A slow, rhythmic hoot echoed from the depths of the forest, like some forgotten lullaby of the night, a haunting tune carried on the breeze. Above, a shooting star tore across the lonely sky, momentarily lighting up the heavens before vanishing into the vast emptiness. The night was silent, steeped in a melancholic stillness that wrapped around the small, dreadful town like a funeral shroud.

  This was a forgotten place—a town buried deep in obscurity, where the shadows lingered long after twilight and fear lived in the hearts of even the bravest children. No lights of civilization flickered in the distance. No hum of machines or scent of modernity graced its barren streets. Isolated far from the Indian Ocean, hidden by thick woods and twisting paths, it was a town lost to maps and memory, untouched by the hands of explorers or the curiosity of sailors.

  A strange people lived here—people who whispered more than they spoke, who walked quickly in the dark, heads low, eyes scanning the shadows. This was my birthplace, this eerie settlement swallowed by mist and legend, and my name is Kelley O’ Jumbo.

  Every night brought terror. Every dawn brought mourning.

  A child always went missing.

  No one knew why, or how. Was it the work of a monster? A ghost? Or was something more human—and more sinister—lurking in the dark?

  Most tried to avoid the question. But not me. I didn’t fear the mystery. I craved the answer. I was determined—no, obsessed—with uncovering the truth behind the creature that haunted our nights. It had never been seen clearly, only whispered about, but I vowed I would be the one to see it, to capture it, to end the cycle of vanishing children.

  That very night, the air was heavy with gloom, but I kept my eyes wide open, my senses alert. I ventured into the thick forest alone, the trees whispering secrets above me, the ground damp with dew and dread. Hours passed as I combed the undergrowth, brushing past thorny vines and broken branches.

  Then, through the mist, I saw something.

  A shadow.

  A shape that didn’t belong.

  It wasn’t quite man, and it wasn’t quite beast. My intuition screamed this was the creature—the one the town feared. Its outline was monstrous. Even through the mist, I could make out jagged nails, long and twisted like the claws of a savage animal. Its ears were oversized, reminiscent of an elephant’s, and its legs—unmistakably powerful—bore the muscular shape of a horse’s limbs. It stood tall, terrifying, a grotesque silhouette in the pale light.

  And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished into the mist.

  I stood frozen, breathless. My heart hammered against my ribs like a war drum. Fear, raw and unshaped, flooded my chest. I didn’t sleep that night. Who could?

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The silence of that night was deafening. So quiet, I could hear the faint buzzing of flies. Each minute dragged like an hour. Eight hours of darkness stretched endlessly, each second thick with unease.

  Finally, dawn broke.

  I rose early, the creature’s image burned into my mind, a ghost that refused to leave. I brushed my teeth and bathed, but nothing cleansed the dread crawling under my skin. I dressed quickly in my worn, tattered shirt and patched trousers—clothes that had seen too many seasons—and slipped out the back door to avoid my parents’ usual questions and warnings. They’d never let me go back into the woods. They feared it more than death.

  Many had gone into those forests before. None returned.

  People whispered of what might happen to someone who ventured there on a moonless night, but I didn’t care. I had seen something real. I had to act.

  I picked up my pace as I neared Cally’s house.

  "What are you doing here at this awkward hour of the morning?" asked Cally, a tall, steady friend whose gaze always seemed to weigh more than his words.

  "We need to call the others. There’s something urgent," I replied.

  "You haven’t answered my question," he said, frowning.

  "Don’t worry. You’ll understand soon. But we need to gather everyone, fast."

  Before long, the whole group had assembled. To my left stood Cally and Tropsy. Tropsy was a bit plump, her skin fair, and her spirit unwavering. She was always the one you could count on. Cally, as usual, was kind and reliable—a quiet rock in the group. To my right were Bakley and Pearl. Bakley was strong, muscular, always the first to throw a punch—but also the first to challenge authority, a little too arrogant for his own good. Pearl was clever, her mind sharp and observant. She was beautiful too, but often indifferent to what surrounded her.

  Still, they were my people. My circle. The best friends I could ask for.

  I told them everything—every single terrifying detail.

  They were shocked. Tropsy gasped, Cally’s face grew pale, and Pearl folded her arms in quiet disbelief. Only Bakley forced a smile, his pride pushing away the fear.

  "We have to do something," I said. "We can’t let this continue."

  With my friends at my side, I went straight to the chief of our town. We poured out the story. He listened with grim eyes and a clenched jaw. He knew this meant trouble—more than trouble. It meant war.

  He agreed to call a town meeting.

  That evening, the entire population gathered at the town square—families, elders, children. Whispers swept through the crowd like wind through dead leaves. The chief stepped forward and raised his hand.

  "Kelley," he said, "tell them what you saw."

  I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  "O people of Carpiscuss," I began, my voice steady, though my heart trembled, "as you all know, something haunts our town—something unknown and terrible. Last night, I saw it with my own eyes. A horrible being, twice the height of the tallest man in our village. It was not a human. It had long, crooked claws, a strange form, and an unnatural aura of power I still can’t explain."

  Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Fear flickered in every eye.

  "Please, let’s hear what he has to say," the chief interjected, silencing the noise.

  I continued, louder now.

  "This creature is a threat—one that has taken too many of us. We’ve buried our loved ones, we’ve wept and mourned without answers. There has been no peace since this monster came. We must stand together. We must fight back. We must think of a plan—any plan—to end this nightmare."

  Silence fell again.

  Then came the murmuring, the low hum of thoughts being turned over, of worry clashing with hope. Some scratched their heads, others folded their arms or turned to whisper among themselves. No decision was made. Not yet. But something had changed.

  A spark had been lit.