The moment the strange stick creature left, Simon could hear a thumping noise. It was loud, constant, close. He expected everyone to immediately be on alert, but when he looked at his father and his friends, no one was reacting to it. He took in their surroundings, trying to see where it was coming from but there was only sand and cliffside and the Waffles sitting down and watching Witch Lady on her broom. He had been giving her a wide berth since she attacked the Elf lady, though the Elf lady probably deserved it.

“Simon?”

At his name, Simon turned back. His dad was looking at him. So was Grumpy Man, Witch Lady and Blonde Lady. Witch Lady looked like she did when she wanted to fall to the ground and leak, but in an angry way like when Blonde Lady talks about her Lathander. Blonde Lady herself had her hands clumsily clamped over her mouth. Grumpy Man’s own mouth was agape, his eyes impossibly wide. His dad's face was blank – unless he was drinking or throwing up, it was how he usually looked, but then he dropped his wineskin. That's when Simon knew something was wrong.

What happened? Did he do something wrong?

He looked down, ready to look contrite – though for what, he wasn’t sure – when he saw his hands. Simon paused and brought them to his face. At a glance, they were the same – dark wooden colour, five fingers and flat. But as Simon observed closely, the deep lines of his joints were gone, his fingers whole thin digits instead of chunky wooden pieces split into three sections. He moved them and startled at how fluid the movement, no resistance or creaky noises.

The noise was still present, steadily going off every few seconds but Simon wasn’t paying attention to it now.

In his surprise, he felt a sudden rush of air burst from his face. What? Simon focused as he felt himself reloading with air, sucking it up through a hole right in the centre of his face and running down his throat before it became too much and he had to expel it again. What the- ?

Simon put his hands to his face and found it squishy. He found his way to the middle of his face and found a lump protruding right out, where once before it had been smooth. Simon’s eyes cross to look at it – it was small, he could barely see the tip - before darting between the staring people around him – they all had lumps too. Noses. That’s what they were called. Was the air what they were for?

He noticed that every time the air was reloaded deeply, the noise felt closer.

As Simon’s hands continued to explore it face, consumed with the squishy, tender texture, they came to a stop once he reached his mouth. Right where his mouth opened were usually two deep lines than ran up his cheeks, which he usually undid to open them. But those lines were gone, just like his finger joints. In front of his mouth now were two more lumps, thinner and smaller than the nose he had. They felt just that little bit squishier than the rest of his face.

The moment his attention came to his mouth, Simon noticed there was something in it. Maybe he had a dart stuck. Was that the noise? He opened his mouth – even doing that action felt different, easier - ready to gently push it out because he knew he would get in trouble if he shot it. Simon was surprised to just barely see a small pink thing dangle out, not going anywhere. He tried to push it again and started to feel it flick up, smacking the top of his mouth. He could feel it.

How was he doing that? What was this? What was the weird thing that it did when he ran it over his mouth? What were the hard things he could feel pressing into the back of it? Where were his darts?



Simon pulled the pink thing back in his mouth and focused on trying to move his darts. He thought about the clicking of them up his throat and the whirring as they slotted into place in his shooter. But there was nothing. He couldn’t even hear the noise of the gears. But perhaps that was being blocked out by the thudding noise. It seemed to be getting faster. Whatever was coming was getting closer.



Shocked, Simon went for his dart compartment – maybe they had come loose – but there was no door. He pushed into the soft, spongy area of his stomach and found nothing. He kept pressing and pressing until he felt something spread through it, a feeling he didn’t like. He quickly pulled his hands away and the feeling subsided.





“Simon?”





The noise was almost deafening now. All four were still looking at him. Why were they looking at him? Couldn’t they hear it? The air now came out of his nose and his mouth, this time picking up pace with reloading, getting quicker with each exhale. He tried to make it stop, focused on it like he was firing a dart but it refused to stop. The unpleasant feeling reappeared on his hands, a lot sharper than on his stomach. He pulled them up to look at them and forced them to shakily unclench. The sharpness of the feeling stopped, but then it began to pulse, gently but still present. In his palms, crescent moon shapes were indented on them, the clinical smoothness reminding him of his joints. In one of the moons, red was slowly welling up into a fragile, little bubble.

By this point, Simon was familiar enough with the sight of blood.



