Minnesota's Biggest Ball of Twine Saves the World (Patreon)

Carson pulled the twine tight, again. She walked around the enormous almost-sphere of the material, again. Her well-worn Moab 2 hiking boots were covered in dirt, and despite it not having rained in days, her circular path had chewed through the grass and turned the dry dirt into clumpy, ugly mud. Spots of raw skin covered her hands, a few of them bleeding.

That was all right. A blood sacrifice might help.

The length of neat, white cotton twine she was holding came to an end. She just stared at the narrow cording for a few seconds, her brain needing time to change gears. She shook her head, like a cat shaking water off its fur, and put her left hand in the open top of the denim duffle bag hanging from her right shoulder, its strap across her body. She pulled a new skein of twine out. Linen, beige, and fuzzy. She used trembling fingers to tear off the thin cellophane covering it, and dropped it on the ground next to hundreds of other wrappers, labels, and torn bits of packaging. The duffle bag was almost empty. She's have to go reload it at the truck, soon.

The made a loop in both the new twine, and another from the end of the cotton twine coming off the massive ball to her right. She looped the new linen line around the old one and itself twice, passed the back of it through the loops, and pulled it tight. Then she repeated the process with the loop of cotton twine. She pulled the two knots snugly against one another. A double fisherman's knot. It would not come undone from environmental factors.

Her hands pounded with pain. Her back ached. The sun was beginning to weaken the darkness to the east, though dawn was an hour away yet.

Then, she pulled the twine taut.

this won’t work mortal

The voice in her head was still unpleasant. Oily. Like she'd let greasy food somehow slip into the wrinkles of her brain, and couldn't get it out. But it was quieter than it had been when she’d started. Hearing it didn't hurt anymore. Good. A few more hours, and even she wouldn’t hear it anymore.

She smiled, and she began tugging, wrapping, and walking around the twine. Again.

“It will, Svaritoth, thank goodness." Her voice was tired. Raw. Like her hands. And her soul. "While you Asuracniht can only be bound by unique memorials, they don’t have to be hanging gardens, or colossi.” She patted the oversized string ball affectionately. “Just, you know, noteworthy.”

they built the Sphinx Itself to bind me

Carson's smiled faded. She tried to force her voice to be upbeat. Casual. But what she heard from herself was closer to 'grimly resigned.' It would have to do.

“And then Napoleon’s troops screwed up and let you out, I know. Though let’s be honest, Svarie. If you were stored in the nose, you probably aren’t why they built the Sphinx. I’d bet there were dozens of you stored in there. You were just the lucky booger who escaped."

this is not fitting it is not permanent it is no…

Carson felt the muscles that would make her grin twitch, but she lacked the energy to let them do their job. Her lip curled. That was all she could spare. A grim tug at her face.

She kept tightening, walking, and wrapping the twine. Nothing was permanent permanent. But this could last as long as she needed it to. Oh, it would take some planning. A foundation, dedicated to the cultural impact of the ball. A little money. Some websites. Layers of lies to wrap around the layers of twine.

She kept walking around the thirty-foot-wide ball, looping string over it again, and again.

And again.

Author's Note: A shorter version of this story appeared on my website six years ago. It's been edited, revised, and expanded to create this version, which was inspired by my work on the Shadowfinder ttRPG setting.