KNOCK ON WOOD: Bellome 3 (Ch.12) (Patreon)

The museum had been converted. Sliding pieces and sections of wall had been pulled out to form basic furniture. Kris had known about some of it--that bench by the front door was pulled down sometimes when tour groups had elderly or pregnant members--but others were new to them. Under a big landscape picture of Mt. Ebott, a picnic table setup had emerged from the wall and floor. The wall behind the front desk slid away to reveal cabinets and drawers that turned into something more like a bar, an image helped by the stools set in front of it. There were even empty spots where a stove or a fridge could go, though they were empty right now.

And then there were the actual new additions. The gift shop was gutted, shelves stripped down and rebuilt to form little pods with cots and sleeping bags inside. A makeshift workbench of some sort had been set up in a corner. What it was for in particular Kris couldn’t tell from a glance.

Mr. Puckett chuckled as they looked every which way, trying to take it all in. “Yeah, we’ve been pretty busy, huh? Some folks build bomb shelters into their basements. I made collapsible furniture. We all cope in different ways.” He sighed. “Kind of wish I’d invested in the shelter now, a’course, but live and learn.”

Kris paused. There was more than one bed set up. “We?”

“Oh, aye, yeah.” Mr. Puckett picked up a broom and banged the ceiling. “Hey, Jude! We gotta a guest!”

Some muffled swears and clattering later, the attic stairs opened and Ms. Judith stamped down. “Jim, I swear to God, you know I’m busy right now, what--Kris?!”

Before they knew what was happening, they’d been pulled into a tight hug. “Hey, Miss,” they said, muffled.

“You poor boy, I’m so glad to see you!” Judith held them by the shoulders and looked them over. “Goodness, you’re so thin! What have you been eating, son?”

“Whatever I can find.” Kris pulled away. “Is it just the two of you?”

“Us and some others.” Puckett sat down with a groan. “Me, Judith, Kylie from the clinic, Howard who ran the hardware store, Wendell and his wife, Marcy and her husband--”

Kris gaped. “Wh--You all--I’ve been alone for almost two months! How have I not run into any of you if this many survived?”

The two adults paused, exchanging a look. Judith gave the old man a nasty look, and he looked guilty for some reason. “Musta been bad luck, lad,” Puckett murmured. “But nevermind that. You’ve been on your own? You been holding up alright?”

No, I haven’t, Kris wanted to snap. Instead, they said, “As well as I can. Scavenging. Burying bodies.”

Judith looked surprised. “You’ve been what?” Scratch that, she looked alarmed. “You didn’t need to--”

“Someone had to,” Kris said blandly, cutting her off. They turned to Old Man Puckett and made the effort of sounding sympathetic. “Ms. Sarah was one of the first I found, Mr. Puckett. I’m sorry.”

He looked away, silent. When he looked back, he was smiling. “Good lad. I suppose it’s only fair to tell you some bad news of our own, then.”

Puckett stood and walked behind the counter. Kris stared after him, confused. He bent down and came back up with a small object and a pocket knife, which he set on the counter.

It was a blue wallet with the Vault-Tec symbol on the front, and the number 66 hand-stitched on the back. Mr. Puckett flipped it open. Kris stared at it. Even more upsetting was the knife. Kris bought it for his dad’s birthday two years ago.

“Kylie ran into him shortly after the bombs dropped, on the way to regroup here. The blast lifted him of his feet and into a tree. Gave him a nasty concussion. Kylie said he was loopy, not all there.” Puckett grimaced. “Thought she was you, gave her the knife.”

Kris took the knife, looking it over. The blade was well-cared for, frequently sharpened. Dad used it to whittle sometimes, just for an excuse to use the gift. The cheap handle was worn from use, and Kris could almost imagine they could feel the grooves left by his hand.

“...”

“She tried to help him, but there was only so much she could do at the time. Ol’ Chuck went to sleep and didn’t wake back up.”

Judith spat. “Jim, he should have heard it from Kylie, not you.”

