Not much else I could use the money for though. It was a miracle the app even worked out here. I’d been staying in my uncle’s cabin in the mountains for the last few months. The doctors said it was to get some fresh air and solitude. Avoid the stress of working in the city.
Honestly, they just didn’t know what else to do with me. After 7 failed rounds of chemo, I don’t really blame them. This was really their vacation, not mine.
The thing that a lot of people don’t think about with terminal illness is just how much of a toll it takes on your loved ones. It gets worse the more it drags on, waiting any moment for death to come. And at this point, I was 18 months late for my appointment with the reaper.
The doorbell rang. I struggled to get up. Memories of being in this cabin as a young man flowed through me like a river. Exploring the Adirondacks during the day, coming back at night to the forge helping my uncle prep for his next ren fair gig. This cabin has always been an oasis in a life and a family full of chaos. So as I grabbed my cane and struggled to the door, I tried my hardest to not see it as an oversized coffin. A prison for me to finally keel up and die in.
I had to prop myself up against the wall. Almost hanging from the doorknob for support. “Shit”. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I hadn’t showered in a couple of days and my hair was plastered to my skull. Eyes sunken in and sallow. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. Romance novels always make vampires out to be sexy, but if I was bitten I’m pretty sure the only change to me would be some sharper canines.
I tried to fluff up my hair for the one person I would probably see this week. But it just made me look crazy, on top of being sick and tired. Whatever. The doorbell rang again. I yanked the door open. A very cold looking woman shivered aggressively at me from within the depths of a scarf and a goose-down coat.
“Sorry” I croaked out. My throat unused to speech these last few weeks.
“Are you Patrick?” Her teeth were chattering.
“Well, I’m the only one out here for a couple of miles.” I tried to be funny but she just looked freaked out. Couldn’t blame her. Not with my current appearance. “Yeah, that’s me.”
She held out the bag for me to grab. It hung there for a few seconds.
“Uh sorry, can you just put it down?”
There’s a look someone gives you when they realize that you’re fucked up for the first time. Her eyes tracked my body. The way my legs struggled to keep me upright. The concentration and cold sheen of sweat on my face. I saw the sympathy, pity, whatever it was.
“Merry Christmas” She gently placed the bag at my feet. She didn’t meet my eyes again, just turned around and left.
As far as interactions go, it could have gone worse. It hurt a little that the first time I’d heard that today came from my food delivery person, but what are you gonna do? Christmas is a time to be happy with your loved ones. And after all I’d put them through they needed a good holiday. I didn’t mind.
It was a lie. Obviously. But the type of lie that makes life a little bit more bearable. That paints us in the colors of a hero instead of a tired, sick man.
I lowered myself down enough to clutch the cold soggy bag of Taco Bell in my hands and for a moment pretended it was a present. The universe reaching out to give me the gift of delicious fake Mexican food and some Mountain Dew Baja Blast.
Looking around, the place was a mess. Pill bottles everywhere. Cans of beer. A few takeout bags. To say it clashed with my uncle’s mid-century modern aesthetic is an understatement.
Keeping the place clean had been hard since my mobility started to go. But insurance wouldn’t cover a wheelchair or a caretaker so here we are. God bless America.
Pretending the house wasn’t a prison was harder as I saw the woman, Caitlyn according to the app, through the window. She was trying to get her car to start.
Problems like that, small things that magnify in the moment. Mole hills masquerading as mountains. I miss them more than anything else I think. In a few minutes, she’d probably get the thing to start and it’d disappear like the mirage it always was.
Navigating through the house my body knew each handhold, each place I could rest or lean when I needed. I wasn’t in a rush. Taco bell was 30 minutes away, this food was already going to be ice cold.
I passed through the kitchen. My uncle didn’t believe in microwaves. I never really knew if it was because of the radiation like some people believe, or if he genuinely hated convenience. He was an odd man.
My second option, the stove, was covered in a thick veneer of pizza boxes. I scanned around for a clear surface to relocate them to but after days of this game of musical chairs, it was all pretty much fucked. I’d have to call in a maid service tomorrow. Thankfully a ye olde blacksmith always has a backup option for heat.
The workshop was thankfully attached to the house. Beautiful stone construction with a giant old-fashioned forge in the center of the room. My uncle was a ren fair craftsman, so he made sure to only keep period-appropriate tools at hand and well organized. They hung from the walls in neat and tidy rows. Most were handmade by him or his friends. Or me. When I could still swing a hammer.
The matchbook was right where it always was. Top drawer of an old harbor freight tool chest. Shivering I grabbed it and tried to light the damn thing. Schwick, and nothing. It wasn’t until the third try that I finally got a flame. I tossed it into the forge and it came to life.
It immediately began to burn. The bellows were a little bit beyond me at the moment, but I didn’t need to heat steel, just takeout. I moved to the side of the forge and laid out the contents of the bag one by one onto the warming stones.
