I wake to find Maya curled against my side, her warmth a reminder that at least someone isn't afraid of me. She must have crept in during the night again, Mr. Whiskers clutched tight in her arms. The blanket smells faintly of the lavender Mom sews into our bedding - a familiar comfort that makes my throat tight when I think about why we need comfort at all.
Saturday used to be my favorite day. We'd all gather under the old elm tree - me, Claire, Mira, Rosso, even Finn. We'd spend hours playing hide and seek between the houses or making up stories about brave adventurers discovering ancient treasures in the forest. Sometimes we'd sneak treats from the baker when he wasn't looking, splitting a warm roll between us as we planned our next adventure, the sugar crystals sticking to our fingers.
Now the thought of that tree makes my chest hurt. No one will want me there today. Not after yesterday, not after the creature in the schoolyard and Claire running away with grandmother's journal. They probably won't even meet there anymore, too afraid I might show up.
"Maya," I whisper, gently shaking her shoulder. "Time for breakfast."
She yawns and stretches, Mr. Whiskers flopping onto the covers. "Can we have honey on our bread today?"
"Ask Mom. I’ll get there soon."
The floorboards creak under Maya's feet as she pads to the kitchen, Mr. Whiskers dragging behind her. As I pull my sleeping clothes off and reach for my pants, the cool morning air raises goosebumps on my arms. I'm halfway through putting them on when movement in Mom's herb garden catches my eye. The scent of freshly watered lavender drifts through the window. There, perfectly still between the rows of purple blooms, stands the same creature from yesterday, catching the morning light. It stares directly at our window with its impossible number of eyes, completely motionless.
"Julie!" Maya's voice carries suddenly from the kitchen. "The black kitten is back!"
The creature tilts its head at Maya's call. Without stopping to finish dressing properly, My heart pounds against my ribs as I run to the kitchen. The rough wood of the doorframe catches at my sleeve as I hurry through, pants barely fastened, one leg still bunched awkwardly at my knee.
I find Maya kneeling by our back door, making soft clicking sounds at Mrs. Hedda's black kitten. The early light streams through the doorway, catching dust motes that dance around her head, and Maya's nightgown trails in a puddle of spilled milk. The tiny creature sits just beyond our threshold, but something's wrong. Its fur stands rigid, tail swollen with fear like the cattails that grow by the village pond. Its yellow eyes fix on a point just past our doorway.
"He won't come inside," Maya says, frowning as she holds out her hand. "He always comes for treats."
Then I see it - the creature from the garden, moving between the shadows of our own kitchen. Its crystalline whiskers catch the morning light strangely, creating patterns that make my eyes ache. The lavender Mom hung to dry last week hangs perfectly still, even though I can feel the morning breeze through the open door. The creature moves with jerky, unnatural steps, like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings.
Maya watches the creature with that unnervingly calm expression she's developed lately. "They're hungry," she says in that understanding voice.
"Maya," I whisper, "how do you know?"
"Inside," Mom says sharply, pulling Maya up by her shoulders. "Both of you, now."
The creature skitters closer, those rainbow whiskers vibrating. Mom pushes us behind her and grabs the nearest thing - our heavy iron cooking pot from the stove.
"Not in my house," she says firmly, and swings the pot toward the creature. It retreats with an unnatural jerking motion, seeming to fade at the edges like morning mist in sunlight. Within moments, it's gone completely.
The silence that follows presses against my ears like cotton wool. Even the usual morning sounds - birds, distant livestock, the creak of cart wheels - seem muted. The black kitten flees, and somewhere in the village, a bell begins to toll.
"That's the emergency bell," Mom whispers. "They're calling a meeting." Her hands still grip the pot handle so tight her knuckles have gone white. "Yes," she says quietly. "I expect they are. Go get dressed, both of you. Proper clothes."
The spilled milk still spreads across our threshold, reaching toward where the creature had been. As I help Maya change, I notice how she keeps looking toward the door, that strange tilt to her head. 'The pretty ones didn't mean to scare us,' she whispers, but for once, I'm glad I can't hear what she hears.
The village square fills quickly as the morning sun climbs higher.
Neighbors who normally greet each other with easy smiles now gather in tight clusters, shoulders hunched, voices low. I spot Mrs. Weber pulling her children closer whenever someone passes too near. Even the baker, who usually jokes with everyone, stands rigid and watchful.
