The Extra-dimensional Pioneer Of Fiction [Draft]

Arlo stumbled slightly as the portal spat him out onto the edge of a dusty road, the sudden sunlight making him squint. He steadied himself, brushing the dirt off his denim jacket.

The faint hum of the portal faded behind him, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling through the tall grass that lined the road.

"Middle of nowhere," Arlo muttered, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked around.

The horizon stretched endlessly, broken only by scattered trees and the occasional telephone pole. No buildings, no signs—nothing to indicate civilization.

Reaching into his inventory, Arlo materialized a sturdy duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Inside were the essentials he'd painstakingly prepared: the silver dagger, essential oil, herbs, 5 low health potions, 3 low mana potions, and some clothes he bought in the hidden Junk.

He then accessed his map function, a faint holographic interface flickering to life in front of him. The system pinpointed his current location—Ohio. More specifically, it indicated the general direction of a town labeled Springwood.

However, the map lacked the detailed streets and landmarks he would typically expect. Instead, it showed only a vague outline of the region, with Springwood's name floating in empty space. No roads, no specific locations—just a blurry void where the town should be.

Arlo frowned. It made sense. Springwood wasn't a real place—it was a fictional town from a horror movie. The only reason it even appeared on his map was because of his memories from his past life. But without proper data, the system couldn't generate a complete layout.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. If he wanted a full map, he'd have to scan the area himself—physically explore the town to let his system register its layout or Find the Map of the town.

Now, all he needed was a way to get to town.

He began walking along the road, the gravel crunching under his boots. The heat of the sun beat down relentlessly, and he cursed himself for not adding a hat to his 1980s look.

Minutes turned into an hour, and Arlo was beginning to doubt he'd see a single car, let alone get a ride. Just as he was considering taking a break under a shady tree, he heard the distant hum of an engine. He turned, squinting against the sun, and saw a truck approaching in the distance.

"Alright, let's hope they're friendly," Arlo said to himself.

Raising his hand, he waved to flag the vehicle down. To his surprise, the truck slowed, pulling up beside him.

The driver rolled down the window, revealing an elderly man in a faded farmer's outfit. His weathered face was kind, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled. "You alright there, son?"

Arlo exhaled in relief. "Yeah, just trying to get to the nearest town. Think you could give me a lift?"

The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Nearest town is Springwood, about fifteen miles down the road. Hop in. It's too hot to be walking out here."

"Thank you," Arlo said sincerely, opening the passenger door and climbing into the truck. The interior smelled faintly of hay and engine oil, and a country radio station played softly in the background.

As the truck rumbled down the road, Arlo gazed out at the passing fields, the weight of his mission temporarily lifted by the small kindness of a stranger. 

.......

The truck rattled slightly as it cruised down the quiet country road, the engine's hum filling the gaps in their conversation.

"So, what's your name, son?" Henry asked, glancing over at Arlo with a curious smile.

"Arlo Leeroy, sir" he said, shaking the man's outstretched hand. Henry's grip was firm, his skin rough with years of hard work.

"Henry Smith," the old man replied. "Good to meet you, Arlo. What brings you to the middle of nowhere?"

Arlo had rehearsed this in his head already. With a quick breath, he replied, "I'm on a journey of sorts."

Henry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Journey? That sounds like something. What kind of journey?"

"Well," Arlo began, choosing his words carefully, "I'm a writer. Figured I'd hit the road to find inspiration for my next book. You know, soak in the scenery, meet new people, and maybe stumble on a story worth telling."

Henry chuckled, a deep and hearty laugh that filled the cab. "A writer, huh? Don't see many of you types out here. You look a little young to be writing books, though."

Arlo smiled politely, leaning into the story. "I get that a lot. But writing's been my dream since I was a kid. I used to scribble stories on scraps of paper and staple them together like little books. Guess I never really grew out of it." And I'm really good at making up stories on the spot, he added silently, amused by his own improvisation.Henry nodded approvingly.

"Dreams are good, son. The world's a better place when folks have dreams to chase. So, what kind of book are you working on?"

