Creative Corner

Cara Bennington stumbled through the snow, her cheeks pale and pinched with cold and her bare hands trembling to match her rapidly beating heart. Her cloak billowed around her as the wind picked up, and she pulled it tighter, the last remnant of her royalty.

The make of the cloth was no special thing - a course wool meant to shelter from the elements, unusual raiment for the daughter of a king. It was the color that made it special.

Red, the color of her family line. Bright, burning, like a smoke-covered sun. The too-bright color that the innocent and the naive believed blood to be. The color of temptation, of rouge flaming high across narrow, painted cheeks, of lips that whispered scarlet lies, of sacrilegious blood - of a different origin - staining the marriage bed.

They had condemned her family for the arrival of the white Winter Wolves. Faced with a growing populous and few resources with which to sustain them, the king had called for expansion. With Everet and Jinsun to the west, Bala and Malaea across the treacherous mountain passes to the east, and the Great Sea to the south, the king had not wanted to wage war against their allies. Instead he had turned to the forbidden north, barren and cruel. It was said only wandering tribes of barbarians and strange spirit-walkers lived there - queer people who followed the old ways, serving the devils, kings, and gods of ancient times.

Cara stumbled with exhaustion, unsure whether the numb glass of her feet still belonged to her. Her breath plumed out before her in a smoky cloud, the unforgiving air stealing her warmth with every exhalation.

It was ironic, really. Her father paid homage to the gods of old, retreating to the temple every moon to present offerings and pay respects. He was devout, and true, but as the voice of the people clamored over the wavering voice in the wind, he misheard the warnings, put his trust in machines as the new instruments of the gods. All the fires of industry were useless against the Winter Wolves. Even when in despair he turned them against his neighbors, as bound by the same growing ice they turned our people away, the wolves indiscriminately devoured. They snuffed the fires with their wind our else stoked them into blazes to consume the rotting dead.

Cara fell to the snow, which was strangely warm. Comfortable. She felt her consciousness drifting, floating away to the distant lullaby of sleep. The land stretched in her mind to where Nana's cottage waited with a welcoming fire and a bowl of porridge. The old queen had always held to a simple life, even upon the throne, though she would never deny reasonable luxuries to those who enjoyed them. The familiar smell of softly-crackling herbs was suddenly sharp and astringent in her nose.

She grumbled softly, her throat cracked and raw. There was a flash of red across her vision, staining the white haze that cradled her, and she jerked up with a start.

Red, the color of a forge, the color of a rosy cheek, the color of blood, splashed down onto her cloak. She raised her hand to the shallow wound on her cheek, looking up into stars - no, constellations above her. Then she realized it was actually snow dotting the coat of a massive black wolf. He was at least her standing height, his shoulders twice as broad as she. His eyes, though - they were captivating in their starless darkness, voids that should have seemed cold but were to her as warm as the center of the world.

"You travel south, young princess," he stated gravely, in a strange, archaic dialect.

"To the house of my grandmother," she responded in kind, moving her words slowly around a thick tongue and sluggish brain.

"Your grandmother betrays you," he growled, startling her into clarity with both his words and his aggression.

"I - I do not understand."

"The Winter Wolves - the scourge of your people and the curse of your line - do you not know their origin? Do you not know the significance of the cloak you bear?" He snarled, tossing his great shaggy head. "No matter, now. We must draw out the poison of the witch from the land and then run to the north, to banish the curse. There we will affix a seal, that with the help of your heart and house will keep them at bay for another age of men."

Cara's head was reeling, but the piercing obsidian of his eyes did not grant her time to gather herself. She stood, her whole body now reeling to match her head.

"Put your hand upon my shoulder," he instructed. "I may not give you warmth, but I can give you haste."

She did so, and felt a strange sensation - a lightness that made her lightheaded as she put a foot down in the thick snow and sprang forward rather than trudging slowly. In the few moments after the sensation set in, she felt his coat - not silky like the Wolves that plagued the land, but rough and coarse.

"We must go," he said, and took off. She ran, keeping pace with him though her lungs stung with daggers of ice and her legs burned in the way the only intense cold could.

