Embers rose into the cold night air, lifted high upon the heat emitting from the large fire in the middle of the tiny settlement. A thin dusting of snow covered the thatched rooftops and ground, frosting the tall pine trees lightly as a chill breeze from the north drifted listlessly over the mountains.
“One more story, Opa,” the little girl begged, sitting upon her grandfather’s knee and resting her head against his chest. Her legs dangled high above the ground as she hugged her arms against her body and shivered slightly.
“You’re getting cold, Danica,” the old man replied, looking across the fire to a young woman feeding an infant, and a young man seated by her side. “And it’s very late.”
“Please,” she whined, almost singing.
“Your opa is right,” the young man interjected, rising to his feet to move around the blazing hearth. “It is time for all good children to go to bed.”
“But Papa,” she protested. “I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay up with you.”
“Look around you,” he said, lifting the tiny toddler from the old man’s lap. “All other children have gone to sleep. Most other mothers and fathers have gone to bed too. Your opa, your mama and I are awake, waiting for you to fall to sleep too.”
“But Edan is still awake,” she argued, looking to the infant attached to his mother’s breast.
“Edan will be fast asleep before you and me,” the young man replied as he carried the girl to a small hut a few yards away from the fire. Some goats, penned to the side of the dwelling, snorted and bleated as the man passed by.
“The goats are awake,” Danica pointed out, looking for any reason to stay up.
“You are persistent, aren’t you?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, you really want to stay awake,” the man answered. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t like my bed,” she told him.
“Why not?” he asked, entering the dwelling. The old man followed close behind with a lit lantern to help them both find their way in the dark hut.
“Goodnight Gunar, Marcille, Opa Hadlee,” called a tall man walking to his own small house. “Sweet dreams, Danika.”
“Say goodnight,” the young man told the little girl in his arms.
“Goodnight, Dieter,” she waved with one hand as she wiped her eyes with the other.
The baby started to cry as his mother bade the neighbour a good night, rising to her feet to follow the others inside.
“Shhh,” she tried to soothe the infant as the young man carried the little girl to her bed.
“There you are,” her father said, pulling the covers over her. “Nice and warm.”
She suddenly became quiet and withdrawn.
“What is it?” the old man asked her, listening to the soft cries of the baby as his mother brought him through the door of the hut.
“The shadow men will come again,” she whimpered. “I don’t like them.”
“There are no shadow men, Danika,” Gunar, her father, told her. “We’ve talked about this before. The shadows are just from the light of the moon shining through the trees. Nothing more.
“Your Mama and I are in the next room with Edan,” he continued. “Your opa is in the other room next to ours. There are no shadow men in our rooms. Just moonlight dancing on the walls.”
Opa Hadlee turned his head towards the front door. The cold breeze was still coming through.
“Marcille,” he called softly. “You left the door open.”
There was no reply.
The crying of the baby had ceased also.
“There will be no more talk of shadow men,” Gunar instructed his daughter. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa.” She frowned.
“Marcille,” Opa Hadlee called again, leaving the girl’s bedroom to investigate.
“Can I have a candle?” Danika asked. “Please?”
“Papa?” Gunar turned to see where the old man was going with the lantern.
His gaze followed Opa Hadlee. The old man held the lantern high as he moved back towards the front door. It swung open, creaking softly as the wind pushed it in.
Tiny white flakes of frost floated through the air and landed softly onto a dark puddle that had formed on the floor.
“By the gods!” the old man gasped, as he followed a trail with his eyes, leading from the puddle and across the ground outside the cottage.
“What is it?” Gunar asked, rising to his feet and rushing to his father’s side.
There was no sign of Marcille or little Edan.
Only a deep, dark, layer of blood trailing into the night.
“Where are they?” The young man bolted into the cold air, looking this way and that.
More dark streams could be seen coming from the open doors of the cottages near to his.
“Arm yourself, Papa,” he said, staring to his neighbour, Dieter’s, door. The blood appeared black and glistened in the moonlight.
There was no reply.
“Papa?” He turned to see the lantern sitting on the floor just inside the door. “Papa?”
Gunar raced back inside, stepping over the lantern before moving back to his daughter’s room.
“Papa? Danika?” he called, making his way through the dwelling. His heart raced in his chest so fast he thought it might explode. His stomach bunched into a tight ball and the taste of bile had reached the back of his throat.
“Danika?” he called again as he stared at his daughter’s bed.
Empty.
The covers had been pulled back and a dark smear of blood stained the bedding.
His legs weakened, causing him to drop upon his knees.
His mouth fell open as the urge to scream filled him.
But no sound came.
It stared at him from a dark corner of the room.
A shadow.
Stepping forward, into the moonlight coming in through the window, Gunar saw the smooth, black skin of the creature.
Its rapier like fingers stretched towards him.
Its mouth expanded wider and wider to reveal needle-like teeth.
When it sank its sharp fingertips deep into his shoulders, closing its lips around his crown, he felt excruciating pain for only a fleeting moment.
Just a mere moment.
After that, he experienced elation, bliss, ecstasy.
His eyelids felt heavy.
His mind swam as if in a dream.
There was no time to scream.
There was no time to run.
There was no way to wake from this nightmare.
But why would he want to?
A loud crunching filled his head as the creature closed its jaws.
