American Isekai

An unnatural whirring outside my window stirs me from a deep slumber.

I roll out of bed as silently as I can. Reaching beneath the bed, my hand grasps the shotgun I keep for emergencies. My senses are on high alert now. No one is supposed to know I’m here. At least no one who knows who I really am. I came to get away from the world.

Bracing the stock against my shoulder, I inch over to the window. I rip back the curtains, leveling the gun out through the center panes.

But nothing is there. Even the whirring has ceased.

With one hand, I unclasp the latch and swing both sides of the window out. I stick my head out, peering out over the darkened countryside. The full moon shines over the neighbor’s cornfield, casting an eerie glow in the still night.

I step up onto the sill and out onto the roof, letting the shotgun barrel dip.

The silence puts my body on edge, goosebumps rippling up my spine, but I let my annoyance carry me onward.

Then comes the whirring again. This time from the other end of the house. Staying on the roof, I skirt around the walls of my old farmhouse.

Just as I round the last corner, a large black object zips past my face. I stagger, nearly falling from the rooftop. When I recover and realize it’s a drone, I whip my shotgun around and pump off three shots before the drone is out of range.

I rush back inside, bounding out of my room and down the stairs. I bolt for the front door, grabbing my jacket off the rack, and run out into the night. I stand there for a long time, pissed off, searching the sky for the invader. But I know it’s too far away and moving too fast for me to catch up.

“Dammit!” I shout, my voice echoing between the barns. “What the hell was that?”

I trudge back toward the front door, slinging the shotgun strap over my shoulder. By this point, my heart is racing out of my chest, but the cool air and the now quiet farm gradually help to calm my nerves.

Under different circumstances, I might be more curious than angry about the drone’s sudden appearance, but after it roused me from my sleep—and a good dream to boot—I’m just pissed.

Across the adjacent field, lights blink on in my neighbor’s house.

“Ah, crap.” I sigh, not looking forward to dealing with the ornery old couple. They’re going to demand an explanation for the late-night gunfire. And since the truth is so bizarre, I doubt they’d believe me. Wouldn’t be surprised it they got the law involved. I’d probably do the same in their stead.

I quicken my pace, trying to get inside before my neighbors start their tirade. When I get to the door, which I left open in my frantic rush, I stumble over something lying on the porch.

I catch myself on the doorframe, quite gracefully, in fact. My heartrate quickens in renewed annoyance as I turn back to find a package sitting in the middle of the walkway. How I didn’t trip on my way out or even notice the box, I have no idea.

I pick up the box, a ten-by-ten-inch cube wrapped in an iridescent green paper and bound with twine. I turn it over in my hands, studying the strange package.

That drone must have delivered it.

But why? Is it meant for me?

My irritation fades into curiosity as I carry it inside to the dining room. I pull all the blackout curtains closed and flick on the light switch. I sling my gun off my shoulder and prop it in the corner as I cross to the table.

The packaging is even more beautiful under the lights, shimmering green in the incandescence.

I set the strange box in the center of the table, examining it from all sides. It appears to be a perfect cube built from a hard, but lightweight material—wood, I expect. The edges are crisp, the wrapping paper creasing neatly on each corner. The only imperfections are wrinkles in the paper from the drone’s grasper.

I gently untie the twine binding, letting it fall around the box. Ever so gently, I unfold the corners of the paper.

I take a deep breath, as I open the final flaps to reveal a mostly plain wooden box, stained a rich, glossy honey. At least, that’s my first thought. On further inspection, though, I notice complex joinery around the corners and lid. If I weren’t looking so closely, I would assume it’s just a solid cube. However, when I inspect it, I can see a series of slits where the two sides of an invisible hinge meet. Etched and burned into the surface is a simple design of vines and chains leading to a circular emblem on the lid.

Someone put a lot of effort into building this box, which just reaffirms my belief it was sent to me by mistake.

Suddenly, the box starts vibrating violently. I jump back in alarm, reaching out for my shotgun. Instead, I trip over the rug and land sprawling on the floor.

The box rattles against the table working its way toward the edge. I back away, staying on the ground far away from it. Seconds later, it topples off, bouncing off the rug. The lid flies open, sending the contents skittering on the hardwood floor.

The vibrating stops the second it lands.

I stare for a long moment, wary of approaching. But once again, my curiosity gets the better of me. Crawling across the floor, I collect everything that fell from the now open box.

