The world was damp, cool, and layered in shadows—a realm of earth and rot. I emerged from beneath the decaying wood that served as both shelter and sustenance for my kind. The scent of mildew saturated the air, and the faint trickle of morning dew seeped through the layers above. It wasn't morning as the giants might know it. The sky, a muted gray, barely penetrated the forest of grass blades towering like ancient trees. But for me, it was morning enough.
We were a colony—brothers and sisters, nearly identical in form, all moving to the same rhythm of survival. In this small corner of a Kentucky backyard, life was a cycle of eating, hiding, and avoiding death. I often wondered if others in the colony ever thought about our lives beyond the simple tasks we performed. I knew I did.
My name? No, we didn't have those. Names were meaningless when every face mirrored the next. But I was different. Maybe it was my cracked third plate along my back or my tendency to linger at the edge of the colony, staring out at the wilderness of the grass. I liked to imagine myself as a scout, a thinker, or maybe just a fool. But something within me always wanted more.
That morning, the air was still. The usual hum of the world outside—the chirping of crickets, the distant rustle of leaves—was muted. It wasn't the comforting stillness of dawn, though. It felt heavier, as if the earth itself was holding its breath. The colony stirred around me, dozens of legs clicking softly against the damp soil as my siblings went about their routines. Some nibbled at the soft wood beneath the bark, their mandibles working steadily to break down the fibers. Others dug shallow burrows in the earth, a precaution in case the sky opened up and sent sheets of water cascading through our world.
I moved among them, blending into the rhythm of survival. Yet, as always, my thoughts wandered. What was beyond the bark? Beyond the moss and the soft, rich soil? I'd ventured to the edges before, but my bravery always faltered when the open world loomed ahead, a vast and uncertain expanse. Still, I couldn't shake the pull, the whisper of something greater calling from the unknown.
"Watch your edges," a rasping voice interrupted my thoughts. It was Old Grain, the eldest among us and the one who had seen more cycles than any of us could comprehend. His shell was pitted and scarred, his antennae drooping like wilted grass. He was missing a leg on his left side, but it never seemed to slow him down. He watched me with an intensity that made my legs twitch.
"You've got the look of one who forgets how fragile you are," he said, his mandibles clicking with amusement. "Keep your mind where your legs are, little one. The grass is not as kind as it looks."
I dipped my antennae in acknowledgment and scuttled away, embarrassed. He wasn't wrong. My curiosity had gotten me into trouble before. But as I moved, his words lingered like the scent of rot: "The grass is not as kind as it looks."
The day unfolded in its usual rhythm. The colony fed, burrowed, and occasionally ventured to the edges of the bark to scavenge. I joined in, chewing on the soft fibers of the wood, but my heart wasn't in it. The pull of the unknown was too strong. By mid-morning, when the dampness began to evaporate slightly and the soil grew firmer, I made my move.
I slipped away from the cluster of my siblings, my legs carrying me toward the edge of our shelter. The bark arched above me like a protective shell, its underside dark and alive with fungus and lichen. But as I crept to the edge, the light grew brighter, the shadows thinner.
The open world lay before me—a sprawling jungle of grass, its blades swaying gently in a breeze I couldn't feel. The ground here was different, harder and dotted with tiny stones. I hesitated, my antennae twitching as I tasted the air. It was sweet, tinged with the faint scent of decay. Something was out there, something worth discovering.
I pressed forward, my legs moving cautiously across the unfamiliar terrain. The colony's bark was a safe distance behind me now, but I didn't look back. The scent grew stronger, leading me through a maze of grass blades until I found it: a fallen berry. It was small, no larger than a droplet of rain, but its skin glistened with moisture, and its aroma was intoxicating. My mandibles clicked in anticipation.
I reached out, tasting the air around it, savoring the moment before I would claim my prize. But then, the shadows shifted.
A faint hum reached my antennae first—a rhythmic, mechanical sound, faint but growing louder. My legs froze. The grass above me swayed unnaturally, though the breeze had stilled. I crouched low, pressing myself against the ground, my shell flattening instinctively. The sound grew closer, accompanied by a sharp, deliberate clicking.
And then I saw it.
High above me, perched on a blade of grass, was a shape that sent a cold wave through my entire body. Its head was triangular, tilting unnaturally as it scanned the ground below. Its eyes were vast, twin pools of black that gleamed with an unrelenting focus. And its legs—those terrible, serrated legs—twitched with anticipation.
A mantis.
I didn't move. I didn't breathe. The stories Old Grain had told came rushing back: "Shadows with hunger," he had called them. Hunters who moved like ghosts and struck like lightning. I hadn't believed him before. Now, staring up at the creature that seemed to pierce through my shell with its gaze, I knew how wrong I had been.
The mantis shifted, its head tilting sharply. It had seen me.
It happened in an instant. The mantis lunged, its forelegs slicing through the air where I had been a moment earlier. My legs churned against the soil, driving me forward as adrenaline surged through my tiny body. The ground blurred beneath me as I darted through the grass, weaving frantically to evade the predator's relentless pursuit.
The hum of its wings filled the air, a terrifying reminder that it was faster than I could ever hope to be. I didn't dare look back. All I could do was run, my shell scraping against stones and debris as I pushed myself harder than I ever had before.
The bark. I had to reach the bark. It was my only chance.
I could see it now, a dark shape looming ahead. My legs burned with the effort, but I pushed on, the sound of the mantis growing louder with every heartbeat. Just as I reached the edge of the bark, I felt a sharp tug at my back—a graze from one of the mantis's forelegs. It was enough to send me tumbling forward, rolling clumsily into the safety of the shadows.
I lay there, trembling, as the mantis loomed just outside the bark's edge. Its massive head tilted down, its eyes scanning the darkness. For a moment, I thought it might reach inside, pull me out like a berry from a bush. But it didn't. After a long, tense moment, it hissed softly and retreated, its wings carrying it back into the grasslands.
I wasn't safe. Not really. The predator had seen me, tasted my scent. It would remember. And predators always returned.
When I told the others what had happened, the colony fell silent. Old Grain listened intently, his antennae twitching as I described the mantis in detail. When I finished, he sighed, his entire body sagging as if the weight of the world rested on his fragile frame.
"It's come," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The shadow with hunger."
The others murmured in fear, their legs clicking anxiously. Some suggested we abandon the bark, find a new shelter far from the mantis's hunting grounds. Others argued that we wouldn't survive the journey, that the grass was more dangerous than any predator. Old Grain silenced them all with a wave of his antennae.
"We've faced them before," he said, his voice firm despite his age. "And we will face them again. But mark my words: this one is different. It won't stop until it has its fill."
That night, I lay awake beneath the bark, my antennae quivering at every sound. The shadows felt darker, the air heavier. I could still hear the hum of the mantis's wings, the scrape of its legs against the ground.
Sleep didn't come. And deep down, I knew Old Grain was right.
The shadow with hunger had found us.