Elder Sven takes his place at the center, and my stomach tightens at the sight of him. His shoulders bow as if bearing physical weight, and I notice deep lines around his mouth that weren't there yesterday. His fingers drum restlessly against his leg - a nervous gesture I've never seen from our usually composed leader.
"This morning," he begins, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands, "more households reported seeing unnatural creatures." His eyes sweep the crowd, lingering briefly on each face as if memorizing them. "Not our usual forest visitors - these are different. They don’t belong to this place."
The crowd shifts like water around stones, creating gaps that quickly close as parents pull children closer, friends grasp hands, neighbors lean together to whisper. The morning sun catches faces twisted with confusion and fear, making strangers of people I've known all my life. I see Finn's mother clutch his arm so tight he winces, while Gondo's massive frame seems to shrink.
"The barriers are weakening." Sven's voice catches on the word 'barriers,' a bead of sweat rolls down his temple despite the cool morning air." He takes a deliberate breath before continuing, his hands clasped tight behind his back to hide their trembling.
"The old protections that kept our village safe..." He pauses, and for just a moment, his mask of leadership slips. The man beneath looks tired, haunted. His eyes meet mine across the crowd, and in them I see fear. "They're failing."
The words seem to physically ripple through the gathered villagers. Mothers pull children closer. Men reach for weapons they haven't carried in years. Old Henrik crosses himself repeatedly, lips moving in silent prayer. I see faces twisted with fear, anger, confusion.
"What barriers?" Ursa's voice rises sharply, cutting through the fearful murmurs. Her usually calm demeanor cracks as she steps forward. "What protections? You've kept secrets from all of us, Sven!"
Gondo's heavy boots scrape against the cobblestones as he moves to stand beside her. The burn scars on his forearms seem to writhe as he clenches and unclenches his fists, and I notice how people instinctively step back from his anger, creating a small clearing around the elders. Parents turn their children's faces away, as if the division among our leaders might be catching.
"Just a few days." His voice booms across the square, making several people flinch. "You've hidden this from us for twenty years, and now you expect us to just accept your word?"
The crowd's reaction shows the spreading cracks in our village's unity. Some press forward, faces hungry for answers, while others back away toward the edges of the square. I feel the space around me slowly emptying as neighbors edge away, leaving a small circle of emptiness that follows when I try to move. I spot Claire's family among those drawing back, her father's hand firm on her shoulder. When our eyes meet briefly, she looks away so quickly it hurts.
"You're both just as guilty," Sven's shoulders hunch forward as if under a physical blow, but his voice carries an edge I've never heard before. "You knew the risks-"
"We knew nothing!" Gondo's voice cracks like thunder, sending several children scrambling behind their parents. "Not until that thing appeared in the schoolyard. Not until you were forced to tell us about your bargain!"
The word 'bargain' falls into the crowd like a stone in still water. Ripples of whispers spread outward, growing louder with each repetition.
"Was Gondo telling the truth?" someone whispers. "Did Sven really make a bargain?"
"But Sven's kept us safe for years," another voice counters. "While Gondo just shouts and threatens..."
Each new murmur drives the crowd further apart - those rallying behind Gondo's righteous anger, and those shrinking back toward Sven's familiar authority. The division cuts through old friendships and even families, as people choose sides in a conflict they don't fully understand.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"What bargain?" Mrs. Weber's voice shakes. "What have you done to our village?"
The space around me slowly empties as people edge away, leaving a small circle of emptiness that follows me when I try to move closer to Mom. Only Maya stays pressed against my side, her small hand surprisingly steady in mine.
"Perhaps," old Henrik's walking stick taps a nervous rhythm against the cobblestones as his voice rises, thin and reedy with fear. His free hand clutches at the prayer beads hanging from his belt, the wooden clicks adding a counterpoint to his words., his walking stick tapping nervously against the cobblestones, "perhaps we should consider the Church's guidance. They've always warned us about dark powers-"
"No."
My mother's word cuts through the square like a knife through silk, sharp and clean and final. The crowd falls so silent I can hear the flutter of clothes as everyone turns to stare. Mom stands straight and tall. I feel a fierce pride war with terror in my chest as she steps forward. Her hands tremble at her sides, but she stands straight and tall, looking more like Grandmother than I've ever seen her.
"That's not the answer," she continues, each word precise and clear despite the slight quaver in her voice. "It never was."