“Damnit woman, I’m not going to do that to her!” Puckett snapped. “She was so torn up about it, I don’t want her to relive it again! And Kris should know, I’m not going to make him wait--”

“That’s not your decision! I’m sick of you, you think that just because you’re the oldest one left, that puts you in charge!”

Puckett slammed his hands on the counter. “No, that isn’t why I’m in charge. You know why I’m in charge.”

Kris closed the knife with a snap. “Where is he.”

Puckett jumped, having forgotten he was there. “Eh, what?”

“Dad. Where is he. Did you bury him?”

The old man blinked, switching mental gears. “Er, no. None of us have left the museum since the bombs dropped. We got plenty of supplies.”

Kris stared at him. Well, that was annoying, but good to know. They pocketed the knife and turned to walk outside.

“Kris, honey, where are you--” Judith began, stepping in front of them.

Kris moved around her. “Going to get the shovel, then to find him. He’d be between here and the clinic, right?”

The two of them both stared at them. “You’re going to go and bury him now?” Judith said, incredulous.

Kris just nodded, pushing through the doors.

Puckett swore and hobbled back around the bar.

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Finding Dad hadn’t been hard, once they knew where to look. He wasn’t… recognizable anymore, after a month and change of exposure to the elements. But he was wearing his favorite shirt, and he was propped up against a tree, which was a good enough indicator.

Kris didn’t need the help. And Old Man Puckett wasn’t in good shape to provide much. But… they appreciated it anyway. Especially when he supplied a wheelbarrow to take Dad up to the hill where they’d put the others. He was Dad, so they went to the extra effort of setting up a passable tombstone. It wasn’t much. Just a section of gray brick wall. Puckett got Mr. Howard to help them engrave his name on it. It wasn’t a pretty job--they didn’t have the right tools for pretty. But it did the job.

Charles Friedmont, it said.

After much deliberation, they added He will be missed.

It didn’t feel like enough, but it was still more than they’d given the others. Maybe they should do the others like this, actually. Kris always thought that the one thing sleepy, monster-legend Bellome was missing was a nice spooky graveyard, and here was the chance to start one.

It didn’t feel like enough.

It didn’t feel real.

Why didn’t they feel anything? They were shoveling the last of the dirt over their Dad’s corpse, and they didn’t feel anything. What was wrong with them?

It was just hollow. Emptiness. A gaping hole where grief should have been. Their friends, their neighbors, their family, all gone and they couldn’t feel--

“Lad.” Mr. Puckett handed them a handkerchief.

Kris took it, confused. As they looked down at it, a drop of water fell onto it. Rain? But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky--oh.

Oh. They were crying.

“Oh, Kris…”

The realization of their tears broke the wall, and their knees buckled. Mr. Puckett pulled them to their feet, arm draped over shoulder, and helped them sit on a nearby rock as they sobbed. He looked to where his daughter was buried, and had a soft, quiet cry himself.

The two of them sat there for a long time, letting it all out.

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Some Time Later

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Puckett,” Kris said when they could speak again.

He waved them off. “Don’t worry about it. And call me Jim, son, everyone does.” Jim led them back to the museum and sat them down at the table. “It’s getting late, now, the others will be here for dinner soon.”

Kris tapped a finger against the wood. Then they frowned, as several things the old man had said aligned in their head. “Where is everyone, if they’re not here? You said there were eight people--”

“Nine, actually,” he corrected. “Jude’s robot is here too.”

“But where?” Kris pressed. “You said no one had left the museum since it all happened.”

Jim hummed. He was silent for a long while, then glanced at the clock. “Well… I suppose one more person knowing can’t hurt…”

“Knowing what?”

In lieu of answering, Jim stood and walked into the next room, the one that displayed all the ancient artifacts.

And it still did, Kris found out as they followed. “You left all this up?” they asked, a little incredulous. “I thought, with eight people here, you’d want to make as much use of the space as possible.”

“You’re not wrong,” he allowed. “But this is our history, lad.”

