The day is Friday. The sky's bright yellow light has already dimmed, replaced by a vast, gloomy ocean of black, dotted with tiny bright sparkles that make the heart flutter. The Queen of the Night watches from above, her radiant glow paving the way for wandering souls.
"The Ben's Den" as it was famously called, sheltered more chaos than what could be defined as Noise pollution , illicit activities and lawful ones are carried out without any interference from a "Blue shirt guy with tiny medal at the shoulder" as Ben like to call the cops.
The street was rowdy as usual, even though robbers lurk in the dark waiting for their victim, nobody seemed bothered about it, after all robbery is nothing new in ASHEVILLE.
Mrs. Barker's "Old Little Chiave"—the name she gave her old Squeaky Shack's keys—jangled noisily, adding to the chaotic atmosphere.
On the street, Mad Man Jonathan, eyes wide and fixed on the stars, let out a wild howl before jumping around and screaming, "She's here again, everyone! Run for your lives!" But no one seemed to care about his ranting. The townsfolk carried on their chatter, unfazed by his madness.
It had been three years since Jonathan started acting strangely, especially at night. Once a celebrated hunter, he was known throughout the city and deeply respected by his peers. Tall and muscular, with perfectly sculpted features, his bod—as the women swooned to call it—sent hearts racing to Cloud Nine. His peers envied both his beauty and his prowess in the wild.
But everything changed on one fateful night.
That evening, Jonathan set out to hunt some 'would-be steak' for himself. He garbed himself in a coarse linen tunic, worn and stained from many a chase. Over his byrnie—a leather coat hardened by time—hung a heavy woolen cloak, fastened at the shoulder with a bronze brooch to ward off wind and wyrm-frost. Thick hose covered his legs, and on his feet, leather shoes scuffed by bramble and stone.
A broad belt of hide girded his waist, from which hung his trusted seax—a hunting blade, sharp and keen. In his hand, he gripped a taut yew bow, and upon his back rested a quiver of feathered shafts, swift as the hawk's flight. When the hunt demanded it, he carried a long-shafted spear, sure and deadly against great harts and wild boars. A felt cap crowned his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun and storm.
He ventured deep into the forest, every sense sharpened—ears attuned to the soft patter of small creatures or the heavy thud of something far more dangerous... and hungry."
Hours passed as he lay hidden in a shrub, waiting, watching—but the forest was silent. Not a rustle, not a shadow. Frustrated, he decided to retreat, ready to slip back home and sleep the night away.
But then—
A sudden movement.
A massive creature leapt into view, landing with a ground-shaking thud. Its menacing gaze locked directly onto him, unblinking. Jonathan's heart pounded in his chest. Fear prickled his skin—but so did curiosity.
The creature... It wasn't a lion, nor a bear. And certainly not a kangaroo. It was something unnatural. Its body was enormous—thick, bulging biceps easily twice the size of a fully grown tiger. But the face... the face was a cruel mockery of innocence—round and small, like a kitten's, with large, glowing eyes, soft and almost... cute. A child's mask over a killer's body.
Jonathan's instincts screamed—Run!—and he did. But his sprint was a mere stroll to the beast.
It closed the distance in seconds.
The creature lowered its face, so close that he could feel its hot breath. Its once-cute features twisted into something monstrous, its eyes narrowing with primal rage. It growled, a deep, vibrating sound that rattled his bones.
Jonathan, trembling, squeezed his eyes shut, every muscle frozen in terror. His body quivered, his breath shallow. This is it, he thought. I'm done for.
But… nothing came.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The beast was... gone.
His heart thudded in confusion. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the fog of disbelief. Was it a dream? A hallucination?
Then
A scream.
A sharp, piercing cry tore through the night. A woman's voice. Fear and instinct battled within him. The forest urged him to flee, but his heart refused. Someone was in danger.
Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the sound.
The scene before him stopped him cold.
The horror—raw and unforgiving.
Magdalene and Richard—the town's newlyweds—lay before the beast. Richard was already gone—his lifeless body a mangled ruin. And Magdalene... God help her. The beast toyed with her, rending her flesh piece by piece—savoring her screams.
Jonathan's legs locked. His mind screamed, Do something! But… it was too late. He knew it. She was beyond saving.
Frozen, he watched helplessly as death completed its cruel work. The beast feasted on the lovers until there was nothing left but ruin and silence.
Then, the creature paused.
Its head tilted back—
—and it howled.
But not just a howl—its voice became a chorus of chaos: a grunt, a roar, a bleat, a snarl—a monstrous symphony, as though every beast of the forest spoke through its throat.
And then—before his eyes—it changed.
The hulking mass of muscle shrank, bones cracking and shifting, fur retracting as the monstrous form twisted into—
Her.
