Page 42 of Primal Hunger
I still don’t have a plan, or supplies to take with me. Not to mention, I already tried to run once and failed. The odds are definitely not in my favor this time around.
Taking another look around the small room that is Syros’ house, I don’t see much that will be helpful if I flee. He might have thought his collection was made up of weapons, but outside of the tiny point on the can opener, they’re harmless. Benign.
I’ve got no chance fighting against a Grim with a Britney Spears CD.
Plus, I have no idea what I’m up against or what I’ll find out there in this monstrous realm, so just taking off right now doesn’t seem in my best interest. Besides, Syros said I would enjoy a slow, painful death. Call me crazy, but I believe him.
My arms drop back to my sides and the exhaustion I staved off crashes back over my head. No amount of music or adrenaline will keep me going now.
Normally, I’d take a threat like the one he made with a grain of salt—like a cheesy line from a horror movie—but I’m not in a place to blow him off. Not after everything I’ve seen so far.
Whether at his hands, or the hands of something else, I know my life could easily end, so I have to be smart about this.
My stomach twists, demanding food and water. My eyes shift to the giant cauldron Syros was stirring earlier, and I take a few steps in that direction. A muddy-colored water fills it about halfway.Nope, not that hungry.
I need a fucking plan. This time, I have to be smart and look before I make the jump. I’m not sure I'll be able to land on my feet, and although my track record has me coming out on top every time, the odds of it happening this go around are slim to none.
I have to be calm, rational, and patient.
Patience has never been my forte, despite all my field work.
Finding out what I can about this realm is crucial to devising any kind of escape plot, and the easiest way to go about that is earning Syros’ trust. It makes the most sense. Once I’ve earned it, I’ll be able to needle him for information.
If he trusts me, then he’ll be more inclined to not only allow me small freedoms, but to loosen his lips.
I snort. He only has lips to loosen in themetaphoricalsense.
Besides, what other kinds of beasts live here? How and where do the portals open? He mentioned waiting until the next solstice, but could there be other portals here that he isn’t aware of? Those open constantly or maybe once a month?
Anything is possible.
I sag down to my knees when they go jelly and refuse to hold me.
Oh yeah, I’m sunk. Even if I decide to give into temptation and bolt, I won’t make it far. My body is going downhill fast without food, water, sleep, etc. All the things a human generally needs to survive and be at full strength.
And if I’m honest with myself, I doubt there’s any way I’ll survive long enough to see another portal. Six months is a long time on earth, and I have no clue what that means in this realm.
Does time move slower here? Faster?
Judging from the way Syros reacted when I explained the watch, I’m not even sure they have a concept of time in this place. Maybe they only mark it by a change of season. After all, they know when the solstice arrives and the portal opens.
My heartbeat races, along with my thoughts, and I know it’s only a matter of seconds before my anxiety gets worked up again. With no distractions to keep the nerves at bay, they threaten to rise up and drag me down into a panic attack, and I can’t afford it.
I need to focus.
I reach for the radio again to ground myself, to feel something familiar, and twist the knob to the left to lower the suddenly overwhelming volume.
What a sight it was to find this piece among his collection.
I remember playing with one of these in my grandfather’s house a long time ago—the memories hazy because of time—and I think of what it was like before I decided to chase ghosts and cryptids.
Back then, things were simple. Boring. But at least they were safe. I had grandparents and a home and my dad to keep me stable and grounded. He never exactly discouraged my flights of fancy but redirected me more often than not to focus on things that were right in front of me.
College, he always said, is where young people learn who they are and who they want to be.
Then, he was gone.
There were no more trips to Grandpa’s house to fiddle with the old radio. No more life lessons. Only a heap of money and a tentative direction I didn’t end up taking.
