Snug Bugs

The word echoes in Olive's mind, silent but thundering. She can feel us, dear reader, our all-seeing eyes watching her every move.   No, she thinks to herself. Caught in the same oppressive loop. She feels stuck, the world slowing down around her. She stands in the snow, flakes brushing against her cheek and melting on the spot. Before her is a small suburban home, one untouched by an apparent fire that claimed many of the homes nearby during the fall.   She glances at the treeline of the Direwood not fifty meters from the home. The wood's reach grows steadily with every passing day. Such a shame to have survived the fire only for the house to be claimed by the entropy of that damnable woodland.   The house itself is surprisingly well kept. Most structures are overrun with vines, their lawns overgrown and foundation cracking under the pressure of time.   She smells smoke, and sure enough from the chimney rises a black plume surrounded by white steam and heat.   “Can I move now?” She asks aloud. She feels trapped in moments such as these. “It's cold. Can we set the scene inside, where it's warmer?”

  Continue, continue, continue, she thinks. always continue. I shouldn't need permission to exist and move as I please. She steps up the stairs to the front porch and tries the door. For once, it isn't locked.   The door swings open and the rush of warmth surrounds her, a welcome embrace. She steps inside, the hard wood knocking with every step.   Before she smelled smoke, now she smells something far more inviting: spice, a hint of sweetness like chocolate, and the scent of baked bread.   “Hello?” She calls, but receives no answer. “I saw the smoke and wondered if I could warm up a bit.” Of course if you're willing to share whatever you're eating that'd be nice too, she finishes in thought.   Again, there is no reply.   She then speaks in a whisper. “Why are you here?” She glances to the ceiling. I believe she's speaking to us, dear reader.   “Yes I am speaking to you. You only show up when something big happens. What's waiting for me in this house?”   She receives no reply.   “Of fucking course.” Olive slips off her shoes and closes the door. She steps lightly through a darkened hallway, turns a corner, and spots the light of a fire flickering under a closed door.

I don't know. I could stand here a little longer, she thinks to herself. She shuffles forward and takes a deep breath. Mustering her courage, she reaches out and opens the door.   The door creaks open. Light fills the hallway. The warmth is even more inviting now. She steps into the room, her heart pounding. Her mind races, taking note of the exits, what wards she managed to place upon herself.   She didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this. Wind chimes hung from the ceiling, dozens of them, some chiming with the slight breeze of the door opening. Painting hung on the walls of the otherwise empty home. Shelves sit between them stocked with various trinkets and baubles.   Olive spots a model car, a ship in a bottle, several leather bound books, and faded decorative plants. The fireplace flickers, blocks of wood burning, but not breaking down into ash like they should.   “Hello?” She calls again. This time there is a response, a skittering sound from the far wall between a ripped up couch and an old as hell recliner.   She takes in a sharp lung full of air. Something is sitting there beneath what looked like a pile of quilts and blankets. It's wrapped up, snug and cozy.   At first she was relieved, but now she sees the many limbs protruding from under the covers, long hairy spider legs and lobster arms. Where its face should be was nothing but darkness, perhaps hidden beneath the covers. She paused and stepped forward for a closer look. Between two disturbingly human-like hands it held a mug of what smelled like hot chocolate.

Snug Bugs are one of many different creatures emerging from the Direwood since the fall. They are one of the most agreeable. A snug bug welcomes company. They thrive on it, in fact. In their company, a weary traveler will find warmth, comfort, and no small trace of existential dread.   A snug bug isn't a bug at all, though it does feature various tell tale signs of the insect and arachnid. Most of its features resemble a crustacean but even that hides their true nature and further complicates categorizing them on our limited “tree of life.”   Believe it or not, they're actually a form of fungus. Their limbs, some being hairy legs and others being segmented arms ending in hooks and pinchers, are merely tools with which to experience and manipulate the world. The colony itself Is hidden beneath layers and layers of cloth, patchwork garments of blankets and discarding clothing.

