Nobody is stupid enough to venture into unknown territories, except for Ilya. Don't get him wrong! He never meant to enter that mysterious village.
Fate led him there to save, or be saved.
"Peekaboo!"
Beast is a cruel creature that used to be human...
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Waking up is a transition from a world of dreams into reality. Yet Ilya felt he was still trapped in a nightmare. Werewolves, zombies, vampires, and now a man with the face of a pig.
An upturned nose with wide nostrils like a pig's snout, two long tusks that reminded Ilya of vicious fantasy creatures like orcs, and that heavy weight especially around the belly Greg was carrying. No matter how large the shirts he wore, that huge belly always peeked. When he moved, the ground would shake. It seemed like a miracle that Greg could walk at all with that amount of fat.
After that scare, Ilya found himself on a cozy couch with a blanket on his back. He couldn't remember how he got here, but he hoped it was all just a horrible nightmare.
"This isn't real, this isn't real," he told himself, letting out a small laugh of fear. "I'm dreaming. This is just another dream."
His eyes were wide with fright. Divine green irises remained unmoving. Rattled, yet still motionless with shock. On the verge of descending into madness. Dark pupils shrunk. He was lost in another world until a cup of tea appeared before his eyes.
"It's not a dream," Greg said.
Ilya flinched, eyes wavering as he studied the hand that offered him the tea; only three fingers—two double fingers coated in a thick layer of skin, and a large thumb.
"Relax, boy." Greg sighed. "It's just Lavender tea, to calm your nerves."
Ilya took the cup without looking at Greg's face, trying hard to stop shaking. Despite the overwhelming sense of dread building inside him, Ilya was ashamed of screaming at the deformed man. Even if it was the same man who tried to shoot him, Ilya felt bad for unintentionally mocking his appearance.
"Thank you," Ilya said, softly.
"You're welcome."
From the corners of his eyes, Ilya watched Greg sink on a double-seated sofa next to him.
Ilya curled upon himself with the hot cup of tea between his hands. He noticed his broken wrist underwent a better treatment; it had a proper cast this time, rather than the sticks and ripped clothes from before, and an arm slinger held his arm in a comfortable position.
But still no clothes, except for his blood-stained sweat pants.
Ilya brought the teacup to his mouth but hesitated, remembering the last home he had tea in. He scanned the surface of his drink. No cockroaches. No dirty spots. It was pure. The smell confirmed to him that it was edible, unlike Charlie's tea.
Taking his first sip, Ilya allowed himself to enjoy this rare moment in this cursed town.
A click, an inhale, and then a puff of smoke appeared in the air. Pig, or Greg, was relaxing in his own way.
After a few sips, Ilya surveyed the living room. Near the door was Beast, cleaning the mess of the trap Ilya triggered. Ilya didn't know if it was the effect of the tea or knowing that Beast wasn't watching him, but he felt calmer.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to look at Greg the pig.
"I'm sorry about earlier."
"Ah." Greg waved his hand nonchalantly. "It's fine. I know I'm not exactly Jonathan Brandis."
Greg started laughing at his own joke.
"Umm." Ilya furrowed his eyebrows. "Who?"
Greg stopped laughing. His expression changed from joy to disappointment in a split second. Who hasn't heard of Jonathan Brandis? In Greg's mind, time had stopped in this town in the 90s. Then he remembered that, sadly, the world moved on without them.
"Forget it." He filled his lungs with smoke, exhaled it, and then complained, "You don't have to remind me that I'm old. Sheesh. Kids these days."
It was quiet for a minute, then Ilya found the courage to ask an important question.
"What is this place?" His curious eyes met Pig's. "H-how did you all end up here?"
Ilya's questions came out so innocently but struck a nerve, like a baby asking a grownup about where babies come from. The cute look on the boy's face made Greg's heart melt. He cursed the time he used him as target practice.
If Ilya asked for Greg's gun right now, he would happily give it to him.
Greg was about to answer but stopped when Beast decided to join them.
Beast rolled a towel between his hands, cleaning them from dust and rust. Six sturdy abs glistened with sweat under the cozy lights. When he was done, he threw the towel on his broad shoulder, flexing his biceps in the process.
"It's a long depressing story," Beast said with a sigh.
Beast sensed a jitter from Ilya. The surface of the hot drink in the boy's hands rippled. Then came those short breaths of fear, rattling the young human's chest.
Beast approached a nearby chair carefully and sat down. He noticed the boy never raised his head, avoiding him at all costs.
"I can summarize it with three words," Greg interrupted the awkward moment. "Three Mile Island."
Ilya turned to Pig.
Greg continued, "It's a nuclear accident that happened in 1979 which affected the soil, water, and eventually the people living near that place."
"Wait, wait. Near?" With big surprised eyes, Ilya differed, "But New York is far enough from that place."
Pig and Beast exchanged a look. Then Pig rubbed his forehead as if trying to find the right way to reveal a disturbing fact to the boy.
"Where—uh," Greg said, then cleared his throat. "Where exactly do you think you are right now?"
Ilya shrugged a shoulder and answered like it was common knowledge, "Somewhere in New York's countryside."
"Oh, boy," Beast said.
Beast covered the side of his face and turned away. He couldn't bear to watch the boy's face once Pig revealed the truth.
"Kid." Greg let out a heavy sigh and then stared at Ilya. "You're in Pennsylvania."
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Wait! I don't get it. Was the nuclear disaster the cause of all this?
What about the documents Ilya found in the hospital?? 🤔