The white stuffed bear had been moved in here, along with a lot of the gift shop merch. Plush toys of monsters were set up side-by-side with the ancient dusty dolls, and shirts depicting cartoon goat-men were folded next to brown robes and leather tunics. It was almost eye-watering, the way old and new were kept together. The only sign that the space was actually being used at all were the tables in the middle of the floor, with a half-finished game of cards abandoned in the middle of play.

Jim huffed. “I told them to get ready, but they didn’t need to drop everything, I’d have let them finish the hand…”

Kris took it all in, and then dismissed it, refocusing. “Are you going to explain things or not?”

“Hold your horses, Kris, I’m old,” Jim groused. “You get slow when you’re old.”

The next room was more along the lines of what Kris had been expecting. Frisk spent more time here than Kris did, but if they recalled correctly the exhibit on rotation had been military-themed. Something about Anchorage, because wasn’t it always--but that didn’t matter, because everything had been shoved aside to make room for extra beds, a first-aid station, and storage.

Mostly storage. Antique trunks that might have been part of an exhibit, a large, fake puzzle box that had been a prop in a movie twenty years ago, and plastic beer coolers alongside cheap office drawers.

Curious, Kris opened the nearest container, a plastic bin, which was filled with BlamCo brand jerky and dried fruit. Another was full of powdered milk. Then they opened one of the coolers, and gagged when they were assaulted by the smell of raw fish.

“Close that one quickly,” Jim chastised. “We haven’t got an icebox set up yet.”

Kris did so, but not before pulling one out. It was an odd-looking fish, though they couldn’t place why. Shape-wise, it was a perfectly normal carp, but the coloration was strange. Some of the others in the cooler were plain orange, but this one was patterned white and gold. Like, actually gold, metallic sheen and all. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“I was really proud of that one,” Jim said. “Might choose to make it a trophy instead of food, if we keep getting good hauls.”

“You caught it, then?” Kris asked absently.

“Oh, no, that was Wendell.” Jim took the fish back, gently but firmly, and returned it to the container. “Need to set up an aquarium so these last longer… Howard really needs to work on that water purifier so we can keep them alive.”

Kris blinked. “...How did you catch these? If the water’s no good, they wouldn’t be this healthy, and also the Greenbrier is hours away--plus, again, you said you haven’t left here!”

Mr. Puckett looked unfairly amused. “Actually, the river has a tributary that flows under the mountain. There’s places off the hiking trail where you can actually hear it flowing by underground,” he said, as if that answered anything.

Kris was beginning to get genuinely annoyed.

It must have shown on their face, because Jim finally took pity on them. Looking more serious, he began, “Kris, how much do you actually know about our ancestors?”

“The ancient Ebotters? As much as anyone, I guess.” Kris shrugged. “Old tribe, no one knows their real name, thought magic and monsters were real.”

Jim frowned, and opened his mouth, but he was interrupted when a door opened.

It was one that Kris had overlooked up to now, since it was painted and paneled to look like the surrounding wall. It was between the gun display and a huge poster about Anchorage and didn’t even have a sign on it. Even the handle was one of those fancy ones that slipped in so it could be flush with the wall, all so as to be as unobtrusive as possible.

It swung open now, and--

--there was a moment of disconnect, and the lights overhead flickered. Kris’s eyes strained, and for a split second it was as if the world was photonegative--

--Kris’s eyes watered for some reason. They rubbed it away, and when they looked back they saw the other adults they hadn’t seen yet all pile out, laden with goods. Mr. Wendell was carrying three big orange fish in each hand, his wife following behind with the rod and tackle box. Then Kylie came, followed by Marcy and her spouse, Jorge. All three of them were carrying boxes and bags. Jorge could barely be seen under all the bags he was carrying, which Kris respected.

“Hoowee, looks like a good haul today!” Jim cheered.

“You bet, old man,” Nurse Kylie said smugly. “I still can’;t believe it’s happening, but I can’t deny the results! Oh, and your idea with the stimpaks works too! We don’t have any this time, but let me put this down and I’ll tell you--Kris?!”

The nurse dropped her single box when she saw them, and the sheep cardboard busted, sending plastic packages of--Kris glanced down--individually sliced ham everywhere. Wendell’s wife, Kris didn’t know her name, swore and set her gear down to help pick it all up.

