The sun had gone down, bright rays replaced with an invasive chill that sunk down to the bone, a lovely country-side plunged into darkness. For a few hours, animals bedded down for the night within their chosen dens’ and hobbles, those that didn’t, would reign supreme until the sun peeked over the horizon to kiss a dark world all over again. A small logging village situated on the outer reaches of a forest, small and quaint, windows closing, candles blown out and doors being locked. The inhabitants, a group of slowly growing settlers, miles upon miles away from anything one would call civilization, were all taking drastic precautions that only grew more severe night after night.
It started small, a missing person or two every other month, nothing too out of the ordinary, it was an untamed wilderness, and accidents were bound to happen. People started going missing more often, then loud guttural wolf howls could be heard in the dead of night. Those that lived on the outer perimeter reported seeing a large shadow moving between the foliage. Talk of a pair of bright yellow eyes creating a ghostly trail in as it moved about. Stalking. Watching. Something was out there. Lights began to go out by themselves, candles being snuffed out as if by magic, rush-lights refusing to stay lit, lanterns somehow no longer working past a certain hour. Worst of all, fireplaces started burning with a fire that radiated a deep purple, almost pitch black as if wood cut from the forest were somehow sick with plague. Since then the town’s leader started enforcing a strict curfew, as well as baring doors and windows past a certain time.
Streets were abandoned, and work left unfinished. Those who still yet lived on the outer edge of town were advised to bunk with others closer to the center. One such abode, the home of Edward Griffith, tall fit man with a build suited to a hard life of logging opened his door and home to recent widow Rosanna Whitelock. During the day she would return to her home and take care of her daily duties, but at night, since her husband was claimed by the forest she’d been having to travel deeper into town to stay with Mr.Griffith, a widower whose wife vanished in a similar fashion.
Whatever was out there, it seemed to target couples first, but only one, never both. Made apparent by Mrs.Whitelock, who saw her husband dragged away. By her own account, the shadows themselves snatched him; something that caused the inky blackness to wrap around his legs and dragged her husband kicking and screaming into the forest. It let her go. She ran to town square telling others what she saw, spreading fear and anxiety. Plunged herself into despair for having to watch the man she’d married for years be dragged away, invalidating twenty happy committed years together in an action that took mere moments.
Mr.Griffith sat at his dinner table, powerful hands clasped together with his fingers interlaced, face illuminated by lantern a light so dim it only illuminated half of his strong features. A square chin partly covered by a short trimmed beard below a roman pointed nose that looked to have been broken and reset incorrectly. Turning his head he took stock, one hatchet, one loaded rifle, both within an arm’s reach.
Footsteps. Bare feet padded across a hard wooden floor. Mr.Griffith turned around, roused from his thoughts, only to find his new house guest, Mrs.Whitelock, clad in her short clothes and holding a small mug of warm milk and honey, setting it down in front of him. Taking her own seat, the candlelight illuminated the smooth canvas of her face, ashen skin and auburn hair that sloped to each side framing her, decorated with a worried frown and soft silver eyes, painted a portrait that more resembled a ghost than a real person.
“You should get some more sleep Mrs.Whitelock,” he said, his voice sounding like stones being dragged across gravel.
“I could say the same of you Mr.Griffith, and we both kno the reason we can’t sleep,” She retorted back, scooting closer letting her hands slide over his clasped ones, like a velvet sheet thrown over hard stones.
“Aye, night after night and it still doesn’t get any easier,” He explained with a sigh hanging his head
Mrs. Whitelock had been staying within his home for the better part of three months, it was awkward at first, both having lost their respective partners. Now all but shoved into each other, being a shoulder for one another helped immensely, for both of them to work through their trauma. There had been more than a few nights where Mr.Griffith was forced to wake Mrs.Whitelock from a nightmare that gripped her, and likewise she took it upon herself to drag the man from his self-destructive brooding thoughts.
“We…we can’t keep doin’ this to ourselves,” she reasoned
“It ain't that easy. To suddenly have to start going at it alone, without any warning, without anythin’, they're just gone,” Mr.Griffith’s hands were starting to tremble “Look at me, shaken like a wee babe, these hands have broken stone and wood, I’m supposed to be strong, but these hands couldn’t hold onto something as precious as my wife,”
“I don’t kno’ what the right thing to do is, I wish I had the answer but I don’t, but I do know, it's time we let the dead rest and maybe… it doesn’t have to be alone,”
“Mrs.Whitelock I -”
“Call me Rosanna or Rose” in that moment her silver eyes sparkled like diamonds in a coal mine
The warmth created in the room both by candle light and action only lasted for the span of a breath, before a very distinct, an all too familiar sound could be heard outside. A wolf howl.
“It’s movin’,” Edward said reaching for his hatched and musket
“It sounds far away may-” Rosanna started but was cut off at the sound of loud creaking floorboards upstairs, causing her to gasp and shrivel up “It…it..its in the h-house”.