So the snug bug begins as a colony of mildew or perhaps black mold, really any kind of fungal growth that can appear in a modern household. When the Direwoods appeared, their influence began to work on these small festering pockets of life in the structures it claimed as it grew.   The colony isn't enough, however. Given sentience, the colony must find an appropriate place to stage its transformation. Snug bugs tend to grow in homes that were left in disarray in response to the fall or homes that were simply not taken care of before the end came. The colony will work its way under piles of clothes and blankets left on the ground by those who lived in the home before.   Once it takes root, the colony begins to change, and it's here the snug bug truly begins to form. It will expand and grow its central mass, its limbs reaching out to collect every piece of discarded clothes. It builds on top of itself, layers and layers of what genuinely looks like a lovingly crafted quilt. As it ages, more layers are added, even if it lacks the needed amount of cloth. That's when things get weird.

Snug Bugs are often too proud to exist in refuse. Shortly after their transformation, they begin to cleanse their environment. No longer are they a common mold, and will purge their home of any other spores and growths. Not only is it an unhealthy environment for visitors, but it also ensures only one snug bug can exist in the given home. They are, ironically, solitary creatures.   They will then expel anything in the home they deem unappealing or uninviting such as trash and other forms of waste. They will clean spills and stains. Though it's unclear how they do so. It's as if it just disappears, the first clue that these entities are much more than what they appear.   They're still prone to hoarding, however. Snug Bugs collect things, though there is no clear pattern to determine what a snug bug is willing to keep. The end result is an environment that many would consider positively cozy, all things considered. This space, the area of a home a snug bug resides in, they refer to as their altar.

Olive couldn't help but give a confused chuckle. “What the hell are you?”   One of the hands releases the mug and gently pats the seat of the recliner twice, an invitation to sit.   Olive cocks her head and gives a slow nod. She steps forward and sits beside the strange creature which now towers over her by at least a foot.   Olive senses no ill will; no malice from the thing. Quite the opposite. The moment she makes herself comfortable, the creature’s many limbs almost dance with excitement.   She opens her mouth only to stop when she feels something smooth and warm in her hand. She looks down at a mug and a small plate of what appears to be banana bread. She sniffed the air and caught a new smell from the impossible mug.   “Is that coffee?” She asks. “Fuck yes.” She immediately takes a sip and basks in the flavor, the wave of joy that followed. “Okay. You can eat me now. I'll die happy.”   A voice responds, but not from the creature itself. The voice speaks from within her mind. “Oh, not to worry. Too skinny. You'd make a poor meal.” The voice was calm and cheery but also lethargic, the words dripping into Olive's mind without urgency. “What cruel fate forces a girl like you to brave the cold this winter eve?”

An encounter with a snug bug will usually go like this: one would wander into their home, likely searching for supplies, and inevitably stumble into the room they reside in, their fungal altar. If dormant, it will writhe and rise, the layers of quilt billowing as if their form is spontaneously appearing beneath the cloth.   If awake and aware, you may find it lost in thought. Where their face would be is nothing but a void. It's unclear if they even have one, and held between two of their many limbs will usually be a sizable mug of steaming fluid from which it “drinks.”   By now it's clear: something is off. Physical laws are being broken, rules are being bent. There are no signs of magic to be found. These beings simply are and practice the impossible with little consequence. This only gets more obvious as the encounter continues, and it will continue. Snug bugs are known for their hospitality, after all.

Snug Bugs love human company. It's not clear why. Even they don't seem to know. Regardless, finding a snug bug can be a profound experience. They'll offer seating, perhaps a pillow or furniture left by the home's previous occupants.   They'll offer refreshments, and these refreshments will appear out of nowhere. You may sit and find a plate of cookies on your lap and a mug in your hand. The mug will be filled with the snug bug’s own special take on whatever heated beverage you prefer.   It's perfectly fine to partake… no really. Try it. Stay a while. Have a chat. You won't be disappointed. The moment you do, you'll hear the bug’s voice. The snug bug wants to get to know you. It wants your story, your knowledge and understanding. More than anything, it wants your perspective.