At last they reached the small cottage. Cara turned to the wolf with sorrow in her eyes. "I still love her," she said. "I doubt I will ever stop loving her, even should I come to know the full extent of her betrayal. How can I raise my hand against my own blood?"

The wolf turned to her, eyes unfathomable. "That is not your trial to bear. She did not bring you to death, and so that is not the role you must play to her."

She blinked at him.

"I will not coddle you," he roared, "You know what you must do!"

She was about to argue, felt the words rising to her lips, building walls and armor and - and beneath her defenses, she felt the truth of his words ringing. She knew what she had to do.

"You cannot enter?" she asked, in confirmation.

"The place is warded against me. You must get her to grant me invitation."

Cara nodded. Taking her hand from his back, she felt feebleness sweep through her. As she turned to watch him go, she saw he had melted into the dusk.

She half-fell, half-crawled her way to the door, uncertain of how she could get the old queen to let him in. The queen was quick and clever, and a fearsome foe to match wits with.

It rather stumbled upon her as she thumped the door with little force behind it. She forced her faltering eyes wide, letting the snow make them bright and hazy. She pinched color into her frozen cheeks.

The door creaked open. "Oh, my love," her grandmother cried. "You must be half-dead with cold. Hurry inside, please!"

The warmth from inside hit her like a blast from a furnace, and she leaned towards it drunkenly before remembering her task.

"Wai'" she slurred, swaying back again. "I hav' to bring my friend."

Even through her blurred vision, she could see something sharp pass across her grandmother's eyes. Fear spiked through her heart - if she was even remotely suspicious, the task would be that much harder for Cara. She quelled her panic, hoping desperately that she hadn't shown any sign of unease. Everything was banking on how much her grandmother cared for her. Would love really blind?

"My friend," she wailed piteously, though the calling the pathetic sound she managed to make a wail was a stretch. "He's big, an' strong, an' he always protects me!"

Now her grandmother seemed confused. "Is your friend one of the guard? Come on inside, dear, it is simply too cold!" She reached out to touch Cara, but she jerked away, stumbling back into the deep snowdrifts that nearly buried her. Blackness began to close in around her vision, and she knew she had to convince her grandmother now.

She searched for a half-truth she could present, one where the truth half would fall to her grandmother and the lie to her. Somehow she knew that anything the old queen had created could not fall to a lie. She would see right through that.

"No," she protested. "My frien'! Rememb'r? You always said he was real!"

She hung her hope on the fragile wordplay that had sprung to her mind, though it was more true than even she knew. She had claimed a wolf accompanied her, and had created an uproar within her family. The scoldings she had received! And yet, at the edge of it all, her grandmother had smiled faintly and told her not to listen to them, to let the wolf come to her and listen to its words. How could a wolf speak? she had wondered.

Her grandmother's faint smile had returned. "Yes, he may come in," she said in a strange voice, still not stepping beyond the doorway. "But-" Her words were cut short by the splash of her blood on the snow. It was a visceral, ugly scene, and Cara turned away with a cry.

When she looked back, the cottage was dark and cold, and there was no trace of her grandmother.

"Now, you must run until your legs betray you, then I shall carry you until the winds cull your heat, then at last I will swallow you and keep you warm inside of me, for the winds will be cruel and will fight us every step of the way. They know our intent now, if they did not before."

All she could think to say was, "Please don't swallow me."

The wolf laughed, a strange, wild, unsettling sound.

"You will be glad of it in the end, princess, when darkness spreads across your skin and renders it dead, and the snow weighs your eyelids down and threatens to capture you forever."

Then he stepped towards her and spoke more gently. "You shall not face my teeth, Cara Bennington, nor my claws. You have much to do yet, and your tainted heart may yet be purified."


I HAVE BIG PLANS FOR THIS STORY @Sillywinter IT IS NOT FINISHED BY FAR

@Sillywinter

She'd been running for a long time, her breath fogging in the frigid air. It was winter, the ground was frozen, her feet were swollen and her bones were heavy with exhaustion. She fell to the ground, her hands sending up a puff of snow on impact. It didn't matter how many winters she had lived through, she would never get used to the cold. She much preferred to be inside in front of a fire, but she didn't have that option anymore. All that she could do was keep running.