Memories hit me like a wave. Stepping into the workshop as an excited nine-year-old, prepared to make my first sword. It was my first real encounter with the idea of mastery. That you can’t just decide to do a thing and have it instantly happen. I went in wanting a sword, and came out with a vague idea of what discipline and patience truly meant.
I finally got my sword at 19. It was my gap year between high school and college. I thought I wanted to study material science or metallurgy or something like that but I couldn’t really decide. And things were pretty bad at home. My uncle offered me a job at the forge for a year. And it was the best year of my life. I-
The ground seemed to move and shift. I felt my balance going. It’s odd the way that sometimes your body just decides you can’t do anything anymore. The moment that my foot hit the ground I realized that I was going to fall. I tried to turn mid-fall to grab my cane but that only made it worse.
I hit the ground twisted like a pretzel and I could feel something in my back pop. I couldn’t feel my legs. I could feel myself fading. My vision going dark.
The doc said falls were going to be dangerous. My head hurt. It must have hit the side of the forge. Blood mixed with the spilled soda. And I realized that it might finally be time for me to go. At least it’s getting warmer
In the house, the doorbell rang. I didn’t know the Grim Reaper could ring doorbells.
If consciousness is usually a river, mine was becoming a stream. Stream of consciousness, hehe. I could feel myself slipping away. Smelling the coal smoke and hearing the crackle of the fire.
– System Initiated –
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Time stopped. A spark hung suspended in the air above me. The pain disappeared.
– Creating Zones –
– Zone: Upstate New York Created –
A voice spoke directly into my mind like the voice of god. If god was a tired radio announcer who lost the will to live.
– Creating Subzones –
– Subzone: Adirondack Mountains Created –
I tried to speak but my body was frozen, like I was caught in sleep paralysis. All sound was gone except for the voice.
– Rebalancing Zone Population Levels –
A sensation of incredible pressure. My ears popped. What the fuck does that mean? Was I going crazy?
– Assigning Zone Danger Levels –
– Zone: Upstate New York: B –
– Subzone: Adirondack Mountains: A- –
I hit my head. I was going crazy. That’s it. It had to be it. I tried to move again but the air itself seemed to hold me in place like a vice. My blood had stopped flowing. I had heard that time seems to slow down when you’re dying but what the fuck was this?
– Initializing NPCs –
– Determining Status: NPC or Monster –
– Flipping Coin: Please select heads or tails –
I’ve always had strange dreams. Just bursts of sound and fury, slowly dissipating with the oncoming light of day. I closed my eyes.
– Failure to choose will result in Monster default –
A horrific pain shot through me. My hands began to twist and warp. A rough bristly fur burst from my hands in a spray of blood.
"Heads!" I gasped out.
– Flipping Coin... –
– Congratulations!
– You have been selected to become an NPC. –
My body burned like I had been thrown directly into the forge. My blood was boiling, my nerves arced and buzzed like overloaded electrical wires. My hands returned to normal. The world became pain embodied.
– Congratulations!
- Due to subzone danger level you have a class option upgrade
Blue windows filled my vision like pop up ads. I could feel each one doing something to me as if they were etching something onto my soul.
–Would you like to choose a class?
(Failure to do so will result in revocation of NPC privileges.) –
– 30 seconds remaining. –
I could move my mouth. “Yes!” I spluttered out.
Whatever this thing was there were consequences to disobeying, and I couldn’t take any more of that horrific pain.
– NPC initialization complete! HP is fully restored. Negative conditions have been purged! –
My stomach rumbled. I opened my mouth and vomited blood... So. Much. Blood. It was like a scene from a horror movie. It went on for almost a minute. More blood than I’ve had drawn from me over the last five years combined. When it finally stopped all I could do was cough and gag. Jesus Christ.
– Congratulations! You’ve lost more blood than is contained in the human body. –
– Class Selection Initiated! –
–Choice 1 –
Necromancer:
Type: Mage
Element: Death
Main Attributes: Intelligence, Wisdom
Skill Trees: Summoning, Hemomancy, Curses
– Choice 2 –
Blacksmith:
Type: Tradesman
Element: Fire
Main Attributes: Strength, Constitution
Skill Trees: Weaponsmithing, Armorsmithing, Minor Enchanting
“I choose blacksmith.” It was an obvious choice. I didn’t know how much longer I had to live, but if it healed my head wound I knew I wanted to spend it here.
–Class selection compl- –
– GM Kna’lu has requested a pause –
Time stopped. It felt like the world was compressing me in a vice. I felt blood welling up in my nose as my thoughts got faster and faster. What the fuck. What the fuck.
– Opening private channel with Game Master –
– GM Kna’lu has joined the chat –
GM Kna’lu: Hey! I see you’re having some trouble with class selection.
The voice spoke directly into my head. So fucking fast. But I could understand it.
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: Who the fuck are you? What is this? What’s happening!?
My words turned into text before even I knew what I was thinking.
