Chapter Text
As Stanley crunched his way around the mangled remains of a pine tree, carrying a fresh pile of wood in his brawny arms, a faint tune called out to him from the depths of the forest. The soft, plaintive notes were suggestive of a flute, and had a preternatural quality to them that Stanley couldn’t quite describe. It was a tune he had become accustomed to hearing every time he ventured out in search of fuel for his wood heater, and it remained consistent no matter how long Stanley remained in the area, neither getting closer nor further away. He had wondered, for a period, if it was an auditory hallucination, but the tune would cease once he turned to depart and it wouldn’t return until the following evening.
There were days he felt compelled to sit and listen. He would settle down on the protruding stump of a leveled tree and close his eyes, and those melodious notes would wash over him like a dousing of warm water, spreading tranquility from his quivering insides to his rigid outside. All the terrible thoughts of loss and failure became muffled, distant, and Stanley would be at peace.
Until he left, that was. He always did. By nightfall, the only sound he would hear was the incessant hum of Stanford’s machines.
Before heading home on this particular evening, he stood peering into the forest for an indeterminable amount of time. The wood was damp against his chest, and little insects crawled up out of it, skittering over his forearms. He paid them no mind. The forlorn melody crept out betwixt the trees and Stanley wanted desperately to take it home with him. The only way to do that, of course, was to find the source, truss it up, and drag it back to the shack.
So that was what he resolved to do.
After dropping off the wood, he pulled on his boots and raggedy red jacket, and then dug out the hunting equipment Stanford had tucked away among his research tools. Strapping a dart gun across his back and clipping a large coil of rope to his belt, he was rearing to go. He hadn’t been this excited in a long time. The thought of a reprieve from his misery was an alluring one, propelling him into a run as he approached the perimeter of the forest. He peeked up at the sky just before it was obscured by tree-tops; the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and threads of light lingered in the sky, mingling with shades of pink, orange, and blue. It wouldn’t be long before dark. Stanley planted a hand over his pocket as he ran, ready to pull out the torch when it became necessary.
The melody seemed uninhibited by the other sounds of the forest. Birds chirped above his line of sight and wildlife stirred, dashing through clusters of shrubbery, but the flute drowned them out as though it were ubiquitous. Its volume steadily increased the further in he ran. Louder, louder, until Stanley came upon a grassy clearing with a bolder at the far end of it, surrounded by a crescent of trees. It looked rather like something out of a fantasy novel, a woodland throne. Stanley didn’t manage to get much of a look at it before staggering into a tree, wheezing as he struggled to catch his breath. He had run so far, so fast, that his throat was burning in objection.
“Well, if it isn’t Stanley Pines! About time you showed up, kid!”
He jerked upright, a wave of dizziness making it difficult for him to focus on the source of the voice. When he finally did, his features slackened in surprise.
It looked like a man, but it wasn’t. It was a creature, but not one Stanley had encountered either in fiction or real life. He’d heard of hybrids that bore the legs of an animal and the torso of a human, centaurs and the like, but he wasn’t familiar with this one.
Its long legs resembled those of a goat and were covered in fine blonde hairs, and its ankles ended in cloven hooves. His eyes dragged up. Sparse hairs trailed up a narrow stomach, ending at its belly button. The creature was the colour of toffee and well built, and looking even higher, he saw two massive horns protruding from either side of its head.
“Uh,” he started, still out of breath. “How- how do you know my name?”
“That isn’t important,” the creature replied, hopping down from its makeshift throne. It set a beige flute on the boulders rocky surface before it stepped towards Stanley. “The name’s Bill!”
“Uh, okay?” Stanley turned to better face ‘Bill’. “That’s kinda a weird name for a... whatever you are.”
“How would you know that? You’ve never even met one of me!”
Stanley hesitated on his answer. Bill had a point. “What are you, then?”
“A satyr, or faun – whatever you prefer.”
“I have no idea what either of those things are.”
Bill barked a laugh and trotted closer to Stanley, raising hands that Stanley now noticed had black nails. “So, didja like my song? I was playing it just for you, Stan!”
“For me?” Stanley glanced at the rock, at the flute sitting atop it. It was dark enough now that he could barely see it. He switched on his torch, leaving it in his pocket so it would light the surrounding area. “Why?”
“I thought you’d come running eventually if I did, and I was right!” Bill gestured for Stanley to move in closer. Hand ghosting over the rope attached to his belt, Stanley did; he still fully intended to catch this creature and take it home. There were plenty of cages large enough to house it.
“Why would you want a human around, though?” He paused, leaning back a touch. “You’re not gonna try to eat me, are you?”
“I wish!” Bill opened his mouth wide enough to give Stanley a good look at his pearly whites. They weren’t the teeth of a carnivorous creature. “You think I can bite into a human with these? I’ve tried, and it didn’t work.”
“You’ve tried?”
“’Tried’ being the key word here! Only managed to give them a nasty bite!” Bill grinned. “But don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” A pause. “Not with the intention to eat you, anyway!”
