Hysterics in Hyrule : Cackling Cremia (*/f, m/f, and ****/f tickling)

[Gargalesis Ghost]

Majora's Mask has always kinda creeped me out, even now. One thing I always wondered was how much the characters besides Link might remember/experience when the world is reset constantly, especially given that certain events do carry over with the Bombers Notebook. That bit of curiosity led to this story, starring the pretty redhead Cremia from the ranch in the game. Clocking in at a little over 20,000 words, this one is a bit of a doozy and also touches on darker themes. Content warnings for nervous breakdowns, non-consensual tickle torture, sexual tickling, suicidal mentions, tentacles, and an unfortunate woman that just can't seem to catch a break.


“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” The voice reverberates through the darkness, high pitched and followed immediately by a disturbing giggle, and Cremia feels her skin start to crawl at the sound. She isn’t quite sure where she is or who is speaking, only that she is alone and the moon overhead is the only light to see by, though instead of the moon she has known for all nineteen years of her life it is a bloated caricature, easily many times as large, with blazing red eyes and a huge, tooth-filled mouth frozen in a mad grimace.


“Who’s there? Where am I?” Cremia cries out. The only response is the same high pitched giggle, and she runs towards it, hoping to catch whoever it is and make them give her some answers, or at least tell her how to get out of this strange place and back to the ranch. No matter how hard she runs, though, the source of the giggle always seems to be just over the next hill or around the next corner, never coming into sight. She stops, panting, at the top of a hill and looks around.


She’s never seen this place before, though at a glance it looks like it could be some far flung area of Termina Field. It seems unlikely, though. She and her friends Anju and Kafei tromped all over the Field when they were younger, exploring the area around Clock Town with the curiosity and recklessness that only children are capable of, and nothing here looks familiar. Cremia realizes, suddenly, that it can’t be Termina Field. Clock Town, the main hub of the little country, is visible from everywhere in Termina Field and no matter what directions she turns, the town is nowhere to be seen.


She does, however, notice two figures on horseback in the distance. She doesn’t think much of them until they turn and begin to gallop in her direction, pounding through the mysterious, grassy field at breakneck speed. Their horses are plain, unadorned creatures, an oddity for Termina where most travelers decorate their saddles with family crests or other things, and as they move closer she sees that both are wearing some sort of cowls over their heads, darkening their faces to an impossible shadow with only two bright, burning eyes in each featureless face.


Cremia, knowing somehow that the riders were coming for her, turns and runs back the way she came, fear propelling her feet as she pounds down the hill as fast as she’s able. She does not know what they might do if they catch up to her, she only knows that she does not want to find out. The sound of their horses fills her ears, drowning out the rest of the world, as they bear down on her, riding past one sticks out the handle of a pitchfork they carry and catches her legs, sending her sprawling. Then they’re gone, their laughter floating back to her on the breeze-less air. She stands, brushing grass and mud from herself with shaking hands, and tears well in her blue eyes, the fear and pain leaking from her. Her dress has been torn by the fall, a long rip that exposes her left leg through the skirt, as has her blouse, a shred across the middle of it revealing her pale stomach.


She waits, wiping the tears from her eyes with a hand that leaves a muddy streak across her face, but the horsemen don’t return and she feels her heartbeat slowing to something approaching normal. Unsure of what to do, Cremia hears the high pitched giggle again, and when she turns in the direction it echoes from she finds herself face to face with a strange creature. It is hovering in the air, somehow, as though it were a balloon, and long, spindly arms hang from its sides almost all the way to the grass though it seems to not have legs or any sort of lower body. Or a face, save for two large, lamp-like eyes that either glow brightly of their own accord or reflect the light of the wicked moon, Cremia isn’t sure which. The rest of its would-be face is just darkness, the suggestion of a face made of pure shadow, and without uttering a sound it reaches for her with one of the impossibly long arms.


She recoils in fear, turning to run only to find an identical creature in the opposite direction. Then another. Before she knows what is happening, the strange things have encircled her, each reaching towards her as the circle tightens, each second giving her less space to dodge their groping hands until one finally catches hold of her, tearing her skirt, and another grasps her boot. She trips when it does, falling forcefully enough that her foot pops out of the captured boot and she tumbles forward, landing yet again on the ground, rolling over onto her back as soon as she does only to look up and see them hovering, reaching for her, and she screams. Cremia screams and she bleats and she cries, swatting helplessly at the grasping hands as she feels them tear at her clothes, seeking the flesh beneath.


One of them manages to creep a hand into her blouse, squeezing through the torn fabric, and her screams turn into a high pitched, horrified giggle of her own as she feels rubbery fingers poke and caress her belly. A second one has found the foot freed from her boot and grasps it by the ankle, the fingers of its other hand gently probing her sole. Cremia thrashes, surprised and ticklish at the unexpectedly tender touches, but she can’t pull away as more and more surround her, stifling her. The world shrinks to a pin point above, everything else blocked out by the bizarre creatures, only the moon and its lunatic face visible above, and a new figure hovering in front of it, clad in strange garb and wearing a mask livid with color and horrible, piercing eyes that glow down at her with nothing but disdain. Cremia screams again, then kicks out with her boot-clad foot…


Dawn of the First Day: 72 Hours Remain


Cremia kicked out, tangling herself hopelessly in her sheets, then twisted around and rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a dazed thud in a tangle of wild limbs, bedding, and fiery colored hair. Then the first cucco crowed, a sound that undulated across the whole of Romani Ranch to signal the coming of dawn, and she came to her senses.


“What… what a strange dream,” she mumbled, covering her face with her hands and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. It’s stress, it HAS to be stress, she realized, then set about untangling her legs from the sheet and blanket that had wound themselves around her so effectively. At only the age of nineteen, she spent her days running the largest ranch in all of Termina, a task that had fallen on her two years before when her father had passed away. Once her legs and feet had been freed, she looked down at them and sighed before hauling herself up and tossing the blankets back onto the small bed. Her sister, Romani, snored from her own bed across the room, undisturbed by the older sister’s plummet to the floor. Cremia watched her a moment, then crossed the room and quietly opened her closet, extracted a blouse and a skirt, then tiptoed out of the bedroom to wash her face and get dressed. As much as she would like to sleep more, there was too much to do.


Cremia pulled her blouse on as she half descended and half stumbled down the stairs to the main room below, then at the bottom took a moment to don her long skirt as well before stepping across the the dim chamber and splashing water on her face from a basin near the window. Another moment found her smoothing out her long, red hair with a familiar old horsehair brush in front of a mirror sitting near the basin, each sweep of the brush pulling her mind farther from the madness of her dreams, until she set the brush down and smiled at her reflection, content with the pretty young woman looking back at her.


“Right, let’s get started,” she said cheerfully to her reflection, padding barefoot across the room to a small stove on the other side and filling it with wood from a nearby bin, then opening the tinderbox on the opposite side to retrieve a little kindling and a match. A second later, fire crackled to life, filling the room with a faint orange glow. Cremia nodded to herself, satisfied, and padded across the room again, this time towards the door. When Romani decided to drag herself out of bed, she could use the stove to boil water and start breakfast for them both. Cremia, on the other hand, had cows in need of a milking and the old girls got restless if she made them wait too long. She slid her feet into the tall leather boots she kept by the door, wiggling her toes once they were encased, then quietly stepped out the door and into the crisp morning air, shivering only a little as the chill caressed her.


The entrance to the barn was near, only a few paces from her front door, but Cremia walked past it. There was something she needed to check before she gave the cows their milking, something important. A few days prior, a large boulder had fallen from one of the cliffs along Milk Road and blocked the passage from the ranch to Termina Field and Clock Town beyond, and she needed to see if it had been taken care of yet. And the answer, she thought as she frowned into the face of a boulder many times her own size, is a big fat no. She sighed. There was a shipment of Chateau Romani, the ranch’s specialty, already loaded up for delivery and slowly souring, meant to go out days prior.


Cremia turned, her mood bruised but not beaten, and walked back the way she came, grabbing a couple wooden buckets and pushing open the door to the barn with her hip. Two cows lifted their heads and mooed loudly by way of greeting, but the others just stared, seemingly annoyed that they saw the sun before they saw the woman.


“Yeah, I know, I’m late. You’ll just have to get over it.” Cremia patted the nearest cow on the head, earning her another loud moo, then went to work. First was milking the cows, then she had to check on the horses roaming the ranch and make sure they had enough food, especially that filly they’d found the other day. Poor thing was far too healthy to be wild, and Cremia wondered constantly where her owner was and how they’d been separated.


She finished milking the first cow and moved on, her practiced hands and nimble fingers making quick work of each of them, one after the other, until the two large buckets were both topped off enough to nearly spill, then she set them by the door to deal with later and bid the cows farewell to check on the horses. Back when her father had been alive, he’d always kept the horses stabled overnight, but Cremia saw little point behind it herself. The ranch had a large gate and all of them knew where their food came from, so it made more sense to her to simply let them roam the ranch and close the main gate at night. She could see them, both her two horses and the new filly, playing in the early morning light, and smiled. Cremia felt bad for the lost filly, but seeing her breathing a bit of life into the other horses warmed her heart. Rather than disturb the trio, she quietly checked their water trough and dropped a few extra carrots nearby, then made a mental note to ask Grog if he would help her get a fresh bale of hay for them in the next day or two.


Speaking of Grog, Cremia thought, looking towards the rear of the ranch where Grog, the son of the master carpenter in Clock Town, had recently rented a space from her and set up a shack to raise cuccos. He had set up shop not that long ago, and all of his wards were still chicks, but once they grew up it could be a good business venture for the ranch. There was always a demand for fresh eggs, and the handful of cuccos she kept on the ranch herself only produced enough to feed her and Romani. I should pop in and check on him.


Cremia strode across the grass, rubbing her arms for warmth in the still chill air, and stopped at the door to Grog’s shack, which was less of a shack and more of a walled off area of the ranch’s field that butted up against a tall stone cliff, creating an enclosure to keep his chicks separated from the rest of the goings on around Romani Ranch. She knocked twice and waited, then a third time when there was no answer. When a response still didn’t come, she shrugged to herself and pulled the door open.


The inside of the Cucco Shack smelled earthy, a combination of molted feathers, seeds, and bird droppings, and she could hear the chicks clucking and chattering somewhere in the back. Grog himself, a lanky, pale man with a spiked mohawk, sat on an overturned bucket with his back against the wall, snoring softly. Come to think of it, Cremia realized that she had not once entered the shack and found the young man awake. She crept over to him and kneeled, watching him sleep, then reached out with one hand and poked him in the cheek.


“Mm, good morning, Cremia,” he said without opening his eyes. “How are you today? Is Milk Road still blocked?”


“Yeah, it is,” she said, straightening up long enough to take two steps to the left and plant herself on another upturned bucket, then leaned back against the wall and mimicked Grog’s position. “And I’m fine.” Grog’s eye opened and he looked at her sidelong, and Cremia sighed. “Okay, no I’m not. I’m worried and I’m tired and I feel so helpless about the whole thing. Even before the boulder blocked the road, we were having issues with those Gorman brothers at the nearby race track. I just… don’t know what to do.”


“You’ll figure something out, I’m sure,” Grog said, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. He preferred going around shirtless, especially in the Cucco Shack, and Cremia couldn’t help but watch him and wonder if he was eating enough. She could see the poor man’s ribs clearly even after he relaxed his body.


“Grog, you know, Romani and I would welcome you to join us for dinner more often. I know you love your chicks, but getting out of here a little bit would do you some good. You look too pale.”


“I appreciate that, but it’s okay. I’m perfectly content right here. And besides, I could say the same to you about trying to do too much. You should relax a bit more, Cremia.” He paused, quietly studying her face. “You should sleep more, too. There are dark circles under your eyes.”


Cremia opened her mouth to respond, a snappy comeback rising from within, but it died before it made it past her lips when she saw the genuine concern on Grog’s face. Maybe he’s got a point, she thought to herself and sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”


“I know I am,” he said, crossing his thin arms over his chest and nodding to himself. “Say, did you need me to cheer you up? You usually do when you come by this early.” Cremia blushed, then looked down at the ground for a moment before slowly nodding, her face growing even redder as she slid her left foot out of her boot and stuck it out in front of her. Grog nodded, then fished around in his pocket until his hand reappeared holding a stiff, dark blue feather, then he used his legs to drag himself and the bucket across the ground until he was facing Cremia and took her foot in his lap.