Arlo hesitated, then shrugged casually. "Something suspenseful. Maybe a bit of horror. Small-town secrets, dark mysteries—that sort of thing." Not entirely a lie, he thought grimly.

"Sounds like you're in the right place," Henry said, gesturing to the rolling fields. "Small towns have more secrets than they let on, I'll tell you that much."

The conversation paused as the truck turned down a dirt road, kicking up dust as it approached a modest farmhouse.

The house itself was quaint, with a wraparound porch and flower boxes under the windows. As they pulled into the driveway, an older woman stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Honey!" she called, her face lighting up as the truck came to a stop. Henry climbed out and walked up to her, pulling her into a warm embrace. Arlo quickly averted his gaze, suddenly interested in the sprawling farmland around him.

The golden fields stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with grazing cattle and the occasional tractor. The air smelled of fresh hay and earth, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the HUB.

Henry turned back to Arlo, waving him over. "Arlo, this here's my wife, Olivia."

Arlo stepped forward, offering his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Olivia shook his hand with a firm grip that surprised him. "Nice to meet you too, Arlo. You must be hungry after traveling all day. Come inside, and I'll fix you something."

"Oh, that's not necessary," Arlo said quickly, trying to politely decline. "I don't want to impose—"

"Nonsense," Olivia interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Any friend of Henry's is welcome here. Come on."

Arlo sighed inwardly but managed a gracious smile. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it."

As they headed inside, Arlo felt a strange sense of comfort he hadn't expected. The warmth of the Smiths' hospitality was a welcome reprieve, even if his real mission lurked just beyond the horizon.

==================================================

As Arlo stepped into the Smiths' home, the first thing he noticed was the distinct charm of an American 1980s house. The interior was warm and welcoming, a blend of faded pastel wallpapers, wooden furniture, and kitschy decor. A rotary phone sat on a small table near the door, alongside a bowl filled with car keys and loose change. The living room boasted a large floral-patterned couch and an old CRT television sitting on a wooden stand.

Arlo's gaze traveled across the walls, landing on a framed family portrait. The photo depicted Henry and Olivia standing proudly with a young boy, no older than ten. The boy had Henry's kind eyes and Olivia's smile, his arms wrapped around their waist as they posed in front of what looked like the same farmhouse.

"Cute kid," Arlo said quietly to himself, stepping closer to the photo for a better look.

"Jacob," came Olivia's voice from behind him. Arlo turned to see her standing in the doorway, holding a glass of iced tea. Her smile had faded, replaced with a wistful expression.

"Your son?" Arlo asked gently, careful not to overstep.

"Yes," Olivia replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "He was our pride and joy."

Arlo could sense the pain behind her words and chose his next question carefully. "If you don't mind me asking... what happened to him?"

Olivia hesitated, then sighed deeply. "He died in 1966. Murdered by the Springwood killer."

Arlo's chest tightened. He glanced back at the photo, now realizing the weight it carried. "I'm... so sorry for your loss."

Before Olivia could reply, Henry stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with a mix of quiet strength and sorrow. "We got justice, though," he said firmly. "Took years, but we found out it was Freddy Krueger. He got arrested, but... the courts let him go."

Arlo nodded, the name sending a shiver down his spine. "I've heard about him," he said cautiously, his thoughts racing. So the Smiths are directly tied to Freddy's history...

Henry's jaw tightened. "A few of the victim's families decided enough was enough. They..." He paused, then continued with quiet resolve. "They burned him alive. Thought it was over after that."

Arlo empathized with the Smiths' pain, though his mind was already piecing together how this personal connection might play into his mission.

"It's never easy," he said softly. "Losing someone, even after justice is served."

Olivia offered a sad smile, clearly touched by his words. "You're kind to say that, Arlo." After a brief silence, Arlo cleared his throat. "I should probably head into town and find a place to stay for the next few weeks."

"Nonsense," Olivia said immediately. "You'll stay here with us."

Arlo hesitated. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to impose."

