There was an old story lauded by bards in smoky pubs and parents at midnight.
It spoke of envy, violence, and greed. Of how pure evil once walked the world, unchangeable and unforgivable. Those touched by it could never be redeemed.
The Demons. They were that evil.
Since the sixteenth century, the kingdom had hunted them relentlessly, burning their breeding grounds and slaughtering every last one. Until no evil remained.
Yet the warning still lingered in every book, recurred in every mind: Demons were not to be trusted, spoken to, or allowed near your home. No matter how harmless they appeared, inviting one inside only made it stronger.
"And that is why we don't stay out past noon," Theresa muttered, closing the small book and returning it to the shelf. "I still don't know why you like this stupid thing."
"But the book is real, right?" Finn asked. "Demons do exist?"
"Not anymore." She turned, brushing a hand through his dark hair. "The kingdom wiped them out on the Night of the Devil's Slaughter. My grandmother lived through it. She told me everything."
"If they're all dead then... why do we still have to stay inside before dusk, and why can't I leave the mountain?"
Theresa sighed, eyeing him. "Is that why you made me read it? So you could trap me here answering questions?"
Finn nodded sheepishly.
She glanced out the open window. The sheep were returning from their graze and her husband Marius, stood by the gate with the dog, herding them into the pens as dusk came.
"Because there's a steep hill outside, Finn," she said gently.
"But Dad goes out there."
"Your father can handle himself."
"I'm not a baby anymore, Mom."
"We are not talking about this!" Theresa snapped, then exhaled, pulling him into a hug. She kissed his forehead. "You know I only want what's best for you."
"Yes, Mom."
"If you got hurt rolling down that hill and broke a leg, do you think Pollie would be sad?"
Finn glanced at the dog's bed in the corner and nodded slowly.
"Good boy." She tucked the covers to his chest. "You can play outside all day tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay, Mom. Good night."
The door closed as candlelight was blown dead, the entire farmland had been nestled high in the mountains, away from the lower city of Damsfort. And that was exactly why she liked it.
This much peace and quiet came at a hefty cost, but she was forever glad she had it.
Theresa exhaled as she walked toward the main entrance to the home, as she passed through the open wooden doors, her husband sat on the small steps leading up to it.
A musket rested in his hands as he glared off into the distance, staring intently at something she couldn't quite see.
"Honey... found what's been killing the sheep yet?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Not yet... but it's still out there." He blew on his chilled hands. "I'm sure it'll come back tonight."
Theresa gazed out across the farm.
It was small… far smaller than most farms that kept this much livestock. Behind the house, rows of pens stretched across the field, each enclosed by tall, barbed fences built to keep the animals from wandering.
Sheep. Chickens. Cows.
They had raised domestic animals for years, sustaining themselves on their yield. Yet for the past few days, their harvests had dwindled.
Two of their cows had gone missing, along with five sheep. At first, he thought they had simply wandered past the fence. Maybe he had left it open one night and maybe wolves had gotten to them.
"I saw blood down the trail," he said, pointing toward a dark corner. "Wool was scattered around there too. Whatever killed the sheep was big, much bigger than any wolf."
"Did you call the guild? Did they send anyone?"
"Tomorrow."
"And you're planning to stay here till they arrive?"
"If that's what it takes to protect mine." Marius declared, the gun steady by his side. "And then... Theresa. I know we're past this, but… I don't think this is a—"
"You don't think it's what?"
Marius shook his head.
"Nothing dear, just go in. Don't worry about me."
"Your son is getting curious." Theresa moved closer, this time sitting directly beside him, staring into the distance as he had been. "He wants to see the outside world you've told him so much about. Wants to see the places in all those books you bought him."
"Really?" He gave a small chuckle. "How old is he again?"
"Twelve, Marius," she reminded him. "He's almost a teenager. God, how I miss my little munchkin who could only say two words... now he's making me tell him stories just so he can trap me."
"They grow up so fast, don't they?"
"When are you going to take him down there?" she asked. "He's so curious now. If you don't show him the world, he'll eventually go looking for it himself."
"I'll take him to the city tomorrow." Marius sighed and got to his feet. "You're right. Just because our lives are over doesn't mean we have to coop him up here with us and our never ending paranoia."
"Since you've figured that out..." Theresa's hands drifted to his neck, working their way down in a slow massage. "I'm guessing you can figure out what I want?"
Marius stared into the distance for two more seconds. As the man of the house, guarding his home was his first priority. Everything else came second...
Well, almost everything.
Marius swooped Theresa off her feet, drawing a giggle from her as the musket toppled to the ground. The two disappeared through the wooden doors, the locks slamming shut behind them.
Mornings usually came fast in the mountains, the whistles of parakeets and mockingbirds echoing across the sky. Sometimes, however, they came too fast for Theresa.