“Aah!” she squeaked as he drew the feather in between her pinky toe and the digit next to it, her foot wiggling slightly as it rested on his knee, then she burst into a giggle as he slid the feather in between the next set of toes, pulling it through the sensitive crevice slowly. She didn’t try to pull her foot away as he methodically went in between each toe, then trailed the bright plume down her arch, but her hands gripped the sides of the bucket holding her up and she squirmed and laughed, her face flushing an even deeper crimson that nearly matched her hair.


Cremia didn’t quite remember how their little routine had started, but weeks before she had started visiting Grog on the mornings she was feeling down and he’d take the blue feather and tickle her, sometimes just enough for a giggle, but other times until she was roaring with laughter so loud that she feared Romani would hear and wonder what they were getting up to. She did at least remember that the suggestion had originally been Grog’s, something about laughter being healthy, and she was also well aware that he’d been stealing more than the occasional glance at her feet before he’d brought it up, but she’d given it a try anyway and found, to her own surprise, that it actually did help to just shut off and cackle like a madwoman for a few minutes.


“Mmm, I think this is my favorite spot,” Grog mumbled, gently teasing the undersides of her toes with the feather, which for some reason was horribly ticklish for her. Before she realized what happened, her body spasmed, and Cremia fell sideways from her seat. Grog twisted to follow, turning on the bucket and trapping her foot with his own legs to keep feathering it, and she found herself writhing and laughing on the ground.


“T-too much! Too much!” Cremia squealed, flexing her toes madly and trying to squirm out of Grog’s grasp, but his legs held hers in a surprisingly strong pincer and the feather seemed like it knew which way her foot would twist and turn to escape its attentions, and before too much longer Cremia was a wordless, giggling wreck, her dress covered in grass, hay, and cucco ‘blessings’ as Grog jokingly called them.


Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Grog stopped tickling her and allowed her to pull her captive leg free. She sat cross-legged on the ground, wiping tears from her eyes with one hand while the other rubbed at her lividly pink sole.


“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” he said, looking down in shame and then noticing the bulge in his trousers and spinning to look at the wall opposite from Cremia before she could notice it too.


“It’s okay,” she giggled, leaning forward to grab her boot and sliding it back on her foot. “I needed the laugh, so I’ll let your little friend saying hello slide this time.”


“Y-you noticed?!”


“Grog, you were poking me in the leg with it the entire time you had my foot trapped. How could I not notice it?” She stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes and frowning. She’d probably need to go ahead and just change. It hadn’t been her intention to get so filthy before breakfast. “Anyway, like I said, I needed the laugh. No harm, no foul. I’ve got to get back to the house, though! Romani should be up and getting breakfast ready!”


“O-okay, I’ll see you later,” Grog waved, still facing the wall as Cremia gave him a quick hug from behind and left the Cucco Shack.


She knew, as she walked back to the house, that eventually Grog was going to want more than just a bit of playtime with her feet, and she liked him well enough as a friend and business partner, but Cremia felt a pang of guilt because she also knew that what he likely wanted would never come to pass. No matter how she turned him about in her head, he was just… Grog. Sleepy, skinny Grog. Then something caught her eye and she stopped, looking at the sky and pondering.


Hmm, the moon’s still out. Is that… a face? It was a strange thought, and Cremia took herself by surprise when it came to mind, but somehow the moon did indeed look like it sported some sort of bizarre, scowling face as it hung high in the sky. She remembered her dream and shuddered. “It’s just a shadow or something,” Cremia muttered to herself, then saw Romani near the house. The girl had her bow and was busy setting up a target to practice with, but she stopped and waved to Cremia when she noticed her.


“Hey, hurry up, sis! What took you so long? Your breakfast is going to get cold!” Romani planted her hands on her hips and waited for her older sister to make the walk over to her. “You’ve been going to see Grog more and more often lately! Have you finally gotten over Kafei?”


“What?! It’s nothing like that!” Cremia cried, hoping her face hadn’t turned as red as the heat in her cheeks made it feel, then shook her head. “Just… have fun playing with your bow, but don’t forget your chores, okay?”


“I’m not playing! I have to be ready for when the ghosts come for the cows!”


Cremia, who had been walking past her in the direction of their house, stopped and looked at her sister with her eyebrow raised. “The ghosts?”


“I told you about them the other day! They’ve been watching the ranch ever since that boulder fell on Milk Road!” Tears welled up in Romani’s eyes, and the young girl sniffled.


“Oh, that’s right, the ghosts!” Cremia exclaimed, smacking herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand and then kneeling to grasp Romani’s shoulder in comfort. “I’m sorry I forgot! I’ve just been so busy! I’m sure you’ll be able to protect us from them, though.” It’s just a harmless bit of pretend, she thought to herself as Romani wiped her tears and beamed at her. “Go ahead and train with your bow. I’m going to head in and have my breakfast, then see about getting changed out of these dirty clothes.” Cremia gave her sister a quick hug and then rose, dusting off her skirt and heading for the house.


Romani watched her go, sighing to herself as the new filly they’d found galloped over to her and nuzzled the back of her head. “Hey!” she giggled, then patted the young horse’s head. “I don’t think my sis believes me about the ghosts,” she told the filly, her tone serious. “You’ll help me practice, though, right? It’ll be up to us to protect the ranch!"


Night of the First Day, 60 Hours Remain


Cremia stood over the oven, enjoying the scent of the stew bubbling there. The two sisters had just finished eating, and Romani, yawning and stretching, had already run off to bed and left the clean up to the elder sister. Cremia had checked on Milk Road again shortly before they’d eaten and had been disappointed to see that the boulder still blocked the passage, its stony face mocking her every time she saw it. She removed the pot from the over and set it aside to cool, then went about collecting the dishes and depositing them in a tub of warm, soapy water. She’d wash them shortly, but first she wanted to take a seat outside and enjoy the night air with something warm to drink, so she made herself a mug of warm Chateau Romani and walked outside.


Near the door stood a crate with a handful of arrows jutting out of one side. Romani had used it for archery practice most of the afternoon. Sort of. She’d actually been using a balloon tied to it and floating above… but the younger sister was new to wielding a bow and not a particularly good shot. Cremia giggled, recalling the sight of Romani accidentally thunking arrow after arrow into the crate rather than popping the actual target, then kneeled down and pulled the arrows out before dropping them on the ground and taking the top of the crate as a makeshift seat.


She took a sip of her milk, then gazed upward and sighed. There was no doubting it now, the moon overhead definitely had a face on it as she’d earlier thought that morning, and it was an eerie realization. It grimaced hatefully down at all of Termina with red-rimmed eyes. Cremia kicked her boots off and dangled her feet, letting the grass lightly tickle her, and wondered what was going on. Is it… bigger? It definitely looks bigger.


One of the several infuriating problems with the road being blocked was the lack of news from Clock Town. If anyone in Termina knew why the moon had suddenly grown in size and sprouted a face, she’d be willing to bet they’d be in Clock Town. Not to mention there was supposed to be a festival there in just a few days and Anju and Kafei’s wedding, both events that she didn’t want to miss even if thinking of her two childhood friends tying the knot caused her a pang of sadness. She was happy for them, make no mistake about that, but there was a time when she’d hoped it would be her walking arm in arm with Kafei, not Anju.


Life’s funny like that sometimes, Cremia mused to herself, then drained the rest of her milk in one long draught followed by a quickly covered belch that made her blush even though no one else was around to hear. She hiccuped, humming to herself as she donned her boots and stood on unsteady feet. Chateau Romani’s secret was a bit of fermentation, and the bit of alcohol in it always went straight to her head. She realized, yawning, that if she didn’t hurry and take care of the dishes that she’d run out of steam and they’d be soaking until the morning, so she plodded her way back inside and quickly went to work, scrubbing out the bowls and utensils then rinsing them out with clean water from the basin.


She poured herself another mug of Chateau Romani, hoping she didn’t regret it in the morning, and sat down at the table to drink it after she covered the stew with a lid and stuck it in a little ice filled box to keep it from spoiling. Cremia could still see the moon looming outside the window and wondered about it more as she sipped.


“It’s definitely bigger. What in the world is going on?” she asked the empty room, then sighed. She didn’t notice, near the moon in the sky, that a strange red star had also appeared, but in her current state probably wouldn’t have thought much of it anyway. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and finished her second milk, then left her boots by the door and half climbed, half stumbled up the stairs to her bed.


When Cremia began softly snoring, Romani sprang up. She watched her older sister sleep for a moment, then nodded to herself and quietly crept from the room, preparing to take up her bow and stop the ghosts.


Dawn of the Second Day, 48 Hours Remain


The moment the sun touched her face the next morning, Cremia regretted the second mug of Chateau Romani the evening before. Her head swam, except when it was full of a dull, thudding roar, except for when it felt like it was stuffed with dirty straw. She remembered, years before, her father warning her about over-indulging on the ranch’s specialty, and every morning she woke up like this she swore she would take it to heart.


After a fierce internal struggle, she sat up and rubbed her eyes, hoping it might help the hangover and knowing it wouldn’t, then she saw that Romani’s bed was empty. It was unusual for the girl to rise before her in the morning, even on the rare days when Cremia was slow to start. Worry nagging at her just behind the headache, Cremia forced herself out of bed and dressed herself.


“Romani? Are you making breakfast?” she asked through the door as she pulled her dress on, but no answer came from below. It was, in fact, deathly quiet, and Cremia felt her unease grow rapidly, soon dwarfing even the headache from her hangover. When she descended the stairs, she found the lower floor deserted, everything as she’d left it the night before save that the door to the house was cracked open slightly, a shaft of light from the rising sun slowly making its way across the room through it. “Romani?”


Cremia crossed the room and pushed the door open the rest of the way, wincing at the bright sunlight that assaulted her, then shaded her eyes with a hand and stepped out into the morning. She blinked, looking around, and finally saw Romani. The girl stood on the grass near the barn where the cows were waiting for their morning milking, but something seemed off. Her shoulders slumped and her head was cocked strangely to one side. “Hey, Romani! What got you out of bed so early?” Cremia called out, hurrying over to her sister.


Then the younger girl turned around and Cremia gasped, stopping in her tracks. Romani looked dazed and somehow vacant. Her pupils were dilated, her mouth hung slightly open with a dollop of drool collecting in one corner, and her slump looked worse from the front, so much so that her older sister worried that she might pitch forward onto the ground at any second.


“Ghosts… cows… Cremia…,” Romani groaned, then turned and stumbled towards the barn. Cremia followed her with her eyes, terror welling up inside, and then she noticed the barn, really saw it for the first time since she’d stepped outside. The door lay on the ground nearby as though something had knocked it straight off its hinges from inside, and the roof was almost entirely destroyed, nothing left of it but the framework and burnt thatching littering the ground around the building.


“What…,” she said, pushing past Romani and stepping through the ruined doorway. The inside of the barn was in shambles. All the stored milk in the jugs on the wall had shattered, spraying every surface in that corner, the wooden pens the cows slept in were all open, their swinging gates torn from the hinges like the barn’s door had been, and there wasn’t a single cow in sight. Every one of them was missing. She felt a sob welling up within and quashed it through sheer force of will, turning and running back outside, looking frantically for hoof prints before the morning dew dried and the grass sprang back to its original position. There were none, not in the grass nor in the patches of mud near the barn.


“It’s… not possible,” she mumbled, thoughts bubbling toxically through her lips instead of staying in her mind. “Cows don’t just disappear…”


“Cremia… ghosts…,” Romani murmured, then with a blank look on her face turned and trudged into the empty barn. When Cremia followed her and peeked inside, Romani was just standing still in the midst of the chaos, mumbling the same two words over and over. “Cremia… ghosts… Cremia… ghosts… Cremia… ghosts…”


And Cremia, at a loss, sank to her knees in the doorway and lost control of the sob ripping its way out of her gut.


Night of the Second Day, 36 Hours Remain


Romani lay in the nearby bed, mumbling incoherently in her sleep, while Cremia watched her from the bedroom window. She sighed, turning her back on her sister to look out over the ranch. It had taken hours and a lot of coaxing to get Romani away from the ruined barn, and more hours still of tromping around the ranch to see if the cows were somewhere, perhaps spooked away and wandering thanks to whatever had brought destruction to the barn. She’d had no luck, though, even after she roused Grog in the Cucco Shack and enlisted his help. They were gone, Romani Ranch’s primary livelihood ruined.