GM Kna’lu: Oh god, this song and dance. Hi! I’m a Game Master. You have the privilege and honor to be chosen as an NPC in the first ever expansion of Galacticus Online! An SCMMORPG that has taken the intergalactic community by storm.
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: What does that even mean!?
GM Kna’lu: Surrogate Controlled Massively Multiplayer Online Game. You play it and get to operate a real body form. Like that movie Avatar. You’ll get the full welcoming Schtick tomorrow morning. I’m here because of the class stuff. I got three million more tickets after you so let’s make this choppy. What’s the issue?
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: So aliens are real then.
GM Kna’lu: CLASS, buddy, your CLASS! What did you choose?
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: I chose blacksmith.
GM Kna’lu: Yeah. Yeah. No, I see that in the log. Look, we're still working on our onboarding system. First week you know. Blacksmith is not a good choice here. The system has to offer at least two choices. Sometimes there’s a garbage pick especially if the others are good.
NPC 1,223,900,445,898: I jus- I’m sorry this is all a lot can I change my name?
GM Kna’lu: Sure sure.
– NPC 1,223,900,445,898’s nickname has been set to Patrick Douglas –
Patrick Douglas: Look, I just want to spend what time I have left making stuff at the forge.
GM Kna’lu: Time you have left? Buddy, you’ve been cured. Leukemia no more. You got as long as you can survive out in the great unknown. And do you really want to spend all that time swinging a hammer? Raise the dead, have fun!
Patrick Douglas: It just seems like it’d be really gross and disrespectful of the dead, honestly.
GM Kna’lu: Alright smartass, how about this, you choose Blacksmith and we turn you into a monster. You won the coin flip but I can easily just turn a heads into a tails with a couple keyboard strokes.
Patrick Douglas: Wait! Wait!
The memory of my hands morphing, the burning of my nerves came back to me in a flash.
Patrick Douglas: Can I just choose something else?
GM Kna’lu: Look man you’re busting my balls here. Okay how about this there’s a quota I gotta meet for Quest NPCs. They get some neat unique classes but it means that you get more responsibility and some extra heat when the main quest gets started. I only need a few more to hit my bonus.
Patrick Douglas: Okay. I’ll do it.
GM Kna’lu: Then give me just a sec.
– Your Sewing skill has increased to 30! –
– Your Anatomy skill has increased to 30! –
– Your Butchery skill has increased to 30! –
GM Kna’lu: And done. You are officially registered as a quest NPC. I’ll throw your background and stats to the writing team and let you know when they determine your role in the scenario.
– Private Channel with GM Kna’lu has closed –
– You have unlocked a new class option! –
– Choice 3 –
Fleshcrafter:
Type: Mage, Tradesman
Element: Blood
Main Attributes: Intelligence, Constitution
Trees: Monster Grafting, Biomancy, Major Inscription(Flesh)
– Fleshcrafter is a unique class that is a blend of a Tradesman and Mage type. Its main ability allows for the grafting of monster parts onto willing NPCs or Players. It is also capable of healing grievous wounds, inscribing enchantments and spells into skin and organs, and the creation of a homunculus servant. –
Gross. But if I was really going to get a second lease on life I didn’t want to piss off some angry overworked god or whatever it was that I was talking to.
“Fleshcrafter.”
–Class Selection Complete.--
– Welcome NPC 1,223,900,445,898
(Patrick Douglas)
Fleshcrafter Level 1 –
– Beginning Tutorial –
Time resumed. Outside I heard a scream. Before I knew it I was running. I WAS RUNNING. For the first time in five years, I was running. I shot through the forge and back into the house. The scream was coming from just outside. Adrenaline blocked any fear. Adrenaline and elation. I had been so sick for so very long.
CRASH! The sound of splitting metal and breaking glass. Through the window, I saw the Uber Eats girl. What was her name? Caitlin? She was on her ass staring at something huge. It was like a great ape but bigger, with white hair and massive teeth. A fucking yeti.
It held her car, a little red VW Bug in both of its hands. The car was totaled. Caitlin was screaming her head off the shrill sound becoming hoarse as she shredded her vocal chords. I reached for the doorknob then stopped. What was I going to do? Punch it?
Fear and indecision assaulted me from all sides. I can RUN again. I don’t even know this woman. I could hide in the forge and maybe it would go away. If it was a wild animal then maybe it was just hungry.
No. If this wasn’t a dream then that was no animal. It was a person. Or at least it used to be, according to the Game Master. There was so much hitting me all at once. I needed time to think, to process. But Caitlin needed time to survive.
In the end, one thing mattered. Not one family member texted me today. Not one friend. I had a grand total of one person show any kind of genuine care, as shallow or offhanded as it may have been. She wished me a Merry Christmas. And god dammit if that didn’t mean a lot to me.
I opened the door wearing my greasy Daft Punk T-shirt and 10 year old Walmart pajama bottoms. Took a deep breath, and ran towards the giant fucking yeti. Merry Christmas to you too Caitlin.