Lady of the Moonlight

No one knew when the war had started. It seemed to have always been. It was a stream of constant battles between the vampires and werewolves. No one could really say when or how the initial conflict began, but an eye for an eye was a proverb both sides followed almost religiously. Authorities had been called countless times to break up the riots. They stopped coming.

The crows and ravens were the messengers of violence. The smart folk knew to stay away from where they flocked; the clever ones bribed them with food for safe passage. The birds took no sides. They only served whoever best served their desires. They watched. And they waited.

The vampires trusted the ravens. The werewolves knew they could count on the crows.

Until one day they couldn’t.

The day she came.

Whispers spread ear to ear. Rumours. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why this school? She was one of the fae. A siren. An elf. A witch. Something else entirely.

Watching her glide by, her feet hidden beneath the hem of her skirts that trailed behind her, made everyone fall silent. Her eyes were dark and shadowed, her hair gold and ethereal, shining even beneath her hood. When she’d passed, everyone blinked a fog out of their eyes and wondered if she’d been real.

The birds flocked to her, an ominous murder foretelling some doom.

All the fighting stopped when she entered the fray. She always walked into the crowd boldly, and it parted before her footsteps like a mist. All breath was stolen from their lungs. Every head turned to watch her pass. When she was gone, they dropped their arms and walked back to whence they came.

All was silent.

The vampires and the werewolves, once bitter enemies, huddled together in fear of her. They cowered whenever a black shape soared over them and spoke only in hushed tones.

One night, when the moon was full and the wind was still, they gathered in the courtyard to confront her. She stood in the centre, head bowed and smiling as though she’d known all along they would be coming.

All the fire in their eyes went out, replaced by a sheer terror whipped up by the sudden gale that whipped around them.

She may have said something. She may have not said a word. All they knew was that she lifted her arms, calling the black birds to her on the wind. When they surrounded her, a whirlwind of nearly impenetrable darkness, she let out a cry.

And she was gone.


No one knows when the war stopped, or when the carrion birds ceased to flock here. In a single night, both were gone, replaced by a fog of memory long gone.


Writing Prompts Week 28: A Story That Ends At Sunrise

“It’s not safe out there,” he said, pulling the curtain closed against the oppressive darkness. A high-pitched wail emphasized his point.

Three figures huddled closer together. One was crying, another consoling him, and the third held the fire poker they’d commandeered as a makeshift weapon.

“And what about Emily?” The second asked. “You can’t expect us to stay here until morning and hope there might be something left of her to find and bury.”

“If I let you out, you’re as good as dead!”

“Well at least I’ll have had the guts to try,” the third one spat. “Step aside!” They strode towards the door, shoving the man aside when he tried to block them. “I’m not abandoning Emily.”

The air outside was filled with high-pitched screaming. Large bat-like creatures flew across the canopy in a blur and the sky was glowing from a large fire not too far off. They forged forward regardless, working their way down the path they knew their friend would have taken before night fell.

Twice, they were assaulted, but they managed to fend off the beasts with their makeshift weapon. Once they nearly turned their ankle as their foot slid down toward the bottom of a gully they had misjudged the location of. There was no sign of Emily.

“Can’t give up,” they muttered, more as an encouragement than out of conviction now.

They eventually came to a thick grove of trees, just outside town, that had dozens of the creatures swooping and screaming at it. None could get past the densely packed branches, though. One spotted them and made to dive at them when it was pierced by an arrow with red fletching. Her arrow.

They wasted little time worming between the trunks that ringed the grove. Stray branches pulled at their clothes and scratched their face until finally there was a gap in the trees.

“Lue! Thank God you’re alright!” A tall figure enveloped them in an embrace, their vision momentarily blocked by the fabric of her robes.

“I could say the same to you, Emily. I thought I was going to find you dead.”

“Not a chance. They can’t get in here, so I’m just waiting for dawn. Or company, I guess. Are you my brave hero?” Her eyes took on that flirty glint that usually sent Lue’s heart crazy, but the effect was dampened by a horrendous screeching from a creature caught in the branches of a tree.

“Huh, holly. Should have thought about that before.”

“I told Eirik they would be weak to that, but would he listen? No. And now we have to hole up in that silly shack every night.”

“I mean, would you rather be there or here, though?”

“At least here there’s fresh air. And I can watch the sunrise.”

Suddenly, the air was filled with piercing shrieks from every direction. Both of them flinched initially, but Emily recovered quickly once she jammed pieces of cloth in her ears. She gestured for Lue to do the same and beckoned them to follow her up a tree. They looked at her like she had gone completely crazy, but followed her all the same.

Rather than being beset upon by the creatures, they were treated to the sight of them all fleeing in the same direction away from the rising sun. It was the most beautiful sunrise they’d ever seen.

“We should head back,” Lue finally stated. “The others are worried.”

Writing Prompts Week 9: A Creepy Story

Machines hummed and whirred. A man rubbed his eyes and adjusted his position on the chair. Too many late shifts were taking their toll.

The monitors flickered for a moment, a blink and you’d miss it occurrence. Hallways and holding rooms were displayed, their occupants either curled up in their corners or pacing endlessly. One was scratching at the walls of its cell, howling, but soundless to the cameras watching it.

The man was startled out of his chair when an alarm blared. With a panic, he scoured the screens for any sign of a disturbance. None of the alert lights were lit either. And, just as quickly as it had started, the alarm stopped. Everything went dark.

The man’s breath caught in his throat and he had to force himself to swallow the rising lump of anxiety. He’d trained for this. Shaking fingers fumbled for the flashlight on his belt. He couldn’t stop the sigh of relief when it switched on and illuminated the space before him.

Something groaned. It was long and deep, like metal slowly buckling under the pressure of a large amount of water.

The man reached for the gun under his desk and started towards the door. The hallway before him was pitch black and yawning. Step by careful step he walked through the darkness, his light barely able to illuminate the area before him and adding to the eeriness of the place.

Something fell.

Don’t look. Never look. It’s a distraction.

Onward, he walked.

Was the air getting thicker? Probably just nerves.

Focus. Don’t turn around.

Another low groan. Closer. A creek.

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. Don’t turn around. Do not turn around.

Something brushed the back of his neck. He whirled around out of instinct. Nothing was there.

There was a clatter as the flashlight fell to the ground, then flickered out.

Writing Prompts Week 8: A Story Set During a War

The bombs fall nearly every day. Strange soldiers in dark uniforms sweep the streets with their tanks and vicious dogs, searching for survivors. Every morning and every evening right before it gets dark.

They’re not so scary.

The soldiers only come during the day. I can see them. The monsters come at night.

They were people once, before they died. Souls of the dead, fed on hatred and violence until they gained a corporeal form, twisted and horrific. None of them look the same, except for those glowing red eyes. They chase me and that’s all I can see.

The monsters hate the light. They chased me into a burning building once. I found a concrete niche that I’d squeezed myself into. They couldn’t get me because of the firelight, but it was so hot. Others were chased there too. They didn’t make it.

I don’t know why I’m still here. Food is scarce. I get my water from the rain and puddles, but it’s poisonous. Every day I’m sick. The medicine’s all gone.

I’m giving myself up to the soldiers today. I’m too tired to fight anymore.


“Don’t leave me,” she begged.
The man did not listen to her pleas and continued to walk.
“Please,” she went on, “don’t leave me here alone to die!”
The man paused a moment, just long enough to light a ciggarette. He tilted his head to glance back at her. “You dug your own grave, baby, now lie in it.”
As the man’s footsteps faded away, shadows began closing in around the girl’s pathetic shaking form.
“No. Go away,” she whispered.
The shadows did not heed. From one there was a brief flash of light off a knife. Another, the muffled smack of a bat against a hand. From yet another still resounded the harsh echo of a pipe scraping the concrete.
“Any last words, traitor?” One of the shadows asked as they all converged over her body.
The girl looked up at the shadows and spat at them. “D*mn you all to Hell.”
Blood ran down the alley along the streams of rainwater to be washed away down the drain.