“Daddy, I’m so, so sorry,” she said to the night sky, choking back more tears. Cremia hadn’t cried so much in one day since her father had passed, but it seemed every time her mind wandered back to the cows and Romani Ranch’s now uncertain fate, the tears just flowed helplessly. She sniffled, wiping at her face with the back of her arm, and stared up at the moon. It looked like… No, there’s no ‘looks like’ about it, it’s much, MUCH larger than normal. The thought bubbled up between the miserable ones bouncing around in her mind and she clung to it. Still wearing its bizarre new scowl, the moon had been visible during the day again and had swelled in size to nearly double. “I wish the road was open. Someone in Clock Town has to know what that’s about.”


There was a far off rumbling sound, and Romani jerked upright in bed, let loose a high pitched giggle, then immediately sank back down and resumed mumbling in her sleep. Cremia watched her, worried, and then turned to watch the moon again once the girl began to softly snore. She was at a complete loss. Times had been tough the last couple of years, sure, but she’d always been able to work through it. But this…


“I need a drink,” she whispered, and slowly turned, padding down to the lower floor on bare feet to pour herself a Chateau Romani. She scolded herself as she drank it, not only remembering her father’s warnings about over-indulgence, but also realizing that without the cows it was some of the last of their special milk left in Termina. It wasn’t just the ranch that was affected, either. Her primary customer, Mister Barten, would be in danger of going out of business as well. Most of the Chateau Romani in Termina was sold out of his bar, Latte, in Clock Town.


Cremia finished her glass and, with dire worry eating away at her, poured another. When that one sat empty, she stared at it, hiccuped, and poured a third. Halfway through, she crossed her arms on the table, laid her head down, and dozed off.


Dawn of the Final Day, 24 Hours Remain


Cremia looked up with bleary eyes when the sharp knock came at the door. Whoever was there knocked again, and she ignored them, laying her head back on the table. Then she remembered Milk Road and her eyes snapped open. It’s probably just Grog, but maybe, just maybe…


She rose, flying across the room, and pulled the door open. Of all the people she expected to see, Anju and her mother were on the very bottom of the list, yet there the pair of women stood, shuffling their feet and waiting.


“Cremia! I was afraid you weren’t awake yet!” Anju said, and leaned forward to give her a quick hug, wrinkling her nose at the combined scent of alcohol sweat and milk as she did. Cremia noticed and blushed furiously, then stepped back so the two of them could enter.


“I just woke up,” she said. “What brings the two of you here so early? Does this mean Milk Road is finally clear?”


“We’re, um, hoping to,” Anju started, but her elderly mother poked her in the side, forcing a ticklish squeal from the woman, then forced her way past. Cremia took another step back in case the older woman decided to give her a poke as well.


“The moon is falling! It’s going to hit Clock Town tonight, I just know it! We need somewhere to stay! Do you have room here for us?! We’ve got my mother with us as well, out in the wagon.” She pointed behind her, and Cremia could see the Stock Pot Inn’s rickety old wagon nearby, pulled to the ranch by a horse her own father had sold them years before.


“The moon is falling?” Cremia asked, confused, then squeaked when her question earned her a poke in the abdomen like Anju’s failure to move had gotten.


“Yes, the moon is falling! Where have you been the last three days, girl!?”


“Milk Road has been blocked! We haven’t had any news in days!” Cremia felt indignation rise suddenly. After all her problems, the last thing she needed was Anju’s mother standing in her kitchen and treating her like a fool. The older woman held up a warning finger again and Cremia took a step back, reflexively raising her own hands to guard her midriff. Anju’s mother had hands forged by decades of hard work - rough, calloused, with almost square fingers, and Cremia wasn’t in the mood to catch another poke from them. “Look, you can all stay, it’s fine,” she said finally, not lowering her guard in the face of imminent poking, “but I have to warn you that I don’t have much in the way of comfort right now.”


Anju tilted her head to the side questioningly. “What do you mean?” Her friend looked at Cremia, worried.


“It’s just… the ranch has had some problems the last few days. Romani is… sick, and the cows have gone missing. And with the road being blocked until today, we’re low on supplies and food, and I don’t have any milk to sell to make some rupees.” She sighed. “Go ahead and bring your grandmother in too, Anju. You’re welcome to whatever I have left.” Anju’s mother nodded, favoring Cremia with a suspicious look, then turned and walked back out of the door towards their cart.


“Are you sure this is okay, Cremia?” Anju asked, frowning. “Everyone is worried about the moon, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything.”


Cremia nodded, forcing herself to smile at her friend. “It’s fine. If you don’t mind, would you check on Romani upstairs in a bit? I think I’m going to go for a walk to clear my head and check on the ranch.”


“Of course, it’s the least I can do.” Anju smiled at her, a pinched, uncomfortable action that looked as forced as Cremia’s own, then she tucked a lock of her dark red hair behind one ear. “Say, you haven’t… heard anything from Kafei recently, have you?” There was a strange look in her eyes as she asked her question, and Cremia felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.


“No, I haven’t,” she answered, confused. “Your wedding is supposed to be tomorrow at the Carnival of Time, right?”


“The carnival has been cancelled, and no one has seen Kafei in at least a week,” Anju said quietly, the strange light in her eyes fading as she lowered her head and sniffled quietly. “I hoped… I hoped that maybe he’d been here, but I guess that wouldn’t make much sense if the road was blocked until today.” Anju sighed, then smiled again. “Don’t worry about it. Go take your walk, I’ll help mother and grandmother, then watch Romani for you.”


“Thank you,” Cremia nodded, then walked to the door and pulled her boots on. “I’ll try not to be long, I just need some air and I want to see if maybe the cows are wandering around somewhere nearby.” Anju waved as Cremia walked out of the house, hurrying past Anju’s mother and the cart without a word and made her way to the far end of the ranch as quickly as her feet would take her.


She’d been right, at least, about the fresh air. Only a few minutes into her walk, her headache was gone. But it was soon replaced with a sense of foreboding when she felt an odd rumbling, like a low grade earthquake, and looked up to see the moon. It had looked larger the last couple of days, but there was no denying it. Somehow, for some reason, it hung just over Termina, plummeting slowly down with the scowling intent of wiping every living thing there away. I understand the panic that drove Anju and her family here, but…


If the moon really struck Clock Town, hiding in the ranch wouldn’t save any of them. They’d all be just as dead, only a little later.


Night of the Final Day, 12 Hours Remain


Cremia sat in the grass on a hill overlooking the ranch. The house windows glowed in the distance, a warm, inviting light that almost made her forget about the menace above. She hadn’t meant to stay out all day, but the thought of being cooped up, cowering with Anju and her mother while they all waited to die, just rubbed her the wrong way. Better to wait until it was late enough that she could simply return to bed and spend her final moments with her sister.


She stood and stretched, working the stiffness out of her body by rubbing her arms and legs, then turned towards the house when something caught her eye. The red star that she’d seen a couple nights prior, before the cows disappeared, had returned, burning bright in the dusk next to the lunatic moon. Cremia wondered vaguely if it had any connection to the falling moon, but quickly dismissed the thought as ridiculous. Even if it was somehow related, it wouldn’t matter in a few hours anyway.


“It’s strange,” she mused aloud, “but I figured death would be more frightening.” She paused, and a large cricket hopped out of the grass and landed near her, staring up at the red head with insectile curiosity. “Perhaps it’s because there’s no avoiding it,” she told the bug. She looked up again and her eyes widened in surprise.


The red star was moving, flitting around the side of the moon and rocketing downwards. Then it turned, circling lazily as though it sought something, and suddenly shot forth.


“Huh, it almost looks like it’s heading this way, doesn’t it?” Cremia asked the cricket, then her whole world was swallowed in a red light and she felt herself slowly drifting upwards. She tried to scream, but the only sound she managed to force from her lips was a strangled whimper as she rose, faster and faster, into the night sky until everything went dark.


Midnight of the Final Day, 6 Hours Remain


Cremia awoke with a jerk and found herself sprawled out on… some sort of floor? It certainly wasn’t any sort of natural ground, though it looked nothing like any building material she’d ever seen either and was warm and sort of spongy to the touch, almost like living tissue. She gave it an experimental prod with a finger, pushing as hard as she could against the resistance as her index finger sank into the strange floor up to the second knuckle before it stopped, the tension too great for her strength to push it in any further. When she pulled her finger back, the floor sprung back with it, jiggling beneath her for a moment before going still again.


Suddenly, she felt like she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and her arms and legs shivered with gooseflesh as she swung her head around, looking for the source of the uncomfortable feeling. There was little light and she could only clearly make out the floor around her, everything more than a few paces away shrouded in darkness, little more than vague impressions in murky shadows. She stood, balling her hands into fists, and shouted into the void.


“Hello!? Is there anyone there?” There was no answer, though it looked like some of the vague shapes shifted around at the sound of her voice. “If there’s someone there, come out now! I’m not playing around!” The last part was in the same edged tone she took when scolding Romani for doing something silly. She hadn’t meant to slip into ‘big sister mode’ but fear and anxiety pushed her in that direction as a sort of defense mechanism.


An answer came from somewhere deep in the darkness, one that she never would have imagined in that strange, shadow-draped place. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, then held her breath and listened, disbelieving, as the sound drifted to her ears once again, and then a second voice joined it, and finally a third.


Somewhere out in the darkness, there were cows mooing. Cremia stood, shocked, squinting in the direction of the sounds, but she couldn’t see them. It did look like there might be a faint glow coming from the same direction, so she straightened up and began to walk stiffly towards the light, her boots making an odd, wet, almost fleshy sound on the bizarre floor.


The distant glow grew and brightened as she walked, becoming a beacon that she honed in on, and the moos became a little louder with every step. Wherever she was, it felt impossibly huge, the journey to the glow taking far longer than she would have thought, but finally she could make out a number of large glass tubes that radiated light. The moos had become a frantic bellowing, multiple bovine voices crying out in fear and anguish, and they nearly deafened her. A few more steps and…


Cremia stopped, standing in front of the closest tube. It was a giant glass cylinder, running from the floor to the ceiling and filled with some sort of phosphorescent liquid. A cow’s bellowing seemed to be coming directly from it, but Cremia couldn’t make out how until something detached from the floor and floated upwards.


She found herself face to face with one of her missing cows, though there wasn’t much left of the poor creature besides its face. Its head was intact, mouth working as though it was chewing cud in between bellows, but just below its jaw line everything else was gone save for a spine, shiny white, that dangled below it like some sort of hellish snake. Cremia screamed, stumbling backwards, and fell on her rump. The cow noticed, and its head thumped softly against the inside of the tube as it bellowed again, recognizing her, and tried to reach her through the glass.


“No, no, no, no,” she muttered, tears flowing from her eyes and her guts twisting and folding on themselves as she watched the sad creature thud against the glass a few more times, then sink back to the bottom of the tube sadly, its bellow quieting to a disappointed, miserable whimper. She stood, stumbling again, and turned back the way she came, then ran full steam back into the darkness, hating herself for abandoning the poor creature but too afraid to stay.


She wandered, directionless in the dark, until her breath hitched and her legs tangled together and she fell again, this time face first, onto the spongey floor. This time, her strength spent, she didn’t spring to her feet but instead buried her face in her arms and wept. She wept for the cows, for Romani, for the ranch, and for herself, the hot tears stinging her eyes and flowing in rivulets down her cheeks. Somewhere, deep down, the sensible woman that ran the ranch chided her, telling her that she needed to stop making so much racket and move before whatever had done that to her cows found her and did the same or worse, but she wasn’t just the sensible woman that ran Romani Ranch - at that moment, she was also a terrified girl who, in the span of a mere three days, had lost everything.


Then she felt something caress the back of her neck, sending a chill down her spine. Cremia turned, expecting to see nothing, and found herself staring into large, lamp-like eyes set into a featureless face. It wore some sort of headdress, and its body was wrapped in a cloak. Two arms dangled nearly to the floor, but beneath its waist was nothing at all, just the tattered cloak edge, as it hovered over her.


