Story Our Medic: Short Stories from the Spider Web

[Walliver]

Feverish



“Everton?”

He awoke to someone tapping on his cheek, trying to wake him up. He usually woke up early, no one ever needed to get him up.

“Everton.”

There was a hand combing back his hair, an unfamiliar gesture. He’d always taken care of himself when he was injured or ill. He didn’t need a mother to coddle him, a father to tell him things would be okay.

“You’re burning up.”

The voice was female, the hand was calloused. Signy. Everton started to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down.

“Stay down.”

So he did. Shivering and sweating, he stayed down. He allowed himself this small comfort.

“Stay awake.”

He nodded, knowing that it was not a request. It was an order, and he followed orders.

“Show me.”

Everton shook his head. That he would not do.

“You’re not sick, you’ve got an infected wound. I need to see how bad it is.”

Still, he stubbornly shook his head. Then his own hands were pinned away from himself, and he was helpless all over again.

The screams. The smell of rotting flesh and the feeling of blood streaming down his shoulder- make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP-

“Everton, woah, hey, it’s alright. It’s just us, buddy. It’s just us.”

Nic. Oh, that beautiful, wonderful man. Signy, she was beautiful and wonderful too.

“Mister Winter, you’re hurt real bad. Can you tell me how to fix you?”

Minnow. Just a kid, but a bright and gorgeous kid with potential that even Everton himself would never have.

“Let us help you, mister. It’s only fair that we return the favors you’ve given us.”

So let the protector be protected.

 

[Walliver]

Should Have Died




“I should have died that night.”

“The night your siblings died?”

“...yes. But something saved me. I don’t know what.”

It was dark, but not as dark as it could have been. Cold, but not the kind of cold the could crack bones. Everton sighed, smelling the fresh air. It was a wonderful time for them. The crops were flourishing, everyone was well fed. It couldn’t have been better.

The growling was the first clue. There were growls all over the place. In the house, in the fields. Everywhere. Then the smell. It was a terrible, awful stench. One of death, rotting. Then the feeling of jaws clamped around his shoulder.

He could not fight and he could not run. He would have to die. And all around him was death. His sisters, slaughtered in seconds. His brothers tried to fight, but they were horribly outnumbered. He would be the next to fall, he was sure of it.

But then, something came. Everton would never be sure of what it was, but it saved him. A flash of light and the vampyr began to scatter. He blacked out after that.

“Do you still have the scar?”

Everton nodded, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

“Nasty, isn’t it?”