“Looks like rain, Sarge.” Corporal Young said, peering up into the grey sky.

“They’ve been calling for it all week, let’s just hope it holds out until we’re done here.” Detective McCarthy snorted, adjusting his tie.

“Eyes on the road, Corporal. We’re there soon.” Sergeant Marton said, checking the GPS. “I hope the rain holds off, then bloody well pours and gets on with it.”

The call had come in early this morning. Apparently up in Bramford there was a family missing. A deliveryman had gone to hand them a parcel, but there was no one there to receive it. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. However, the front door was ajar. When he opened to investigate, the hall was disheveled, lamps and tables overturned. He had called out for anyone, but got no response. A cursory glance revealed the house to be empty.

Feeling thoroughly weirded out, he had left with all haste. Upon reaching his truck, the man had reported catching a glimpse of a young man, about fourteen or fifteen watching from the forest. When he’d shouted to the lad, he’d taken off into the trees. And thus they were sent for a preliminary investigation, try and track the boy and the others down. The three were all the ones that could be spared at the moment, but cases of missing persons had been on the uptick recently, so it definitely had to be checked out today. Drizzle started to fall.

“So what’s the name of this missing family? If I recall, it’s the largest disappearing act we’ve got yet.” McCarthy asked, paging through the file.

“Middleston, family of four: Redford, wife Jessica, daughter Samantha and son Neil.” Marton rattled off from memory. “Word is, the family was a quiet sort except for the boy. Minor vandalism, petty theft, that sort of thing. It’s likely that the person the deliveryman saw was Neil. He’s also reported to often be in the company of his friends, Tabitha Bandler and Simon Fennicks. Also reported missing three days ago.” A grim silence followed the explanation.

“Sarge…you don’t think he and the other two…” Young said, unwilling to finish the thought.

“Now Young, there’s no proof of anything yet. That’s why we’re out here.” McCarthy said, leaning on back in the van’s seat.

“True, but I’d wager my last dollar there’s a connection. Too much to suggest otherwise.” Marton said.

“Right you are, Sarge.” McCarthy said. A few minutes later, they pulled up to the abandoned farmhouse. Once their gloves were on, they entered the door, McCarthy with pistol drawn. Young shined a flashlight on the floor.

“Prints in a thin layer of dust.” he said, examining the patterns. “Probably the deliveryman’s.”

“Power’s still on, but with this layer of dust over everything I’d estimate no one’s been here in a week.” McCarthy said, running a finger on the mantle in the parlor.

“I fear you’re right.” Marton said, making a sweep of the floor’s rooms. He went into the kitchen, opening the fridge to find tinfoil-wrapped plates, a half-open carton of orange juice, and a nearly empty gallon of milk. He opened the cabinets, seeing an open packet of crackers among the cans and boxes. He frowned. He went to the sink, where there were some dirty dishes in a small stack. He tapped his foot.

“Find anything, Sarge?” Young said, coming in.

“Look around, Young. See anything unusual?” The officer examined the room, but only saw what Marton had found.

“Nothing too out of place, Sarge. Save for the fact everyone seems to have been spirited away.”

“Yes, it looks like they’ve left only an hour ago, but we know it’s been much longer. And even in the city, there would be mice and flies after the food that’s ben out. Tell me Young, what do you see?” Marton said. The officer examined the room with newly widened, critical eyes.

“There’s no sign of any of that.” he said, poking at the dishes. “These crumbs would’ve attracted something out here, but nothing’s been touched.”

“Exactly. The plot thickens.” Marton said, scanning the other rooms again.

“Guys, you’d better come up here!” McCarthy yelled from the second floor. The other two ascended the creaky stairs to find a grim-faced detective. “I’ve found something.” The followed him into the daughter’s room. Stuffed toys, bright wallpaper, made bed, nothing out of the ordinary for any seven-year-old girl.

“What’d you find?” Marton said, a bad feeling in his gut.

“Nothing good.” McCarthy pulled back the covers.

There, on the pale blue sheets, was a circle with bizarre inscriptions, drawn in dried blood. Young covered his mouth and looked away, while Marton’s jaw set very firmly.