It reached for her again and she screamed, flipping onto her back and kicking upwards. Her boot made contact, striking it squarely in its chest, but the creature seemed unconcerned. One of its arms moved, almost whip-like, and wrapped around her ankle and then coiled up her leg beneath her long skirt. It was slick feeling, almost like latex against her bare skin, and Cremia shuddered in revulsion as she tried to wrench her captive leg away.


“Let go! Let go of me!” she cried, gasping as the creature’s grip tightened painfully around her leg and its rubbery fingers began to flex beneath her skirt, fumbling at her clumsily as it probed around. She shuddered again, trying to pull away from the thing’s hold on her, but by then its arm had coiled all the way up her leg and no amount of kicking and flailing would dislodge it. Cremia felt its fingers brush against her hip bone and then trace across the thin fabric of her underwear, and she uttered a thin, high pitched scream. “No, no, no, NO!”


She flopped back onto her stomach, unable to break its hold on her leg, and started to claw at the strange, squishy floor with both hands to try and find some sort of purchase for her fingers so she could pry herself away. Her fingers sunk into the surface again and she used that to grip madly, desperate to escape, until the creature’s other arm hovered into view, undulating snake-like while its fingers twitched and flexed. It shot forth, wriggling down the front of her blouse and then to the left, snuggling itself into her taut underarm.


“What are you…” she started, then her eyes flew wide open as both hands suddenly began to prod and scratch at her, one in her underarm and the other finding a spot on her inner thigh, just below her underwear. Cremia shivered, sputtered, and bit her tongue, trying to ignore the insidious touch with every ounce of willpower she had, but then a finger drilled deep into the hollow of her underarm at the same time as the hand beneath her skirt slid up and kneaded her hip. Her sputter became a squeal, and then a giggle, though it was a frightened, mirthless sound as the monster continued to tweak and tease those two tender spots. Her grip loosened, fingers slowly sliding out of the little holes they’d dug in the floor, and then the thing wrenched her up, holding her above its head by her captive leg and uttering a jubilant cry from an unseen mouth.


“Put me down right now!” Cremia twisted in the air, clawing at the creature as she tried to free herself, but it seemed to not even feel her beating and scratching at its arm. Worse still, the hand nestled in her skirt kept tickling her thighs, making it harder and harder to concentrate as she bit back laughter, instead grunting and wheezing as she struck it. I’ve got to do something! The thing was still celebrating its capture, but soon enough it would stop and she didn’t know what was in store for her once it did, only that she’d prefer to never find out.


Her captor finally stopped cheering in its strange, reedy, wordless voice and its lamp-like eyes shifter towards her. It flipped her upside down and shook her while she squealed in surprise until her skirt, disrupted by the movements, slid up and inverted, baring her legs and obscuring her sight.


“Stop that! I said stop!” Cremia moaned, her hands now batting at her own skirt to push it out of her face while her free leg kicked at her captor’s arm and her whole body shivered from the sudden draft on her lower body. There was a chittering sound, and she realized that the thing was laughing at her. Something about that brought rage welling up within, hot and and hateful, and she grasped the hem of her skirt with both hands and yanked upwards until the waistband snapped and she was able to wrench the garment off and toss it away, leaving her clad in only underwear and boots from the waist down. “Hah! How do you like that?” She spat, then started beating at the rubbery hand still teasing along the inside of her thighs with both hands.


The creature lifted her higher and shook her again, then Cremia screamed in surprise as it pulled back and tossed her. She flew farther than she would have imagined, hitting the spongy ground hard and bouncing before hitting it again and landing in a crumpled, groaning heap. She didn’t try to stand at first, instead remaining on the ground trembling and stunned, her body aching, until she heard the strange chittering noise again.


Except this time the odd, almost insectile laughter came from all around her. She opened her eyes and, despite the pain in her body, started to drag herself to her feet.


“Where… did you all come from?” Cremia asked hopelessly. She found herself standing shakily in a ring of eight sets of lamp-like eyes. She didn’t know which one was the original creature, but she supposed it didn’t really matter. If she couldn’t handle one, there was no way she’d stand a chance against eight, especially already surrounded. She shivered, suddenly wishing she hadn’t ripped her skirt off, then sighed and sniffled. The ghosts, that’s what Romani called them, wasn’t it? She found herself chuckling bitterly under her breath, wondering if things might have been different if she’d listened to her sister.


The circle around her tightened as they closed in, arms spread out and rubbery fingers reaching towards the red head. Cremia tensed, her jaw clenched as she ignored the pain in her body and readied herself, then she sprang forward, her intention to break through the ring of creatures in between the two nearest before they were all on top of her. Her boots pounded the ground as she ran harder than she ever had in her life, legs pumping and muscles screaming. They’re slow, if I can just get between them…


She very nearly made it, could see both of them to the sides of her out of the corners of each eye, when her legs were pulled out from beneath her and she fell face forward, slamming into the ground for the third time in as many minutes. Cremia pushed herself up, her arms burning with the effort, but her legs were jerked backwards and she slipped, falling to the ground again. She twisted and saw what had happened. One of the ghosts, as Romani had called them, had shot forward behind her when she’d run and its long arms had grabbed her ankles from behind. It had pulled her to keep her from rising to her feet, and would surely do it again if she kept trying. The rest of the ghosts clustered around it, all uttering that horrible chittering laughter, and then it pulled her hard, dragging her screaming right into the middle of all of them. She tore at the ground, desperate to stop her movement, until her fingers found purchase again, digging into the softness. Her small victory was short lived as the ghost holding her gave a mighty jerk and pulled her away, her fingers torn and bleeding as they were ripped from the ground.


Then they were on her, seven more sets of hands probing her, touching her, pulling at her blouse and boots and underwear while Cremia squirmed, shuddered, and screamed, her voice a mixture of pain and desperation, until suddenly the touching stopped all at once. One of the ghosts hovered closer to her, chittering to the rest, and she wondered vaguely if it was the original assailant. Its hands found her thighs and squeezed, drawing a high pitched yelp from her, and the rest of them froze.


“W-why do you keep tickling me!?” Cremia wailed, squirming as the rubbery fingers teased along her thighs and squealing when it teased her vulva through the fabric of her panties. The others simply watched as she devolved from grunts and squeals to slow, high pitched giggles, their eyes seeming to glow brighter every time a new sound passed her lips. The one touching her chittered that strange, insectile laughter, and one by one the others echoed it. After what seemed an eternity, the hands on her thighs withdrew and Cremia gulped down air, panting from the effort of not breaking into full on, whooping laughter. When she looked up and saw the ghosts gathered around her, each one chittering, her heart sank. Not just because she was still surrounded, but now each of them bored into her with their eyes as their fingers began to flex threateningly, sixteen hands hungering for more torment.


“You… you can’t,” she whimpered, then they were on her. All four limbs were pinned easily, and in a flurry of movement her blouse was torn away and discarded, her breasts spilling out, and she felt her boots slide off her feet. Left with just her panties, Cremia felt more vulnerable and weak than she ever had in her whole nineteen years of life. “Please,” she murmured, nearly inaudible among the chittering of the creatures, and her eyes filled with tears.


Then rubbery fingers were everywhere, twelve hands stroking her underarms, tracing along her collarbone, and drawing lazy, ticklish circles around her nipples before sliding down to her quivering belly. More hands tweaked and kneaded her hips and knees while the original ghost returned to fluttering its fingers along the inside of her thighs. Even with them filling her vision above and the omnipresence of their insidious touch, Cremia gritted her teeth and refused to let the sensations overtake her.


Until one of them found her feet and she yelped, then its fingers were joined by more and she screamed, the ticklish sensations shooting up her body, mingling with the rest of the stimulation until it built up, more and more, and no amount of willpower could stop the giggle from bubbling through her lips. Emboldened by the sound, her tormentors picked up speed, their fingers gliding faster and faster around Cremia’s body as more giggles and squeals forced their way out of her lips. Even then, she was determined to not give them more than that. By some lunatic, sensation-drunk logic, she reasoned that if she didn’t crack into helpless laughter that they might eventually get bored and leave.


“Wait, not there!” Cremia wailed when a fresh sensation joined the fray as a single finger left her thigh and traced an unbearable line down her vulva through the thin fabric of her panties. The dam broke, her whole body shaking and her hair whipping around as she shook her head back and forth and the laughter spilled out in whooping, frame wracking bursts. “Please, please, please!” she babbled once she was able to suck in air, but the strange apparitions ignored her and continued to grope, tease, and tickle relentlessly. Worse still, the constant attention of the finger between her legs tracing gently up and down her womanhood kept her too distracted to block anything out, and she vaguely realized that her underwear had become uncomfortably wet at some point.


Wh-why am I getting turned on, Cremia thought, the words echoing through her mind along with her own booming laughter. The horror teasing her lips noticed as well, and with a shrill chitter pinched at the damp fabric and painfully tore it off of her, taking the last shred of modesty she possessed as though it was nothing and within seconds she felt two rubbery fingers worm their way inside, rubbing around roughly until they found her clit. Cremia screamed, a sad, guttural sound of hysteria, fear, and unwilling arousal as the thing stroked up and down her clitoris, sending jolts through her body with every pass along it and drowning out much of the tickling sensations from the other hands. It felt vile, but was nearly a relief as well and Cremia hated herself for thinking it.


Then she felt the climax coming, the pressure building and swelling from deep inside as the hands tickling her backed away, giving her body rest. Cremia’s breath hitched and the finger stroking her sped up until she could hear the sound of it sliding back and forth inside her and she came hard, arching her back and groaning miserably through it before collapsing back to the spongy ground, weeping bitterly with ragged breath. It was the first orgasm of her life that had come from something besides her own attentions and her soul raged that the honor had been taken by the strange, faceless apparitions. Hot tears streamed down her face and her breath hitched as the finger inside her, stilled in the throes of her orgasm, began to stroke her again. The sensation crackled through her body like a lightning bolt, every nerve jolting back to life as its finger rubbed anew, now teasing her clit in slow, deliberate circles instead of simply stroking up and down.


“Stop, please,” Cremia whimpered, her whole body shuddering as much as it was able at the creature’s insidious touch. The other hands snaked back towards her as well, their fingers flexing and threatening a fresh round of tickle torture. They made contact with her feet first, any gentleness abandoned as they scrabbled up and down her soles and she burst into helpless, whooping laughter. The attention to her clit had originally drowned the tickling out, but in the post orgasm haze she could feel everything, her nerves jumping and dancing as more of the hands returned, all of them now tickling and kneading her with new purpose. She bucked as much as the arms pinning her down allowed, clawing at the spongy ground hopelessly when her wildest attempts failed to free her. Soon a second orgasm took her and she cackled as she rode the wave of involuntary pleasure and finally went limp, unable to do anything but laugh and shiver as the apparitions continued tormenting her with no end in sight.


This is how I die, she thought miserably, tickled to death while everyone else I know is crushed by a falling moon. If she hadn’t already been laughing from the tickling, a mad giggle would have bubbled out of her then. Time passed, seconds stretching into hours as they continued to play with her body, until somewhere, on the edge of her perception, a low, sad sound cut through everything around her. A flute? No, it’s too hollow sounding. An… ocarina?


She wondered at the strangeness of it before she noticed that the tickling had stopped when the song started, the ghosts looking up as one as their eyes glowed with hate and rage, and then Cremia’s world became nothing but bright light and white nothingness.


Dawn of… the First Day? 72 Hours Remain


Cremia awoke screaming and clawing at hands that weren’t there, her blanket twisting around her body as she thrashed in panic until the first ray of sun, warm and sobering, kissed her cheek through the window and she calmed down, though her heart still raced, pounding against her ribs a mile a second.


“What… was that…?” she asked the quiet bedroom, burying her face in her hands. Somewhere in the dark, she heard Romani turn over in her bed and mumble. Cremia, in a daze, rose and immediately crashed to the ground and lay there shivering before kicking herself free of the blanket that had wound around her in her drowsy panic.


“Sister…?” Romani asked, her voice heavy with sleep, “Are you okay?”


“Yes,” Cremia said quietly, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Go back to sleep for a bit, it’s still early. I just slipped getting up.”


“Mmm, okay.”


Cremia sat in the floor and waited until Romani began to snore softly, then dragged herself to her feet and left the room on shaky legs. Downstairs, she hunched over the basin of water, splashing handful after handful on her face while she grasped at the odd dream that was already disintegrating in her mind. All she could remember was a vast space, glowing eyes, and for some reason felt very, very ticklish, even just the fabric of her night gown brushing against her skin enough to make her shiver.