A silver necklace with a sword and shield pendant. A gold ring with an emerald set with a complex latticework of gold filigree. And an ancient looking iron key.

I hold the objects in my palm, studying strange markings that adorn each piece. When I reach for the box to return the contents, one more object lies inside it—an envelope…with my name inscribed on the front.

I clutch the other three oddities in one hand, lifting the letter and box back onto the table. I gingerly remove the letter from the box.

I swallow hard as I slide the crisp stationary from the simple envelope.

“Hello, Oron.” The letter reads in golden ink.

“I hereby invite you to join me at Castle Dorock for the coronation of our king.

“Sincerely, Your Father,

“Lord Syrilis”

My father? That is his name…Syrilis, I mean. I always thought it was strange, but a lord? I haven’t spoken to my father since I was a child. What I remember of him, he was wealthy. He sent money for my mom and me before she died, but otherwise—deadbeat.

And what the hell is Castle Dorock? Is that somewhere in Europe? I’ve never been to Europe. How would I even find this place…if I decided to try?

“What the hell?” I mutter, inspecting the box for any other instructions or a map or something. All I find is an ornate keyhole set into the bottom panel.

It’s completely out of place. I flip the box to see if there’s another hole, but there’s nothing. At first I think that the key may open some secret panel or false bottom, but there’s no room for that.

As I’m watching, the keyhole starts glowing—a faint blue aura. At the same instant, the key starts vibrating in my palm. I transfer it to my other hand, feeling the vibrations intensify as it gets nearer the box.

My hand seems to move on its own, the key drawn straight to its slot. Perfect fit. When I turn the key, the air temperature drops about ten degrees and the space inside the box turns to an inky black, filling with a dark liquid. I try to recoil from the contact, but it’s like my hand is stuck.

With increasing alarm, I yank, to no avail, the box seemingly anchored to the table. Suddenly, with a force greater than anything I’ve felt before, the box starts pulling me into itself. First my arm, then shoulders and head, my body spaghettifying to fit through the small opening. My vision goes stark white then black, my body feeling like it’s being ripped apart.

Then, suddenly, I slam into a solid surface, tasting blood and dirt on my tongue.

My vision is still dim and fuzzy, but I’m aware of a faint light as my eyes drift open. I try to blink dust from my eyes to little avail, pushing myself off the sandy ground. When my sight clears, I realize I’ve been transported to a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, the sun now high in the sky…

Wait, no…two suns.

Am I seeing double? No…

My mind reals at the thought.

Like, teleportation— or whatever that was—is one thing but to be transported to a whole other world with binary suns…I just…my brain kinda melts.

I bolt to my feet, spinning in circles trying to find someone or something to beg for explanation.

When I find no one…

I scream.

I have no shame admitting it. I scream for help at the top of my lungs until my throat grows soar and I taste blood. When I can’t scream anymore, I fall quiet, letting sobs take the place.

A tiny, disembodied voice flits by my ear. “Hey, dummy. Shut up.”

“Who said that?” I croak.

“Does it matter? You’re giving me a headache. Now zip it.”

“Seriously! Who’s there? You’re freaking me out.”

“Ugh. Fine.” A miniscule figure blinks into existence inches in front of my face. “Boo!”

I scream…again.

The little thing flits through the air on near invisible wings, staying close by. I try to track its movement to get a good look, but it moves too quickly, hardly lingering for more than a second. From what I can see, though, it doesn’t look humanoid…but not animal or insectoid either. It’s almost like a hybrid of several, but with a visage that constantly shifts.

“Wh—what are you?”

“What am I?” It ridicules, the voice foreign, ungendered. “Are you stupid as well as obnoxious?” It waits a long moment, evidently waiting for me to answer. When I don’t, “I’m fair folk. Faery. A sprite if you want to be technical.”

“Bu—but faeries aren’t real. Am I dreaming?”

“Oh, you are stupid. Got it.”

I stutter out gibberish in response, my thoughts not catching up with reality.

“Ugh. Come on, moron. We have places to be.”

“What? You’re here for me?”

“Don’t think your dad would leave you without a guide, huh?”

“My dad? No. I…I need to go home. I’m not supposed to be here. This is some mistake.”

“You’re Oron? Son of Syrilis?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then you’re in the right place.” Under its breath, “The king just had to send me for this…moron.”