"Delia," Dad's warning comes soft but urgent. His eyes dart between Mom and the crowd, clearly seeing what I see - how some people lean forward, desperate for answers, while others draw back as if her words might contaminate them.
But Mom continues, her voice growing stronger with each word. "These creatures appeared before, when I was a child. My mother - Elena - she knew how to protect us. Not through punishment or sacrifice, but through understanding. The answers exist, if we're brave enough to seek them."
The silence that follows feels like it could shatter at a touch. I watch as the village seems to divide again before my eyes - those who remember Grandmother with fear drawing away, while others, like Ursa, straighten their backs as if old memories are surfacing.
"Your mother vanished into the forest," Henrik calls out, his voice shrill with fear. Each word sends a new ripple of whispers through the crowd. "And now these creatures return? Perhaps the Church is right about divine punishment-"
Color drains from Sven's face at these words, the shadows under his eyes darkening like bruises. His fingers curl into fists at his sides as something flashes across his face - guilt? Fear? - before his leader's mask slips back into place. But now I can see the cracks in it, like a pottery bowl that's been dropped and carefully glued back together.
"My mother tried to warn us," Mom's voice carries a tremor now, but her words seem to echo off the surrounding houses. "About what would happen if we ignored the signs. And now they're coming true, just as she said."
Old friends drawn apart, neighbors choosing sides with every subtle shift of position. Mrs. Hedda pulls her shawl tighter when I look her way, though she's mended my clothes since I could walk. The baker's wife whispers behind her hand to the candlemaker, both stealing glances at me with a mixture of fear and something hungrier. I feel their eyes on me - neighbors who used to sneak me treats or compliment my schoolwork now look at me as if seeing a stranger.
"The girl is marked," Henrik declares, his bony finger jabbing the air in my direction. His hands shake so badly his walking stick rattles against the cobblestones. "Like her grandmother before her. The divine punishment-"
"Punishment?" Gondo's roar makes the whole square jump. He strides forward, and even Henrik stumbles back from the fury radiating off him. "Was it punishment when Elena tried to warn us about the statue? When she begged us to listen?" His voice drops lower, heavy with old guilt. "We drove her into the forest with our fears, and now you would do the same to her granddaughter?"
Maya's fingers dig into mine suddenly. Looking down, I see understanding dawn in her eyes for the first time. "Julie?" she whispers, and the fear in her voice makes my heart clench. "They won't take you away, will they?"
Before I can answer, the square erupts into chaos. People press forward and back like waves breaking against rocks, voices rising over each other in a storm of accusations. "You knew about this!" "What statue?" "What else are you hiding?"
Through the chaos, I watch how alliances form and break in moments. The butcher steps away from his usual friends to stand closer to Gondo. Mrs. Weber herds her children toward Henrik's group, while Ursa moves deliberately to stand near my mother. Even the space around me shifts constantly - some neighbors drawing closer as if for protection, others backing away as if I carry some invisible taint.
Sven stands in the center of it all, and for the first time I notice how old he looks. His shoulders bow under the weight of secrets, and when he raises his hands for silence, they tremble slightly in the morning light.
"Enough!"
His voice still carries authority, but I hear something else in it now - was it desperation? Fear? The crowd quiets, though the tension remains thick as storm clouds.
"Fighting amongst ourselves solves nothing," he continues, each word careful and measured. "The creatures are here - that's fact. Now we must decide how to face them."
"The Church-" Henrik begins, his high collar gleaming white against his dark robes, but Sven cuts him off with a gesture that speaks of decades of authority.
"Has its place," Sven says firmly, raising his voice over the worried murmurs that never quite cease. "But so do older ways. Elena's journals might hold the answers we need."
His eyes find mine through the crowd, "If someone were brave enough to study them."
The weight of Sven's gaze makes my skin prickle. Behind me, I hear Claire's sharp intake of breath and the rustle of her bag where grandmother's journal hides.
"From this moment," Sven's voice takes on a rhythm as old as village law itself, "we take action. Children stay indoors after sunset." His eyes sweep across us younger ones, lingering particularly on Maya. "No one - no one - travels alone."
His gaze shifts to the gathered men, and I watch how they straighten under his attention, hands moving unconsciously to belt knives and walking sticks. "We'll establish guard rotations, day and night." The words fall like stones into still water. "Hans, Lars, take the first watch at the north gate. Gondo, organize the rest."
The crowd parts around Gondo as he moves to comply. I notice how some men step forward eagerly while others hang back, fear warring with duty in their expressions.