“It’s stress. It has to be,” she told her haggard reflection in the small mirror when she finally looked up from the basin. She stared for another moment, then crept back upstairs to retrieve her clothes without waking Romani again. Everything around her felt bogged down, almost like she could only move in slow motion, and the unease was crippling as she struggled first to dress herself, then to pull on her boots, and finally even fumbling the door knob twice before managing to fling it open and walk out into the morning proper. The sun was already much higher in the sky than when she normally started and she knew the cows would be angry about the late milking, but try as she might she just couldn’t get herself to speed up, instead staring up at the sky and trying to make sense of the vague feeling rushing through her mind.


She gave up, and reached for a couple of wooden buckets, then immediately dropped them as a loud explosion rocked the air from the direction of Milk Road. It was powerful enough that she felt the very ground reverberate with it beneath her feet.


“What was…” she started, then remembered the boulder blocking the road and then it clicked. “Someone cleared the road!” Cremia hurried to the ranch gates, only briefly stopping to wave at a sleepy Grog standing outside the Cucco Shack in the distance, likely shocked awake by the noise. When she finally made it, she found the boulder gone, shards and pebbles of destroyed rock everywhere but the boulder was gone! A strange, green clad boy of about Romani’s age stood among the aftermath, his hands on his hips as he looked around, and Cremia waved to him.


“Excuse me, young man! Do you know what happened? I heard a loud noise and came to investigate. There’s been a boulder blocking the road, but it seems like someone blew it up.” The boy regarded her for a moment with cool, blue eyes and then simply shrugged. “Oh. Well, in that case, um, welcome to Romani Ranch. We’re just through the gate there, and have a variety of services available if you need them. Plus, my sister is about your age and she would love someone to play with, if you have the time to stop in.”


The boy stood silent for another moment, then nodded and slowly walked past her. She watched him wander towards the ranch house, veering off the path when he saw the filly they’d taken in running towards him, then turned her attention back to the decimated boulder.


“It couldn’t have been the boy,” she mused out loud, her voice thoughtful, “but I’m glad to see this darn boulder taken care of! I’ll finally be able to make a delivery to clock town now that it’s out of the way!” Cremia crossed her arms and nodded to herself, smiling and glad that for the first time in weeks something seemed to be going her way. She rushed off to the barn to milk the cows, listing off everything that needed to be done in her head as she walked.


Dawn of the Second Second Day, 48 Hours Remain


Cremia woke sore but happy, her body crying out from her flurry of activity the day before. She had no regrets. It had been far too long since she’d been able to take a shipment of Chateau Romani into town and she’d spent nearly all of the prior day preparing so everything went as smoothly as possible. She sat up, stretching and relishing the way her back popped, then stood and crept past Romani’s bed like every morning, pausing only briefly to wonder why her younger sister’s bow was on the bedroom floor along with a pair of mud-caked boots.


I’ll have to remember to scold her for that, she thought, and on a different morning might have hauled the girl out of bed early, but Cremia was in a good mood and decided to let it slide. She dressed in the dark, fighting the urge to hum to herself, then quietly left the bedroom and made her way downstairs. A few moments later, after splashing some water on her face and donning her own boots, she stepped out into the crisp morning air, then jumped in surprise when she saw the boy in green again, loitering with the chestnut colored filly nearby her house.


“Hello again!” Cremia called to him after she collected herself, raising an arm in greeting. “You’re up early! I want to thank you for playing with Romani yesterday! Normally the ranch isn’t open this early, but I’ll make an exception for you.” The boy gazed at her as she spoke, gently stroking the young horse’s mane. “I’m surprised she’s taken such a liking to you! We found her just before Milk Road was blocked, wandering in Termina Field.” She wished the boy would speak, at least. He’d been in and out of the ranch the whole day prior, running around with the filly and shooting his bow with Romani, but Cremia hadn’t even heard his voice in passing while she bustled about.


The boy still only regarded her, then climbed onto the young horse’s back.


“Say, if you happen to be around this evening,” Cremia said as he mounted the filly, “I’m making a run into Clock Town with a shipment of milk. You can ride along if you happen to be going that way. I’d welcome the company, and besides that I saw how handy you are with that bow of yours.” He watched her for another moment once he sat astride the horse, then simply nodded and gently kicked his mount into motion with his heels and trotted towards the entrance to the ranch. What a strange young man.


She wondered if he’d take her up on the ride into town that evening as she went about milking the cows and loading six big jugs of Chateau Romani into the back of her rickety little wagon. Part of her wanted to know more about him, but if she was being completely honest with herself there was some strange, apprehensive feeling gnawing at the back of her mind, some sense that told her the recently destroyed boulder wasn’t the only obstacle along Milk Road worthy of her worry. Having the boy and his bow along for the ride would be great peace of mind even if his silence was a bit unnerving.


One of the cows sauntered up behind her and bellowed loudly, shocking her out of her reverie. “Okay, okay,” she laughed, turning and scratching it behind the ear until it gave her an affectionate head butt against her shoulder. “Calm down, you!” Another feeling she couldn’t quite explain was how happy seeing the cows made her this morning. Some dim, dark corner of her mind had, for some reason, expected them to be gone when she opened the door to the barn though she had no idea why.


“I’ve got to go for a bit,” she told the cow, still petting it happily. “The horses need a good brushing before this evening, after all, and Romani should be up and making some breakfast. You be a good girl now, okay?” The cow bellowed again and she planted a kiss on its nose before turning and leaving the barn. As she crossed the ranch, heading for the horses grazing in the distance, she abruptly turned and found herself skipping happily towards the Cucco Shack. Well, I have been working hard. Maybe… I should get a feathering before I give the horses a brushing…


Night of the Second Second Day, 36 Hours Remain


“I don’t think he’ll be back tonight,” Romani said as she watched her older sister hitching the two horses to the wagon. Her bow was still in hand, though the small quiver slung across her back had been emptied of arrows, most of them sticking in the ground nearby a crate she’d used as target practice that afternoon. “He seemed really busy yesterday, though he did help me chase off the ghosts last night.”


“The ghosts?”


“Yeah, you know! The ones that come every year to mess with the cows! He helped me fight them off and keep them from taking the cows!”


“Well, I’m very grateful to you both, then,” Cremia said as she climbed onto the wagon and sat on the driver’s bench. She had no clue where Romani had gotten the idea for her story about the ghosts and the cows, but it warmed her heart to see the girl actually getting to spend time with someone her own age. Maybe I should take her into Clock Town with me more often. She needs more friends her age. “Anyway, I’ve got to go or it’ll be sunrise by the time I get back. Look after the ranch while I’m out, okay?”


“Okay! Be careful!”


“Always!” Cremia grabbed the reins and snapped them, spurring the horses into movement. The old wagon lurched forward, bumping along the uneven ground until it made it to the smoothed out path they used as a road to the entrance of the ranch, then she turned and waved to Romani one last time. “Remember, if you need anything then go and wake Grog up! I’ll be back as soon as I drop the shipment off at Latte!”


Only a few minutes passed before she made it through the ranch’s gate and onto Milk Road, carefully steering the wagon around the debris from the boulder with sharp tugs on the reins. Last thing she needed, after all, was to break a wheel. She made it past the shards and splinters unscathed and made a mental note to drag Grog out there with her before the next delivery to clear them out of the road, then turned the next corner of the road and had to yank up on the reins to bring the wagon to a full stop before it crashed into a fence that had been built across the road.


“Whoa, whoa!” She hopped down and patted both horses to calm them down, then turned to the fence. It was a ramshackle, hasty construction, that much was evident. When she touched it, one of the slats came off in her hand and she tossed it to the side of the road. “Who put this up across the road? And why?” Something silvery nailed to the middle of it caught her eye, so she stepped over to it and found a polished metal disc with the outline of a mustachioed man’s face, head tilted back and demeanor giving off a sense of superiority, along with a piece of parchment nailed to the makeshift fence directly below it. She snatched the parchment and turned her back to the moon so that she could read with its light.


Due to recent incidents, the road ahead is closed. Those heading to Termina Field may instead use the detour through the Gorman Track. Safe travels!


“Ugh, the Gorman brothers,” Cremia spat, balling the parchment up and sticking it in the lone pocket of her skirt. The Gormans had been a thorn in her side since her father’s death, randomly showing up and offering to buy the ranch or the secrets to making Chateau Romani from her every other month and sulking away muttering every time she rebuffed them. Apparently the pair of degenerates had wanted to go into business selling their own milk and saw the ranch as an obstacle, which did make sense. After all, who in their right mind would buy their thin, watery milk when Chateau Romani was available? “Now I really wish that boy had come along with his bow. I’ve got a bad feeling.”


She climbed back onto the bench of her wagon and just sat for a moment, thinking. The detour stood to the north, an opening between two large rocks, and she knew beyond that was the Gorman’s property and the horse track they kept. It was a bit more roundabout, but following the track would take her to the far end of Milk Road and Termina Field.


“I can’t just go back, we need to sell this milk,” she mumbled to herself, then took a deep breath and grabbed the reins. With a quick snap, the wagon rumbled into motion, made a wide turn, and rolled through the gap onto the Gorman’s track. Cremia felt a chill almost immediately, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the sense of foreboding that crept over her or because the track was far more open than Milk Road, which ran in between high rock walls. The track ran in a wide circle around an open, bare field. Either direction would eventually bring Cremia to the other side of Milk Road, so she shrugged and eased the wagon to the left, following along the simple beaten dirt path.


She almost didn’t hear the sound of hoofbeats behind her over the noise her own horses made along with the creak of the wagon.


There are two of them, she thought to herself, grimacing and gripping the reins so tightly that her knuckles turned white before turning on the driver’s bench to peer around the side of the wagon. They were there, two horsemen clad in dark clothes and wearing strange hoods, pounding down the track behind her and gaining quickly, each holding a wicked looking pitchfork in one hand as they chased her wagon. Red eyes glowed from beneath the hoods, but the rest of their faces were hidden completely. Cremia spun back around and snapped the reins, spurring her own horses to speed up. It has to be the Gormans.


One of them yelled in a reedy, middle aged voice, and she heard a loud thunk from the back of the wagon. Then another, and the sound of one of her containers of Chateau Romani shattered, milk spraying out and leaking across the back of the wagon so violently that she felt some splatter on her back. She whipped the reins again, tears welling in her eyes, as the rider struck another container with his pitchfork.


“Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted to herself, eyes fixed on the far passage back onto Milk Road when the second container shattered. If she could just make it back to the actual road then her assailants would have to back off. The Gormans might be bold enough to attack her on their own land, but she knew that bravery would wither the moment Clock Town was in sight. The second rider, his horse galloping hard, pulled up alongside her wagon and glanced at her.


“Stop the wagon!” he yelled, his voice muffled by his headgear. She’d thought they were hoods at first, but the man actually wore a mask designed to look like a Garo, an odd, humanoid monster from the Ikana region. No one really knew what the Garo looked like since they kept their whole body covered in tattered robes and were known to destroy themselves outright if they were defeated. The strange burning eyes, visible through the hoods they wore, were the only known physical feature of the monsters, and seeing a mockery of them riding next to the wagon chilled Cremia. She snapped the reins again and tried to guide the wagon away from the man, but it was no use. His horse kept pace and followed as she weaved across the track. “I said stop! Stop now and we’ll only take the milk!”


“Not a chance!” Cremia yelled, and suddenly guided the wagon back towards the rider, hoping to crowd his horse off the track. He was ready for the attempt, though, and his mount pulled ahead just far enough to avoid being forced from the road. She didn’t notice the other man come up along the other side of her wagon with her attention focused on the first. He still held his pitchfork aloft and, when he realized she wasn’t aware of him, he aimed in and stabbed it straight downward into the spokes of her front wheel. The pitchfork caught and the force of the wheel turning wrenched it from his hand as the spokes shattered and the wheel broke. The front of the wagon pitched forward, then skidded and turned sideways before flipping. Cremia was tossed from the seat, screaming, and what was left of the wagon rolled forward and slammed into her horses from behind as they slowed their gallop in confusion.