"Impose?" Henry laughed, clapping a hand on Arlo's shoulder. "Son, if Olivia's made up her mind, there's no arguing with her. You'd better just say yes and save yourself the trouble."

Olivia smiled warmly. "Exactly. You're staying, Arlo."

Realizing he wasn't going to win this argument, Arlo sighed and nodded. "Alright. Thank you. I appreciate it."

As they settled back into the living room, Arlo couldn't shake the feeling that his presence in the Smiths' home was more than a coincidence.

==================================================

Mrs. Smith led Arlo upstairs, her footsteps soft against the creaking wooden floor. Stopping at a door near the end of the hallway, she opened it and stepped aside.

"This will be your room," she said warmly.

Arlo peered inside, immediately struck by the coziness of the space. The room was small but inviting, with a neatly made twin bed covered in a quilted blanket, a wooden desk by the window, and a shelf lined with books that looked well-loved. A small lamp cast a warm glow over the room, giving it an intimate feel.

"Thank you, Mrs. Smith," Arlo said, stepping inside. "This is perfect."

"You're welcome, dear. Supper will be ready in a few hours," she said, giving him a kind smile before closing the door.

Alone in the room, Arlo set down his duffle bag and immediately got to work. He reached into his inventory and pulled out his divination tools: a deck of intricately illustrated tarot cards, a small crystal ball, and a few silver charms. Arranging them carefully on the desk, he began mentally preparing for his act as a seer.

The sun dipped below the horizon as he worked, and soon Mrs. Smith's voice called from downstairs. "Arlo! Supper's ready!"

Arlo placed the last charm neatly on the desk, taking a deep breath before heading down. The dining room was warm and inviting, the table set with a spread of hearty American staples: thick steaks, mashed potatoes, green beans, and cornbread. A pitcher of iced tea sat in the center.

"This looks amazing," Arlo said, genuinely impressed as he sat down.

Mrs. Smith clasped her hands together. "We always say grace before we eat," she explained. The three bowed their heads as Henry led the prayer, his deep voice resonating with sincerity.

"Amen," they said in unison, and the meal began.

Arlo took a bite of the steak and was immediately struck by the flavor. This is incredible, he thought. The food felt rich and natural, untouched by the preservatives and additives he knew would dominate the future. It was a stark contrast to the synthetic meals often found in the HUB.

"This is delicious, Mrs. Smith," Arlo said, smiling at her.

"Thank you, dear," she replied, clearly pleased. "Henry tells me you're a writer. What kind of book are you working on?"

"A horror story," Arlo said, setting down his fork. "I'm still in the early stages, but I'm exploring themes of fear and resilience. It's... a fascinating subject."

"Fascinating indeed," Henry chimed in. "The human mind is something else when it comes to fear. It's what drives us to survive."

Arlo nodded, leaning into his story. "Exactly. Fear can be paralyzing, but it can also sharpen instincts, push people to their limits. I want to explore how it affects people differently."

As the conversation flowed, Mrs. Smith tilted her head curiously. "What else do you do, Arlo? Any other talents?"

Arlo hesitated for a split second before deciding to test their reaction. "I'm also a fortune teller—a seer of sorts."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "You mean... seeing the future?"

"Something like that," Arlo replied. "Some people find comfort in knowing what lies ahead. It helps them make decisions or navigate uncertain paths." 

Mrs. Smith looked intrigued, but Henry seemed skeptical. "I'm not sure I believe in all that," he said, though his tone wasn't dismissive.

Arlo smiled gently. "I understand. It's not for everyone. But if you're curious, I'd be happy to show you. Nothing too serious—just a small demonstration."

Mrs. Smith's eyes lit up. "Oh, Henry, let's try it! What harm could it do?"

Henry sighed, clearly unsure. "Alright, fine. After supper."

With that, they finished their meal, chatting about lighter topics as they cleared the table. Soon, they were seated again, the table cleared of dishes and set for Arlo's divination. The Smiths watched intently as he began to arrange his tools, their curiosity mingling with a touch of apprehension.