One month had passed since Whiskey-Jack found the mysterious mushroom. Now, lying in his small bed, he felt a deep exhaustion settle in his bones, but a quiet sense of relief too. Winter had arrived, and with it, the long list of chores and preparations for the cold months was finally done. He could relax, at least for tonight.
His gaze drifted over to the other side of the room where his little brother and mother slept soundly. The small shack they called home had only one room, and a cramped space that served as both their kitchen and living area. Despite its size, they made do, and it had always been enough.
The warmth from the small fireplace still flickered in the home, but the night had grown colder, causing the winter air to grow silent.
Whiskey-Jack turned over, trying to find a comfortable position, but the weight of the day could be felt in his body. He glanced at his family, tucked under thick blankets, their slow breathing filling the room.
After a few moments of contemplating, Whiskey-Jack slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, careful not to wake them. He tiptoed softly across the cold wooden floor toward the dresser by the window. The moonlight outside was bright, as he could see his reflection in the glass as he opened the drawer.
The bright green mushroom, the one his mother had brought home from the forest weeks ago, was placed secretly at the back of the drawer. Whiskey-Jack pulled it out carefully, holding it up to the window, letting the moonlight illuminate its strange vibrating colour.
"I wonder where you came from... and why Mom would even bring you back," Whiskey-Jack thought, studying the mushroom with increasing curiosity. There was something about it that didn't sit right with him, yet couldn't shake the fascination.
Just as he was about to examine it further, his attention caught a glimpse of something outside the window. In the distance, he thought he saw a figure just beyond the edge of the trees. His heart skipped a beat. Was it his father? Had he finally returned from his hunting trip?
Excited, Whiskey-Jack quickly shoved the mushroom into his pocket and rushed toward the door, eager to greet his father. But as he turned around, he was stopped in his tracks.
His mother stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the faint light of the fire behind her. She raised a finger to her lips, her expression pale and serious.
"That... that is not your father," she whispered
Confusion and unease gripped Whiskey-Jack confused by his mothers words. Without saying another word, she left the room, the sound of her soft footsteps echoed quietly throughout the small house.
Whiskey-Jack stood frozen for a moment, a feeling of dread in his chest. From somewhere beyond the door, he could hear a faint dragging sound, something heavy, moving across the floor. Feeling queasy as he could feel his pulse quicken.
The door creaked open again, and his mother returned, out of breath, her eyes filled with fear. She looked at Wesakechuk with a sharpness that made his blood run cold.
"Stay quiet. Go to bed. Don't make a sound," she ordered, her voice firm.
Without waiting for a response, she returned to bed, pulling the sheets over her head, leaving him alone in the room.
Whiskey-Jack didn't argue. There was something in his mother's eyes that told him not too. He climbed back into bed, his body tense, his mind racing. Who could be outside? What was happening? Why had his mother been so cryptic?
He tried to calm himself, closing his eyes to force sleep, but it felt impossible following the tense situation. His thoughts churned with questions, and his body refused to relax.
Unable to stay still, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the mushroom once again. He stared at it, contemplating.
"I wonder what you taste like," he muttered under his breath. The temptation was overwhelming. Despite the warnings that had been drilled into him about the dangers of eating strange things, his curiosity won out.
His fingers trembled slightly as he brought the mushroom to his mouth. With an exhasperated sigh, Whisky-Jack bit down, chewing it carefully. To his surprise, it had no bitter taste, no unpleasant flavor. It was... normal.
"Huh," he thought, swallowing the last of it. "Guess it was just a strange mushroom."
But as soon as the last bit slid down his throat, a wave of fatigue washed over him. His eyelids felt heavy, his limbs sluggish. The feeling at first was just a slight drowsiness, but it quickly intensified.
Yawning, he snuggled back into the warmth of his blankets. His thoughts growing distant. The unease that had plagued him moments earlier seemed to fade into the background as sleep overtook him.
Whiskey-Jack closed his eyes, unaware of the darkness that had begun to fill the room.