She landed in the grass by the track in a bone-rattling thump, her consciousness swimming and her mind screaming in fear and worry as she saw the wooden wagon collide with her horses. The two riders, deftly moving from the destroyed wagons path of destruction, slowed their mounts and turned back, heading in her direction as they skirted the wreckage. Cremia staggered to her feet, still screaming, as one of them rode right up to her and knocked her senseless with a swift kick from one booted foot. She collapsed, her eyes catching the lunatic moon and holding it in sight as everything around her faded until even that winked out.


Midnight of the Second Second Day, 30 Hours Remain


Cremia groaned as she woke, unsure of how much time had passed. It was still night, she knew, the soft sounds of crickets and the chill in the air telling her that much without needing to open her eyes. Her body was stretched out, arms pulled straight above her head and legs pulled straight out as well, and when she tried to pull them in and sit up, she found that she couldn’t. Reluctantly, her eyes fluttered open.


She found herself laying in the grass next to the Gorman’s track. Her arms had been pulled above her head and then one of the pitchforks the riders had carried was driven deep into the ground, pinning both wrists tightly to the earth. She glanced towards her legs and saw another pitchfork driven similarly into the ground at her ankles, pinning them as well and leaving her helpless to do much aside from squirm.


“H-hello?” she said, then winced at the aches rolling through her body. When she turned her head, she could make out the remains of her old wagon, shattered and cracked wood littering the ground around it as the ground drank up the Chateau Romani she’d been carrying, each jug completely destroyed and her livelihood turning the dirt track into mud.


“Don’t worry about the horses,” a voice said from somewhere nearby, “they were more stunned than actually injured. We caught them while you were out and have them back at our stable. We’ll take good care of them.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the speaker. It was one of the riders, still donning the eerie Garo mask. He sat nearby on a large stone, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.


“What are you going to do with them?” Cremia’s voice shocked her, sounded cracked and tired in the dark. “What… are you going to do with me?”


“The horses will be fine. We’ll get them healed up nicely, then see how they do on the race track. If they’re no good, then we’ll sell them in Clock Town.” He stood and adjusted his overalls, then crossed his arms and looked down at her. “Shouldn’t you be worried about yourself instead of your horses?”


Cremia shook her head. “No, return them to the ranch. Do you really think you can pass them off as yours if you sell them? I’m friends with the mayor’s son! Kafei would recognize my horses instantly.”


“Will he?” The man stood over her, staring down through the eerie mask. “I wonder if that’s true. From what we’ve been able to tell, it’s been a long time since anyone from Clock Town has visited your ranch, and it would be our word against no one else’s.” There was a shuffling sound nearby, and a moment later the other man joined him, breathing heavily.


“I got them both stabled and treated their wounds. Nothing much worse than a few scrapes and bruises. As long as nothing gets infected, we can probably start running them by the end of the week.” The second man looked down at her as well, his masks eyes glowing brighter. “So what are we gonna do with her?”


“That depends on her.” The first brother kneeled down and grabbed Cremia by the hair, then twisted her head to look up at him. “Now, miss, we don’t want to have to hurt you or anything, but we need you to close down Romani Ranch. Pack it up. Over and done. We’ll be taking the land it’s on for our own operation.”


Cremia shook her head again, but she remained silent. He let her hair go, the red locks sliding through his fingers, then sighed and motioned to his brother, who shrugged and walked around her trapped body until he stood at her feet. He sat down on the ground, grumbling, and took a knife from his belt.


“Last chance, girlie. Just sign over the ranch and we’ll let you go. Hell, we’ll even help you move,” the man standing by her head said as his brother slid the blade of the knife into the side of her boot, tearing through the stitches, and followed the shape of her sole until the bottom of the boot flopped onto the ground uselessly. Then he repeated the process with the other boot, and Cremia shivered as the cool night air caressed her exposed soles.


“What are you planning?” she asked them, the tremor in her voice betraying her fear. “I won’t abandon my father’s ranch no matter what you do to me.”


“Do it,” the man standing next to her said, and Cremia winced when she saw the knife rise in the air, glinting in the moonlight. Then she heard it thunk into the ground and confusion overtook her.


“What?” The question had barely passed her lips when she felt something slide down the sole of one foot slowly, tracing along the wrinkles as her foot flexed helplessly in the remains of her boot. A similar sensation joined it on her other foot, and she felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she struggled to hold in a squeal. “What are you d-doing?”


The man sitting at her feet paused, then held up two pieces of straw he’d plucked from the ground. She couldn’t see his face, but something twinkling in the masks eyes gave her the impression that the bastard was grinning ear to ear at her as he waved them around so she could get a good look before lowering them again and returning to lazily stroking them up and down her trapped soles. It wasn’t horrible at first, reminiscent of her secret featherings with Grog, even, but soon enough Cremia was struggling to hold in the laughter as the straw relentlessly stroked and poked her sensitive feet. The pitchfork holding her ankles still was bad enough, but her now sole-less boots held her feet so firmly in place that she couldn’t even wiggle them side to side to get away from the sensations coursing up her body from her teased toes.


“You don’t think a little tickling is enough to make me give up my home, do you?” Cremia asked, though the man standing above her noted how her voice quivered and how her hips squirmed around, occasionally enough to lift her butt from the cold earth. He glared down at her through the mask, then cleared his throat.


“Take it up a notch. She likes this soft stuff.” She’d already been blushing, but his words set her cheeks into full flame, their hue nearly matching the color of her hair.


“She likes it? Are you sure?”


“Oh yes,” the first man answered, chuckling softly. “She’s wiggling, but not like she wants to get away. Isn’t that right?” As he asked the question, he stuck his own booted foot out and gently brought it down onto Cremia’s crotch, massaging the area gently through her skirt while his brother kept softly tickling her feet with the straw. She bit her lip, trying to hold it in, but after a moment a deep moan escaped Cremia’s lips, the heat between her legs rising to near the same fever pitch as the blood roasting her cheeks.


“By the Goddess of Time, she does!” the man teasing her feet laughed, the slow strokes of the straw not so much as slowing as he did. “Still, you’re right, better get a little meaner. It’s not supposed to be the fun kind of torture.”


“There’s no such thing as fun torture, you Gorman clods!” Cremia cried, angry with herself that she had let the moan slip and angrier still that she could feel her underclothes quickly moistening. The man at her feet switched tactics, discarding the bits of straw and raking her captive soles with the fingers of both hands. She shrieked, taken by surprise at the new stimulation, then burst into helpless laughter as calloused fingers dug into her sensitive arches and uncut, grimy nails scratched at the undersides of her toes. “St-stop!”


“Stop! Stop! It tickles too much!” the man standing above her mocked in a poor falsetto, then added his own rough laughter to hers before he continued massaging and kneading her crotch with his foot. It was maddening, the pressure enough to drive her libido higher and higher paired with the tickling, but not enough to give her any release and she found her body betrayed her as her hips thrust upward, grinding into the man’s boot. “Why aren’t you a horny little thing! Lookit her!”


“Right?! I can see the little tramp’s wet spot from here! She’s soaking herself!”


These… despicable… bastards… The words rang slowly through Cremia’s mind as more and more of it was taken over by the soft, lusty haze that the Gorman’s attentions caused, and she hated that she couldn’t stop her body’s natural reactions. She gritted her teeth, her fingers clawed helplessly at the air, flexing and tearing at nothing, and she even tried slamming her butt, her hips being just about the only part of her able to freely move, into the ground to distract herself from what was happening to her but none of it worked. Even worse, a vague half-memory, some sort of nightmare where shadowy figures had held her down and tickled her much the same as the Gormans bubbled to her mind unbidden, rearing up like some demon hiding in her shadow and waiting for just the right moment.


The man standing above her stopped grinding his boot into her crotch. He stepped back and looked down at her as she squirmed and laughed, then leaned over and brushed the mud that his shoe had left on her skirt away.


“You weren’t joking, she’s soaked through,” he said to his brother, and the man at her feet laughed.


“I told you! Who’d have thought the little harlot would be keen on getting tickled? Should we try something else?”


“No,” the first man said, and Cremia could hear the menace lacing his voice. “Even something pleasurable eventually becomes unbearable. Besides, it’s not a bad show from up here, either.”


“I’ll bet!” the man at her feet said, his fingers worming their way in between her trapped toes. “Seems hardly fair that I’m doing all the work, though!”


“I suppose you have a point.” He pulled his own knife from his belt and reached down, hooking a finger into the collar of Cremia’s blouse and pulling the fabric up before cutting it down the middle with the blade. The ruined cloth fell to each side, leaving her with breasts bared as her flat belly flexed and quivered with laughter.


“N-no!” she managed to force out, gasping as the man tossed his knife onto the grass nearby and then swung a leg over her and lowered himself onto her hips, pinning them to the ground. She could feel his manhood, stiff and throbbing, through his overalls, pressing down onto her.


“What’s wrong girlie? Scared?” His hands hovered over her exposed belly, and Cremia knew what was coming even before he lowered them and started poking at the quivering flesh there. “You really are a looker, you know? Shame to hide such a firm little body in that frumpy outfit of yours.” One of his hands slid up and cupped her left breast, the thumbnail flicking over her nipple until it puffed and swelled.


“Haw haw, she still likes it! Much more and we’ll be able to water the grass with her!” He laughed again as his fingers continued to rake up and down her exposed soles, simply relying on relentless attention rather than targeting any specific spot and admiring at the bright, rosy color the skin of her feet had become.


“You ready to give up Romani Ranch yet?” The Gorman sitting on her hips giggled as he questioned her, his arousal apparent through both the bulge in his overalls digging into her and the strange, panting quality of his words. A Goro mask still obscured his face, but Cremia could see wisps of steam from his hot breath trickling out of it as he spoke. His fingers dug meticulously at her belly, each poke and prod pulling squeals from her in between bouts of laughter. Even worse, she disgusted herself when she realized that her hips still thrust involuntarily upward, desperate to release the pent up fury still building in her.


“N-never,” Cremia managed to say, though both ends of the shivering word were punctuated with mad giggles.


“Perhaps we’re going about this the wrong way,” the Gorman at her feet said, his hands never slowing. “If we deflower her, then she’ll be all but forced to marry one of us. We could take the ranch that way.”


“Now there’s an idea,” the other Gorman said. He stopped tickling, leaned forward, and cupped both her breasts, massaging them and tweaking her nipples. “What do you say, little strumpet? Fancy becoming a Gorman?”


It took a moment for what they meant to register in Cremia’s mind through the ticklish haze. Become… a Gorman…? Wait, does he mean…


“No! Never!” Cremia shouted, the panic cutting through the tickling like a knife and bringing her to her senses. The Gorman astride her just laughed, scooting around so that he could paw at her belt and the waistband of her skirt to pull it out of his way. “Stop! Now!”


“Shhh, now, missy,” he said, leaning forward and clamping a hand down over her mouth while his other continued working around her waist, its fumbling desperate and lost in lust to get the garment out of the way and expose her. “It’s rare, but there are still sometimes travelers on Milk Road this late. A little bit o’ laughing is one thing, but we can’t have them hear you carrying on like this.”


“MMMPH!” Cremia shouted again, her words muffled by his hand and her eyes filled with hot tears. Gods help me, this is really happening! What do I do?! What CAN I do?!


The Gorman at her feet reached forward, grabbing the hem of her skirt, and yanked. With the loosened belt, the action was enough to snap the button holding the skirt taut around her waist and it slid away, leaving her bare legged and in only her underwear beneath the man’s horny brother. The one astride her didn’t miss a beat, sliding around again so that the bulge in his overalls rubbed directly over her soaked underwear, sending chills through her body.


“Oooh, you like that, eh? Then lets get that last bit off you and we’ll see if we can’t get a seed quickening in your belly.” The same knife he’d used to cut open her blouse reappeared in his hand, and he carefully cut away her underwear, holding the shredded cloth up like a prize once it was free of her body before crushing it to his face and taking a long whiff of her scent. Cremia struggled with all the strength she had left, trying to buck and throw the man from her, but his brother picked up on it and went back to work on the soles of her feet, tickling hard and mercilessly. It took her by surprise, and her bucking was reduced to helpless squirming as she laughed into the muffling hand clamped onto her mouth. His other hand started tickling along her naked waist, tracing the tops of her hip bones and scratching at her lower belly, and Cremia realized that they were trying to tickle her into exhaustion so she wouldn’t fight back and that it was, without a doubt, working. She felt her body slumping, every muscle screaming from both being thrown from the wagon and the Gorman’s long torture, and her strength gave out.