Determined to not be frighted out of his own home, Edward stood up, rifle lifted, slowly creeping forward. Taking aim up the stairs when the lantern light blew out, casting both in darkness. For a few peaceful moments, all was still, he’d even stopped breathing, it felt like the whole world came to a halt.
“Rose, relight the lantern, shine it as bright as it’ll go” Edward called back, retreating to where he knew she and the table were.
Two paces turned into five, then ten before he bumped into something solid, too soon for it to have been his table.
“Nyctophobia?” a voice said, it sounded slightly like Rosanna, but different, deeper, more guttural “Or Xenophobia” it said again now Rosanna’s voice was completely replaced by whatever it was, a deep growl that pierced through Edward’s very being. It awoke something primal in him, a deep dread that touched his soul.
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No time to think. Acting on impulse his body turned and fired. Too slow! The firearm flew from his grasp knocked free by a hand. No. A claw. The round sang through the air, embedding itself within his cabin’s wooden walls. Whatever stole away into this home was strong, and persistent. Claws snatched him up from the floor, several feet, almost to the first floor ceiling. There he saw it. A pair of bright yellow eyes, shining in pitch darkness, they embodied every waking nightmare that plagued him.
“So which is it?” the creature inquired “Fear of the dark or fear of the unknown, or maybe the fear of being alone,” it growled “Not enough, never enough, need more, pan-de-monium, spice the buffet”
Fear could be a powerful motivator to run, but sometimes it just freezes your body. Before his brain could process it all, he was thrown aside, body smashing into the wall with such force both broke on contact. Nothing more than shattered remains flew through wood, and tumbled out onto the street. Roused by an earlier gun shot, and subsequent crash, the village residents came pouring out of their homes, only to find a man too broken to identify sprawled out across a cobblestone road. Maybe he was still alive somehow! Some ran to assist, those were the ones who got a good look at it. Under a full moons light it was illuminated. A pair of yellow eyes walked out and revealed itself.
Standing there, on digitigrade legs, twice as big as any man, a monster covered in inky black fur that oozed off in droplets to then spill across paved stone as it drew closer. An elongated face formed a vicious snout that made such a guttural sound it felt like the heavens above would tremble, at the violence it promised. Not quite from legend, for they were known, alpha killers who gave up their humanity for power and ferocity. A werewolf.
“Meat is food, Fear is spice, I will eat you all tonight!” it howled, a bellow that made the citizen’s stomachs drop.
Fear gripped them, they couldn’t move, even trembling was somehow made an impossible task. Werewolves were known creatures of the world, but so uncommon that they were made as stories to scare small children. Meeting the real thing put every piece of fiction to shame, maybe it was its sheer size, the strange mix of familiarity while at the same time being completely alien, an unholy mixture between man and beast. What set this monster apart from fictional preconceived ideas of what a werewolf should be, was the way darkness itself clung to its fur, dripped off like liquid and swirled about to join larger shadows, curling up at its feet and reaching out like tendrils. A full moon’s light meant more shadows cast, more to command to subjugate. Shadows reached out for something, anything to grab. Magic.
Debating on if this was indeed a werewolf or something more was made into a mute point, the here and now demanded attention. It stalked out into their streets, slowly, deliberately, there was no need to rush. After-all, the residence couldn’t move, pinned in place by their own shadows, each one interconnected to another, binding them together. It reached out with those impossibly long arms and grabbed a young woman. In that moment. Everything started to move again, but only for that single subdued woman who let out a scream of pure terror cutting through the silent night. A scream that carried with it terror, hopelessness, trauma and fear. Every emotion she felt reflected in her fellow towns folk. When her scream reached its crescendo, she was eaten, a gaping maw wrapped around her upper torso and bit completely through. Her agony. Her pain. Her fear. All devoured, torso noisy pulled from her waist, blood and guts that couldn’t be taken splattered with wet thunks as it rained down.
It made a show out of eating, powerful jaws working across each bone, crushing them slowly, methodically, making deliberately sure it could pull as much noise as possible with each bite. All while maintaining eye contact with the residence. Next went her waist. Crunch. Pop. Crack. and still they could not move, could not speak. Shadows coiling up their bodies like fiendish snakes constricting the very breath from their lungs. Kneeling on the ground like wheat waiting to be harvested at leisure. The beast’s banquet began. One villager after another, each chosen to be given a gift of sound and movement just long enough for that person to kick, scream, or beg. All roads ended the same. Such actions only served to draw out a more pleasured look across its snout, a sickening, sinister sight to behold. Somehow, it seemed to know who was married, had kids, who was recently single due to its actions, or those alone from the beginning. Taking deep satisfaction in plucking family members apart, starting with children, then partners, but only one at a time and never too quick, it preferred to slowly eat.
Eventually, a collective sense of inevitability settled, as one and all waited their turns to be consumed. After-all what could they do in this situation? Being effectively bound and gagged on their own shadows. They stopped screaming eventually. Sobbing or expressing last their goodbyes, crushed by despair. Resigned to a fate most cruel and its feast quickened; that was one silver lining. Reaching out, it plucked a young boy right upon the cusp of maturity, high above the monster’s head where it opened those impossibly wide gaping jaws.
Just like those who came before him, a promise of death, sure to be answered. Without warning it jerked forward, unintentionally tossing the boy away. Whatever happened caused it to double over in pain, something lodged itself deep in that powerful back of fur and muscle. It shown in moonlight; a large hatchet not only pierced its hide but managed to embed its cutting edge completely inside. A loud hiss escaped its wound, and began releasing a cloud of smoke, no blood spilled, only that cloud of hot steam that smelled of burning fur. As if by will of its own the hatchet twisted itself, prying apart flesh and fur; without warning, it yanked itself free, with so much force the werewolf went from being doubled over to standing up completely straight. Now howling in pure agony, an exposed gash left across its back began to sizzle and bleed. The offending hatchet, shinning like a small star, flying down a street until a hand reached out, snatching its handle, and taking ownership.
A figure loomed on a street leading to the village entrance, and silently stalked forward. Another hatchet appeared in its other hand in a small flash of light as if by magic. A body shrouded in a red cloak that shone so bright under moonlight, it looked to be reefed in flowing fire instead of mere cloth. A hood pulled up and over their head that would bath it in shadows, were it not for crimson hair that spilled out from each side to frame her face.
Whirling around, the werewolf’s eyes widened before growling a warning that turned into a snarl, lips pulled back to show gums and hackles erected. Making itself look bigger, more intimidating, a threat display, seeing that red hood triggered something deep within, much like the citizens a mortal response to anything life threatening. Fight or flight.
Shadows began to coalesce, before the darkness was a creeping thing, like insects trying to move slow to avoid being noticed, but now, they stirred violently. Forming into writhing angry tendrils before extending forward, picking themselves off the ground turning into solid constructs. They twisted themselves into knots until a hand made of darkness appeared, long unnatural fingers of the void attempted to curl around the hooded woman, but only grabbed air. One moment she was there, gone the next, having leapt with such strength the figure appeared to have disappeared. Two hatchets were thrown, a high pitched whistle of wind being cut as they screamed towards their intended target, light reflecting from each blade made them look more like disks. Being more wary of being struck again it willed its creations to swirl around and form a shield. The expected impact never came; instead each hatchet reversed direction inches before their blades could find purchase, spinning back to her waiting hands.
No motion wasted. No time for hesitation. Landing on top of a nearby building she started sprinting across each rooftop at a blistering pace, jumping from one building to the next. More shadows came in an attempt to intercept her while unarmed. Whether by planned confidence or just luck, both hatchets not only returned to their master, severing each tendril to do so, causing a sympathetic within the werewolf. Putting more pressure on the werewolf she released both axes again, one high, one low. Shooting up to another building narrowly dodging more tendrils, demolishing a home in an attempt to strike from below. Having witnessed what those blades could do the man-beast opted to dodge rather than form another shield. Creating much needed space between itself and the residence to where she would land right between them.
A woman with a milky skinned-complexion, completed with freckles splattering each cheek that extended up to connect upon the bridge of her button nose. Eyes so light in their blueish hew one could mistake them for being clear. Most noticeable of all, a scowl that seemed more like it naturally belong there rather than being brought upon by emotion. In fact, to anyone looking up at her one emotion was clear; disinterest, detached, like she wasn’t in a life or death struggle against a cursed abomination. One breath of peace before bedlam re-erupted. Shadows worked like machines creating shields to block a blow that more often than not turned into a feint, the werewolf howled in pain each time it was struck or a construct met its end.
They went back and forth throughout town. If they could more accurately follow the fight, they would see her expression never changed. She lead, it followed, turning a deadly duel into a dance of blood and silver. Left. Duck. Right. Leap. She dodged every attack a grace that could rival any dancer, and made her partner look like a trained circus monkey. Every telegraphed attack punished with a silver blade, lycan blood splattered across wood and stone pressuring it across the very streets it terrorized. Somewhere in a haze of her own arrogance she’d found herself unarmed again. Intending to put an end to this, and make a show of it, shadows in the immediate area sprang up, wrapping around the monster’s claw, refining it, making it bigger, sharper, all this and she did not move, just stood there looking up as it descended upon her. Shaking her head, taking one step back and opened her hands, a light flashed across her palms, just like before they would come soaring back, now what was in their way was a solid mix of fur, skin, muscle tissue and bone.
Both weapons spun even while swimming in viscera and healthy muscles. Inch after inch they worked deeper, sawing apart bones and organs alike, until eventually bursting from its chest to be reunited with their owner. She shook her head again and sighed, turning back towards the entrapped townspeople who were only just now being freed. She walked forward, heart shaped lips pulled down in a frown, rather it would be more accurate to say her face was permanently stuck in that shape.
“Right… I need to speak to whomever is in charge here, mayor, leader, chief, goddamn foreman, I don't care,” The woman in red called out brows pushed down.