196

Though the lower ladder is initially intended for the bookshelf, it's perfectly serviceable for climbing to the top of the shelf, and from there climbing up the other ladder up to the attic. Deeper into the attic, a pair of eyes reflect in the light, before the something scurries off into the darkness. It's dusty and moldy up here, littered with cobwebs between the rafters and trusses. In the furthest back, though, sits a single locked chest. You kinda forgot you put that up here actually.

Just then, you hear a knock on the door. You flinch and slam your head on the roof. Rubbing your head in pain, you wonder who would be calling on you at this hour.

There doesn't seem to be a fireplace anywhere in view, nor a source of water. You could burn the books in the middle of the floor, but you have a sneaking suspicion that'll cause the whole cabin to catch fire. Even then, where would you get water from? To that end, what about tea leaves?

A sense of sadness flows through you. You really wanted some tea.

The first place you would check is the fridge; the problem is, there doesn't seem to be a fridge here. There's a spot that seems like it would clearly house a fridge, but it's not there. You could have sworn you saw it out of the corner of your eye before you turned towards it, but there's no real point thinking about it now. Unless you count books or strange flowers as edible calories, your search turns up empty. Whoever was here before left no food.

The only place you hadn't checked is the attic, but as you stare at the ladders ascending upwards, you get a most ominous sensation; chills creeping up your spine...

When you try the door, you find that it's locked tight. Looking outside through the window, you do in fact spot some suitable nodes to hit, if only you could get to them. Your forge does require ore and minerals; your stocks are getting low. Unfortunately with no way outside and no rocks to hit inside, you're left stranded.

The covers on the books are all strange and esoteric. Such titles as "The essence of the Rain" and "A treatise on the ergonomics of feathered fountain pens against modern ball point pens." One is simply titled "First", which, oddly enough, is the last book on the shelves.

You pick one at random: its title reads "Odd happenings of collective hallucinations: reported appearances of the gongachu." It initially goes over what the gongachu is; some kind of folk lore creature, incredibly dangerous and hostile. Following the initial description, it compiles a list of reported sightings, before correlating the sightings to occasions of mass hallucinations caused by local volcanic springs. The author does not believe in the existence of the gongachu, that much is clear from the tone. Still, the number of sightings is massive. If there is a gongachu, surely one would have been killed or captured by now, no? In one case, a third party entered a town that was living in terror of the gongachu lurking its streets at night, but the traveler spent the night in the middle of town and was still there in the morning. The author concludes the report by firmly stating his disbelief in the gongachu, chalking it up to mass hysteria and cultural delusions.

A few hours have passed by the time you've finished reading. Dusk settles outside, the orange light of the dying sun bleeding in through the windows and casting the room in long shadows. There's still plenty of books on the shelf, but it's getting late, and for some reason you get the feeling something is watching you.