The village of Bletchworth was not a village. It was a gravestone.
They stepped off the train onto a cracked, empty platform. There was no station master. No one. A thick, wet fog clung to everything, making the 6 AM dawn feel like a cold, gray midnight. The air was dead silent.
"This," Linda announced, her voice a terrified whisper, "is where people are murdered."
"Don't be dramatic," Emily said, but she pulled her coat tighter. Her "adventure" was gone. This place was... creepy. The fog muffled all sound. It was like they were the only three people left in the world.
"Where is this... person you're meeting?" Emily asked Eiden. "The note said Bletchworth. We're here. Let's find the capital. The main street." Eiden started walking. He was the only one who looked calm. But his eyes were not calm. They were scanning everything. The fog, the empty windows, the dark trees.
The road from the station was just a muddy track. "I am not walking in mud!" Linda hissed. "My shoes are Italian!" "Then stay here and get murdered as you said," Eiden said, not looking back. Linda yelped and ran after them, trying to hop from one dry patch to another.
The fog was so thick they could barely see ten feet. The only sound was the drip, drip, drip of water from unseen branches. "I'd give my entire life for a hot chocolate," Linda moaned. "A real one. From Paris. Not this... this... wet air." Emily, for once, agreed. "He's right, Linda. Be quiet. Listen." "Listen to what? The sound of my soul dying?" "No. The sound of... nothing," Emily said. "No birds. No cars. Nothing."
Eiden held up a hand. He stopped. Through the fog, a shape was coming toward them. A man. He was walking out of the village, carrying a single, worn-out bag. Eiden stepped in front of the girls. The man, old and with a face like a dried apple, stopped when he saw them. He looked terrified. "Whoa, there," Eiden said, his voice calm. "We're just looking for the village. Am I on the right road?"
The old man stared at them. His eyes were wide with fear. "Village? You're... you're going there?" "Yes," Eiden said. "Why?" the man whispered. "Why would anyone go to that place? Don't you know? Everyone's leaving." "What do you mean?" Emily asked, stepping out from behind Eiden. "It's cursed, girlie," the man said, clutching a small cross around his neck. "Them what's still there... they're just food. Food for the shadows. I'm not... I'm not waiting my turn."
He didn't say another word. He pushed past them, almost running, his boots sucking in the mud as he disappeared into the fog. Linda was now visibly shaking. "Eiden. I want to go back. Now."
"We're almost there," Eiden said. He was looking at the ground. "He's right. The footprints are all going this way. Away from the village." "Eiden..." Emily said, her voice small. "We're fine," Eiden said. But he was walking faster.
A new sound. Running. A boy, a little older than them, burst out of the fog, sprinting toward them. He almost ran right into Eiden. "Whoa!" the boy said, skidding to a stop. He had a bright, open face and was holding a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. He was the first normal thing they'd seen. "Oh, sorry!" the boy said, his voice cheerful. "Didn't see you in this soup! Are you... are you lost?"
"We're looking for Bletchworth," Eiden said, relaxing just a little. The boy's eyes sparked. "You found it! Well, almost. Just down this road. I live there! Are you new visitors?" "Something like that," Eiden said. "We just saw an old man on the road. Looked scared." "Oh, that's just Gramps!" the boy laughed. "He's always forgetting things. And he's a bit... spooky. Thinks the village is haunted. He forgot his lunch!" The boy held up the bundle. "I've been running to catch him!" "We just saw him," Linda said, pointing back. "He went that way." "Oh, brilliant! Thanks!" The boy smiled at them. "Well, if you're looking for a place to stay, The Hare and Hound is the only inn! It's on the main square. Tell 'em Tom sent you! Can't miss it!" He waved, then sprinted off into the fog after his grandfather.
"See?" Emily said, letting out a breath. "Just a spooky old man. And a nice boy named Tom." Eiden said nothing. He was thinking. "Let's go. The Hare and Hound."
Following Tom's directions, they found the "main square." It was a few crumbling stone houses and a pub with a crooked sign. The sign showed a rabbit being chased by a dog. The Hare and Hound. "This is it," Eiden said. He was looking at the sign. The Hare is in the open field. This was the place. "Wait, we're staying here?" Linda was horrified. "It's... it's made of wood." "You're cold," Eiden said. "They have a chimney. That means fire. Move."
He pushed open the door. It was dark, but a warm fire was crackling in a huge fireplace. A small, nervous woman was wiping a cup. She looked up, startled, as if she hadn't seen a customer in a year. "We... we need a room," Emily said, stepping forward. "Oh, my," the woman said. "Just... one?" "Two," Eiden said, dropping a few coins on the bar. "Two rooms. And breakfast." The woman looked at the money, her eyes wide. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Just... just be sure to lock your door. After dark. It's... it's for the drafts, you see." "Got it," Eiden said. He was given two keys. He gave one to Emily. "You and Linda take this one," he said. "Stay here. Don't open the door for anyone but me. And... don't go outside." "Where are you going?" Emily asked. "To find the Hare," Eiden said. "He's here."
Eiden left the inn. The nervous innkeeper's warning about "drafts" still echoed in his ears. He stepped back out into the fog-drenched square.
He didn't search. He didn't ask. He just... listened. He walked to the center of the square. He knew how to find someone he needed. He saw the signs anyone would have missed. A small, carved Wolf's-head symbol, no bigger than a coin, scratched into a water trough. A dead raven, a message of 'danger,' placed on the high-street sign.
The Hare was a professional. He was also terrified. Eiden followed the subtle signs. They led him away from the square, down a narrow alley, to the back of a small, forgotten chapel. A man was in the graveyard, pretending to read the headstones. He was tall, thin, and looked more like a professor than a spy. He wore a dark, heavy coat.
Eiden stopped twenty feet away. "The Hare is in the open field," Eiden said, his voice a low monotone. The man did not turn. "But the Wolf is in the shadow." "The carrot is ready?" Eiden asked. The man, Alistair, finally turned. His face was pale and slick with sweat, despite the cold. His eyes were wide with a frantic, hunted energy. "You're just a boy," Alistair whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm the one they sent," Eiden said, unimpressed. "Let's go."
Alistair nodded, pulling his coat tighter. "Not here. This way." He led Eiden through a rusty iron gate, into the stone crypt beneath the chapel. It was dark, and smelled of damp earth and decay. Alistair lit a single, trembling candle. "Did they send you to kill him?" Alistair asked. Eiden's eyes narrowed. "Kill who?" "The... the thing. The... butcher." "I was sent to get your information. That's all."
Alistair let out a sharp, broken laugh. "Information. You think this is about information? You think I sent for a Wolf for a message? I sent for a hunter." The spy grabbed the front of Eiden's coat, his eyes wild. "Tell me, boy. Can you kill? I don't mean men. I mean... a monster."
Eiden's face was cold. He grabbed the spy's wrist and peeled his hand off his coat. "The information. Now." "No!" Alistair hissed. "Not until you agree. Not until you promise to stop it. You don't understand what's happening here!" "What?" Eiden asked, his patience gone. "This village is dying. We're a farm, and something is harvesting us. One by one. Every night, a new... horror."
Alistair pointed a shaking finger at the crypt's wall, where a dozen scratches were carved. "That's how many are gone. In the last two weeks. They don't just die. They're... taken. We find... parts. A hand on a doorstep. A foot in the church bell. They're being killed, Eiden. In the most horrific way you can imagine. This village isn't haunted. It's being hunted."
"A serial killer," Eiden said. "Call the police." "We did!" Alistair laughed. "They sent a man. We found his helmet in the woods. This is not a man. It's the devil. And you... you are a Wolf. You are the only one who can stop it. I am the only one left who knows the signs. I can help you track it. But you... you have to be the one to kill it."
Eiden's mind was racing. This was not his mission. "No. Give me the info. I'll send word to the Den. They'll send Liam. He's good at this." "Send Liam?" Alistair's face went pale. "That's seven days! Another week! We don't have a week! That's... that's seven more people dead! I can't... I won't... I can't let that happen!"
"The mission comes first," Eiden said, his voice ice. "Give me the info." He turned to leave. "You're looking for Evergreen, right?" Alistair said, his voice suddenly calm. Eiden froze. "I know what happened to her," Alistair said. "I know where she is. All of it." Eiden turned slowly. "But I'll die before I tell you. I'll die right here. And this secret... this big 'Evergreen' secret... it will die with me. Unless..." "Unless I hunt your monster," Eiden finished. "Yes." Eiden stared at the spy. He was trapped. He was blackmailed by his own side. "Fine," Eiden spat. "I'll do it. Now, what's the information?"
"Not so fast," Alistair said, a small, desperate smile on his face. "You hunt. You kill. Then I tell you. We do this my way. It's good you came alone. Less... complications."
Alone. The word hit Eiden like a punch to the gut. Emily. Linda. He had left them at the inn. With the nervous woman and the "drafts." "I'll be back," Eiden snapped. "Where are you going?" "Complications."
Eiden burst from the crypt. He ran through the graveyard, vaulting the iron fence. He sprinted through the foggy, empty streets. The village felt different now. It wasn't just empty. It was waiting. He saw the inn. He slammed through the door. "Emily!" The inn was empty. The fire was low. The nervous woman was gone. He ran up the creaking stairs. He kicked open the door to their room. Empty. Their bags were still there. But they were gone.
"I am so bored." Linda had been in the cold, damp inn room for ten minutes, and she was done. "He said not to go outside," Emily said, looking out the window. The fog was thick. "He's not my father," Linda snapped. "And this place smells like old cheese. I'm going to find that... that Tom boy. He was cute. And he looked clean." "Linda, don't be stupid. This place is... wrong." "You're 'wrong'," Linda mocked. "You're just excited because that savage bodyguard of yours is giving you orders." Emily's face flushed. "He is not my bodyguard." "He's whatever you tell him to be," Linda said, grabbing her coat. "I'm going for a walk. Are you coming, or are you going to sit here and be a good little pet?" Emily hated that. She hated being called a pet. She grabbed her coat. "Fine. But we're not going far."
They stepped outside. The fog was thicker. "See?" Emily said, her voice a whisper. "It's creepy." "It's... quiet," Linda admitted. She looked around. "Where is everyone?" "Tom said they were at the main square. This is... the inn. Maybe the village is further down?" Emily pointed. "Well, let's go."
They walked. The mud was a problem for Linda, but her fear of being alone was worse than her love for her shoes. They found a street. It was lined with small, dark shops. A butcher's. A baker's. All closed. All dark. "This is... weird," Emily said. "It's the middle of the day. Where are the shopkeepers?" "Maybe it's a holiday?" Linda offered. "What holiday? 'Everyone Hide from the Fog' Day?"
Emily saw something. A small doll, lying in the middle of the street. "Look." She walked over and picked it up. It was a simple rag doll. Its face was... torn. "Ew, put that down," Linda said. "No, look." Emily pointed. "It's... it's wet." She looked at her fingers. It wasn't mud. It was red. "It's... paint," Emily said, trying to convince herself. "That is not paint, Emily!" Linda shrieked, backing away. "It's blood! That old man was right! We are all going to be murdered!"
"Linda, shut up!" Emily snapped. She dropped the doll. "We're... we're fine. Let's just... let's find Eiden." "Find Eiden? Find Eiden? He left us!" A bell chimed. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. It was the chapel bell. "See?" Emily said, grabbing Linda's arm. "People! It's just a normal village! Let's go to the chapel!"
"I don't want to go to the chapel!" Linda cried, but Emily was already dragging her. They ran through the fog, toward the sound. At the same time, Eiden burst out of the inn. He looked left. He looked right. He saw their tracks. Two sets of small, hesitant footprints, heading into the mud. Toward the main street. "Idiots," he hissed. He sprinted after them, his feet silent, his eyes scanning the rooftops. He needed to find them quickly. And his "complications" were walking right into the middle of a hunting ground.
Emily was already dragging Linda. "The bell, Linda! It's people! It's normal!"
They burst through the fog into the graveyard Eiden had just been in. The small, stone chapel stood silent, the bell tolling slowly, a lonely, metallic sound in the damp air. "See?" Emily said, relieved. "A church." "I hate churches," Linda whimpered, pulling her coat tighter. "They smell like old books and death."