"Mom."
"Mom..."
"Mom, you there?"
Theresa snapped back, staring down a dirty dish in the sink, running water trickling down her arm. Finn stood behind her, a plate of chicken and potatoes growing cold.
"What is it now?"
"What are demons like?"
Theresa let out an audible sigh. She never should have read him that book.
"Why do you want to know?"
"You say they're pure evil," Finn pressed. "But I don't think anything can be pure evil."
"They are," she said flatly, drying the plate with a towel. "They have minds like ours. They understand right and wrong. And they choose slaughter anyway. That's evil."
"But... if I talked to one, maybe I could convince it not to hurt anyone." He said. "I mean, isn't it worth trying?"
Theresa set the plate down hard. "If you ever see a demon, you run straight inside and hide in your room. No matter what you do, do not invite it in. Understand?"
"...But they don't exist anymore, right?"
"They don't. But you heard me. What do you do if you see one?"
"Run inside... and don't invite it in." Finn pouted, staring down and into his cold plate.
"Good. Now eat your food, and go do your chores." She walked toward the back door leading to the chicken pen, in her hand a bag of feed. "And don't bring this up with your dad. Am I clear?"
Finn nodded.
She walked past the door.
Minutes later, his spoon fell into his empty bowl as he stood up, plate in hand.
Finn had only met a handful of people in his life: his mom and his dad, and a few of their friends during his childhood, but most of his interactions had been solely with his parents. He didn't have a problem with it though, as he loved them both very dearly.
But every time he read the books on the shelf, they painted a world that was hard to imagine. A world overflowing with people. So many people that entire cities were filled with them.
He wanted to know what that was like. To have a conversation with someone. To compare hobbies and experiences with a friend in secret.
Finn gulped.
Today was the day.
If not today, then never.
He was going to do it. No doubt about it.
He was going to ask his dad.
"—Can I go to the city with you? Please, Dad! I promise I'll be good," Finn pleaded, his hands clenched together.
"Okay."
"You always do this. It's always that I can't go because I'm too young, or I can't go because I'm too small..." Finn paused, finally processing what his father had said. "Wait... you'll take me?"
"You can come," Marius said as he stood. "But only after I get back. When I do, we'll head into town. Is that fine?"
"Promise!" Finn instantly shouted.
This wasn't the first time his father had agreed to take him out only to never follow through. A promise was definitely the best way to force him into keeping his word.
"I promise." Marius laughed as he walked out the door. "Make sure to help your mother with her chores."
"I will!" Finn shouted, dashing back into the kitchen.
Both of his noodle arms lunged for any cleaning tool he could find. He immediately began scrubbing the walls and floors, his heart racing faster than it ever had before.
He could make a friend in the city, or even better yet, he could make two.
The possibilities were endless.
Hours passed, yet Finn continued scrubbing the floors. Finally getting to his feet, he stared down at his work.
It was perfect. The glossy wooden floor gleamed once more. He exhaled as he tossed the towel aside. That was his task for the day. His mother should have handled everything else by now.
Finn stepped through the back door and stared into the small chicken pen.
The door was open.
Feathers were scattered across the ground in a trail that led farther away.
"Mom?" Finn whispered as he approached, glancing into every corner, bracing himself in case she was trying to scare him.
But nothing came.
"Mom... if you're trying to scare me, please do it quick." Finn shuddered as he followed the trail. "I won't scream, so just get it over with so we can head inside."
Finn stopped halfway.
There were no other noises now except his own.
The chickens had stopped clucking, and the distant cows in the other pen had fallen silent as well.
He gulped.
The feather trail continued, more and more feathers getting added to the pile that lead toward the forest surrounding them, at some point, stains of red had also followed. And once he saw that—blood scattered against the ground.
Panic set in.
Finn bolted down the trail. He remembered his father talking about wolves attacking the farm before. Had they come back? This time while his mom was feeding the chickens?
His mind raced, every worst outcome sticking to his brain as if it had already happened.
Finn stopped himself. Forcing himself to calm down, to think about how to handle this instead of just crying in place. His father... Marius had left earlier to the city, maybe if Finn could go get him, they could search the woods for his mother.
"Alright," he whispered, turning back to the fence. He didn't know the exact path down the mountain, but he would find it.
At least, until—
"Finn..."
He heard his name from the forest, it was his mother's voice. It sounded weak and low, like she had been hurt.
"Mom!" Finn spun around, darted down the steep slopes, and crashed into an underbrush. He stopped at the bottom, his ears sharp.
Yet the voice never came.
Finn trudged deeper into the forest, hoping to catch onto more blood stains or feathers for clues, then he heard something to his side. The snap of wood, and the spark of a flint.
Someone was close by.
He quickly ducked into the bushes, crouching low until he could peek through. His small silhouette snugly fit through, and he watched as an elderly man sat by a campfire, sparking at stone.
Next to the man, on the floor.
"Mom!" Finn dashed through the bushes, getting close to his mother, his arms shaking as he tried to hold her. "What did you do to her?"
"I have done nothing." The man raised his arms up, walking back, an attempt to show he wasn't a threat. "I saw her up the hill a few minutes ago while I was gathering logs, I think some wolves got to her."
"Mom..." Finn's arms shook as blood stained against his clothes, his mother was barely breathing.
He needed to get her to a hospital, no. First he needed to get her to a bed, clean her wounds. No, first he needed to get his father. No, first...
Finn looked down at his mom, his breaths running ragged. He couldn't formulate a thought. He didn't know what to do, he wanted his father, someone.
Anyone.
"Do you need help?" the man asked, hands still raised.
Finn looked at him.
Only now did it truly hit him—the shock of seeing another person. His father had told him multiple times that this mountain was too difficult to scale, that the only people he'd see around were at the valley below, where the city lie.
However, regardless of how this person got up here.
All that mattered right now.
Was that they could help him carry her.
That was the first thought that came into his mind, and he immediately acted upon it.
"Please... I love my mother, I don't want her to die." Finn looked at him, tears welling in his eyes. "I don't want to lose her."
The man rushed forward, a somber look on his face as if trying to reassure him.
"Don't worry... child." He glanced up the hill. "Why don't we carry her back to the farm?"
"Yes, to the farm." Finn wiped his bloodstained hands across his eyes, pushing back the tears as they carried his mother up the hill toward the fences that separated the farm from the forest.
The mountain was high, but the air had never felt cold before, not even in the mornings. The sun always kept everything warm during the day.
But right now, his mother was freezing.
Even when he first grabbed her, he hadn't felt a pulse. Was she dead?
"No." He shook the thought away instantly.
They reached the fence. Finn let go of his mother, letting the stranger carry her full weight, then ran ahead and leapt over the gate.
"Just through here!" he called, pulling the fence open.
The man walked up, eyeing the fence and then Finn. "You live here?"
"Yes, with my parents... that's my mom." Finn glanced at him.
"It's a big place," the man muttered. He looked at Finn again. "I wouldn't want to intrude. Is it okay if I—"
"Just come in quick! Maybe I can run down to the city and get help." Finn scrambled toward the kitchen as the man followed behind.
He burst into the kitchen, yanked the tablecloth off the dining table, and started ripping it into shreds for bandages. He had read about this being done loosely in one of his books, but he didn't really know what he was doing.
"Gauze and... spirits."
Finn dashed to the wardrobe, pulling everything out and letting it crash to the floor until he found the small bottle of alcohol.
He turned quickly. "You'll get better, Mom," he murmured, already moving to run out. "I'll find Dad and we'll all be able to live a regular—"
"Finn, why are you destroying the kitchen?"
He froze.
Fear shot through him like a spark to dry tinder. He slowly turned around and his mother stood there, wiping sleep from her eye as she yawned.
"You back from playing?" She walked forward. "You wanted some water?"
She pulled a cup from the bottom cabinet and brought it to the tap.
"You know the cups are always in the lowest one."
Then she finally looked at him properly, at the ripped cloth in his arms.
"Why did you tear up the tablecloth? Have you gone mad?"
"Mom... why aren't you hurt?" Finn asked, a tear streaking down his cheek.
"What do you mean?" She wondered, still staring at the shredded cloth. "No, you're not changing the subject here. You're going to explain what happened to my tablecloth—"
"I met a man outside... he helped me carry you in. You were dying."
His mother dropped to her knees instantly, hands gripping his shoulders tight.
"What did you just say?"
Finn hesitated, too scared to meet her eyes. Scared of what he might have done.
"You were dying... he said he found you in the forest." His voice shook. "He helped me bring you here."
"An illusion… did you let him in?" she asked, but Finn just stared blankly. "Did you let him in?! Tell me now!"
"...Yes."
Theresa stood up fast, pulling Finn behind her. At that moment, the man walked into the kitchen carrying the mangled corpse of a sheep, its body torn with bites and claw marks.
"Forty years you have eluded me," the elderly man said, stretching his arms as he stepped inside. The mangled body falling to the floor.
The small lanterns held just above the walls flickered as he passed through, the shadows on the walls showing his grotesque transformation.
His hind legs began to grow as he passed the table. A horn sprouted from the side of his head. His skin grew paler by the second.
"Isn't it fair that we have a reunion?" The thing that was no longer a man spoke, its voice echoing like it came from a deep chamber. "After all, the last time I saw you... you slaughtered us all."
"I knew you didn't die that day," Theresa said, staring into its darkened eyes. "You foul demon."