs. She lined up the needle against the fruit and pressed down.
The needle pierced the yellow skin with a soft, wet pop.
Sierra tried to guide the curve through to the other side of the slice, but her hand gave a sudden, involuntary twitch. Her thumb jerked, pulling the needle upward too fast. Instead of exiting through a clean puncture hole on the other side, the sharp metal sliced sideways through the narrow strip of peel, ripping right out of the edge and leaving a frayed, mushed gap.
"Damn it," Sierra muttered, dropping her hand. The metal instruments clattered against the stainless steel table. She rubbed her eyes, but it did nothing to clear the heavy fog behind her eyelids. "I ruined the banana."
"Hey, it's just a banana," Kristi said softly, reaching over to pull the fruit away. She looked closely at Sierra, her eyes dipping to the faint dark circles under the woman's eyes. "Sierra... when was the last time you actually slept more than seven hours?"
Sierra let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Back in Catonsville. Maybe two years ago?" She leaned her hips against the table, crossing her arms tightly to hide the slight tremor in her fingers. "I've had insomnia for years. Night shifts at work broke my internal clock, and my brain just... never figured out how to fix it without medication."
Kristi’s expression softened with immediate empathy. "And with the situation we’re in, it’s probably not getting better, huh?"
"Yeah. Usually, I can handle it. I use the nights to stay awake, watch something, think, read, and am still able to stay focused during the day. But today..." Sierra shook her head, frustrated. "If I can't even sew up a piece of fruit without my hands shaking, how am I supposed to help you when someone comes through that door bleeding out?"
Kristi didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached into her medical bag, pulled out a fresh, unblemished orange, and set it firmly in front of Sierra. Then, she picked up the needle driver and placed it back into Sierra's hand.
"The banana peel is soft. It rips easily if you're tired and pull too hard," Kristi said, her voice steady and reassuring. "Try the orange. The rind is tougher. It forces you to use more pressure, which actually helps steady a shaking hand. Take a deep breath and try again. If it doesn’t work, we can make a fruit salad."
Sierra looked from the orange up to Kristi's supportive face. The exhaustion was still heavy, but the panic began to recede, replaced by that familiar focus. She gripped the tool, adjusted her stance, and brought the silver point down against the thick orange skin. The tougher rind worked. With the extra resistance forcing her to focus her pressure, Sierra’s hands steadied. By the fourth stitch, she had found a rhythm.
They spent the next hour in the clinic, the quiet punctured only by the rhythmic pop of the needle, the sharp click of the needle driver, or some casual smalltalk. Once Sierra had turned multiple sliced oranges and bananas into ones with neat rows of black nylon loops, Kristi finally deemed her ready for the real thing — as in the multi-layered suture pad — to practice getting the depth right.
Sierra was just finishing a knot on the silicone skin while Kristi was sitting next to her, munching on her bowl of fruit salad, when the front door clicked open.
Kenny walked in, holding a worn softcover book tightly against his chest, a soft smile gracing his features. He stopped when he saw the fruity mess on the metal table, “Did you perform surgery on fruits?”
Kristi looked up, laughing. "Just training the new recruit. What's up, Kenny?"
Kenny’s eyes flickered briefly to Sierra before he approached Kristi, fiddling with the corners of the book. “I finished this book and I thought you might enjoy reading it. It’s a romantic mystery.”
Sierra paused for half a second, looking up from the suture pad and side-eyeing a nervous-looking Kenny as he stood in front of a smiling Kristi.
“Thanks. I’ll start reading it later.”
Kenny gave her the book and cleared his throat, nodding quickly. “Yeah, of course. No rush. Just... let me know what you think when you’re done.”
He lingered for a second, his hands dropping into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted toward Sierra, a little wide, as if he suddenly realized he’d been staring at Kristi for too long. Sierra raised an eyebrow.
“And, uh, Sierra,” Kenny added quickly, his voice jumping a little. “How’s the... fruit slicing going? You, uh, having fun?”
Sierra offered him a small nod, trying to keep her expression perfectly neutral, but failing as a knowing smirk made its way onto her lips. “I got promoted to the suture pad. No more fruit salad.”