Darkness flowed over him like a wave, filling his senses.
Elation.
Bliss.
Ecstasy.
Nothing.
“One more story, Opa,” the little girl begged, sitting upon her grandfather’s knee and resting her head against his chest. Her legs dangled high above the ground as she hugged her arms against her body and shivered slightly.
“You’re getting cold, Danica,” the old man replied, looking across the fire to a young woman feeding an infant, and a young man seated by her side. “And it’s very late.”
“Please,” she whined, almost singing.
“Your opa is right,” the young man interjected, rising to his feet to move around the blazing hearth. “It is time for all good children to go to bed.”
“But Papa,” she protested. “I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay up with you.”
“Look around you,” he said, lifting the tiny toddler from the old man’s lap. “All other children have gone to sleep. Most other mothers and fathers have gone to bed too. Your opa, your mama and I are awake, waiting for you to fall to sleep too.”
“But Edan is still awake,” she argued, looking to the infant attached to his mother’s breast.
“Edan will be fast asleep before you and me,” the young man replied as he carried the girl to a small hut a few yards away from the fire. Some goats, penned to the side of the dwelling, snorted and bleated as the man passed by.
“The goats are awake,” Danica pointed out, looking for any reason to stay up.
“You are persistent, aren’t you?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, you really want to stay awake,” the man answered. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t like my bed,” she told him.
“Why not?” he asked, entering the dwelling. The old man followed close behind with a lit lantern to help them both find their way in the dark hut.
“Goodnight Gunar, Marcille, Opa Hadlee,” called a tall man walking to his own small house. “Sweet dreams, Danika.”
“Say goodnight,” the young man told the little girl in his arms.
“Goodnight, Dieter,” she waved with one hand as she wiped her eyes with the other.
The baby started to cry as his mother bade the neighbour a good night, rising to her feet to follow the others inside.
“Shhh,” she tried to soothe the infant as the young man carried the little girl to her bed.
“There you are,” her father said, pulling the covers over her. “Nice and warm.”
She suddenly became quiet and withdrawn.
“What is it?” the old man asked her, listening to the soft cries of the baby as his mother brought him through the door of the hut.
“The shadow men will come again,” she whimpered. “I don’t like them.”
“There are no shadow men, Danika,” Gunar, her father, told her. “We’ve talked about this before. The shadows are just from the light of the moon shining through the trees. Nothing more.
“Your Mama and I are in the next room with Edan,” he continued. “Your opa is in the other room next to ours. There are no shadow men in our rooms. Just moonlight dancing on the walls.”
Opa Hadlee turned his head towards the front door. The cold breeze was still coming through.
“Marcille,” he called softly. “You left the door open.”
There was no reply.
The crying of the baby had ceased also.
“There will be no more talk of shadow men,” Gunar instructed his daughter. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa.” She frowned.
“Marcille,” Opa Hadlee called again, leaving the girl’s bedroom to investigate.
“Can I have a candle?” Danika asked. “Please?”
“Papa?” Gunar turned to see where the old man was going with the lantern.
His gaze followed Opa Hadlee. The old man held the lantern high as he moved back towards the front door. It swung open, creaking softly as the wind pushed it in.
Tiny white flakes of frost floated through the air and landed softly onto a dark puddle that had formed on the floor.
“By the gods!” the old man gasped, as he followed a trail with his eyes, leading from the puddle and across the ground outside the cottage.
“What is it?” Gunar asked, rising to his feet and rushing to his father’s side.
There was no sign of Marcille or little Edan.
Only a deep, dark, layer of blood trailing into the night.
“Where are they?” The young man bolted into the cold air, looking this way and that.
More dark streams could be seen coming from the open doors of the cottages near to his.
“Arm yourself, Papa,” he said, staring to his neighbour, Dieter’s, door. The blood appeared black and glistened in the moonlight.
There was no reply.
“Papa?” He turned to see the lantern sitting on the floor just inside the door. “Papa?”
Gunar raced back inside, stepping over the lantern before moving back to his daughter’s room.
“Papa? Danika?” he called, making his way through the dwelling. His heart raced in his chest so fast he thought it might explode. His stomach bunched into a tight ball and the taste of bile had reached the back of his throat.
“Danika?” he called again as he stared at his daughter’s bed.
Empty.
The covers had been pulled back and a dark smear of blood stained the bedding.
His legs weakened, causing him to drop upon his knees.
His mouth fell open as the urge to scream filled him.
But no sound came.
It stared at him from a dark corner of the room.
A shadow.
Stepping forward, into the moonlight coming in through the window, Gunar saw the smooth, black skin of the creature.
Its rapier like fingers stretched towards him.
Its mouth expanded wider and wider to reveal needle-like teeth.
When it sank its sharp fingertips deep into his shoulders, closing its lips around his crown, he felt excruciating pain for only a fleeting moment.
Just a mere moment.
After that, he experienced elation, bliss, ecstasy.
His eyelids felt heavy.
His mind swam as if in a dream.
There was no time to scream.
There was no time to run.
There was no way to wake from this nightmare.
But why would he want to?
A loud crunching filled his head as the creature closed its jaws.
Darkness flowed over him like a wave, filling his senses.
Elation.
Bliss.
Ecstasy.
Nothing.