The heavy wooden door creaked open, as if it had been waiting for them. A priest, a thin man with a gaunt face and hollow, dark-ringed eyes, stood in the doorway. "Oh, my children," he said, his voice a dry rasp, like stones grinding together. "You... you are safe. Come in, come in out of the fog." Linda almost wept with relief. A normal person! "Oh, thank you, Father! This place is dreadful. It's cold and..." "Hush, my child," the priest said. His eyes, fixed and unblinking, were not on Linda. They were locked on Emily. "The fog... it brings such... drafts. Such terrible, cold drafts. You must be chilled to the bone. Come, I was just making some tea. A hot drink before you... rest."
"Oh, tea," Linda said, her relief overwhelming. "Yes, please. Anything hot." Emily was hesitant. "Father, where is everyone else?" "Tending to the... duties," the priest said, his voice smooth. He led them not to the crypt, but to a small, wood-paneled room behind the altar. "Please, sit. Warm yourselves. I will be right back." The room was small and windowless. The priest returned a moment later with two steaming cups on a tray. "Here, my dears. Drink. It will chase the cold away." Linda, desperate, took the cup and drank deeply. "Thank you, Father." Emily, ever cautious, looked at her cup. The tea smelled strange. Sweet, like herbs... and something else, metallic. "Drink, child," the priest said, his eyes on her. "It is a special blend. A family recipe." "I'm not..." Emily started. Linda's cup clattered to the floor. "I... I feel... dizzy..." she slurred, her eyes rolling back. She slumped sideways in her chair, unconscious. Emily jumped to her feet, her hand instinctively reaching for the guns she kept hidden under her coat. But she was too slow. The priest moved with a speed that wasn't holy, striking her hard across the temple with a heavy iron candlestick she hadn't even seen him grab. Emily's world exploded in white-hot pain, and then... nothing.
She woke up to the sound of dripping water, and Linda's quiet sobbing. Her head was pounding. She was in the dark. Cold, damp stone was under her back. She sat up too fast, and the world spun. "Linda?" she whispered. "He... he hit you!" Linda cried from the darkness. "And... and he dragged us... down here... and... and... locked us in!" Emily's eyes adjusted. She saw the iron bars at the top of a short flight of stone steps. They were in the crypt. They were trapped.
Eiden followed their tracks. They led to the main street... and then to the chapel. He heard the chapel bell. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. It was slow. Too slow. A funeral bell. He vaulted the graveyard fence, landing without a sound in the wet grass. "Hey! You're back!"
Eiden spun. It was Tom. The boy. He was standing by a headstone, holding his bundle. He was smiling, his cheeks flushed from the cold. "Did you find the inn okay?" Tom asked, his voice cheerful. Eiden's eyes were flat, green ice. "Where are the girls?" Tom's smile faltered, just for a second. He cocked his head, a gesture like a curious bird. "Girls...?" Then, his face changed. The cheerful mask didn't just melt; it cracked. The warmth vanished. His eyes went cold and dead and vast. "Oh," Tom whispered, his voice different. A low, gravelly rasp that seemed to come from his chest, not his throat. "You mean the new girls. The... fresh ones. How... delicious."
Tom dropped his bundle. It unrolled. It wasn't lunch. It was a set of long, gleaming butcher's knives, honed to a razor's edge. He moved. He was not a boy. He was a blur. He lunged at Eiden, a knife flashing for his throat in an ice-pick grip. Eiden, shocked by the sheer, inhuman speed, barely got his arm up. The knife point screeched against the hard-packed muscle of his forearm. Eiden countered, a "Mountain" block, and slammed a fist into Tom's ribs, a blow that could shatter wood. It was like punching a stone wall. Tom just laughed, a high-pitched, giggling sound. "A fighter! Oh, good! I love when they fight! It makes the meat so... tender!" This was not a simple killer. This was something else. Strong. Fast. Insane.
A villager peeked out from behind a house, drawn by the noise. Tom saw him. His eyes lit up. "Oh, a witness!" he sang. Before Eiden could react, before he could cross the space, Tom abandoned their fight. He crossed the twenty feet in two impossible bounds. He grabbed the villager by the hair. "Tom, no!" the man screamed, his hands flying to Tom's arm. "The fog sees all!" Tom hissed, and drew his knife across the man's throat in one smooth, practiced motion. He shoved the dying man at Eiden. Eiden was forced to catch the heavy, bleeding body, the warm, coppery smell filling his nose. By the time Eiden lowered the man to the ground, Tom was gone. Vanished into the fog, his giggling laughter echoing in the street. A cold, dark, and heavy night was falling. "Fine," Eiden whispered, wiping the man's blood from his hands onto his trousers. "We hunt."
