The moment I finished writing Unending Cycle, I turned my attention to the second story of the month, a horror piece. This time, the focus returns to Solomon. While his hunt for the ancient vampire continues, I wanted to step away from that pursuit and explore something closer to the ground. A smaller threat, perhaps, but one that reveals something far more telling. Not just what Solomon does, but how his presence reshapes the world around him, especially the creatures that believe themselves to be the hunters.
The road into town has never been a place of comfort. It cuts through the forest with a stubborn insistence, as though the land itself resisted its creation. By day, it is nothing more than a path worn by use and necessity. In recent nights, it has become something else. The trees lean closer, the air settles heavier, and every sound carries farther than it should.
The villagers have learned to listen. They know the difference between the ordinary and the unnatural, between the steady rhythm of the forest and the moments when it falters. When the light fades and the lamps are lit, the silence does not bring peace. It waits. It presses against the edges of thought, asking questions no one wishes to answer aloud.
What follows is not a story of a single encounter, nor simply a tale of creatures emerging from the dark. It is a moment where something shifts, where fear changes direction, and the things that hunt are forced to reconsider what walks the same paths. Some nights leave marks that can be seen. Others leave something far more difficult to name.
Excerpt of What Remains
Several men gathered near the road leading into the town, clutching hand tools like cherished weapons. Nearby, a solitary and frail man lifted his taper to the dangling lamps, lighting the oil-soaked wicks. As he lit the final lamp, screams tore through the town, driving the men away from the forest.
When the cries died down, the trembling, impromptu defenders tightened the grasp around the worn handles of the weathered tools. After several silent seconds, a younger man stepped forward, his fingers whitening around his hand axe. “What do you suppose that was?”
His neighbor shook his head and slammed the butt of his scythe against the ground. “Silas, those monsters are preparing another assault. We didn’t do enough to dissuade them from returning.”
“Lucas, we’re here tonight and old man Jacob is lighting the lamps.” Silas turned around, his hands tightening around the worn wood. “It’ll be different.”
“Pay attention—”
From the woods, another wave of noises broke loose. The group recoiled from the unnatural sounds as the guttural cries tore through the muted evening. As the dying beats echoed off the town’s structures, several doors creaked open around the muddy square. An elderly woman stepped out onto her stoop, licking her lips as she clutched her shawl around her shoulders. Across the square, another elderly man emerged from the stable, holding a lantern above his head.
The lantern’s flickering flame trembled as he turned toward the eastern road where the forest path ran into the town. The woman’s gaze bounced between the solitary man and the gathered throng near the road. “Thomas, did you hear them?”
Thomas nodded as he marched away from the dim stable. As he passed the well, another sound drifted in from the forest. It wasn’t another round of screams. Rather, it was a twisted series of rasps and coughs. After several seconds, the disjointed sounds drifting from the bare tree limbs revealed themselves to be demented laughter. Thomas turned toward the incoming road, clutching his chest as he swallowed. “What could make that sound?”
The broken cries crept along the eastern road that led from the forest to the square. The sounds stopped mid-cry. They didn’t fade away. It was as if something deemed it sufficient. Several of the gathered men stepped forward, their knuckles turning white around their farm tools. Yet no one dared to move to discover what threatened to strike from beneath the forest’s canopy.
When the last rays of sunlight vanished, the trees along the road shifted. Then three shapes stepped from the forest into the weak lantern light. While the trio moved like people, their proportions were wrong. Their arms hung so low that their fingertips brushed the ground. Their hunched backs drove the unnatural gouging of earthen furrows in their wake. After several stilted steps, the townsfolk’s gazes fixed on gray skin stretched too far over thin muscles that undulated like cords beneath the surface.
One creature tilted its head toward the square, its mouth open far wider than any human jaw should allow.
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