“Right. Good. That’s good,” he mumbled, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. He shuffled his feet toward the exit, his hands dropping deeper into his pockets. “Anyway, just... let me know what you think when you’re done, Kristi. No rush.”
Kristi gave him a quiet smile as he turned and headed back toward the door, his exit just a little faster than his entrance.
“Bye, Kenny,” Sierra said in a sing-song voice.
The heavy clinic door clicked shut behind him, leaving a sudden silence in the room. Sierra didn't say anything immediately. She just carefully tied off another knot on the silicone pad, snipped the nylon thread with the scissors, and finally looked up.
Kristi was looking down at the worn cover of the book, tracing the edge with her thumb, her eyebrows furrowed as she sighed.
Sierra raised an eyebrow, leaning back against her chair. "A romantic mystery, huh? You two have a little book club? How sweet."
Kristi let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan, dropping the book onto the desk with a soft thud. "Shut up," she said, though there was no real bite to it. She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of the banana-orange salad, chewing thoughtfully before she looked back at Sierra. "It's not a book club. Kenny’s just... sweet. He’s trying."
"He’s trying really hard," Sierra corrected, a smirk playing on her lips as she set down the tool.
Kristi’s smile faded a bit, replaced by that worried expression again. She looked at the worn cover of the novel, her fingers tapping against the edge of the table.
“You’re thinking of your fiancée?”
Kristi sighed, leaning back in her chair. "How can I not? It's only been six months, Sierra. Half a year ago, I was trying to survive med school and thinking of wedding plans. I can't just turn that off. Marielle... she probably thinks I ran off. Or that I’m dead."
She trailed off, her eyes fixing on a random spot on the clinic floor.
"But then there's Kenny, who is right here. And he's kind and supportive," Kristi murmured, her voice dropping. "It feels like a betrayal either way. If I move on, I betray her. If I don't, I’m just keeping Kenny at arm's length while he waits for something I might never be able to give him."
Sierra’s gaze softened. “Are your feelings for Kenny big enough to act on them?”
The question hung in the quiet clinic. Kristi looked at her fork, turning it over in her hand, staring at the prongs as if they would hold the right answer.
"I don't even know if they're real," Kristi admitted softly, looking up with a frustratingly heavy sigh. "He's just... he's so sweet, you know? And he's cute, and when everything out there gets terrifying, he makes me feel safe. Sometimes I catch myself looking at him and thinking... maybe? But then I snap out of it and I feel sick to my stomach."
She looked at the romantic mystery novel in front of her, her expression filled with guilt.
"I love Marielle. That hasn't changed," Kristi whispered. "But here with Kenny… it’s confusing. Is it an actual crush or is it just the situation, the loneliness, the lack of comfort and touch? Kenny deserves someone who actually looks at him the way he looks at me. Not someone who is just using him as a security blanket because she misses home."
Sierra leaned back against her chair, crossing her arms. She looked from Kristi's stressed expression over to the novel, letting the silence sit for a moment.
"Then I think you just need to figure out which one it is before you do anything," Sierra said, her tone calm. "This place messes with your head. It makes everything feel amplified, especially when you're lonely. If it's just the security blanket thing, you'll know. Just… pay attention to how you actually feel and behave when he’s around. Are you really looking for him or are you just looking for anyone who can distract you from the bad thoughts?"
Sierra let the heavy topic drop, uncrossing her arms and sliding the silicone pad slightly forward to draw Kristi's attention back to the table. She inspected her own handiwork, tilting her head.
"Anyway. Are these sutures good enough now, or what do you want me to practice next?"
Kristi let out a relieved breath and leaned forward, inspecting the neat rows of black nylon thread on the synthetic skin.
"Actually, those look pretty clean," Kristi said, a faint smile returning to her face. "You've got the standard suture down, which is good, because we're going to need it. But stitches don't matter if the patient bleeds out before you finish the first knot."
Kristi stood up and walked to the medical cabinet. When she came back, she dropped a heavy roll of sterile gauze and a tourniquet onto the table.
