Resten was uneasy. The rustic, remote village existed on the outskirts of the country. They were resilient workers, providing for themselves and not unfamiliar with the hardships of life. But of life’s evils they were unexperienced, hearing of war and other atrocities through word and song alone.

So no one took it to heart when Clara’s mother, like the rooster of the morning, hollered and woke everyone in Resten concerning her daughter’s absence. Her senile years left everyone understandably skeptic at first. They searched her home and called for Clara themselves, and indeed, no one could find her. Clara’s mother couldn’t remember where she had gone. As rumor spread across the village and the crowd grew, the boys Ben and Troy, who’d irritated her on the way out, confirmed she had headed to the familiar pond with a wicker basket.

A search party was sent out, Ben and Troy with them. They headed out the path, a wary eye scanning the roadside and the nearest underbrush. Nothing seemed out of place. Arriving at the first pond, they scoured the banks, calling her name multiple times, to no avail. Some of the cattails were broken, having been harvested.

Ben hollered from higher up the path, calling everyone upstream. There he pointed them to the abandoned wicker basket, full of cattails that had faintly withered, recently picked.

“What in all the gods…”

“Maybe she drowned herself,” one of them said, peering into the depths of the water. “Miserable life she lived, might as well end it.”

“Hey! She was one of the kindest souls of our village. You should be ashamed of yourself.” The castigation came from Ronny, the oldest of the group. He had them commence the search around the upper pond. Some wandered off to search towards the trees and woods, others further upstream and up the mountain. Ben and Troy peered into the tunnel underneath the waterfall, swiftly berated by Ronny.

“But what if she went here?” Troy asked.

Ronny almost argued with them, but stopped himself. He joined their side and led the first steps in. Sunlight dripped in through various holes, the echo of surging water ever present.

“Clara? Girl, are you here?” he called, competing with the swish of water. Ben and Troy mimicked his calls, leaning over the steepest fall and shouting down, hearing only their own receding voices.

Ronny clinched their shoulders and drew them back. “Fools!”

“But what if she fell down?”

“And you would join her? There’s a safer path down, over there.” This ‘safer’ path was a narrow ledge hugging the wall, with bare threads of water pouring down it, making the stone slippery. “In fact, forget that. We can’t do this now.” Ronny cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed out loud. Nothing was returned. “She would call back if she were here. Clearly, she isn’t. Come.” He forced them out, but the boys’ stares lingered back at the cave.

After some time, they had to conclude the search. They returned to Resten and summoned everyone by the village square, telling the villagers of her missing status and the abandoned wicker basket. The news brought plenty of worried looks. The ominous air was thick, almost a tension palpable in the air. The suggestion of her drowning herself was given again, though Clara’s mother objected fervently. If she indeed had, her corpse would float and wash ashore eventually. Someone also suggested if she hadn’t visited her cousins in the Valleys over the mountains, though the unannounced timing of it paired with the abandoning of the wicker basket didn’t add up. Ronny and the elder told everyone to be wary and not travel alone. With that, the crowd dispersed, the topic no doubt to be discussed for a long time.

The next day at noon, Ben leaped over Troy’s fence and leaned over his window, asking if he would come out. Troy’s mother was adamant he be back and ready by afternoon, both to help Clara’s mother with her chores, and with a note of caution over the disappearance.

They hung out by the edge of Resten near Clara’s home, by the path she was last seen taking. “Hey, you don’t think we should check the pond again?”

Ben rubbed his hands together, a sign of insecurity despite agreement. “I thought about it too. Old Ronny was pissing his pants, but she’s got to be down there, right? What other explanation is there?”

“Yeah.” They checked the surroundings, then skulked off down the path. Troy was the taller one of the two, with close-cropped dark hair, and Ben shorter with longer hair hanging freely over his neck.

“I can’t believe she just hasn’t returned,” Troy said. “I don’t agree with those saying she drowned herself. No one listens to her mother because she doesn’t make much sense anymore, but she’s right. From her mood, it didn’t feel like Clara was going out to do something like that.”

Ben shook his head, adjusting the hair behind his larger ears. “Don’t believe it either.” They jogged their way forward, the first pond appearing between the elms. Even though the first pond wasn’t where the basket had been left behind, they threw some of their attention around, searching. “Hey, I was thinking.” The two panted lightly from the jog. “What if she comes back like some vengeful spirit?”

Troy grimaced. “What?”

“I’ve heard stories of these ghosts haunting their killers, or if they die with a lot of anger, they come back to plague their tormentors. We… uhm, most people weren’t nice to her.”

“Just shut that nonsense, that happens in places with a lot of mages and magic. There’s none of that over here. Let’s go.” Always with a glance thrown about every other way, on the chance something would show up, they went upstream, up to the other pond. Nothing seemed to have changed. Another puzzling detail was that the pond was deep only in the most narrow middle, at multiple points the bottom was visible.

But their eyes were on the caves. Ben walked first, Troy watching the areas around them.

“Hey, who’s that?” Troy followed Ben’s attention, and emerging from the tunnel entrance was a naked little lady. Lady, for the face had mature contours, pronounced cheekbones and sharp jawline, deep rich eyes, and little, for she was no more than half their height. It was hard to miss her, her pale skin striking against the background, her eyes and hair white like the clouds. She had nothing in the way of breasts but a pink little button-like nipple, and a slit between her legs for a vagina, both of them with an uncanny, embryo-like lack of development.

“Excuse me,” Troy said, carefully approaching, leaning forward. “Who are you?”

Her blank stare shifted between them.

Ben joined his friend’s side, unassuming to not startle her. “A friend of ours went missing here. Have you seen her by any chance?”

Whether or not she understood but chose not to speak, if she were clueless, or was simply incapable of speech, she gave no indications to. All she did was maintain that blank stare, neither frightened nor brave.

“Hellooooooo?” Troy said with a waving head. “Can you talk, or what?”

The short lady turned on her heels and dashed inside the tunnel.

“Wh— Wait up!” Ben turned to his friend. They exchanged a look of confusion, then went after her.