“Right, she’s finally given up. Keep tickling those toes of hers while I go to work. Wouldn’t want her getting a second wind.” The man astride her slipped the straps of his overalls off his shoulders and stood for a moment so he could slide them off his body, exposing his knobby kneed, spindly legs and simple undershorts. Cremia saw through tear-stained eyes that a large wet spot of his own had formed around the bulge on his underwear.


No, no, no… Her mind ground to a halt, mesmerized by the odd gyrations of the older man standing above, still in the Garo hood but otherwise only wearing a thin work shirt and pre-cum stained underpants, and her vision swam. She would have passed out, but somewhere in the distance a sound caught her attention, a low, hollow toot that sounded more than a little familiar.


“Is that an ocarina?” she said through her giggles, then the world went dark. The last thing that faded was the scowl of the lunatic moon in the sky.


The Dawn of Many Days, ?? Hours Remain


Cremia awoke with a start, sitting up in bed and crying out. The sun beat down on her through the window, telling her that she was up far later than usual. Romani’s bed was already empty, too, and she heard her sister pattering around downstairs, probably fussing with breakfast and letting her sleep in.


Last night was the Gormans again, she thought to herself, then sat up, pulled her knees to her chest, and hugged them. She wasn’t sure how long it had been going on before she picked up on it, but she’d become aware some time before that she seemed to be re-living the same three day span over and over again. There were always some variations, true, usually centered around the strange green-clad boy with the fairy, but each little cycle ended the same way. Something, man or monster, would capture her on the second or third day and tickle torture her into insensibility. Much of the time, it was the Gormans. Most of the others were the strange aliens her sister called Ghosts, their attentions too ingrained in her mind to possibly tell Romani that they weren’t real. There were other outliers, too, seemingly dependent on her own actions. Grog had lost control a few times. Once she’d fled the ranch in a panic and found herself in the swamp, tickled half to death by the Dekus while their princess forced her to perform giggling, hysterical foot worship on her. Another, she’d thought to run to Ikana in case the time loop had something to do with the undead there and found herself trapped in a thief’s hideout, mercilessly tickle interrogated for two solid days until the far off sound of the ocarina called her consciousness back to the first day of the madness.


All she wanted was for it to finally end. Or to go back to how it was at first, when the memories were ephemeral, dream-like, and she wandered from ticklish doom to ticklish doom in brief, blissful ignorance. She wondered if others were aware, or if they had their own repeating fates that kept playing out. She wondered, darkly, if taking her own life would end it or if she would simply wake up on the morning of the first day again. Cremia wasn’t brave enough or mad enough to try, at least not yet.


She dragged herself out of bed and dressed herself, staring listlessly at her reflection in the small wall-mounted mirror and hating the bags beneath her eyes. Something occurred to her then. At least one other person had to be aware. Every time the cycle reset, she heard an ocarina, always distant yet seeming to reverberate through all of Termina.


“Instruments don’t play themselves,” she told her haggard reflection, wincing at the hoarseness in her own voice. The Gormans had taken horsehair brushes to her feet in the last cycle and she’d spent hours cackling and screaming up at the moon before she heard the ocarina and awoke on the first day.


Cremia pushed the memory away, shuddering, then focused on the ocarina again. Had she met anyone with one? It seemed unlikely, but it also wasn’t as though people went parading around the countryside with an instrument out while they journeyed. At least, no one sane would.


“I’ll just have to watch closely,” she said, nodding to herself in the mirror.


Dawn of the Third Day, Eternity Remains


“Cremia, where are you going?” Romani asked as she watched her sister packing a rucksack with a change of clothes, a couple bottles of well water, and an assortment of food including a few apples, half a wheel of cheese wrapped in waxy paper, and a loaf of bread. It was the third day of a cycle, she knew that much by the size of the moon in the sky. She also knew that if she stayed at the ranch, she would end up in the strange alien realm of the Ghosts, laughing and cumming until she heard the ocarina. The boy’s ocarina, she’d discovered. It was the quiet boy in the green tunic.


The discovery had come a few cycles before. She’d been staring out the window early one morning and heard the sound cut through the air. Terrified, she’d braced herself to black out like usual, then when nothing happened she listened and realized it was a different song and that, rather than the strange, world shaking feeling she normally got, it seemed to be coming from somewhere nearby on the ranch. Then she saw him, standing in the dawn light and playing the ocarina for the filly while the horse happily ran circles around him.


“I’m heading to Clock Town,” Cremia told her. “Anju and her mother will be here soon, I think, and I’d rather not deal with them right now. Could you welcome them in when they get here and look after the ranch for me today?”


“Sure,” Romani nodded, her face clearly worried. “You’re not… going to the Carnival of Time without me, are you?” She couldn’t think of anything else in Clock Town that Cremia would be so hell-bent on.


“No, of course not.” Cremia kneeled down and hugged her sister. “I’ve just got something I need to take care of in town is all. Besides, the carnival isn’t until tomorrow. I promise we can go then.”


“Okay.” Romani looked as though she didn’t quite trust Cremia, but she knew her sister well enough to tell when arguing was pointless. “Are you taking the wagon?”


“No, I’m going on foot. It doesn’t take long to get to Clock Town either way, especially with Milk Road open.” Cremia stood and hoisted her sack over her shoulder. “Okay, I’m heading out. Take care of everything for me.” Romani waved as she stepped out of the door, her face still clouded with confusion.


An hour later Cremia found herself crouching behind a boulder near where Milk Road opened into Termina Field as she watched Anju and her mother roll by in the inn’s wagon. She didn’t know if her friend would try to stop her or question her, but Cremia felt the safest option was to simply hide and let them pass her by. She waited for the sound of the wooden wheels to fade before creeping out from behind the boulder, then fished around in her bag and pulled out one of the apples she’d packed. She munched on it absentmindedly as she picked her way across Termina Field, slipping by a group of jelly-like Chuchus bouncing around in the grass. Before long, the beaten dirt track that ran between the swamp and Clock Town’s southern gate stood before her and Cremia heaved a sigh of relief. The trek from the ranch wasn’t particularly arduous, but she’d been worried about running afoul of something on the way.


Mere minutes later, the gate yawned before her. She thought it was strange that there was no guard. Clock Town didn’t bother with actual closing gates, as the city was open to any at all hours save for allowing children to exit after dark, but there were always guards stationed at each gate to ward off monsters and watch for travelers in need. In all her years, Cremia had never seen one of the gates unmanned and she found it deeply unsettling as she walked through. Returning to the ranch (and the likelihood of alien abduction and hours upon hours of tickling until the cycle reset) wasn’t really an option at that point. She looked up at the late morning sun in the sky, nodded to herself, then passed through the portal and into the small city.


If the absence of a guard was jarring, then the state of Clock Town itself was outright disturbing. It was late morning by then, and the streets should have been alive with people yet there were almost none in sight. She wandered through the central plaza, looking at half-finished scaffolding and decorations for the Carnival of Time. One lone carpenter stood in the middle of it all, mumbling to himself and staring at the abandoned construction. He didn’t even notice when she walked by, though Cremia thought she caught a snatch of words something like “Miserable cowards! What fool actually believes the moon will fall!” Shuddering, she walked away, intent to explore the other streets. She didn’t know what she hoped to find, but something told her the answer was in the eerily quiet town.


She made her way through each district, stunned at how empty it all was. Outside of the dojo, the sword master stood with a drawn blade, claiming he would slice the moon in twain before it came down. She found the postman in his home, staring at the wall and wondering aloud why no one had sent any mail. The young man at the bank stared up at the moon, his face wearing a grimace to match the one on the lunar body yet for some reason he refused to leave his job. She peeked into the window at the mayor’s office and found Kafei’s father still sitting at his desk, penning letters and weeping openly. Anju’s place, the Stock Pot Inn, was eerily silent save for a strange churning sound coming from the bathroom that Cremia refused to investigate. Even the milk bar, her principle customer, was empty of all but one patron, an old circus master deep into the Chateau Romani and muttering about his show being cancelled because of the moon while Mr. Barten quietly polished his mugs and listened to him rant. It was as though all hope and light in the city had died.


So this is what it’s been like for everyone else trapped in this strange loop, Cremia thought, standing outside of Latte and staring up at the moon. Every so often, the ground shook, and it seemed like whenever it did that the moon edged just a little closer, its wide face screaming of impending doom. The day slipped away from her, her exploration of Clock Town taking far longer than she’d expected and the sun already threatening to sink below the horizon.


“What should I do?” Cremia said aloud, then sighed. She’d hoped for something, some clue or thread to unravel the insanity, but the longer she stood there in the coming twilight the more she realized that she’d been wrong. Clock Town had no answers, only despair. If there was one upside, she couldn’t imagine anything around her tickling her half to death like everything else she’d encountered had. Listless, she sat on a nearby bench, intending to think and rest her feet. Before she realized it, she dozed off.


A loud chime startled her awake. It rang through all of Clock Town, followed shortly by the boom of fireworks in the sky. Cremia, startled, fell off the bench and onto the hard cobblestones.


“How… how long was I asleep?” she mumbled, standing and rubbing her rear end. Night had fallen and was marching on, and more chimes and fireworks echoed through empty Clock Town. “It must be for the Carnival of Time. I guess… they forgot to shut them off…?”


Back in the main plaza, amidst the abandoned scaffolding, stood an enormous clock tower, the town’s namesake. Cremia, unsure of what else to do, made her way back there, picking her way through empty side streets. The clock tower was of a curious design, having an upper level that was only accessible during the Carnival of Time at midnight. Once the final chime rang through the city, the clock’s face itself would rise, ancient machinery grinding to life once a year for the occasion, until the clock itself sat atop the tower and stared up at the heavens. That was when a door in the front of the tower would open and a stairwell would admit people to the top of the tower. She’d always thought it was a strange design, but no one really knew much about it. The clock tower pre-dated Clock Town, so everyone just accepted it for what it was.


The final chime sounded before she made it back to the plaza, and when she did step around the corner and find herself facing the clock tower, she was unsurprised to see a figure in a familiar green tunic and hat rushing through the door.


“I was right! Whatever is causing this insanity, it’s here!” She rushed after the boy, unsure of what she meant to do when she caught up to him. Questions, that’s what I’ll do, she thought. Cremia was sure that the boy wasn’t the cause of whatever phenomenon had been rewinding Termina over and over again, but he had answers, that much was sure, and she needed them. She climbed up the side of the clock tower, heedless of the ledge tearing the hem of her dress, and scrambled up the stairs after him.


Halfway up, an earthquake hit, and she slipped, her arms flying out to steady herself on the old stone walls of the stair well. The shaking was worse than anything she’d felt all day, and for a moment she wondered if the top of the tower was going to come down on her. She stood there, braced against the wall in the darkness, afraid, for several minutes until the shaking calmed down. Dust and grit from the darkness above rained on her, powdering her hair and shoulders with ancient detritus, but she brushed herself off as best she could with trembling hands and took a hesitant step, and then another. Soon, she was running again, taking the steps two at a time in the dark and heedless of what might happen if another earthquake hit while she climbed.


When she burst out onto the top of the tower, nothing could have prepared her for the sight that awaited. Four massive humanoid figures, taller than the clock tower itself, stood at each cardinal direction with gigantic arms stretched to the heavens, their hands holding back the moon which hung directly above, its eyes swollen and red and its grimace replaced with a yawning scream as the strange, toothy mouth hung open. The boy was nowhere to be seen, but a small orange-clad figure lay in a heap on the far side of the platform from her with a fairy buzzing and flitting around it. Confused, Cremia approached the figure and squealed when the fairy flew straight at her.


“Who are you?! Why are you here!? Don’t hurt him!” It squeaked, fluttering around her in mad circles.


“Why would I hurt him? I’m just here to figure out what’s going on. What happened to him?”


The fairy paused, hovering, and its glow dimmed. “A boy and my sister came. They played a song and it summoned these giants, then the mask that possessed Skull Kid floated up into the moon and they followed after. I don’t… know anything else.” The fairy sounded terrified, and Cremia smiled softly at it.


“You said they went into the moon?” she asked, her voice calm despite her own screaming nerves in the hope that it would soothe the fairy a little.


“Yes, though there,” it said, then turned towards a beam of light that connected the clock face to the yawning mouth of the lunar horror. “They stepped into the light and got pulled up after the mask. I’m not sure what it really is, some sort of demon, but it controlled my friend and made him do a lot of awful things.”