He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. His hands kept shaking. The feeling kept pulsing. The sharpness in his mouth scrapped the pink thing. The air was coming and going at an alarming rate. Suddenly, a pressure was rushing up behind his eyes. Simon fell to the ground, his hands over his head, his knees to his chest. He felt his face sit on his knees and, oh god, more smoothness, but it was a harder smoothness – similar to wood, but there hadn’t been wood on his knees, just gears. What was this? What was happening? And why won’t that noise just stop?



Dad. Where was Dad? He needed his dad.



Suddenly, large arms were wrapping around his tiny frame. Instinctively, Simon threw his arms around whoever it was. He was surprised by the very real warmth that surrounded him. As Dad drew him in, Simon could feel the smoothness of his clothes and his nose tickled as his thin dark hair dangled in his face. He could feel everything and it was intense, too much.



The noise slowed down but it was still there, still present.



“Simon. Simon, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”



His Dad pulled back to look at him. His eyes looked ready to leak but his mouth smiled like the Blonde Lady’s always did. After a moment, Simon noticed the white in his father’s smile – had those always been there? Dad started a little as Simon’s finger pressed against the white, which turned out to be small, hard little things. Just like in his mouth. Simon recoiled at the hard wetness but immediately opened his mouth and pointed inside, showing his dad.





Dad seemed to get it. He always did.





“Yeah, that’s your teeth, buddy. And that pink thing there is your tongue.”





Teeth? Tongue? But they were things for people, not puppets. Simon pushed his hands into his Dad’s face and watched as his Dad grabbed them, his eyes twinkling the way he did when he was really happy or really drunk. Simon watched one of his hands get completed covered by his dad’s, like the way he would when he held it while they walked. Despite the difference in colour and size, they were much the same.





Simon opened his mouth and his eyes widened as a noise came out. He would have continued to panic if he didn’t see the way his dad smiled impossibly wider.





Was... was this all good?





Simon moved his hand on Dad’s chest, intending to push off him and get back to his feet, and immediately flinched, ripping his hand away like he was made of fire. That noise! It was that thumping! Simon immediately started jabbing and clawing at his father's chest, but his fleshy fingers were not longer the sharp instruments they used to be. It was gonna hurt his dad, he had to get it out!





“Ow! Ow! Hey, what the hell?”





Those large hands wrapped around Simon’s wrists and yanked him away. No, no! He looked up at his dad, pleadingly. Couldn’t he hear it? Simon opened his mouth and those noises came out again, getting louder as Simon got more frustrated. His dad furrowed his brow at him, looking confused.





“What?”





Simon was able to rip his hand away long enough to jab at the spot on his chest again. Dad looked from him to his chest and back again. The confusion disappeared. Finally!





“Are you talking about my heart?”





A what?





Suddenly, his dad put the hand he was still holding over his chest, pressing it into the stop where the noise was. Scared, Simon tried pulling his hand away from the danger. He still didn’t get it! It was gonna hurt him!





“No, no, Simon! It’s okay! It’s supposed to do that!”





At that, Simon kinda froze. His dad took his own free hand and put it on Simon, just above where his dart compartment used to be.





“See, you have it too.”





What?! Simon pushed his dad’s hand away from his chest and put his free hand in the same spot. Right there was the noise Simon had been hearing, thumping away in a steady beat, much like the music his Dad made. It was him?





“You see this?” Simon turned back to his Dad. He took his hand off his chest and held it in front of them, his dad’s large hand cradling his smaller one delicately, “It’s the same, right? You’re like me now. I mean, you’re smaller and, wow, that means you’ll probably grow now, and-”





Like Dad? Simon cocked his head. He was - like his Dad. He looked down at him - all of him - and looked at his Dad’s body. His Dad was right. They were the same.





The pressure was back behind his eyes. His vision blurred and something warm began running down his cheek. Simon knew what this was. Witch Lady did this a lot. He was leaking. He wiped away the water with his free hand and showed it to his Dad. He felt his mouth split up the jaw where the joints used to be and he showed off his teeth, trying to copy what his dad usually did. He made another noise to get his attention and his Dad nodded, reaching forward to wipe the rest of the water from his face.





“Yeah, buddy, you got everything. Time to live with it, tears and all.”





With a little noise of excitement, Simon leapt forward into his dad’s arms and held onto him as tightly as he could. He felt the warmth of his father’s embrace and the beating of his dad’s heart next to his own and let his mouth split wider. Looking over his dad’s shoulder, he saw everyone watching them. Blonde Lady looked like she should be leaking too. Witch Lady had stopped her shouting and even Grumpy Man looked a little happier.





Yeah, he could live with the noise.