Back in the crypt, Linda was having a full-blown panic attack. She was banging on the iron bars, her knuckles raw. "He locked us in! He locked us in! LET US OUT!" "Linda, be quiet!" Emily snapped. Her head was pounding, but she was not panicking. She was... cold. Her mind was racing. She was analyzing. "He's gone. Yelling won't help. Think." "We're going to die here! That... that thing... the priest... he said we'd be a gift!" "Shut up, Linda. We are not a gift."
Emily's eyes scanned the dark crypt. This was where Eiden had met Alistair, but she didn't know that. She saw the candles. The dozen scratches on the wall. A countdown. She saw a small, dark opening in the back. A side chamber. "Linda, be quiet. I mean it." Emily walked into the chamber. It was small. And it smelled... terrible. The sweet, rotten smell from the stairs was stronger here. She saw a shape, hanging from a low beam. It was the "grandfather." The old man from the road. He was dead, his eyes wide open, his body mutilated. Emily backed out. Her face was pale, but her eyes were hard as diamonds. "What? What is it?" Linda whispered, seeing her face. "Is it rats? I hate rats!" "It's the old man," Emily said, her voice flat. "The... the spooky one? He's... here?" "He's dead, Linda." Linda's scream was muffled by Emily clamping a hand over her mouth. "Now, listen," Emily hissed, her voice a terrifying, low command that cut through Linda's panic. "You're right. We're in trouble. That nice boy, Tom? He's the killer. That 'grandfather' was his. He was 'looking for him' with knives, remember? He's a monster. And that priest just served us to him on a platter."
The sound of the lock scraping came from the top of the stairs. The iron gate creaked open. It wasn't the priest. It was three of the villagers. The same ones who had been hiding in the inn. They looked terrified, but also... grimly determined. "We... we don't want to hurt you, miss," one of them said, holding a thick, muddy rope. "We just want to leave," another said, his eyes darting to the shadows. "He... he said," the first one stammered, "he said if... if we brought him one of... of you... he'd let the rest of us go. He'd... he'd let us out of the village."
They started walking down the stairs, fanning out. Linda dissolved into a sobbing heap in the corner. "No... please... don't! Take her! She's the one he'll want! She's a Cronus! Take her!" "Shut up, Linda," Emily spat. She stood, her back straight, facing the three men. She looked small in the candlelight. "So, that's the deal?" Emily asked, her voice dangerously calm. "One of us. For your freedom." "We're sorry, miss," the man with the rope said. They were closing in. "It's just... we have to. It's you or us." The three men lunged, all at once, to grab her.
"I am so tired," Emily said, "of being grabbed." She moved. She didn't move like Eiden. She wasn't a "River" or a "Mountain." She was a "Princess." As the first man grabbed her coat, she twisted, not pulling away, but using his momentum, slamming her elbow into his nose. There was a wet crunch. As he recoiled, she stepped back, and her hands, which were hidden in her long, elegant sleeves, appeared. They were holding two, small, silver-plated sidearms. Click. Click. She cocked the hammers.
The three men froze. The one with the broken nose was gurgling. They were staring at the guns. "You... you had... guns?" one stammered, his hands half-raised. "My father insists I never be without them," Emily said, her voice like ice. "He's very... protective. Now. Get. Back." The man with the broken nose, his eyes wild with fear of Tom, roared, "She's just one girl! Get her!" He charged. Emily fired. BANG! The sound was deafening in the stone crypt. The man screamed and fell, clutching his knee. A second man charged from the side, trying to tackle her. BANG! She shot him in the shoulder. He collapsed, howling. The third man just dropped to the floor, his hands over his head. "Don't kill me! Please! Don't kill me!" Emily stood over them, smoke curling from the barrels. She was not a "kitten." She was nothing-less than a Monster. "Pathetic," she said, her voice shaking just a little from the adrenaline. She looked at Linda. "Get their rope. Tie them up. Now."