"The archives," Ursa's voice cuts through the murmuring. "We need to search them. If these creatures appeared before, there must be records somewhere."
"My workshop will be open to those who need protection charms forged," Gondo adds, his deep voice carrying reassurance even as his eyes betray worry. "And bring any strange sightings to me or Ursa immediately."
The practical details seem to break some spell of fearful paralysis. People begin moving with purpose, voices rising with suggestions and plans. "The village walls need reinforcing," someone calls out. "We can't just wait for these things to come to us!"
The crowd swirls with new energy, breaking into smaller groups with different purposes. Some cluster around Sven, demanding more details about the barriers. Others press Mom about Grandmother's protective herbs. I watch our ordered village life reorganize itself around this new reality, like water finding a new shape.
Through this chaos of motion and voice, I feel someone grab my arm. Claire stands so close I can smell the lavender her mother sews into her clothes. "Julie," she whispers, her eyes darting nervously around us. "Meet me at the old elm tree later. I need to tell you something."
"But Sven just said-"
"Please," her fingers tighten on my arm with unusual urgency. "It's important. After what happened this morning, I... I think I understand now-"
"Claire!"
Her father's voice cuts through our whispered conversation like a blade. He strides toward us, and I notice how his guard's sword catches the light - not ceremonial anymore, but ready for use. His face, usually so kind, carries the same strain I see on all the adults now.
"Father, wait," Claire's voice takes on a desperate edge as she clings to my arm. "I just need to talk to Julie for a minute. It's important."
"What's important is keeping you safe," his voice brooks no argument as his eyes scan the surrounding houses, alert for movement in shadows. "You heard Elder Sven - no child wanders alone anymore, not with these creatures about."
"But that's exactly why I need to-"
"Home. Now." Each word falls like a hammer blow. "We're taking the first watch at the north gate, and I need to know you're safely inside."
Claire's fingers squeeze my arm one last time - a gesture that carries more meaning than words could. As her father leads her away, she manages to look back just once. Whatever she needs to tell me must be important enough to risk breaking these new rules.
The square remains in chaos, but I can see how everything has shifted. The crowd has sorted itself into clear factions - those who huddle around Henrik, muttering prayers and casting fearful glances my way, those who gather near Ursa and Mom, their expressions torn between curiosity and hope, those who stands with Gondo and finally those who still believe in Sven's choices.
Maya's small hand finds mine as she watches this divide form. Even at six, she seems to understand which side of this invisible line we stand on. Her presence anchors me as I notice how people react to my gaze - some meeting it steadily, others flinching away as if my eyes might carry some contagion.
A sharp cry suddenly pierces through the growing tension. "Movement in the forest! Something between the trees!"
The effect is immediate and terrifying, I watch our ordered village life dissolve into chaos. Parents snatch up children mid-sentence. Henrik's prayer group scatters, their devotions forgotten in the face of immediate danger, mrs. Weber practically drags her children toward home, though they're old enough to walk. The candlemaker slams his shutters closed with enough force to rattle nearby windows. Even Mrs. Hedda, who usually moves as slow as her ancient cat, hurries past with surprising speed.
Through the panic, I see how the adults try to maintain some order. Gondo's voice booms out assignments while Ursa distributes protective herbs with shaking hands. Dad moves with other designated guards toward their posts, their borrowed weapons looking strange and awkward in hands more used to tools than swords.
The square empties rapidly until only the guards and elders remain. Beyond them, I see doors closing, windows being barred. Our familiar village transforms before my eyes into something fortress-like and foreign.
Claire disappears into this chaos, swept away by her father's urgent grip, but her words echo in my mind. Maybe she finally understands why I need grandmother's journal so desperately. Maybe, seeing these creatures herself, she realizes we can't hide from what's coming.
The sun climbs higher in the sky as we hurry home, casting strange shadows across the now-empty square. Each shadow seems to hold potential threats, making us jump at ordinary movements - a shutter creaking in the wind, a cat darting between houses.
Mom leads us through back alleys rather than main streets, her steps quick but carefully quiet. I notice how she positions herself between us and any dark doorways we pass. Maya presses close to my side, and for once she's not chattering about her "pretty friends."
At home, the familiar kitchen feels different somehow. The light that usually makes everything warm and welcoming now casts harsh shadows across the worn floorboards.
We are all too tense now, I need to know what’s happening.