“What does that mean?” Stanley asked warily.
Bill didn’t answer, merely grinned and slid around him in a circle, fingers ghosting over the nape of his neck. Stanley shuddered and whipped the rope off of his belt, brandishing it at Bill. “What’re you tryin’ to do? Intimidate me? Because that ain’t gonna stop me from capturing you!”
“Capturing me?” Bill looked positively gleeful, his almond-shaped eyes squinted in pleasure. “I’m gonna love seeing you try, Stan! I’m gonna love seeing you fail even more!”
Stanley scowled and stuttered back until there was a significant stretch of land between them. “Just for that, I’m gonna put your head on a plaque when I done with you!”
“If you were sure about that, you wouldn’t be backing away, Stanley.”
“I’m just – I need room to—“ he fumbled for his dart gun and froze when he realized it wasn’t there. The strap it’d been hooked to was all that remained. He pulled it off, staring down at it in bewilderment, and through the hole of the strap he noticed Bill was holding something long and black. He raised his head. The barrel of his dart gun was being pointed at him, and Bill was the one aiming it.
“Gee, I wonder how this happened!” Bill exclaimed, sliding the chamber open to unveil a tranquilizer. “Oh, and look; you’ve got it all loaded for me! Thanks, buddy!”
Stanley swallowed, his unease manifesting in the form of goosebumps. They were rising on his arms, hidden beneath his jacket. “You’re a – faun thing, you don’t know how to use that!”
“You wish that were the case, don’t you.” Bill’s smile turned sharp and promising. “I’ll let you have a head start. You get away, I won’t follow you beyond the forest. But if I catch you, and I will, I'll...”
The rope slipped from his fingers. Stanley didn’t need to hear the specifics of what Bill would do. He turned on his heels and bolted into the trees, throwing himself in the approximate direction of safety. It was too dark to see exactly where he was going. The sun would usually be able to lead him to the exit, but all he had was a flashlight to illuminate his path to safety.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Bill bellowed after him.
He couldn’t hear Bill in pursuit but he was sure the faun wasn’t far behind, his hooved feet making quick work of all the roots that Stanley inevitably tripped on. They sent him pitching forward into trees and bushes, hands stretched out in front of him so he wouldn’t land on his face. He crawled his way to his feet each time and continued running, aware but uncaring of the angry red marks that had bloomed to the surface of his palms.
No animals made themselves known as he ran. The birds had ceased twittering. There were no deer, no rabbits, none of the nocturnal beasts Stanley had expected to see skittering around in search of a meal. Nothing supernatural, either. He didn’t like how easily he could hear his own heaving breaths, and he would have stopped to listen for wildlife were he not certain Bill would leap upon him if he did.
A yelp rose out of his throat as he went hurtling into a tree. His hip slammed into the trunk, and the torch that had been pushed deep into his pocket buckled under the pressure, snapping him into pitch black. Nothing was visible. Only slithers of moonlights were able to breach the mass of pine trees and they were merely streaks of grey on a black canvas. Now he had more to fear than just Bill.
Feeling his way through the trees, Stanley cursed under his breath, unable to make out anything significant even though his eyes were gradually adjusting to the absence of light. If Bill didn’t find him now, it would only be because neither of them could see the other. He tread carefully through a wall of bushes, bending down to untangle his feet when they became caught among the tiny overlapping branches. His fingers and palms were so badly torn up that they had become slippery with blood, difficult to maneuver. He bit down on a whimper and wiped the fluid off on his jacket. It would be indistinguishable from the colour of the fabric.
Struggling his way through the bush and into a clearing, a bright arcane light spilled into his vicinity. The trees were engulfed in hues of gentle blue, their needles appearing to shimmer like an albino Christmas tree. The display, although startling, was beautiful, and so completely unnatural that Stanley didn’t immediately associate it with danger. One of his aching hands involuntarily rose to shield his eyes as he closed in on the source of the light. Whatever it was, if he could grab it, he could use it as a means of lighting the path home.
“Heya, Pines!”
Pain bloomed under Stanley’s jacket, just above his elbow. Stanley instinctively palmed at it and caught sight of the brushy end of a dart slipping through his fingers, and that was when a wave of dizziness sent him sinking to his knees. He landed hard on his back. His vision was spinning when he swiveled his eyes up to the sky. But it wasn’t the sky he saw; a hand engulfed by a fiery ball of blue from the tips of black-nailed fingers to the beginnings of a wrist obscured it, extending over him. He stared blearily at it, uncomprehending.
And then Bill was at his side, soothing the flames over his jaw and it was so incredibly cold that Stanley managed to grasp onto a few more seconds of consciousness.
“I did say that I’d catch you, didn’t I?”
The gun was dropped beside him, warm against his arm.
“You and I are going to have so much fun together.”
Bill gently reached over and closed his eyes for him, pushing his lashes to his cheeks, and he knew no more.