Olive does most of the talking. For hours the two linger in the warmth of the fire exchanging stories of their lives and the weird goings on of the world. The conversation takes a turn around the time Olive mentions the sky.   “The stars have come alive, you say?” It asks.   “Not Literally, but they move without reason. Then you have those flying rafts. The world's a mess.” Olive smiles and finishes her second cup of coffee. “You're up there, but not the weirdest thing I've seen.”   “I wish I understood my place a little more.”   “Magic?” Olive asks   “Magic is a poor explanation. That's the stuff of your kind, the touched, as you call them. I'm something else.”   “I don't follow.”   The creature turns, the void of a face peering deep into Olive's very being. “I am driven by a need to know but knowledge itself is a lie. I know without knowing, As if through instinct but I can't know if what I know is true. I only know it's true.”   Olive ponders this for a moment. “Your knowledge was never learned? How do you get so many things right?” Olive straightened herself in her chair. “I mean, you know about the fall which happened before you were even born by your own recollection.”

  “Yes.” It replies.   “Maybe you're just born with the ability to know?”   “But knowledge is an abstract construct. Knowledge is, itself, a fabrication. Most knowledge is based on the consensus of a majority. How can we truly know what is true and what is not?” It pauses, waves its hand, and Olive's mug refills with fresh, perfectly prepared coffee. “We can study, but there will always be outliers that go against the data. We could linger on philosophical implications and that will inevitably lead us to the conclusion that knowledge does not exist.”   “Does it matter?” Olive replies, “We can't progress if we search for absolute truth. Look at science, a method that we steadily add and change as new information is presented and proven.”   “Ah,” the creature nods and gestures to the world around them with all of its limbs, “and look where that unfinished puzzle led you.”

The snug bug is genuinely benevolent. I know it's a hard pill to swallow but these guys don't have a single ounce of malice. They couldn't hurt you even if they wanted to. That being said, it doesn't necessarily Mean encountering them is entirely good.   They cannot leave their home, and are fascinated with the world outside their altar. They're even fascinated by you, but snug bugs spend most of their time on something else entirely. Nothing comes close to learning more about themselves, the how of their existence and what unfathomable will would allow it.   These entities are aware of their existence, what they are capable of, and as such, exist in a perpetual state of curious existential obsession. The longer the interaction with a snug bug continues, the more their existential bliss becomes your existential dread.

Once pleasantries are exchanged, conversation begins. Stories are exchanged fretted with witty banter and all surrounding the warmth of a friendly fire on the hearth and a mug of hot chocolate. Eventually these discussions become more philosophical, more esoteric in nature.   Snug Bugs make great teachers, if you can keep up. They're remarkably smart and surprisingly well informed, seemingly possessing knowledge they shouldn't have given their isolation. That being said, they exist beyond human thought and experience, and on a long enough timeline, it shows. They can break any ego, the implications of their existence applying to your own.   They'll pose hypotheticals, philosophical quandaries of their existence that you can't help but internalize. The touched are among the few who “get it”. They live their lives touched by magic and are caught in the same loop of philosophical musing. Encountering a snug bug is neither a good or bad experience. It's just an experience and one with many ups and downs.

Olive didn't have a response. It was right. Science means nothing now. with the way the world works, the existence and empowerment of magic, hell even actual gods wandering around soliciting worship… most of human knowledge means jack shit now.   The creature continues, “and then there are those like you,” it points to olive, and nods, “The touched have something no one else has. Magic laughs in the face of knowledge, yet it is still true.”   Olive shakes her head. “And yet you still know things…” she sat with the thought, “but you can't know if it's actually true.”   The creature nods. “Knowledge and truth are not the same thing. Everything is true,” the creature laughs, “nothing is true. Both statements are correct. It's fascinating, is it not?”   Olive does not reply, instead she turns and looks out the far window, to the snowy world outside. “I don't suppose you'd let me stay here for the night, would you? Would I even be safe?”   The creature seems to snap out of a trance, as if Olive's question derailed its train of thought. “Dear girl, no harm shall come to you while in my home. Go on then, get some rest. I'll have some breakfast for you in the morning. It'll be your favorite, I promise.”   Olive smiled and nodded as the creature removed the outermost layer of its quilted shroud. It hands the blanket over as Olive lays on the couch. Olive falls asleep in moments with thoughts of fried eggs, waffles, and bacon.