The Dungeon Child

The school day ends uneventfully. After Charlie expended the entirety of her miniscule mana pool in giving me a static shock, I persuaded her that giving her magic was probably an event best kept for emergencies or practice. Grudgingly, she’d agreed, and we’d parted ways. The Mother had come to pick me up, and the drive home was almost boring, a remarkable contrast to the emotionally draining and mentally exhausting afternoon.

As soon as we arrive at home, I leap out of the squat gray vehicle and run inside, heading straight to my room. There’s a very important occupant I need to check up on.

Throwing the door open, my eyes inevitably flick upward, and my co- my heart sinks as I see the lack of webs around the ceiling fan. Looking around more carefully, I realize I can’t see any webs at all. A deep disappointment fills me as I sit down, slumping against my bed and closing my eyes.

I’d desperately been hoping that Theory would last longer. Even though I’d only acquired her a day before, I’d already somehow gotten quite attached to her innately curious nature, and I can only imagine what sort of traps she would have constructed with her skill. What confuses me is that while fat and stupid, Pop doesn’t seem brave enough to attempt risking the Mother’s tempestuous wrath twice, especially not so soon after getting rid of-

A sudden touch startles me, and my eyes snap open as I look down at my leg. A perfectly circular patch of wood, just aside from the squishy carpet, had lifted open. Theory’s dark face is poking out from underneath it, one thin, hairy limb outstreched to touch my lower leg.

I smile, lowering my hands and extending a finger to gently brush her head. Her fuzzy mandibles wiggling in happiness, she gives a business-like shake and backs into her hole. The trapdoor falls shut, sealing itself and leaving not even the slightest impression that anything had ever been there.

Sighing in relief, I close my eyes again and infuse my room with my consciousness. Aside from the usual dimensions of the room, I can now sense a few feet outside the door and a short distance out the windows, my domain slowly creeping over the house and taking it over. To my surprise, Theory has already set up a full network of trapdoors across the floor of my room, a complex pattern of tunnels connecting them underneath the floorboards and heading outside my sphere of perception. Carving through a wooden stud with her two front legs, she pauses for a moment, detecting my dungeon sense and looking around in a vain attempt to find the source.

Eyes closed, I smile at her antics and give a little wave, even knowing that she can’t see it. Despite that, one of her leg twitches as though she wants to give a wave back, before returning to her work.

Standing, I head downstairs, where the Mother is rapidly typing on a device called a ‘smartphone’. From what I can tell from the lankier, older children at school, the smartphones are paramount to their survival. Their flat surfaces are so deserving of attention that even the awareness of one’s surroundings takes a backseat to their priority.

The Mother only ever uses hers when there’s a specific purpose behind it, and this seems to be one of these situations. While typing, her face is in a faint smirk, although I can’t tell what emotion is behind it. Not for the first time, I wish I had a manual for all the various expressions and feelings for them, although I know at this point that it’s not anywhere near that simple. Only the basic expressions are across-the-board, such as smiling, frowning, etc.

Looking up, she sees me and smiles. “Oh, Jason! I was just going to come up and find you. Charlie’s parents have invited us over for dinner!”

My face freezes, and I struggle to paste a smile to it. With this timing? It couldn’t be worse. Did Charlie already betray me?

Despite my skill in hiding my true feelings, a look of concern crosses her face, and she approaches me with a mildly worried expression. “Jason? Is something wrong?”

Casting around for a good reason, I find one and stare at the ground, mumbling my response. “Is Pop coming?”

“Oh, honey.” Coming up the stairs, she wraps me in a tight hug. “Not this time. He says he has better things to do.”

The words hang in the air longer than most words do. We both know what a blatant lie that is. All he’ll be doing at home is sitting in his peeling chair, watching his mirror (which evidently isn’t magic) and getting fatter and stupider by the minute. I make a mental note to tell Theory to stay well out of sight.

As if my words had summoned her, a piece of wall flips open behind the Mother, going upward as though it actually had hinges. Poking her head out, Theory sees me and waves one leg wildly. Eyes widening, I jerk my head back at the wall, and she retreats, the trapdoor falling shut once more. The Mother, facing over my shoulder, turns around. “What is it?”

I shrug, and she copies it with a faint smile. “Well, it’ll be a few hours until then. If you want to play with Theory, I can get started on a dessert or something for the dinner party. Does that sound good?”

Nodding, I wait as she tousles my curly brown hair, then heads around the corner towards the kitchen. The moment she’s out of sight, I reach up and rap on the wall. Another trapdoor opens right next to my head, Theory looking at me curiously.

Leaning close, I whisper, “How many trapdoors did you make?”

She looks down at her legs, then up at the ceiling, almost as if counting. A moment later, she looks me in the eye, and then her body ripples in the most shrug-like motion I can picture from a spider. It’s frankly impressive how well she replicates the gesture.

My eyes narrow. “Do you know where you put them?”

Her two front legs extend, waving in a sweeping motion to indicate the whole area, or perhaps she means...

I sigh inwardly, not sure whether to feel impressed or worried. I was gone for one day, and she traps the entire house?

I decide to go for impressed and carefully pat her on the head. “Good job. Remember, stay out of sight.”

Raising one leg in a snappy salute, she backs into her hole, and the trapdoor falls shut, once again leaving no trace of its existence.

A stab of unease pokes through me. Thesis hadn’t developed this level of intelligence as quickly - is it a side-effect of messing with Charlie’s mind, or is it something else? Perhaps a result of her different species?

Hm. I’ll need to research it some more.