The Traveler by Sonia Ipina
“Evening, what will you be having?”
The innkeeper addressed the traveler who had taken a seat at the bar with a more or less indifferent tone. The traveler gave a response in a low, gravelly voice. They didn't look up from the small objected they had in their hand.
“Just a plate of food and some ale, if you could.”
The innkeeper grunted out an answer and went to the kitchens to get the food and drink.
It was a busy night, far busier than he had planned for. The innkeeper was short staffed, food was running low, and they were nearly down to their last cask of ale. Not that the innkeeper was unhappy with this, in fact he was joyful about the bustle and raucous noise filling the dining room of the inn. It was quite a nice change from the near dead silence he would hear most nights.
Now, being the innkeeper of this tucked away inn, he saw his fair share of strange looking characters pass through. He hadn't thought much, but the traveler who sat a the bar seemed a strange. They wore a dirty cloak that was ripped and frayed with a hood that covered most of their face, only leaving their long, stringy, unkempt hair to be seen. The rest of their clothing must be in that same state, dirty and worn, caked with dried dirt as if they had been dragged through the mud in a storm. Their hands- calloused and dirty- fidgeted with something shiny.
The object glittered in the dim light of the inn’s bar, the shape seemed familiar.
Curious.
It was easy to notice. It stood out against the dirt surrounding it, clean and bright. It struck the innkeeper as odd.
Shaking the thought from his head, the innkeeper returned to his task. He couldn’t leave a customer waiting too long. To say the innkeep wasn’t nervous would be a lie. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was strange about the traveler. The innkeep quickly got a plate of food and drink, muttering a curse as his hands shook with tremors.
'Ah, blast these nerves.'
The innkeep returned to the front with the food and drink. As he set down the plate and mug in front of the traveler, he noticed something odd. As he emerged from the kitchen, the noises clanging pots and the cracking of the flames faded away completely.
The dining room was dead silent.
He carefully took a glance up and saw that everyone sat up stock straight in their seats, their mouths gaping open and eyes wide as if frozen in mid scream. His blood ran cold as he lifted up his head in terrified awe.
"Inkeep."
At the sound of the rumbling voice, the innkeeper snapped out of his stupor and quickly made his way to set down the plate and mug in front of the traveler. Wordlessly, the traveler took out some gold pieces and set them down, sliding them towards the innkeeper.
The innkeeper's mind went blank.
With shaky hands the innkeeper took the gold and pocketed it away, leaving the dining room in a daze as he ignored the feeling of dread building up in the back of his mind. Maybe when he returned to the kitchen, the life would come back to the dining room and that unnerving event would disappear from his mind like smoke.
With every step he took, he felt the air around him grow colder, the tension in the dining room growing heavy. He tried to ignore the gaping faces that looked at him as he slowly made his way back to the kitchen, but they seemed to be screaming at him with unheard voices.
Their stare. The traveler had their eyes on him, he was sure of it.
Time seemed to slow with every step, the boards beneath his feet stretching, elongating. He could just see the threshold of the kitchen, but no matter how many steps he would take, they would not get him any closer.
He took a terrified glance to the people that faced him, their faces unchanged from the horrific screams. Among them, he thought he saw the face of his little girl, tear-stained and red, as she silently screamed for help. Next to her was his wife, her face pale, tinted blue, with frail arms wrapped around their daughter in a tight embrace.
The innkeeper knew that they were gone, they had been dead for years now. He should not go to them. If he did, the traveler would know.
He could still feel their eyes on him.
Something nagged at the back of his mind, something was odd about the gold he took. There was something else with it.
Quickly shoving a hand into his pocket he felt around for the oddly shaped object. He had heard of some wandering vagabonds carrying talismans to give to people they deemed worthy to have them. At last he held it in his grasp and pulled it out with trembling hands.
He gave it a closer look.
It was a small talisman, same size as a gold coin. It’s color was the same, the grooves in the metal telling a tale of adventure. Words in a language long forgotten to time were etched onto the talisman, with a carving of a skull.
The innkeeper heard a noise behind him.
His blood ran cold.
With a low groan of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, he felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt the air change. It buzzed with a nervous energy, helping the tension pull taunt to the point of snapping.
Dread consumed him as he turned towards the traveler, catching a glimpse of his family sitting with the rest of the tortured souls.
Screams broke through the silence with a deafening roar as the innkeeper stared into gaping, black holes of the abyss.