“I see,” she said, taking a step towards the beam of light. So that’s it, some bizarre monster has caused all if this and the boy is trying to stop it. In that case…


She didn’t know what she could do or if she would be any help, but Cremia broke into a run, ignoring the protests of the fairy behind her. She passed the unconscious Skull Kid, vaguely recognizing his strange garb from a far off, half-remembered dream, and then she was in the light, where everything disappeared in a white flash.


______


She remembered a sensation of floating, the world wheeling around her while she was pulled skyward. She remembered seeing the moon as she rocketed towards it, and then darkness. What escaped her completely was how she’d come to be standing in a large, grassy field in the middle of the day, the sun shining overhead while the powder blue sky stretched for miles in every direction. There seemed to be nothing at all there except for a lone, distant tree, and the grass crunched underfoot as she forced herself to walk towards it, her heart jumping up to rest as a lump in her throat.


As she drew closer, Cremia noticed that there was a figure hunched over in front of the tree. From a distance, it seemed to be a child, its pale, gaunt frame huddled with hands around knees and head hung down to hide its face. When she made it to the tree, she stood in front of it, wondering what it truly was and if she should speak.


Its head raised, covered by a broad, heart shaped mask decorated with toxic-looking barbs and with two bright, piercing orange eyes painted on the wood staring lividly up at her. “Another one? Did you… come to play with me too?” The child-thing stood and wiped its hands on the plain white tunic it wore, leaving bloody streaks.


“What are you talking about?” Cremia asked, stepping backwards and stumbling.


“Did you come to play with me?” The mask’ s lidless eyes glared at her, glowing with an eldritch light. Cremia scrambled in the dirt, desperate to put distance between her and the pale creature, but her hands slipped in the soil and the wet grass every time she tried to find purchase and the figure stepped forward, its foot pinning down her skirt. It leaned closer, the hideous mask inches from her face, and a high pitched giggle came from the face behind it.


______


She wasn’t sure when she passed out or even if she passed out, but Cremia came to her senses with a jolt and found herself somewhere else entirely. The otherwordly meadow was gone, replaced by a dark chamber. Strange lights danced up and down the shadowy walls, and there was a sound like dripping water. Am I in the moon? None of this makes sense. There was a light deeper in, some sort of strange glow, and Cremia dragged herself to her feet and took a shaky step towards it, then another. It didn’t matter what waited for her, really. There was no going back now.


As her head cleared, more of her surroundings solidified themselves. The walls seemed to be made of some sort of inky black stone shot through with veins of green, yellow, and red that glowed faintly, giving off what little light illuminated the passage. A pungent mist clung to the ground, too heavy to rise higher than her knees, and it reeked terribly. Cremia pinched her nose and walked forward.


There seemed to be a sort of pulse coming from deeper inside… wherever this was, like a slight, rhythmic vibration through everything every few seconds, and she thought she could hear something like the sound of a great beast breathing though wasn’t sure if it was real or her imagination coloring her perception. Farther in, her foot brushed against something half-seen and she had to clamp her mouth shut to hold in the thin scream when she looked down and saw the dead fairy. Its body still glowed faintly, though it had dimmed enough that she could actually see its form rather than the typical winged light orbs that they usually seemed to be. Both of its wings had been shredded by something, and every limb but its left arm twisted and bent in unnatural directions while it stared up at her with glassy eyes.


If the fairy is here, then…


She found the boy in green moments later, just around a corner in the passage ahead. He sat leaning against the wall with his legs splayed out and his head hung down. Cremia cautiously stepped near him, hoping for some sign of life, but his chest didn’t move with breath and the spray of blood on the front of his tunic and the floor before him dashed her hopes. Part of her wanted to shake him, but when she leaned down she noticed a white gleam in the dim light and realized it was naked bone where his face should be and she stumbled backwards until she hit the opposite wall, her heart hammering in her chest so hard that she wondered briefly if it would burst. Then she sat on the floor, heedless of the foul smelling mist, and cried. The tears came and wouldn’t stop, for the boy, the fairy, and herself.


“If you’re dead, then does that mean this is the last loop?” she asked the corpse, sniffling. The boy didn’t answer, but somewhere deeper in the passage she heard a grinding sound like stone scraping against stone and that strange, vibrating pulse quickened. Whatever waited, it knew she was there. She stood, wiping her eyes, and walked deeper in. Her father didn’t raise a coward, and she’d rather face what waited than perish slowly in the passage anyway.


A few minutes later, she came to a sheer wall with the rectangular shape of a door in it, admitting passage through. She wondered if the sound from before had been the wall opening, but pushed the thought away as unimportant and simply walked through. When a stone slab slid down from a crevice above and slammed the passage closed after she went through, Cremia almost expected it and did not even bother turning to check.


The room she found herself in seemed to be the terminus. The chamber was circular, with sickly light emanating from the walls and the floor, all of which seemed to be carved from an odd, multicolored stone that gleamed black with ripples and waves of purple, red, green, and yellow. Four giant runes had been etched into the walls, and set in the middle of each was a ghoulish looking mask. One insectile and strange, its mandibles clicking softly. Another looked to be some sort of fish with a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. The third was simpler, carved of wood with palm tree fronds lining it and a rage filled expression painted across its face, and the final one looked like something in between a man and a goat, its grim visage crowned by two horns.


Past all of those, set in an alcove at the opposite end, Cremia saw the mask that the strange child from the meadow had been wearing, though it seemed much larger than before, wider than she was and nearly as tall. As she stared at it, the chamber began to shake and rumble, and the eyes of the livid, multicolored mask gleamed to hideous life. She could feel it watching, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end and her entire body rippling with gooseflesh. It dislodged itself from the alcove and floated forward, the spines lining it coming to life and slashing at the air like a fin moving through water and an impossible number of rope-like tentacles the color of raw liver sprang from the rear side where one might presumably place their face were they to wear it.


Cremia screamed, and the mask answered with a shrill, earsplitting sound that made her cower and cover her ears as it hovered towards her, the tentacles bending and waving towards where she stood, blindly groping towards the screams she couldn’t halt. She turned to run and one shot out, wrapping around her boot, and she fell kicking and wailing until her foot slid out then she scrambled away, jumping to her feet and trudging with one foot shod and one bare, until she found the stone door that had slid down and beat at it with her hands, willing it to open. The slab didn’t so much as shudder in its frame, and when she searched frantically for some sort of button or switch that would activate it, the sheer walls on each side revealed nothing.


The floating mask behind her wailed again, but Cremia refused to turn back and look at it. She felt as if she did that it would be over, and she wasn’t ready to just roll over and die yet. There had to be a way to get the door open again, she knew that. Unless the things lining the wall had been intentionally sealed inside…


She pulled back a fist to slam against the door again when one of the tentacles whipped out and wrapped around her wrist, catching her arm in mid-swing. Cremia twisted around, pulling hard at it and using her other hand to try and loosen the slimy appendage, but it seemed unaffected by her attack. Another tentacle wound around her waist, then just the two of them lifted her off her feet and spun her in the air until she found herself eye to eye with the horrible mask. A third tentacle grabbed her free hand and then the thing yanked both her arms straight up, leaving her helpless to do anything but kick out with her legs.


“Let go of me!” Cremia cried out, tears welling in her eyes, and kicked at it with her bare foot, forgetting that she’d lost the one boot. It actually made contact with the mask, but the moment her skin touched it she felt a shock go through her body and screamed in surprise, her strength failing at the last second. The shock didn’t hurt, but it left all her nerves feeling tingly and alive and she jerked around helplessly as every muscle in her body spasmed. While she flailed, a fifth tentacle caught her outstretched leg by the ankle pulled her bare foot towards the mask.


Then everything went still. The glowing eyes seemed to be studying the bottom of her foot, the light coming from them dimming and brightening as the seconds passed while the remaining tentacles waved back and forth through the air, waiting to strike like a mass of angry snakes. A loose tentacle wriggled towards her trapped foot and hovered around it, almost like it was sniffing the air, then she shrieked as it pressed into the ball of her foot and traced downward, following the curve of her arch, to her heel. The mask’s eyes lit up, the expressionless face somehow still giving away its intent as more of the tentacles stiffened, preparing to strike.


“N-not this one too,” Cremia spat before they were on her, poking at her sides through her clothing as she danced and squirmed in the air, unable to escape the attention while the one at her foot continued to stroke up and down, almost lovingly, and she bit her lip until she felt a trickle of blood run down her chin to try and hold back the swiftly swelling need to laugh. The first stroke had caught her by surprise, but some half-held hope inside told her that if she didn’t give it audible reactions that the mask would tire of exploring her body and leave her be. Yeah, because that worked with everything that I’ve laughed through so far, she thought bitterly, but still clenched her teeth down on her bottom lip even as her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.


One of the tentacles snaked up her captive leg, cooling around it, until its tip nestled in the back of her knee and it drew circles on the sensitive flesh there. Another tugged desperately at her remaining boot, eager to free her other tender foot from its leathery prison, but what finally broke her was when the one wound around her waist began to vibrate, spreading a horribly ticklish buzzing through her belly and across her hips. Cremia through her head back and laughed outright when it began, the odd sensation shocking her nerves, and the mask uttered its shrill, delighted scream even as the chamber filled with her giggles.


“Stop! Stop!” She squealed, her second boot finally sliding off and hitting the ground with a thud and her free leg quickly bound as the tentacles pulled her body into a tight X shape in the air before renewing their assault on her. She began to feel strangely warm, and when she looked down she discovered why. Rather than just tearing her clothes off to get to the rest of her bare skin, every ticklish poke on her body from the tentacles was also burning a small hole in the cloth, her pale flesh already peeking though several spots in her blouse and her skirt. Before too much longer, both garments would simply burn away or fall apart on their own and she would be defenseless. As she watched, one tentacle wiggled through one of the holes and its tip found her navel, where it first teased her quivering belly by swishing its tip around lightly, but then it pressed in deep and started vibrating like the one around her waist except pinpointed directly in the deepest folds of her belly button. She screamed and cackled, powerless to do anything but wriggle back and forth and take it as the appendage drilled into her, its vibrations spreading through her whole abdomen.


What was left of her clothing fell away, melted and burnt into little more than scorched rags, and then the tentacles were everywhere, stroking and poking her sides and biceps, others drilling into her underarms and vibrating as the one in her navel did, still more flicking their tips along her rib cage in a horrible, measured rhythm that created a strange disjoint to the chaotic tickling across the rest of her body. Her head whipped around, sweaty hair sticking to her face, and she laughed, the small breaths between each big, whooping laugh more ragged every second as her chest heaved and burned with the effort. Cremia’s head swam, and she felt the world around her going gray at the edges.


Thank the goddesses, I’m going to pass out! She’d never wanted to lose consciousness so badly in her life, and seemed like she was near the breaking point when a new tentacles, thicker than the rest, caught her eye. It squirmed in the air above her head as she watched it, waiting, and then dived into her mouth when she opened it to laugh about a particularly ticklish stroke along the inside of her thigh.


It pushed its way in, muffling her laughter and screams, and worked its way all the way into the back of her throat. Her breath stopped and she started choking, then she felt something squirt out of it and trickle down her throat before it worked its way back out, leaving a foul taste and a slimy residue as it scraped past her teeth. She sputtered and cough, desperately trying to spit out whatever it had squirted into her, but it was too late. She could already feel whatever it was in her stomach, her fear so great that she didn’t even notice that the other tentacles had stopped tickling for the moment, though each still hovered near her body as if laying claim to their favorite spots.


“What was that?” Cremia screamed at the mask, panic rising at the same time a heat spread throughout her stomach first, then outward until her entire body felt hot inside. Then it faded and Cremia realized that she felt amazing, like she’d just slept ten hours and woke up to a full breakfast. “Why would you…” she began, and then it dawned on her when the tentacles wriggled back to life. “No! NO!”


And when, hours later, she felt on the verge of passing out again, she wasn’t surprised when the thicker tentacle returned, shoving its way in between her teeth once again. Then, hours after that, when she saw it approaching again, bleary eyed, she didn’t even fight it, simply held her mouth open and waited for it to renew her once again. And again. And again.


“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” A voice giggled from somewhere in the dark, and Cremia threw her head back and giggled along with it.