“I’ve also found these in the boy’s room.” McCarthy handed him a couple slips of paper, both with sketches of the design on them. Marton’s expression was set in stone.

“We’d better find the boy as soon as possible.”

“I think I know where he’s been.” McCarthy said. He pointed to the floor and windowsill, where there were tiny, easily overlooked spots of brown leading outside, towards the woods. Marton nodded.

“We’d best be off then.”

The rain had increased dramatically as they headed out, torches ready and guns drawn. Marton cursed internally; the ground was turning to mud, and the daylight was rapidly failing. This was nearly an exercise in futility, but there was no way they could let this go.

“Did you find anything else in the boy’s room?” Young asked the detective.

“Nothing much else. Some more scribblings that I couldn’t make out, and these.” He held up a small prescription bottle of pills. There were three bright red ones left. Marton took them and held them up.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Hmm. Labeled as an antibiotic for Mrs. Middleston. Somehow I doubt they’re hers.” He looked further into the dark, rainy forest. It was the very picture of doom and gloom, with the earth turning to think mud sucking at their shoes. Though that shouldn’t stop him, the sergeant felt a chill of unease, drummed into him like the raindrops on the leaves. “Perhaps we should return in the morning, with a proper search party. It’s getting too dark out now.” The other two shivered and agreed. That air felt heavy and oppressive.

They tromped back to the farmhouse, cold and wet. McCarthy breathed a sigh of relief. He had no desire to chase after some teenage psychopath in the woods, especially not on a night like tonight.

“What the!?” Young exclaimed. McCarthy looked up to see the spot where they’d left the van was empty. “W-We parked right here, I know it!”

“Could someone have taken it, then? The boy? Why?” McCarthy muttered in disbelief. They weren’t inside that long, and there was no way they would made missed the sound of an engine starting. Marton bent down to examine the drive.

“See this? It started raining before we parked. But look, there’s only our tracks from driving up.” he said, shining his torch on the ground. And now they saw the other prints. Young squinted, unfamiliar with anything that made circular tracks.

“Does anyone know what could have made these?”

“I don’t know, but they look a little like elephant prints. See the three indentations above each one? Looks like their toes.” McCarthy supplied. Young raised an eyebrow at him.

“An elephant?” McCarthy shrugged at the corporal.

“It’s what the prints look like. Obviously too small and light, but who knows what they are.”

“They’re not here.” Marton said. The others looked at him. “The tracks start here-” he pointed with his torch “-and end there.”

Indeed, the prints began halfway up the muddy road, as if they had simply appeared, went around the van, and veered off and disappeared towards the forest. Marton sighed, but his eyes widened as his light fell upon three teenagers, a girl in a leather jacket, a shorter male in a long overcoat, and a tall boy in a blue hoodie. All three of them were wearing deer skulls over their faces, antlers resplendent. Sickles gleamed in their hands.

“Oi! You lot!” The teens scattered, running into the woods. The officers began the chase.

“Is that them? The missing teens?” Young shouted.

“Their description fits!” McCarthy said.

“Stop! Halt! Police!” Marton called, but the teens practically flew through the trees in different directions.

“How are they so fast?” McCarthy wondered after they’d had to stop to catch their breath, now fogging in the air.

“Obviously they know the area better than we do.” McCarthy said glumly.

“W-What do we do now, Sarge? I don’t want to track some nutters through the woods in this storm.” Young said nervously. His hand was shaking. Marton couldn’t blame him.

“Don’t be a fool, lad. It’s our job. And don’t you suggest we split up.” McCarthy scowled at the sergeant.

“No, that would be stupid. We’ll try to get one of them-the boy Jason, if possible. He’s the one most likely to know what the bloody hell’s going on ‘round here.”

“Roger. He went down the middle path, we should spread out a bit to box him in.” McCarthy suggested, and Marton nodded.

“If we can even find him.” Young said doubtfully.

“Come, lads. Let’s catch this wayward boy. Five meters apart, if anything happens reconvene immediately. Let’s go.” Marton commanded. They fanned out, each able to hear the others and see the torches. The proceeded in relative silence, trying to hear anything. Young thought it would be impossible to detect any sound other than the driving rain on the leaves. Their torches danced through the darkness, but it seemed like a futile effort. Ten minutes they searched, going deeper and deeper into the forest, until Marton called a halt and brought them in.

