A Village Named Yellow

The village ahead was so bright it was like the sun had descended and left a part of itself behind before rising back into its rightful place. The kiss of light could be seen from miles, a luminescent beacon garnering attention, and Rory drove steadily along the pothole-littered road towards the village.

The glow seemed to fade as he closed in, the hue dwindling to a brown-gold. As the village came into full view, the brightest of lights suddenly stabbed his eyes. He hit the brakes. Momentum carried him still. He slammed his foot again, but he didn't slow. He tried blinking away the blur in his eyes as he recalled the layout of the road ahead. When his vision pierced through the undulating veil, and in the brief window of minor sight, he crashed into the yellow lamppost.

Rory rubbed his neck as he shuffled out of the car. Glass shards cracked under his boots as he surveyed the damage with squinted eyes. It wasn't severe, thank the mechanical heavens. But it was going to need some garage repairs. He checked his phone. Still working, but no service.

A screech of scraping metal called his attention to farther down the road. A tow truck pulled a car free from another lamppost. Another crash? Rory thought about hailing the driver behind the tinted windows of the tow truck, but a middle-aged man popped into view on the street from nowhere.

"Hello, my new friend," he said with an ecstatic smile. His teeth had a shiny yellow to them. When he opened his eyes, amber irises peered out. "You'll want to rest up after driving for so long."

Rory pointed a thumb to his car. "I just need to get in touch with a garage. Do you have one around here?"

The man hadn't lost his smile, but he somehow deepened his grin to look even more jovial without moving. "We have a vacant room above the bar you can rest in. Follow me, my new friend."

"Hey, no, I just need to contact a mechanic." He swallowed his driver’s pride. "I crashed my car, see? You don't happen to have the number for-"

"Nothing bad ever happens in this village." The man's face hadn't changed since popping into existence, every muscle living in a freezer. "Come, follow me and everything will be better tomorrow."

Pain shot through his neck. Rory thought it would be prudent to put some ice on it before it worsened. His car wasn't going anywhere. He could ostensibly acquiesce to this odd man's request, find some ice, and call for assistance at the bar with a local phone after looking up a number. Rory patted himself on the back; it was logical thinking at its finest.

As he followed the strange man, he noticed the village's taste in aesthetic. The yellow theme they had going here made him wonder if they'd allowed a child to pick a colour and paint everything. Every house, every sign, the walkway, the road - everything was yellow. It was a wonder how the sky was still blue, but it did explain the weird light that emanated from the village when he was driving. But not the sudden burst of light, his brain told him.

The bar had a silence embedded in the bright golden interior. There was one person here: a young, muscular man working the unused glasses and mugs with a rag. His hollow movements continued as he watched Rory.

"Good day, my friend," he said. "The room upstairs to the left is free."

"I'm not staying," said Rory. His teetotaller livelihood disliked being inside the bar. Uneasiness pricked his skin. "Do you have any ice I can use for my neck?"

"Here's the key." The barman placed it on the counter.

A horrible feeling bubbled inside Rory. He said, "Do you have a number for-"

"Nothing bad ever happens in this village," the barman replied.

The tone, the hastiness, the voice. It was all the same as the other oddity who had ushered Rory inside the bar. The mind could click in weird ways, and Rory's was no exception. It clicked and jolted and told him to leave, and he was in full agreement.

He turned to the closed door-

Open. The open door showed the hundred village residents flooding the street. They stared at him with amber eyes as he backed away. His hip hit the bar's counter before he registered how far he had moved, and the barman slapped down a drink.

"Have a glass, my friend," he intoned.

The beer... Water? No. Whatever it was moved like sludge inside the glass. Yellow beads for eyes curled out of the slithering mass of something that wasn’t quite a liquid. Somewhere in the dark ooze, a slit opened; an annular mouth with golden conical teeth ready to feast.

Rory had nowhere to run. The village residents were inside the bar, surrounding him, closing in. The window! He saw the glass panes were big enough for his body. He sprinted.

But he only made it a couple steps before everyone grabbed him.

They hoisted him to the bar counter, slammed his head on the varnished wood, and forced his mouth open.

When the symbiotic creature pried open his clenched teeth and slithered through and down his gullet, the creature's cold skin and writhing made him throw up and pass out.

*

With the sun hovering nicely over the village, a car veered suddenly with a deafening screech and hit a yellow lamppost. A fair-haired lady, her glasses cracked and wonky, stumbled from the wreck and stood in the road. She checked her phone and then watched the tow truck working by another lamppost.

Rory jumped up in front of the dazed woman. "Hello, my new friend," he said. "You'll want to rest up after driving for so long."

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Author's notes:

Thanks for reading. Written for venerable ViM's April unofficial challenge, which can be found here: