Chapter 27: Wedding turend into Nightmare
They slithered along the edges of the torchlight like living things, defying the natural laws that governed light and darkness.
Where normal shadows remained fixed to their sources, these moved independently, flowing like black water across the stone floor and up the walls.
A child began to cry—little Mara, the baker’s daughter, who had been so delighted by the wedding celebration. Her mother, Goodwife Elara, scooped her up and held her close, shushing her gently while her own eyes remained fixed on the unnatural shadows.
"’Tis not natural," whispered Old Henrik, the village’s senior hunter. His weathered face was pale as parchment, and his hands shook as he gripped his walking stick.
"In all my years tracking through these woods, I’ve never seen the like."
The temperature in the center began to drop, despite the roaring fire in the pit. Breath began to mist in the suddenly frigid air, and the celebratory warmth that had filled the space was replaced by a bone-deep chill that seemed to seep into the very stones of the building.
Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, one of the shadows detached itself completely from the wall and leaped with impossible speed toward the cluster of terrified villagers.
Young Willem, barely eighteen and full of ale-fueled bravado, stepped forward to meet it.
He was the son of a farmer, strong from years of working the fields, and he bore in his hands a simple wooden staff that he had grabbed from beside the hearth.
"Stay back, ye cursed thing!" he shouted, swinging the staff at the approaching shadow.