“It’s no use. I can’t even find their tracks in the mud.” he said as Young trotted over. “Might as well call the precinct for a ride back.”

“Sure thing. Dunno what we’re going to tell ‘em about the van, though.” Young said as he pulled out his phone.

“This whole situation smells off.” Marton growled, then noticed McCarthy hadn’t come over. “Oi, what’s wrong, chap?” He shined the light on the detective, only to find the short teen in an overcoat carrying McCarthy’s torch.

“Yahhh!” Young screamed and fired, dropping the boy with the skull mask. There was an unearthly howl from the teen. Young, panicking, fled at top speed.

“Young! No! Get back here!” In the time it took for Marton to turn to yell at Young and back to the teen, the body had disappeared. Shocked, he held his gun high. There was a scream in the distance, instantly recognizable as Young’s. Abandoning all pretense, he turned and sprinted through the trees, wet leaves slapping at his face, his skin and clothes snagged and torn by branches. Strange, though; he could have sworn the path they’d taken was straight, not curved. He could hear howling behind him, similar to but not wolves. He fired a blind shot behind him, and the howls turned to laughter.

Keep running, keep running, had to keep running. Marton rocketed through the forest heedlessly, puffing hard and desperate to keep ahead of…whatever was chasing him. The blood circle, the strange disappearances, the skulled teens, it was all too much. This had to be a nightmare, it had to. He ran on in terror, skidding on the grass next to an embankment, using his hands like an animal to propel himself upward, away from his pursuers. He scrambled to the top, letting out a cry of victory. Prematurely, as he slipped in the mud, tumbling back down. Tossed up and down, he landed with a splat on the cold ground, chest and leg on fire. With a groan, he raised his torch for signs of his pursuers. He sighed as he realized he was alone. The heavy rain coming down on the forest was the only sound, that and his quick, huffing breath. He flexed his leg, to see if it was broken.

Then he heard the footsteps.

He looked up to see the third deer-masked teen standing next to him, staring down through the black sockets.

“Ugh…J-Jason? I-Is your name Jason Middleston?” he said, feeling around for his gun. The figure nodded. “What is going on around here? Where are my men?”

“They are one with the forest now.” came from the skull. Marton’s fist slammed down with a splat.

“You…you’ll never get away with this!” he snarled. “I’m an officer of the law. You can’t just kill the police!”

“You’re mistaken. Tabby, Simon and I have never killed anyone.” the skull said, tilted. “We’ve merely offered sacrifices to those that will anoint us. These are not for killing.” He held up the sickle. “They are for harvesting. For that.”

Behind him up the road, tromped something that Marton knew proved he wasn’t in a nightmare. His mind couldn’t have come up with something so horrendous. Four stubby, crooked elephantine legs marched inevitably forward, conveying a creature that could not exist.

Marton saw eyes, mouths, faces, eyes that opened to mouths, eyes within mouths, grunting and snarling, with a wild mane of writhing black tentacles. As it approached, a single misshapen, curved eye opened, glaring with a hellish red light. Marton screamed and crawled away, at a much faster rate than the creature; but some unknown locomotion propelled it faster than its’ gait allowed. The last thing Sargent Marton saw was the creature bearing down on him, opening its many mouths.

“Huh. Not even worth the trouble, really.” Tabitha said, stepping into the small clearing. “You alright, Simon?”

“The Goddess grants me protection.” Simon said, examining his coat. He tried to wipe away the blood.

“Are the bodies intact?” Jason asked, and they both nodded. “Good. We must offer the meat to the newborns.” Beneath the stag’s head, Jason grinned. Out of the shadows came more of the creatures until they were surrounded. He went over and patted one lovingly. “Isn’t that right, Samantha?”

“Oh yeah, score for me. Mine had these in his pocket, must’ve forgotten some behind.” Tabitha tossed the bottle of pills to him. Jason laughed.

“Some forbidden fruit, too. Well then, tonight we all feast!”