"Next lesson: how to pack a deep wound to stop severe arterial bleeding."
Sierra ended up staying at the clinic for a total of three and a half hours. After her training wrapped up, she spent some time writing down everything she’d learned in her notebook, knowing how quickly muscle memory fades when panic sets in.
While the town's bananas and oranges were now in safe medical hands, she couldn't help but wonder if she were actually able to apply the learned techniques when a real emergency happened. There was only one way to find out, and she wasn't exactly looking forward to it.
With nothing else on her schedule, she found herself walking near the edge of the forest. She passed the barn, catching sight of Dara feeding the livestock just like she had promised the day before. Julie was with her, chatting away. Sierra felt a small swell of relief seeing the Matthews girl getting along with her sister.
As she kept moving down the narrowing dirt path, her eyes caught on something half-hidden in a bush. A pair of white doors built straight into the ground.
Must be a bunker or a root cellar, she thought, stopping in her tracks.
Curiosity won as Sierra glanced back over her shoulder. From this far down the dirt path, the town looked almost like a miniature model under the gray-blue sky.
She stepped off the path and pushed through the high weeds. Reaching down, her fingers gripped the rusted metal handle of the white door. She pulled. It gave way with a heavy, scraping groan, revealing a flight of steep stone steps leading down into pitch blackness.
The air that drifted up was freezing, smelling of damp earth and rot.
Sierra carefully stepped down, keeping one hand on the damp wall. The cellar wasn't massive, and the afternoon sun cut a beam down the stairs, illuminating just enough for her to see.
She noticed a heavy toggle switch on the wall and flipped it; instantly, several caged bunker lamps buzzed to life, casting an amber glow across the space.
Directly ahead, at the bottom of the steps, the stone transitioned into wooden walls, centering around a heavy timber door.
From behind the wood, a muffled sound broke the silence. Caw.
Sierra froze on the bottom step, her heart doing a slow thud against her ribs. She waited, but the sound didn't repeat. Curiosity pushing past her nerves, she reached out, her fingers catching the handle. The door creaked open, revealing a small room. The only thing inside was a dust-covered wooden armoire standing against the wall.
It was completely empty. No bird. Nothing.
Sierra let out a slow, cautious breath and turned around to head back up the stairs.
Caw.
The sound blasted right behind her ear. Sierra spun around on her heel, her breath catching in her throat.
Right there, inside the middle of the armoire, stood an open music box containing a spinning ballerina. A soft melody filled the room, a sound that reminded her of her childhood piano. Sierra took a step back, her eyes locked on the object, before she slowly turned toward the exit again.
Standing right in front of her on the stairs was the ginger creature. His dead eyes were fixed on her, and that wide, horrific, unmoving grin stretched across his face, splitting his jaw in the dim light.
Sierra let out a sharp scream, frantically backing away toward the armoire. As she moved, his face began to morph into something otherworldly, almost as if his skin was melting as his teeth grew sharper. Before she could even reach the doorway to lock herself in, he lunged. He threw his weight forward, slamming into her chest.
Sierra hit the ground hard, her head snapping back as she fell backward into the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the tearing pain of teeth and claws as her head pulsated.
After a moment, she opened her eyes again.
Sierra lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. The lights were out. She could hear the wind rustling the trees outside, feel the coldness of the floor on her back, but there was no monster above her.
Slowly, she sat up, pressing a trembling hand to her chest, then her head, which were both completely intact.
"What the fuck," she whispered to herself, her voice shaking as she forced her breathing to slow down.
She hadn't been sleeping well since she arrived, but something like this had never happened to her — not when she was on her medication, and neither when she was off it. Was the town finally catching up to her? It had to be. If this place could create voices in your head, maybe it could trigger full-blown hallucinations, too. Or maybe her sleep deprivation was just doing crazy things to her brain by painting the township’s nightmares into the shadows of an old root cellar.
Scrambling to her feet, Sierra didn't look back at the wooden door. She bolted up the stone steps, bursting out into the afternoon sun and slamming the white doors shut behind her. She stood there in the high grass, chest heaving, staring at the outline of the town in the distance as if trying to force herself back into reality.