“A tribute,” It would come calling. 

When will these nightmares go away? Every night I stay up praying, hoping that I can forget It’s deceptively humanoid face. No matter for how long and with what conviction, my mind won’t be swayed.

We fought It once, at that time. Pitchforks and torches aloft, we made a perfect mob. A perfect sacrifice. It laughed at us. A maniacal and malicious bray, which still haunts me. In one swing, It took out our strongest man and ate him alive. In one action, It clipped our wings and without any choice we ran, leaving our forgotten strife. We were simply glad that death hadn’t called our names. Oh, what fools we made! 

...what foolish thoughts we entertained. 

The only option we ever had was to leave. Forget our homes and the place we loved, leave and hope that It wouldn’t chase. But It did. Seemingly It never rested and It always kept track of Its herd. Those that left were caught and taken for dessert. The rest of us stayed and lived breathing fear on the daily, each night dreaming vainly. And, as time passed our numbers dwindled. Our hearts grew brittle, and our minds numb, as we came to realize that we would all die at Its beck and call. 

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Soon, only three families remained. My mother, father, brother, and eight others. We were simply leftovers on Its plate, a scrap that couldn’t last much longer.

We had more than enough food and water, from the stores meant for a village. Nothing but time was left, and that was rapidly thinning. My parents stayed strong through the end. They were planning and planning, trying to find a way so that one of us may live. They hid me and my brother in separate places, stuffed rags soaked in pigs' blood around us, and told us to wait until the silence was going to suffocate us. We listened as It came.

“A tribute, a tribute

Come my little sheep

Don’t run, don’t hide

I’m ready for a feast.” It sang in a rough growl of a voice. Forced, I listened as It chewed, through muscle and bone and sinew. I stayed in place to honor my parents’ words…

Even now my words seem weak and spineless, and they only speak a partial truth. I should have left my hiding place and died as all the others, a fitting final resting place for the village. Instead, I hid until the silence bore down on me and my chest grew tight. When I emerged, there was nothing except splatters of blood on the wooden floor.

My family was no more and I... I was truly alone. I had no home or any place to go. It had moved on and without the constant threat, my life seemed meaningless. My memories were in a haze, only reaffirmed by the abject horror of the fading stains, marring the floor. I sat and cried for days, until my tears ran dry, and I could only stare dejectedly at that one spot on the ground.