Stranger Danger
Look at him. Kneeling by a modest campfire, its light flickering against the dark forest floor. No tent, no bedroll—nothing of a seasoned traveler’s camp. Only a makeshift cooking station surrounded by scavenged supplies.
Step closer.
Yes, slowly. Let the shadows cloak you. Let the trees murmur of your presence without giving you away.
Interesting. He’s already gathered followers. Strange ones at that. Tiny creatures—wild, eager, clustering around him as if he were their leader. They are not hunters. No fangs sharp enough to pierce flesh, no claws meant for battle. Just forest critters. Yet…
Shift your angle. Observe.
Yes…
He moves, reaching into his pack with careful, practiced motions. Ingredients, cookware, and odd items spill out—things that don’t belong to a man stranded in the wilderness. And… what’s this? The creatures… they have dinnerware. Plates, bowls, even utensils. As if they knew this meal was coming.
Curious.
“Where did they… you know what, never mind.”
His voice breaks the quiet, light and weary, as if he’s given up trying to make sense of his situation. He works methodically, laying mushrooms on a stone rack above the fire, watching them cook. Again.
Closer.
Stop.
Look at him.
He freezes. His hands pause. His back straightens. His eyes flick upward, alert, searching. He doesn’t see you—not yet—but he senses something. An unseen presence threading through the night, the weight of hidden eyes on him. He stays still, listening. The forest is silent. The wind keeps your secret. Yet he knows.
His gaze fixes in your direction. Not past you. Not through you. At you.
Fascinating.
Closer.
Yes, closer still. Step out of the shadows. Let him see. Let him understand. Earn his attention, his trust, his favor. That is your task. That is your purpose.
Do you understand?
A pause.
A whisper.
“Yes… Mistress.”
Good.
What the hell was that?
Something’s out there. Just beyond the firelight. Watching. No—staring. Hard. With intent. Malicious intent.
Am I losing it? Imagining things? Get it together, Grant. You’re too old for ghost stories.
Snap.
Every critter freezes. Not in a casual, let’s-take-a-break way. No, this is the kind of stillness that says,
Fur bristles. Tails puff up like they’ve been hit by static. Even the potato stiffens, ready to bolt.
“...Shit.”
Crimson eyes blink out of the darkness, glowing like embers. Shadows shift just beyond the fire’s reach, creeping closer.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
My muscles coil, every instinct screaming: I tighten my grip on my stick. Not much better than a toothpick, but it’s all I’ve got.
The shadows move. My pulse hammers. Then—
A figure flops out of the trees, landing face-first in the dirt.
“Master…?” Her voice wobbles, on the verge of tears.
I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“No. Nope. Hell no.” I wave a firm
hand, staying put. “Not doing this again. Thought I ditched you when you fell asleep.”
She sniffles, crimson eyes glistening. “But... why, Master?”
A deep rumble echoes from her stomach.
Grrpt!
I whip my head toward the sound. Of course. Of freaking course. Is everything in this world just permanently starving?
“Food!” Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“NO!” the critters around me shout in unison, voices high and panicked.
I freeze. Wait. Hold up.
“What the—? Y’all can talk?”
A chipmunk crosses its tiny arms. “Hold up… you can understand us?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Apparently.”
Grrpt!
The demon girl’s eyes lock onto the mushrooms cooking over the fire. Her nose twitches, practically drooling. Not good. Definitely not good.
“You made…” She licks her lips, excitement radiating off her. “…so much yummy food.” She takes a step closer.
Nope. Not today, Satan.
I grab my stick, holding it out like a makeshift barrier. “Stay back. Keep this much distance between us.”
Her face falls, eyes wide and watery. “But... why, Master?”
I sigh. “Because you, little lady, are the definition of stranger danger.”
She blinks, clearly not getting it. Then she laughs—a sweet, lilting sound way too innocent for a demon.
“Stranger danger?” She tilts her head, still giggling. “Silly Master. I’m no stranger, and you’re not in danger.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
She pouts, her eyes growing even wider, somehow more pitiful. “Just one bite... please, Master?”
I keep my stick up. “A bite of what, exactly?”
“Food, Master.” She beams, her tail flicking behind her. “The food you made.”
I glance at the raccoons, who look about as confused as I feel. One just shrugs. “Don’t look at us, pal,” it says, voice raspy and grumpy.
The potato—still frozen beside me—nudges my knee. Or, at least, I think that’s an elbow.
“If I may…” It speaks with a refined voice, like some posh aristocrat. “If the lady wishes to dine, perhaps a bargain can be struck.”
I blink. “Right. Thanks, Mr. Potato Head.”
The potato puffs up, clearly offended. “Sir Spudsworth, if you please.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose again. “Fine. Sir Spudsworth. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” it replies, sounding anything but.
I turn back to the demon girl, who watches us with wide, curious eyes. “Alright. If you want food, we’re making a deal.”
Her face lights up. “Yes! Anything!”
And then—
She starts taking off her clothes.
“NO!”
Every creature around the fire yells in unison, paws and hands slapping over eyes.
She stops, confused. “What? What’s wrong?”
I lower my hand just enough to glare at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
She tilts her head, tail swaying innocently. “You said deal. This is how we seal deals, Master. With a contract.”
I gape at her. “Contracts don’t require nudity!”
She blinks. “Oh… really?”
“Yes! Really!” I wave the stick, keeping her at a distance. “For crying out loud, put your clothes back on!”
She pouts but obeys, slipping her shirt back over her shoulders. “Humans are weird.”
I don’t bother arguing. “Yeah, well, so are demons.”
She smiles, sharp teeth gleaming. “I like weird.”
I sigh, feeling a headache coming on. “Of course you do.”
Sir Spudsworth clears his throat—or whatever the potato equivalent is. “Ahem. Now that the… misunderstanding is settled, shall we discuss the terms?”
I glance at the potato, then at the demon girl, who watches me with hopeful eyes.
I should’ve just sold the farm.