A woman.
Beautiful—almost unnaturally so. Pale skin, smooth as moonlight. Brown eyes, glowing beneath the watchful gaze of the Queen of the Night. She wore a red and white tunic, the fabric torn and stained with dirt and blood. White gloves, ruined and dripping crimson.
Jonathan's heart pounded, his breath shallow. His mouth dried. What… What is she?
The woman stood where the beast had been, calm, composed—almost peaceful.
Then—
A tap.
Soft. Gentle. Behind him.
His blood ran cold.
But she's… in front of me...
With a heart that threatened to stop, he turned—
And there she was.
The same woman. Standing at his back. Smiling, her face lit with a playful grin, her eyes twinkling with delight.
His vision blurred. His knees gave out.
And Jonathan—who had faced death, monsters, and madness—collapsed.
Jonathan's disappearance stirred the town. For days, they searched. Magdalene. Richard. And him.
The couple—gone. But Jonathan—
He was found.
In the forest.
Unconscious. Alone.
But alive.
Despite days of care, something had changed. When his eyes finally opened—
Jonathan was no longer the man they once knew.
""You better hide your kids and everything!" he kept shouting, his voice cutting through the night.
A group of boys sped past him on their bicycles, their tires screeching against the pavement, bells jingling as they raced. The chaotic symphony of wheels and chimes sent a jolt through Jonathan. He flinched and bolted, his heart pounding—he hated bells.
When the townsfolk retired to their abodes, and the little lads were chased to their beds, a hush blanketed the street. Mrs. Barker, already deep in her slumber, snored so loudly it seemed her very soul was trying to escape through her nostrils.
The once chaotic street was now perfectly silent—so still that the soft drop of a needle could echo through the night.
The trees lining the road swayed gently, their leaves whispering to the rhythm of the night's musician—the wind.
The silence thickened—so dense that even the faintest whisper could carry across the entire city.
Then—
A loud, piercing squeal shattered the night.
The stillness broke. Animals bolted from their hiding places, scattering in every direction. Yet, not a soul stirred from their sleep.
The stairwell was pitch-black—the lights had gone out. She always kept them off—Mrs. Barker hated light when she slept.
Wrapped in dreams of cute little ponies and cheerful children, her peaceful slumber was suddenly broken—THUD!
A heavy, jarring thump rattled her creaky front door.
Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding. The door was old but sturdy. What could be hitting it at this hour?
She groaned, pushing herself up and fixing her glasses, the frames crooked from years of use. With an annoyed scowl, she shuffled toward the stairs, her slippers scraping against the wooden floor.
"Who the hell is there?" she barked, her voice raspy and dry—more a whisper than a threat.
The dim club lights down the street still glowed faintly, but every other house on the block was dark.
Through the crack of the door, she squinted out
No one.
Just the street. Still. Empty.
Except Jonathan
The poor soul. He stood there—his body tense, his face wild, still wrestling with whatever nightmare had taken hold of his mind.
Mrs. Barker's eyes narrowed.
"Did that stupid worm just bang on my door?" she grumbled, her lips curling into a scowl.
"To hell with you, you piece of dumb shit!" she roared, her voice hoarse but cutting.
Slamming the door, she turned and began her slow, creaky ascent back to her room, grumbling curses under her breath.
Her feet hit the last step, and her eyes fell upon—
Something.
A mound.
A shape—on her bed.
Human?
Her brows knotted.
Curiosity kicked through the lingering annoyance. She edged closer.
The figure was still.
No... It couldn't be—
Her pulse quickened.
It was her.
Or rather—
Something wearing her face.
A splitting image grinning.
Teeth glinting—razor-sharp, too many, too wrong.
The white of its pajamas soaked and smeared with blood.
"Don't run from me", the figure rasped, staggering forward. A crooked smile stretched across her face. "I don't bite…" she added, baring her teeth—bloodied, sharp, and glistening.
She crept closer, each step slow and deliberate, her hand reaching out—fingers aiming straight for Mrs. Barker's heart.
Mrs. Barker stood frozen, her body betraying her. She couldn't move.
Her breath hitched.
Her lips trembled.
Her heart pounded, screaming for her to flee.
But it was too late.
A flash—
Then pain.
She hit the ground with a sickening thud, warm blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the wooden floor. Her chest heaved—still alive, but barely. Her vision blurred, the room spinning as life drained from her body.
Through the haze, she watched in horror—
The figure shifted—twisting, shrinking—
Until—
Jonathan.
His cold eyes met hers, devoid of mercy.
"I did warn you, woman," he said, his voice low, almost amused. "Maybe you'll listen next time."
A smirk curled his lips—
Then—
His body dissolved—melting into shadow—
And he was gone.