village

The sun rose over the hill, a yellow warm light stretched forth over the land, doors opened and windows unlatched, the day started, and people walked out of their houses on a cold and sunny winter day. Then the screams started, there in the middle of the square was a girl, lying on her back arms dangling to her sides, dark red running from the large open gash on her stomach down to her arms slowly dripping into the once clear and clean fountain now stained red with her blood. Crowds formed around the girl, spectators wanting to see the bloody corpse left open and on display for the village to see. 

Five years forward

The wind howls outside the door, the night is still in the village, doors shut and locked tight against the night. Winter is the time when no one smiles as winter is the season of death, not of famine or hunger death from the night, no one knows who or what it is but the monster is feared. The fear started five years past, the winter moon was high in the sky, the night was dark, and the wind howled like tonight, but unlike any before no one was prepared to face the morning. That was the only killing, no other girl was taken or slain. But still, the fear that it could happen again, and no one knows how she was killed or why she was killed.

When dusk comes children giggle and sing “Run, run little one, lock your doors up tight, don’t go outside, for when the morning comes your blood will be spilled all through the night.”

A group of boys gathers together in the fading light of dusk, determined to prove the song wrong that there is nothing to fear and they are brave men. As night sets in, the boys make the long walk into the dark woods, traveling only in the day for the stories that come from the dark and haunted woods. As they go deeper and deeper the woods feel to take on a new form, reaching out to touch their shoulder, turning to stare straight at them as they walk farther and farther. Coming into a clearing they set up camp for the night, seven boys in all, set out to make a fire, set out rolls for sleeping, and gather wood.

Three boys walk into the woods for kindling, three boys set camp and one goes into the woods without the rest knowing he left. The boys return with wood, the fire is crackling and sparking a warm glow onto their faces, sitting around the fire they quickly start telling their best ghost stories. Stories with monsters and blood, fighting, and curses, all the boys laugh at the notion of anything supernatural, the night goes on the boys slowly find rest falling asleep to the dying embers of the fire.

The breeze comes through the woods, and a soft melody plays in the wind raising a boy from slumber. The melody is sweet, calming, and alluring. He raises his head slowly, gets up to follow the sweet song, and walks carefully into the woods the boy looks around and the melody has become stronger, as though he is right on top of it, the boy circles trying to locate the source of the music. As he circles again his eyes go wide with fear the music has stopped and before he can make a sound, he drops to the ground blood seeping into the earth around him, his head lands several feet to the side, eyes still wide in shock.

The embers of the camp glow red and ash covers the remaining dying fire, log shifts fall completely to the ground, sparks fly, and as quickly as the light comes it again vanishes. Two boys awake one tends to the dying fire the other heads to the woods, walking through the grass and branched he finds a private spot, upon return to the camp, his friend is no longer tending the fire nor back asleep as the roll is empty, sitting and waiting for what feels like too long of a time he slowly stands making his way to the other side of the woods, quietly searching the trees, as he does he sees a silhouette of this friend, walking closer he reaches out to grab him meaning to drag him back to camp before his hand comes into contact with the boy a sharp pain radiates through him, a warm feeling spreads though this body before he can call out to his friend the boy in front of him drops to the ground. His knees buckle falling hard onto the cold ground he lands his hand pressed against his side in an attempt to stop the blood from pouring out, dark takes over his vision, and his last breath is seen on the cold air rising into the night sky.

The bright winter moon shone down on the clearing, an owl hooted from the tree resting on the branch, the moon was still high in the sky and a cold breeze awakened one boy. Sitting up three rolls empty, he stands slowly and carefully walking around the camp, the fire gone, only the moon left for light. The boy strolls around the clearing looking for any sign of his friends walking back to the sleeping two while walking back a branch snaps from behind, turning with a grin he looks to where the sound came from knowing his friends are behind him. Turning fully around he looks to an empty and dark woods, no noise, no people, hesitantly taking a step towards the woods he hears another snap this time from the left, he turns taking a step to run back to camp. From behind a sharp pain takes over his body, dropping to his knees and crawling, he cries out to warn his still sleeping friends before he collapses onto his stomach rolling over the boy sees a silhouette stalking towards him, and the figure stops. The boy closes his eyes waiting for death. He opens his eyes and stares back is red orbs, shock takes over his features then as quick as his eyes see them they are gone, and his body falls to the ground limp, lifeless.

The leaves rustle, the wind picks up, and the last two boys stir, walking up to the empty rolls near them, at that moment they know something is wrong, and both boys scramble to stand looking frantically for anyone around them. They walk into the woods, there is a reflective substance on the ground they lean down and the liquid is warm, as they pull their hands into the moonlight the color is red crimson blood red. Both boys look at one another, their eyes pass a knowing look standing, they turn to run, taking off and not looking back. Footsteps pound the ground, their breath rising into the air in thick pants as their lungs burn from the cold air, legs strain from the effort they continue to push, deeper and deeper into the woods. As they run they become more and more lost, running with no direction, slowing to a stop both breathing heavy hands on knees gasping for breath. Through the trees a yellow light, small and dim, cut through the darkness, they continue to run towards it, hoping to bloom in their chests.

The hope died as the light went out and two red orbs took their place, the boys slid to a stop, scrambling to back up, one tripped landing hard on the ground their hands going out to push themselves up. A hand reaches out to help them up, taking the hand they look up to the dark knight, nothing there but the trees and wind. Their breathing stops, a warm feeling overtakes them, and the sound of a thud is the only sound, their heads roll as their bodies wave and fall on the ground, blood seeping into the cold earth and staining the dirt crimson.

The last boy watched, as his friend’s head rolled, one second they were kneeling the next they were on the ground. The last boy drops to the ground, eyes looking to the sky pleading to live, looking to the sky, to the moon above the bright glowing stars. The sky turns light, pink and blue again hope seems to come into his chest he rises, standing to his feet he takes a step finding the road they used he strides towards the town shaking in fear and holding themselves walking up the hill, through the woods. A smile crossed his lips seeing the tops of houses knowing he was close to the nightmare being over, close to home and safety. At his next step, his legs collapsed, and pain shot through his body, crawling forward clawed the ground nails scratching the road, dragging his own body down the road, he looked up at the figure shadowing their path, fear and confusion grip there heart as they recognize the face, they know, they know who killed them and they know no one else ever will.

The sun rose over the hill, a yellow warm light stretched forth over the land, doors opened and windows unlatched, the day started, and people walked out of their houses on a cold and sunny winter day. The town becomes alive with the beating heart of the hustle and bustle of a busy village, life continues to grow and blossom as the day becomes warmer, and the children sing “Run, run little one, lock your doors up tight, don’t go outside, for when the morning comes your blood will be spilled all through the night.”