CNN#11: The Cranulet
One Cranulet to rule every single other one of them.
He stood at the precipice before that great, wild expanse, casting his gaze way out to No Man’s Land; his clenched fists painted fresh with the blood of some nameless, perished Otherkin. He let out an exhausted sigh of overwhelming disquiet at the journey that still lay before him…
Legend told of an amulet imbued with the essence of vitality, strength, courage, shit like that. The legend, which had been passed down by generations and from village to shining seaport, told of a man which bore his striking resemblance, an incredibly handsome city-slicker, that would come to obtain the amulet and harness its awesome power, to defeat The Great Evil.
I: A Meeting in Moonville
The younglings gathered outside of Mrs. Harris’s shoppe at the first hint of daybreak. Mrs. Harris looked forward to these morning meetings. Since the untimely death of her husband, Harrison Harris III son of Harrison “Harry” Harris Jr, she longed for nothing more than kinship. The younglings knew that every morning Mrs. Harris had something waiting for them: warm, delicious Cran-Apple Crumpets for every good boy and girl in Moonville.
All of Moonville was like this: sweet and warm as Mrs. Harris’s crumpets. It wasn’t difficult to find a helping hand, or a listening ear. The children danced and sang their song of merriment as they relished in each bite of the cran-apple-y goodness. That is, all the children but one: a boy called Little Craniel.
That morning Little Craniel awoke from having a terrible night terror. He was no stranger to these nightly visions of horror. For as long as he could remember he’d been having them. But this morning was worse. This morning, it felt real.
The evening before, after Little Craniel’s mother had put him to bed, he laid awake as he often did. It was during this time he would fantasize about one day living in the big city: Moon City. Mother and Father had always said the big city was far too scary, and that no one in their right mind would wish to leave the comforts of Moonville for Moon City. Besides, they said, they’d have to go through the woods to get there. All Little Cran’s life he’d been told by every adult, and child who’d themselves heard from other adults, that the woods were perilous:
Not for money, not for goods.
Never ever go in the woods.
-Moonville Proverb
That night, while he was fantasizing about Moon City, he heard a rustling outside his bedroom window. The woods, they told him, were crawling with Otherkin — or, not-quite humans — that wanted only to cause pain and suffering. As he slowly crept towards his window, and took a wee glance through the glass, he spotted what looked to be what he’d been told his whole life an Otherkin would appear like. Grotesque, humanoidic figure lurching in the shadowy alcoves. He wanted to scream, but fearing he may attract the… creature? he slunk back into his bed, pulled his blanket over his head, and shut his eyes.
When Little Cran didn’t show up for crumpets, Mrs. Harris grew concerned.
“Children, which one of you has seen Little Cran this morning,” she asked, but not a one of them could answer. Billy Brightwood replied that he’d walked past Little Cran’s house that morning and noticed the front door was ajar. Mrs. Harris made a mental note to call Sheriff Tousignant later, to provide a wellness check on the boy.
It was approximately 12:03 in the afternoon when Sheriff Tousignant did arrive at Little Cran’s home. He hopped off his horse, and tied him to the fence out front. He gave the equine a little pat on the head and told him he’d be right back. As the sheriff stepped into the home on Hillside Trail, he noticed two things: 1. Weren’t nobody home, and 2. They didn’t leave willingly. Someone, or something, he reckoned, dragged them out of there by force.
Well, it didn’t take him long to discover the culprit. As he stepped back outside he saw that Otherkin standing still near his horse. The sheriff reached for his gun.
“Now just hold it,” came a voice from behind Sheriff Tousignant, from inside the house. It was a tall, handsome man donning a cowboy hat, and a ponytail. He wore a long, dark coat and a red bandana around his neck.
“Just who the hell are—” Sheriff started.
“Name’s City-Slicker Cran,” and the man tipped his hat, “pleasure to meet you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be needing that horse.” The Otherkin, who had freed the horse from the fence and was preparing to mount, hissed at the city-slicker.
“Just wait a minute now,” the sheriff began, “that there’s my horse!” But City-Slicker Cran didn’t hear him, or more likely he didn’t care. He fired a single bullet at the Otherkin, directly between it’s eyes. He walked right past Sheriff Tousignant, as though he forgot he was standing there, and hopped up on the horse.
“Not one more move, mister—”
The Sheriff’s words fell on deaf ears, and before he could finish his sentiment, City-Slicker Cran was halfway down Hillside Trail with the man’s own horse.
But before City-Slicker Cran could make it out of Moonville, he came face to face with someone else. A boy. Little Cran. He stood in the middle of the path, with his palm outstretched.
“You killed the creature,” said the boy, astonished.
“I did,” nodded City-Slicker Cran.
“Take me with you.”
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