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In the ebbing glow of the dying torchlight (even a few vicious shakes cannot make the batteries do more than dim and brighten once pathetically before going out with a snap-fizz of filament and tiny bulb) you can spot a fluttering bit of paper. Before the torch finally expires and leaves you in utter darkness, you can make out a most peculiar message nailed squarely at eyelevel to the center of a wooden doorway. The door is haphazardly inset on well-oiled (if a bit bent) hinges dug deep into the hillside, which upon closer inspection by touch alone proves to be the crumbling face of a large cave, slick with moss and lichen and other indigenous things. The grubby scrap of waxy, dirty vellum you glimpsed is a most peculiar morsel of script, for it appears to be written in heavily etched runes upon quite Old Paper--and, despite such maturity (and many layers of grime and the erratic weather adding their own 'loving' touch), the words were still easily legible in the brief moment they were glimpsed (perhaps enchanted; allowing the Patron, no matter his language, to easily comprehend it. It is ancient paper after all).

For a few moments, all you can do is stand in the doorway and mull over this strange, albeit quite fervent, of salutations, absently taking in the surroundings despite the internal debate going on in your head whether to enter anyway, or go quietly on your way, hoping for a more suitable refuge from the growing tempest scattering leaves along your back like Meepits crawling up your spine and whistling through the dead trees to make them rattle too much like dried bones for your liking.

Having stumbled here inadvertently, you surmise that the small clearing this ramshackle shop is set in certainly manages to be quite the cheery and inviting place, now that you think harder upon it, regardless of the forest leaning in all around with greedy branches (even if they look like grasping fingers in yet another flash of lightning), and is certainly more inviting than the rustling behind you and the starless sky that threatens rain with every grumble of muffled thunder overhead. Somewhere the flutter and cry of Crokabeks echo near-by, though, thankfully not too near. Shivers trickle through you even as you wonder just why such easily-irritated birds are so far from Meridell--and in such weather!--to glide through the darkened Wood and bother you.

One last furtive glance, eyes darting around and straining to see the danger your mind is insisting you most certainly are in at this point (as all darkness and gloom tends to convince us of during storms). Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately?) a great flicker-burst of hot lightning zigzags 'cross the sky above you once more, lighting up the patchy clearing for a single, frozen moment and giving you a better look around. You're certain that you saw eyes gleam at you from the shadows and sharp teeth flashing, and the feeling only gets stronger after your vision has blackened again without the lightning to guide you, and that decides it. Ignoring the paper, the storm, and those creepy eyes watching from all around (by this time one set of eyes has inexplicably multiplied to many pairs of eyes in your mind) have decided for you that anything INSIDE this weird little cave has to better than what waits with eager mouths (now you imagine Balthazar's jaws heavy with saliva and hot, rank breath steaming down your neck to go with those non-existant eyes) out here in the cold and wet (large fat drops of rain have decided spelunking on your head and nose is better than hitting the ground around you).

A yank on the heavy, bronzed ring (found after more fumbling and panicky fingers stubbing themselves on rough stone and damp moss), and you enter with the whole of the Haunted Woods (supposedly) at your heels.

The door won't budge at first, but imagined terror and heart-pumping adrenaline can do wonders on sticky doors, and with another gasp-heave-ho you find that the door gives, sending you sprawling back on your behind in the soaked grass and weeds. Terrific, eh?

Scrambling inside, the door proves far easier to shut than to open; though you certainly do wish there was a heavy deadbolt of iron and steel crossing the doorframe, between you and the outside, but a door is far better than nothing at all!

Turning to grope your way on through the pitch-black hallway (it smells like damp and mold in here, and something else--far too faint just yet to pick up on what), you manage to trip several times over objects that you are too afraid to look down at (for fear they might be actual bones of those gone before you!). After much shuffling blindly in the dark (sure is warm in here, isn't it?), you can make out a little ways off a gentle curve in the corridor, and flickering light of what could be candles or lit firelight. Wiping dirty palms on your shirt absently (grubby from running your hands along walls all night), you eagerly note that it definitely is easier to see now that you're further inside, and that faint, unidentifiable smell is stronger, crisper, and you think nothing of being drawn so effortlessly down the sloping bend. Never-mind, of course, that you appear to be heading further into the earth, and that what was at first damp mud and densely-packed earth has veered off into sheer granite, polished smooth as marble. The ground under your feet is soft, almost spongy, as if you tread on one never-ending mushroom cap, but the inviting smells and the promise of warmth by that light at the end of the tunnel is far too much of a pull to bother noticing any of these things now.

