The night air struck Arin like a blow. It was cold and damp, and thick with a silence that didn't feel natural.
Behind him, Layla slammed the door shut.
For a moment, all Arin could do was stand on the packed dirt path, breath misting in front of him as he stared at the warped grain of the old wooden door.
He could barely make out the sound of Layla's hurried steps running deep into the house.
'Layla?' Arin whispered, frozen in place. 'Layla - no -'
He wanted her to open the door, to laugh and tell him that this was all some kind of twisted, stupid joke. A dumb prank her family pulled on unsuspecting outsiders. Some kind of test of courage.
But she was gone.
Only silence greeted him now. That strange, suffocating quietness that stretched too long and pressed too close.
Arin backed away slowly, eyes wide and throat dry. The air stank of old dust and decay. Even in the dull moonlight, he could tell that something about the village had changed.
'We are already dead.'
Layla's words echoed in his mind. They overlapped with that scream of indiscernible rage he'd heard from deeper within the house. Had that been her father? That calm, smiling man who'd spent the evening trying to get him to help out in the fields? And the sobs that he had first woken up to -
Arin stumbled, nearly tripping over a piece of rotten wood half-buried in the ground.
'Okay,' he whispered, as though saying it aloud would make it real. 'Okay. Leave. I just have to leave.'
And stay hidden.
He turned, taking in the village of Lullwater under the dim moonlight. It was utterly silent. Not a single dog barking. No crickets. Just stillness. And rot.
The houses, quaint and charming under the late afternoon sun, were now twisted and sunken. Their shutters were askew, and the roofs sagged, almost as if in exhaustion. One had collapsed entirely, revealing only a jumbled blackness within.
But Arin had seen that house, just hours ago; tidy and well-kept, with flowers lovingly arranged on the sill.
Whatever illusion there had been, had rotted away with the rising moon.
Arin suddenly heard a low groan carried by the soft breeze. It came from somewhere very close to him. Even as he stood still, it sounded again. It came from behind the house to his left.
It couldn't have been Layla.
Arin ran.
He bolted down the dirt road, the one he'd walked earlier in the day with Layla by his side. Each step kicked up a cloud of dust that clung to his skin, filled his breath, and coated his throat.
Behind him, he heard the front door of Layla's house burst open.
Arin didn't dare turn around.
He raced past the hulking silhouette of the ceremonial hall. The building was now entirely covered in a thick growth of ivy, and all details besides its size were obscured from view.
Weeds tugged at Arin's sandals, and he only just managed to avoid tripping over a rusted plow that lay broken by the path. As he ran, Arin was painfully conscious of the darkened windows of the houses along the dirt path. He couldn't see within, and didn't stop to try, but even so, he could feel the prick of several gazes directed at him.
He turned a corner, then skidded to a stop. Right in front of him, in the middle of the path, stood a woman.
Streaks of dark red marked where she'd also had blood pouring out of her orifices. It seemed to have stopped, as though her body had run out. The woman's skin had turned mottled and dry, stretching her mouth into an involuntary grin, and her eye sockets were hollow and empty.
She raised a tattered hand, as though to draw his attention, or tap his shoulder, or catch him. Arin didn't wait to find out.
He ran again. Panting, he kept his sight facing ahead, and raced in the direction of the exit. It was still far, too far, but at least he knew exactly where it was. He would make it out.
He'd forgotten all about hiding.
A large-ish stone whizzed through the air, hitting the side of his head with a sickening thud. It hurt, it really did, and Arin skidded to a stop. Even so, Rin apparently had a thick enough skull that he didn't get disoriented, and was able to dodge when he noticed another dark mass hurtling towards him.
'Outsider. You did this. You did this!' It was a young boy, a lanky teenager who must've once had a handsome face. It was barely visible now, through the blood streaks and an expression pulled into an angry snarl.
He was holding a heavy-looking spade in one hand, and pulled back his arm as if to hit Arin with it.
What the hell, dude.
Arin leaped away, then twisted his body to avoid another stone thrown from the boy's other arm. 'Damn it! Why?' he huffed, turning to run and put some distance between them.
'You did this! You… ruined everything. Killer.' hatred dripped from the boy's hoarse, broken words.
He swung the spade again. It missed, and drove deep into the side of a house. The old wood shattered into splinters and dust, holding the tool in place. The boy stopped to pull it out, and thankfully, fell behind.
After running a while longer, Arin ducked and turned into a yard with an old, weathered coop. He crouched down behind it and hid himself in the shadows. Breathing in the scent of damp earth and rotten wood, he waited in silence for a minute.
Soon enough, he heard the rush of footsteps - multiple sets of footsteps - racing down the path he had just abandoned.
'He did… this.'
'Find him!'
'Don't let… that monster escape again.'
'Slash him. Burn him. Kill him.'
None of the voices belonged to that boy, or even to Layla's father. Arin didn't recognize them. Then again, he didn't need to. So many people had seen him when he'd walked through Lullwater in the evening. They knew he was in the village.
And they wanted him dead.