The Real Book of Shadows

They told me it was safe, I was safe. Nothing to fear except for fear itself. That’s what they had told me, and I believed them. Why did I believe them? Why did I let them goad me on into the darkness?
It hadn’t been my first time at the tree. When I first went there, I was exploring my new neighbourhood. I happened across the little gully in the forest that housed the old tree. I had found a dead bird there, its eggs laying smashed across the ground beside it. The second time was one summer when the neighbourhood kids sent me down on a dare. There was a rabbit carcass, caught in a trap and forgotten. The third time was in winter. I had gotten lost and slipped into the culvert after tripping on an icy rock. I landed right beside a body, the bright red blood still draining out and staining the shaded snow in a little river down the incline. We were forbidden from going into the forest after that.
This time was different. I had neither ignorance nor misdirection sending me to that place, even the other children hadn’t needed to coerce me into going. That day I just had this unbearable need to visit that place, so when the boy next door mentioned sneaking out to play Blair Witch in the area, I jumped on the idea.
In the middle of the night, when my parents were fast asleep, I climbed out my window to meet the others. There was only one flashlight between the nine of us, but no one turned it on. The waxing moon provided more than enough light to guide us to that forest.
I was made to be the witch. The other children would fan out around the forest and enter, their goal being to find the witch and steal her light before she “devoured” them with it. Shoving the light in my hands, they instructed me to find a place to be my lair. I complied; I already had the perfect place in mind.
I all but ran to the gully. The police tape from the murder investigation the previous winter had long since been collected, though a few lone strips fluttered in the wind where they had been hopelessly caught by the twisting branches of briars. That’s when I found it.
It was a cave. From the outside it looked rather ordinary, hardly like a cave at all, in fact. Just a big old tree with roots sprawling over a hole, barely noticeable this time of year when the dead leaves cover everything. Come to think of it, dead was a rather appropriate word to describe the whole area. Any given time of the year, death seemed to cling to that place like a leech.
In the dark, I had fallen into the hole between the roots. I watched as the leaves fluttered to land all over me from above, backlit by the moon that shone between the ominously bare limbs of the tree. I managed to climb out on my own, skirting the edge of the roots until I found one to pull myself up with. A shower of earth fell on top of me as I tugged on the makeshift rope, but the root itself held strong, so I used it.
In a weird twist of coincidence, all the children came upon my “lair” at once, seeing me rise from the dirt. A few of the more skittish ones went running, shouting everything from “it’s a zombie” to “the Blair Witch is real”. Only four remained.
“What did you find?” One of them asked nonchalantly.
“It looks like there’s a tunnel under there,” commented another as he stuck his head down to where I had just been.
Naturally, everyone’s curiosity was instantly peaked, and, naturally, I was picked to be the great explorer. They said it was because I was the one with the flashlight and something about some sort of treasure being hidden there, but deep down I knew the real reason; they were all too scared to go in themselves and I was the dispensable new kid on the block.
All alone I braved the descent back into the cave. All alone I walked down the tunnel, the light of the dying flashlight illuminating the smallest amount of path before me.
Time wound long in that place. Each step I took towards the end seemed to only pull it farther away from me. Each breath I released brought the darkness in closer, increased the tension inside me.
My flashlight went out and a noise exploded behind me from the darkness, both muffled and amplified by the shadows at my back. I broke into a dead run. Faster and faster until I came to a dead end. On a lectern sat a book bound in black leather, a lone candle flickering beside it. Fear forgotten, I ran my hand over its surface, feeling the odd veins that stood up from the burnt flesh of the cover. I’m not sure if it was my imagination, but I could have sworn they were pulsing ever so slightly, as if blood were flowing within them.
Another noise, a horrible unearthly sound, echoed from the blackness of the tunnel. Something drew me to open the book, some strange feeling that reading its contents would offer me some form of protection from whatever was coming for me. My hands moved of their own volition, opening the tome to a page near its centre.  It was blank. Another, closer noise lead me to turn around and face the darkness.
The candlelight from behind cast my shadow over the book, revealing the words hidden on the pages, inked in fresh blood. I didn’t even realize I was speaking the strange language before me until my voice rose in volume, echoing through the darkness and back to me. All the shadows seemed to bleed off the walls and into the book, leaving the tunnel in a state of grey twilight. The book fell unheeded from my hands to land by my feet, a scream tearing itself from my throat. What have I done?
I ran to the corpses of the children, strewn across the dirt like rags, their blood being leached out by the very soil itself. Behind me, the book had opened to a new spell. From its pages rose a monster more terrifying than the shadows it had been created from.
The creature stepped onto the earth, creeping its way up to me until its closeness was tangible. I had barely the time to turn around before the thing drew back a long, dagger-like arm and stabbed me through my heart.
As the shadow absorbed my life, I heard a voice in my mind. “You have my sincerest gratitude for finding the book, my dear,” the voice hissed. “As thanks, you have the privilege of becoming my new body.” I felt ice run through all my veins before everything went dark.
Someone, please, release me from the Book of Shadows!