(You still have time to flee.)

You've reached the end of the tunnel around this bend, for it opens into an amazingly large and cozy chamber lit by thousands (surely that many, for the light is bright as normal sunlight) of fat, dripping candles oozing wax down the sides of their little niches (for each candle is nestled snugly in a dug out pocket in the cave walls). And for each candle there appears to be double the amount of stalagmites and stalactites, connecting floor to ceiling and vice versa in strange spirals and coils of rock and limestone. They seem to form some kind of barrier in some places, as if cultivated like weeds or flowers underground, some so thick with them that they completely close off these areas in a lattice-work of stone and chiseled beauty. You stretch up 'pon tiptoes to peer at one of the higher ledges on one wall where the stalagmites appear to have been molded to form shelves of sorts with a slight lipped edge to prevent anything from rolling out. Unfortunately, it's far too high out of reach to see just what is being held in it. You don't even have the time to search around the room for a ladder or stepstool or to even contemplate whether you're being far too nosey (considering you're in a strange underground cavern and all that most certainly doesn't belong to you). A shadow, dark and sinuous, has suddenly blocked the candle-light at your back, and some of the warmth from them, as well, or perhaps you imagine the chill creeping along your spine.

"Look at this, my sibling." A sibilant whisper plays tic-tac-toe with the churning in your gut, and you find yourself rooted to the spot as surely as the Brain Tree, shivering with sudden fear.

"I see it, I see it, dearest Twin." Replies a second, reed-thin voice. It reminds you of the sigh of wind through tall grass, or perhaps scales rusting and scraping upon the ground in a soft raspy hiss.

Feeling hands curl along your shoulders, you let out a rather graceless yelp of terror and turn to flee from this two-voiced horror, only to trip over something soft and fleshy and rather pliant. Ending up in an ungainly heap on the floor with your legs tangled up and your cheek against damp granite, you now have a rather lopsided view of the 'monster' you managed to persuade yourself quite convincingly that it wished to eat you.

"Welcome, Weary Traveler!"

"Welcome, Ssstrange and Noissome One!"

"Watch your sssibilances, Brother! You're ssslipping!"

"You're doing it, too, ssibling of mine."

Watching them argue about their faulty consonants certainly isn't living up to your expectations of a terrifying flesh-eating monster (and realizing to yourself, rather sheepishly, that what you tripped over was a rather snakey tail). In fact, now that you look longer at the strange Neopet (yes, it really is a Neopet, how odd!), the more you realize how bizarre these two are, and that they really cannot be placed in any category of monster you know of.

In fact, looking closer at them, you realize that what should be two Neopets is really one! Two heads quarrel with each other while you watch, and two torsos arch over you as they grapple and pull at the other sibling's hair, and two sets of limbs (four arms) attempt to wrest the other's grip away at the same time. But the divide ends there, for past the navel, the two are joined permanently (or perhaps were born this way?) at the hips, and where a normal Neopet's legs and feet might be, only a fluid, serpentine tail coils and writhes faintly in agitation, thick and powerful as an Elephante's trunk.

When they've finally stopped their wrestling and rolling around and arguing, the one with the glowing yellow eyes (the left Twin) appears to be the victor and untangles himself from his sibling to grin at you. Settling himself down to your height, the brightly-coloured (certainly more flashy at least, than his Twin) creature sprawls on his belly and tucks one arm under, propping his chin in a slender hand. You dart a glance to the other, who has twisted as far away as possible from his sibling to sulk, arms folded and shoulders hunched. He vaguely reminds you of a Splyke, or at least his hair does, spiky and thick quills bristling where hair should be, in muted earthy tones and moss colours. Thanks to all the candles giving off so much light, you can even see the freckles mottled in dark browns along his back and shoulders, and even in faint smatterings along lithe arms and the backs of each hand.