“Hey. I’m not a moron. I just got portalled to a strange world and a gotdamn fairy starts flitting around my face and insulting me. How do you expect me to react?!”

“I’m a sprite.” He hisses, then hesitates. “Wait…you’ve never been to your father’s kingdom?”

“I barely know my father. Haven’t seen him since I was like…six years old. Mom rarely talked about him. So, no. I have never been here before.” It takes a moment for his words to really sink in. “Did you say, ‘my father’s kingdom’? As in… my father is the king?”

The sprite reaches a branchlike arm behind its head, scratching at its neck with a sound like wood against wood. “Ugh, yeah. About that…Yes. Your father is our king. But not for long. That’s why you were brought here. And why I have to get you to the palace right away.”

“Is he dying?”

“I shouldn’t say any more. It’s not my place. Now come on. We have several days journey ahead.”

The sprite spins in the air, heading down the dirt path without giving me a chance to object.

I walk in silence for what feels like hours, the sprite always hovering a few feet ahead of me. When the silence finally gets to be too much, “You know, I never even got your name.”

He shoots me a death glare that cuts through my soul. “Names have power. You cannot have my name. It’s mine.”

“That’s not…It’s just a figure of speech.”

“Not for my kind.”

“Fine. Can you tell me your name?”

“Well, I guess. My name is—” The sprite lets out a sound I can only describe as the death throes of an injured cat combined with nails on a chalkboard. I catch myself before he catches me cringing. I know the folklore. Being rude to a faery is a horrifyingly bad idea. Then he turns his head back to me, his insectlike eyes meeting my gaze. “But you can just call me Moonraker.”

“Got it.”

From then on, we actually carry occasional conversations while trudging along the dirt path. We arrive at a small town just as three moons peek over the horizon. Moonraker gets us a room for the night and food on my father’s dime, apparently. He even arranges for a carriage to take us most of way to Dorock.

The next few days pass slowly, but uneventfully. I just sit in the back of the carriage watching the scenic vistas creep by.

By dusk on the fifth day, the city of Dorock comes into view in the distance. The city wall is impressive, but it’s dwarfed by the towering spire rising at the city center—Castle Dorock, I’m told.

Exhausted from the trip so far, I beg Moonraker to let us camp and make the last leg in the morning. He unhappily capitulates.

We rise with the suns the next morning and walk the rest of the way into the city. As we get closer, Moonraker sends pays a local child to run ahead and announce us to the city. They greet us with a massive escort. A hundred of the city-guard lead us up through the castle gates, leaving us as we enter into the throne room.

Upon a dais at the far end of a wide hall, sits…my dad. I suck in a deep breath, my eyes rolling back in my head, before approaching the throne. Nobles—half of which appear inhuman— crowd on either side of the great hall, marveling at me and my mess of farm clothes, tattered further by the days of traveling. I pay them little mind as I march down the beautifully embroidered carpet. My father smiles broadly as I get close, standing with his arms outstretched.

“My Son!” He shouts so the whole chamber can hear. “It is finally time for you to take your rightful place as my heir. It is time I step down for the next generation.”

The crowd of pompous nobles cheers at the declaration, but I just kinda stare at my dad not knowing what to say. My dad claps sharply, summoning two servants carrying a velvet pillow with a crown placed neatly in the center. They present it to their king who lifts it gingerly and walks toward me.

He offers it out to me. I take the crown into my hands, the weight of it surprising me. I examine the ornate gold and silver filigree intertwining in floral patters around the rim. Large jewels decorate four spires sticking off the top.

Then I do something that surprises even me.

I toss the crown back at my father, the gold circlet clanging against the stone floor.

Everyone in the hall falls deadly silent, jaws hanging open like that one Pokemon meme. Moonraker flits nearby, stifling a laugh.

“No thanks.” I call out, eliciting gasps of shock around the hall. My father…no, the king stutters out some response, but I interrupt. “You abandon me for two-and-a-half decades and now rip me from my home and try to get me to do your work as monarch so you can retire? Yeah. Screw that.”

I turn on my heels and stroll down straight for the exit. I push open the heavy oak doors and exit into the light of the twin suns.

“Come find me when you’re dead. Or you know, when you decide to make the effort of getting to know your son.” As I slam the doors shut behind me, “Dick.”

Once out in the courtyard, I pull the little portal box out of a pouch at my waist. I turn the key in the weird keyhole and let myself get ripped back to my own world.