"Bella," my mother calls out from the kitchen, her voice laced with urgency, "you need to go into town. We are out of tomatoes."
I stand frozen in place, my mind instantly flooding with a torrent of memories from my last visit to town. The sensation of dread washes over me like a cold wave, tightening its grip around my chest as I vividly recall the overwhelming anxiety that consumed me during that time. Yet, beneath that wave of fear, lies a persistent tug at my heart, a reminder that I cannot disregard my mother's heartfelt plea.
Our stock of fresh produce has run dangerously low. The last crop we managed to grow perished in the unforgiving grip of winter, leaving our soil depleted and incapable of supporting life. Our only recourse is to seek out vegetables from the market in the nearby town of Windsparrow.
The townsfolk seem to regard me with a mixture of suspicion and unease, muttering cryptic phrases under their breath. It was as though an invisible barrier stood between us; no one would approach me unless I made the first move. It was a bit unsettling how they all just stopped what they were doing, staring with lifeless eyes in my direction.
"Now, Isabella!"
Startled by the sudden sound of my mother's voice, I jolt upright in bed. As I hastily made my way out of my room, I caught sight of my mother standing in the hallway, her hand resting on the railing as she gazed up at me from the foot of the stairs.
"Go, now. Dinner will be ready by the time you get back."
I take a deep breath to calm the nervous flutter in my chest. The thought of venturing into the market at this time of night fills me with apprehension. When I steal a glance behind my mother, I notice the gentle, warm light seeping in through the window. The soft, fading shades of orange and violet signal the approaching sunset, hinting that nightfall is just around the corner.
"Why now? It's almost dark," I say. However, from my mother's stern gaze, I know I have to go, whether I like it or not.
"You'll be fine. Take Zeke with you if you want."
My attention is drawn to the immense, dark log sprawling across the ground. At the sound of his name, Zeke raises his head, his long tongue extending from his mouth, his gaze fixing upon us.
I nervously clamp down on the tender flesh of my cheek, a habit formed from countless moments of anxiety. Despite Zeke's imposing figure, with his lean build and powerful muscles that ripple beneath his shiny, onyx coat, he is actually quite harmless. Nonetheless, his company provides me with a sense of security. Perhaps with him by my side, I can avoid unwanted interactions.
"Come on, Zeke," I say wearily as I drag my feet down the creaky wooden stairs of our old, cozy home. Our 3-year-old black German shepherd, Zeke, jumps up from his resting spot, his glossy onyx fur shimmering in the fading light that seeps through the window. His thick, bushy tail wags vigorously, brushing against the walls in excitement. I hastily slip on my worn-out shoes, trying to avoid stepping on Zeke's excited paws and make my way to the front door.
"Let's make this quick. This place always creeps me out."
Although the stroll to the market is fairly brief, we must navigate through the dense, whispering forest that stands as a natural barrier between us and the small town.
While the town itself has an eerie charm, it pales in comparison to the foreboding presence of the forest looming before me. Despite my reclusive nature, whispers of this ominous place have reached my ears, tales woven into the fabric of local lore.
Known as the Dark Forest or Haunted Forest, it has garnered a notorious reputation; stories abound of those who venture in, only to vanish without a trace. Some locals insist they simply lost their way among the gnarled trees and thick underbrush, succumbing to the forest's bewildering twists and turns. Yet, others murmur of darker forces at play, hinting at a more sinister reason behind the disappearances that send shivers down my spine.
The prevailing theory suggests that a demonic coven of dark vampires resides deep within the heart of the ancient forest, hidden away in a shadowy cave shrouded in mystery. Under the cloak of night, these vampires emerge from their inky lair, their eyes glowing like embers in the darkness as they silently stalk the woodland. They lie in wait for unsuspecting travelers who venture too close to their domain, or in my case, unsuspecting humans taking the trail to the nearest town.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting elongated shadows through the dense canopy, the forest transforms into a realm of unease. The air grows thick with anticipation, and my hands tremble slightly around the metal handle of my flashlight, its feeble glow struggling against the encroaching darkness. I resist the instinct to turn my head; I know that if I allow my gaze to wander, the fleeting outlines of trees may morph into looming figures, and my imagination will conjure specters of fear that aren't truly there.
With my eyes trained on the rugged dirt ground, scanning for elusive roots and small, stubborn twigs hidden among the earth, my feet instinctively carry me toward the town. The rhythmic crunch beneath my steps keeps me grounded. At this moment, I don't even need to glance up to know my destination. The trail remains unwavering, guiding me straight to where I need to be, its path stretching out like a promise, resolute and clear.
If I had been paying attention, I might have noticed the pair of glowing red eyes following me down the path.
~•~
After a brisk 20-minute walk through the crisp evening air, we finally arrive at the quaint town of Windsparrow. The street lamps cast a warm, golden glow, illuminating the cobblestone pathways and creating inviting pockets of light amidst the gathering dusk. The delicate silhouettes of the trees frame the horizon, with the sun just beginning to set, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and red. A quiet serenity envelops the town, and only a handful of townsfolk can be seen, their shadows merging with the tranquil surroundings as they go about their evening routines.
My eyes are drawn to the nearest booth, where a woman sits in stillness. She gazes blankly ahead, her dark brown eyes reflecting a haunting emptiness devoid of emotion. If I weren't so familiar with the people of this town, I might perceive her behavior as incredibly rude and overly narcissistic.
Slowly walking toward the lady, I offer her a soft smile. She stands there, eyes focused on the ground, an unreadable expression masking her features. Of course, she doesn't smile back at me, her lips remaining a serene line.
"Hi," I say when I reach her booth. "Can I have a tomato, please?"
Her vacant eyes slowly drift towards mine, a flicker of life barely breaking through the haze of her expression. With stiff and mechanical movements, she reaches beneath the booth, her hand emerging with a single, vibrant red tomato. It glistens under the dim light, its skin smooth and taut, and she carefully places it into the bag before me.
I smile at her, placing a few dollars on the table. Suddenly, she opens her mouth and starts chanting. "Tha Prionnsa na h-Oidhche air tighinn."
My eyebrows crease slightly, put off by her sudden words.
"Umm... are you okay?" I ask, getting a good look at her. However, she stares blankly ahead, repeating those words over and over again.
Zeke next to me starts to whimper, and that's when I hear them—the unmistakable sounds of horse hooves beating on the dirt ground. Whoever was coming was coming fast.
Without any prior indication, the lady abruptly shuts her booth, the metal divider slamming down perilously close and nearly pinching my finger off. A startled squeak escapes my lips, a sharp sound that pierces the air as I flinch back in surprise.
"Come on, Zeke. We need to go," I whisper. Dashing toward the towering stack of weathered boxes, I glanced over my shoulder, praying that whoever was approaching wouldn't catch sight of me.
As I glide my hand along the rough, splintered surface of the crates, I leap over them, quickly taking cover behind their sturdy frames with Zeke crouched to my left. His claws scratch at the dusty earth, leaving faint marks as he whimpers softly, his chocolate brown eyes looking around anxiously.
"Shh, it's okay. We'll be okay," I pet him, trying to calm him down.
Suddenly, all sounds vanish, plunging the world into an unsettling silence. The air feels thick and heavy as if it's holding its breath alongside me. Even the birds have fallen silent, leaving behind a haunting stillness. All that remains is the relentless thrum of my heartbeat, echoing in my ears like a distant drum. Yet, if I strain my senses just a little further, I can detect the deep, rhythmic breaths of the horses, their powerful bodies stirring just beyond the barrier of the crate.
My breath hitches, and I hope and pray that whoever is riding those creatures doesn't find me.