The storm came in fast.
Rain hadn't started to come through just yet, but the wind was howling between the hills with sudden gusts that blew clouds of dirt and dust.
Joren tightened the straps on his pack and pulled his hood up, but the fabric barely stayed in place. Dust stung his eyes. Willow had stopped trying to walk in a straight line and now moved like someone weathering a blizzard, swaying to keep her balance. Gus muttered curses under his breath, one hand gripping the edge of his bag, the other shielding his face.
"There's a town just ahead," Joren shouted over the wind. "Gloryhollow's close, I saw it on the mile marker a ways back."
"It better be or we're screwed." Gus yelled over the noise.
Wind bent the grasses low as if the earth itself was bracing for what came next.
Willow pointed ahead, squinting through the grit in the air. "There! I think I see something"
What she pointed at was indeed Gloryhollow, but it was still a ways away.
The rain was falling behind them now.
A town nestled in a low basin, spread wider than they expected, with rows of slate rooftops and chimneys packed close together like overlapping scales. Faint flickers of candlelight and firelight glowed behind glass windows, dozens of them filled the mist. The rain was falling on them now, a gray wall sweeping the hills.
They rushed downhill, boots skidding on loose rock and slick clay. The wind roared like a thing alive, and the scent of rain was sharp and metallic. This was a far worse storm then they initially thought, so they needed to find an Inn right away.
A covered market stood empty beneath a canopy of tarps, tied down in heavy knots. Stalls had been packed away, crates shuttered in preparation for the incoming weather.
The streets were slick now, rain pooling in the dips between cobblestones, reflections warping in the puddles underfoot.
"This storm's not letting up anytime soon," Gus grunted, tugging his coat tighter as water dripped from his hair and beard.
A large inn loomed ahead on the corner, tucked beside a public notice board and a shuttered stable. There was life in Gloryhollow, just not out here with them.
"That's it," Gus said, voice firm. "We're going in."
The warmth hit them immediately, a fireplace keeping it nice and toasty. Joren set his pack down and ran a hand through his dripping hair. The fire crackled beside them, chasing away the chill with each pop of burning wood.
Willow rubbed her hands over the heat. "We made it. Barely."
"Yeah." Joren said.
"Inn's all booked up, guys." The voice belonged to one of the staff of the Inn. "We've got people packed in all the way to the kitchen. Sorry."
Willow stared at her, blinking rain from her lashes. "You serious?"
"I am. Been full since morning. Same goes for any of the Inn's in town."
The woman gave them a sympathetic look. "If you need a place to hunker down between this storm, there is this guy on the east side of town. He's some sort of builder, but he's a bit odd." She looked hesitant to even mention it.
"A builder?" Gus asked, already suspicious.
"Yeah, its orange. He's lived in those houses for months."
Willow tilted her head. "And he lets strangers in?"
"If you knock right. He's particular about who he lets in, but I've seen travelers stay there before when the inns were full. He talks your ear off, but the roof won't leak."
Joren nodded, readying himself for the outside again. "We'll check it out at least."
"You'll know the house when you see it," the woman added. "It's on the east side. It… stands out, so you can't miss it."
Early Evening – Gloryhollow
The streets of Gloryhollow were quiet beneath the hammering rain. Lamps flickered behind heavy curtains, their yellow light blurred by downpour and fogged windows. You couldn't even hear your own steps under the downpour.
Joren led the way, boots squelching in the increasing puddles. His breath came in sharp exhales, visible in the chill. They passed shuttered storefronts, rain-dripped signage, a flickering street lantern buzzing above a bench no one would sit on tonight.
"Just once," Gus grumbled, "I'd like us to get to a place dry and then learn it's cursed or strange or haunted. Instead of arriving soaked and learning it after."
They rounded a corner.
They stopped.
It did, indeed, stand out.
It was taller than it needed to be. Slightly too narrow and oddly lumpy in shape. The walls were not quite orange, not quite brown. Rain slicked off the surface into a strange sheen, like something waxy was keeping it insulated and clean. This was a house made entirely out of cheese.
Joren didn't answer right away. He stepped a little closer, squinting up at the sagging roofline and the faint shimmer along the edges of the house.
Willow stepped to the side of the house, dragging a hand along the wall. Her fingers came back coated in a pale yellow residue. She sniffed it, then stared at her hand. "It's cheese," she said flatly. "This house is made of cheese."
Gus stared. "What kind of weirdo builds a home out of cheese?"
"A hungry one?" Joren offered, but even he didn't sound sure.
Joren knocked once. Then waited.
The sound of rain filled the silence between.
He knocked twice more.
There was a pause.
Then the sound of a latch shifting. A bolt. A creak. How could a house of cheese have security locks? Mechanisms could be heard clicking softly behind the door as if the owner was deciding whether or not to allow entry.
The door opened just a crack.
"You knocked right," he said, as if it meant something important. "That matters around here."
His eye, just one visible through the crack, studied them carefully. It wandered a little, then the door opened a little more.
What surprised the three the most wasn't that he was standing on a step stool to be eye level, but the shape of his head. His head resembled that of a 60-30 right triangle, fit with a beard that went to his waistline.
He eyed up the three of them, deciding on if he should let them into his humble abode.
"Three's better than four. Unless the fourth is invisible, in which case you'll have to introduce them properly." He stepped aside. "Come in."
They entered hesitantly. The inside smelled exactly like they thought it would, but surprisingly, it was full of some very nice furniture. The walls were decorated with posterboards full of tacks and strings, pictures that resembled schizophrenic depictions, and curtains to cover the windows.
He walked in front of them, leaving a trail of crumbs behind from the folds of his long coat. "I'm Bartholomew. Builder of sanctuary, enemy of rats, architect of solitude."
Willow stared at the posterboard nearest her. A web of string stretched from a black-and-white photo of a goat wearing a crown to a circled phrase that read 'cheese thief'. Next to that read 'Do not trust mirrors after rain'.
Willow tilted her head, lips parting slightly. "This… feels illegal."
Bartholomew, already halfway through removing one soggy boot with a weirdly specific tool shaped like a duck's foot, glanced over. "Illegal? No, darling, this is a sanctitude from the government spies."
Gus shifted uneasily, squinting at the blurry image of the goat. "Why's the goat wanted?" he asked.
Bartholomew's eye twitched with something like betrayal. He straightened slowly, letting a piece of cheese fall to the floor with a soft thunk.
"Why's the goat wanted?" he echoed, voice hushed, like Gus had just asked why the sun is bright. He didn't respond, leaving them with a dissatisfied taste in their mouth. It was an awkward pause that felt like he would answer them.
He clapped once, startling all three of them. "Now, towels! After that, I'll show you the blueprints for my anti-clogging fondue pit." He began to shuffle toward a back hallway, muttering about mold-resistant sealant.
Joren leaned toward Willow. "Is this guy for real?"
She didn't take her eyes off the posterboard. "I don't know."
The wind howled again outside, pressing against the windows with a heavy rain. Inside, the strange warmth of Bartholomew's cheese-walled home filled their life with a tone of absurd that just felt bizarre.