Before they could even properly react, Kris found themselves pulled into a bone-crushing hug from the woman, which was awkward. Kylie barely came up to their shoulders, and the fact that she was currently lifting them off the ground only accentuated that.

“Hey, nurse,” they gasped. “I heard you helped dad.” They were vaguely aware of the others moving around them to put things away.

Kylie grimaced. “Oh, honey, I tried so hard, but all I had on me was Med-X. All I could do was make sure he wasn’t in pain when he passed. I’m so, so sorry.”

They were silent just slightly too long, internalizing that, before nodding. “Then you did your best. Thanks.”

She gave him a watery smile and moved aside, helping the other woman with the ham.

Jim clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I’m sure you and Miss Kylie will have a lot to talk about later, but first, you wanted to know how we were getting our supplies.” He shoved them towards the door. “Take a look and tell me what you see.”

Kris pushed the nurse out of their mind and took a look. The very first thing they noticed was that there was absolutely no way five adults, especially not when one of them was as stacked as Jorge, could fit in this tiny storage space. They’d initially assumed that it led into the basement where they kept the past exhibits, but it was just a supply closet. One with a very odd definition of supplies.

“There’s just a bunch of toys in here,” Kris said, turning back around--and then they stopped.

The outside of the door was made to be as unseen as possible, but the inside? The inside was covered in odd symbols, some that looked vaguely familiar, some that hurt their head to look at. In the center of all of it was a large glyph: a circle with two wings, over three triangles.

Kris reached out, fascinated, and when they touched the wood, the symbols glowed. They yelped and withdrew their hand.

Jim walked over, giving the glyphs an appraising look. He clicked his tongue and looked at them as the light faded. “Just toys, hm? Look again. Take in every detail.”

Thoroughly confused now, Kris acquiesced.

On one shelf was a toy barn. It was decent quality, of the sort that opened up on a hinge secured by a latch. A bunch of toy cows of varying make were lined up inside. Sitting inside the barn, in the center, with a glass milk bottle, half full. It was cold to the touch, as though it had just come out of the fridge, and smelled fresh.

Another shelf on the same level had another, much less impressive barn that on closer inspection seemed to be a nativity Christmas decoration. It had a pair of piggy banks and a pig-shaped dog toy, and leaning against the barn was a ten-pack of hot dogs. Four of them were gone, but the packaging was still sealed…

Jim turned on the switch by the door, allowing Kris to notice the fishbowl sitting on the floor. A bunch of blue construction paper was strewn around it, and on the edge of the pile was a ‘dock,’ crudely constructed from toilet paper tubes and popsicles sticks, and a plastic boat bath toy with fishnet stocking stuffed inside. The bowl held a living goldfish, though it looked sickly. Even Kris could tell it was having trouble swimming, and it was missing scales.

There was more, like the stimpak on a Lego conveyor belt, just sitting there, and a bag of fruit-based trail mix sitting in a potted bonsai tree, which was, of course, half empty. And all the shelves had rulers or yardsticks taped down to create ramps and bridges between them, including a few that Kris had to duck under.

It was crazy, inexplicable, and yet it had a vibe. It was obviously constructed with care, like the train set Bill’s dad had in his basement. Since it was in a museum, Kris would even call it carefully curated.

Kris turned to Bill, at a loss.

The old man grinned. “Want to take a guess?”

They shook their head. They could feel the answer just out of reach, but it didn’t make sense. “I can’t… I don’t know. How are you doing this?”

Someone in the other room turned on the radio, and as the music drifted in Old Man Puckett picked a kitchen knife off another shelf. “First, let me ask you a question.” He rubbed his hand over his chest, and they blinked as a soft red light filled the room.

“What--”

“Are you afraid of the dark, Kris?”

“I--No? What kind of question is that?” Kris growled. “Stop talking in riddles!”

“Fine, fine.” The door creaked closed behind them, and Jim flicked the switch off.

Then he stabbed the knife into the wall.

There was a great and terrible light.

There was a great and wonderful darkness.

And Kris

Fell.