The cruel monster of Everfree

Well, this definitely isn't a dream. Once again, I woke up in this strange, unfamiliar place. My back was aching from the rough ground, just a patch of dirt that looked more comfortable than it actually was.

I sat up slowly, stretching my stiff limbs, relieved to find my shoes still next to me. I’d taken them off last night to sleep—risky with all the bugs and creatures around, but after wearing them all day on terrain they were never meant for, my feet were killing me. Shoes back on, I headed to wash my face. The water was cold and refreshing, and luckily, my stomach wasn’t rebelling yet. I know it’s risky to drink from unknown water sources, but I did yesterday, and so far, I feel fine. Still, I’m dreading the thought of what might happen if the water turns out to be dangerous.

Once I was ready, I buried what little remained of yesterday’s rabbit. It’s odd, really. I don’t know if the rabbit was intelligent—animals usually aren’t, or at least, I hope they aren’t. If they are, then Disney might’ve been onto something all along. I mean, a rabbit with a basket? But a door? A freakin’ miniature door in its burrow? That’s more than unsettling. A door means it understands things like property, boundaries—things I thought only humans knew.

I quickly dug a shallow hole, dropped the remains in, covered them with dirt, and placed a few small rocks on top. I muttered a quick thanks for the meal, feeling strangely guilty but also grateful that its sacrifice kept me alive another day.

Following the river downstream, I listened to the birds chirping, their songs calming me. My earlier anxiety—that I was the only hunter in this place—began to fade. The forest didn’t see me as some evil intruder; I was just another resident, another predator in the natural order. I killed a simple rabbit for survival, just like any other creature needing meat would.

I walked for about two hours, wondering if there was any point to continuing when, finally, a sight that seemed like a gift from the heavens appeared in the distance. A camp. Two tents, colorful and... small. Too small. Were they kids camping? Or maybe this place just had really tiny people.

After ten minutes, I reached the campsite. It looked deserted, and the tents were even tinier up close. Definitely not adult-sized. Maybe some tiny boy scouts were out here proving themselves? But what kind of parent lets their kids camp alone in the middle of the woods? And on a Tuesday, no less... Or was it Tuesday? I was losing track of time.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I called out awkwardly as I peeked inside one of the tents. Empty. But there were supplies—small containers with fruits, vegetables, and even mini cupcakes. Great. I could only hope the owners would share a bit when they returned.

One thing caught my eye as I rummaged—a book. Or at least, it looked like a children’s book. It was way too small, barely fitting in my hand. Who brings a book this tiny on a camping trip? Some scout manual? The cover had colorful horses—unicorns, pegasi, and regular ones, although the "regular" ones were anything but normal. With their bright colors and huge eyes, they looked more like something from a sugary fever dream. The text inside? Totally foreign. The script was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Worried, I stepped outside the tent. If I was right, communication was going to be a massive barrier here. And if this really was some scout camp, imagine the panic when their kids came back to find a strange man who couldn't even speak their language.

Looking around for any signs of the campers, I froze when I glanced across the river. In the distance, barely noticeable, were two small, colorful horses. One was navy blue, the other a light magenta, smaller than the first. I stared, my mind racing. Were... were those the mythical, rainbow-colored horses? Were unicorns and pegasi real?

I was overwhelmed, confused, and just a little bit freaked out. These horses were tiny, so they had to be foals, right? And yet, they looked scared, like they were nervous about something. Worse, they were looking right at me. I instinctively turned around, half-expecting some predator behind me, but nope—nothing. So... they were afraid of ME.

“C’mon, I won’t hurt ya,” I called out, doing my best cowboy impression, throwing in some tongue clicks like I’d seen in Red Dead Redemption 2.

The smaller one seemed curious but hesitant. I could tell it wanted to cross the river, but the bigger one held it back, gently, with a hoof. Was that normal? Were they siblings? I had no idea how horses worked, but I knew they liked sugar and apples. That gentle motion, though... it felt off.

Ignoring them for the time being, I settled by the campfire to wait. Whoever owned the camp had to come back eventually.

Hours passed, and the owners still hadn’t shown up. Meanwhile, those two little horses stayed where they were. The bigger one looked restless, while the smaller one had curled up between its legs, like a scared child.

With no sign of the campers, I decided to hunt something less questionable than another rabbit. No need to find out if they’re intelligent. I spotted a bird, a plump pigeon-sized one, and wiped my sweaty palms. Not that it was hot out—I was just nervous. I’ve never killed anything before yesterday, and now I was about to add another life to my tally. Holding my breath, I hurled a rock with all my might, striking the bird in the side and watching it fall.

I sprinted toward it, hearing its frantic flapping before its body hit the ground. I went for my rock, but the bird, still alive, was trying to escape. Panic surged through me, and, without thinking, I stomped on its head a few times. The sensation was awful. Guilt gnawed at me. This was nothing like how movies or games portrayed it. If it felt anything like this, no one would ever find it fun.

Once the bird stopped moving, I grabbed it, along with my stone, and returned to the camp. Feeling emotionally drained, I was at least glad I wouldn’t have to steal food from the campers—whenever they showed up. The two little horses were still there, the bigger one now inside one of the tents, while the smaller one was playing with some rocks. It glanced up at me, its gaze a mix of fear and curiosity.

Up close, I realized how tiny it really was—barely up to my knees. It looked so scared that I crouched down and gently reached out to pet it.

To my surprise, it liked it. As I scratched behind its ear, it even seemed to relax. I got some blood on it, but it didn’t care. The soothing sensation of my hand seemed to calm it more than anything. It would’ve made a cute pet.

Then, I heard a sharp whinny from the bigger horse, followed by a softer sound from the little one, like they were communicating. Do horses even do that? It was kind of cute, honestly. But the bigger one seemed to panic after that, darting out of the tent like it had seen a ghost.

I tried to calm it down, reaching out to pet it too, but instead, I got a swift kick to the stomach that knocked the wind right out of me. “Damn horse,” I groaned, collapsing to my knees, gasping for breath as both horses bolted, running far faster than their size should’ve allowed. The last thing I saw was the smaller one, giving me this sad look.

“What the hell is this place?” I muttered, still rubbing my aching stomach. “Why are all the animals so weird and creepy?” First the semi-intelligent rabbit, now these strange, miniature horses with human-like emotions...

"And who the hell brands a horse with a tent symbol?" I wasn’t an expert on horses, but this wasn’t any kind of branding I’d ever seen. Then again, I wasn’t even sure these things were horses. Not the kind I knew. The ones I’d seen didn’t look like they were designed by a sugar-high kid with crayons.

Once I caught my breath, I sat down to pluck the bird. Ideally, I’d boil water to make it easier, but I didn’t have anything for that, so I had to do it by hand with my trusty sharp rock, my only real tool in this godforsaken place. After what felt like forever, night fell, and I was starving. I set the bird over the fire and, annoyed and sore, I went back to the tent and devoured some of the food from the containers while I waited for the bird to cook.

At this point, I didn’t care if the campers returned. As far as I was concerned, they’d abandoned this place, or something bad had happened to them. I’d been here all day, and no sign of them. That would explain the lack of larger supplies—just some fruit, veggies, and, weirdly, cupcakes.

I picked one up, noticing how tiny it was. It fit perfectly in my palm. A mini-mini cupcake, if you will. I took a bite, thinking at least I had something to comfort me after this awful start to the week. Then it hit me: "Great. Now I’m probably going to get diabetes too."