She was running away from her family.

She picked herself up again, ignoring the protest, the stinging in her palms. Her cheeks were hot, and her lungs burned in her chest, but if she stopped running she would face far worse things than a little pain.

They were hunting her, and she didn't understand why. It shouldn't have been a crime worthy of death to defy your father, to choose a different path for yourself. Humans were granted free will for a reason, but no one had told her family that. Because of her family, she was running through a forest in the middle of winter, while the stars dotted the night sky above her.

She tripped on something hard that was hidden by the snow. and fell to her knees again. This time when she put her hands out to catch herself she was greeted with a new pain, sharp and intense, as a stick stabbed into her palm. She cried out and cradled her hand against her. She could not bring herself to get up again, and wondered if she lay where she was, how long it would take for the cold sleep to find her, and carry her off into the void. It wouldn't be such an awful way to die.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, in and out. If she had no other choices left, she could at least control that much.

A grumble sounded from behind her, deep and curious. She froze, her breath suddenly forgotten. She knew that there were things that lived in these woods that were better left alone, but she had not thought she would be unfortunate enough to come across one.

The great black wolf circled around until it stood before her, studying her, it's paws barely leaving a trace in the new snow. It snorted, and its breath clouded around her, so close. She could almost see each strand of its fur, coarse as it was around the muzzle, to become more fine and silky around its ears. It was a beautiful creature, but she was still afraid. She would be stupid not to be.

She held still as it bowed its head to sniff at her wound, waiting for it to attack. her vision began to turn black and she remembered to breathe, her chest rising and falling with the relief of air. The wolf pulled back at the catch of breath, and studied her face. Its eyes were as cautious as her own, almost as if it could feel her sorrow. Despite herself, she began to cry. She was scared, and so alone.

The wolf turned its back on her then. It sat down and looked out into the night, almost as if it had assigned itself to be her guardian through the night. She shifted closer to its warmth, cautiously. It squared its shoulders, casting her an indulgent look after a moment. It was a tense moment, but the wolf allowed her nearness. She knew she was foolish to try and approach a wild animal, but that look it had given her reminded her so much of the one that her mother used to give her, when she was younger. The look she would give when she would coddle her.

Just maybe, if this wolf was willing to lend her its warmth for a night, maybe she would be able to run long enough to earn her freedom once and for all. But, the night was still young, and there were still many dangers to come. She could only hope.

The wolf's presence was warm and steady, and suddenly she wasn't so afraid.

@Sillywinter

Edit: Technically I finished on time. I was just, uh, editing. ;v;

---

The wolf and I watch each other. I felt the fool, having expected a deer or something like it, but I was an idiot for expecting an easy hunt in the dark. Even with the moon nearing its fullest, the snow all but blocked out the light. And the wolf—he was dark as pitch, inky obsidian against the silky white of the snow.

It did not attack, and this surprised me the most. Perhaps this was why I hesitated, an arrow notched in my bow, as the wolf and I looked upon each other. Its eyes were as dark as its pelt, and I thought I could see the stars in them.

I don’t know why I spoke, the wolf was a beast. There was no intelligence to be found there, and still I heard myself say: “Go.”

The wolf watched me a moment more, then turned tail and disappeared into the evergreen. I thought it strange to coddle a wolf as if it were a hare, but I did not think too much on it. I thought this would be the last I’d see of the wolf, but I was wrong.

It was nearly a fortnight later, night again, when I heard a scratching at my door. My home was still close enough to the town to be considered a part of it, but far enough away that nightly visitors was bizarre. I grabbed my skinning knife, and opened the door. The wolf stood there, struggling for each breath, and then collapsed on my threshold with a whine.

I made quick work dragging it inside, letting my knife drop at the door. The beast was heavy, and I quickly found the source of its pain: a deep wound, an inch deep, scraping along it’s shoulders.

I was no healer, and the wound looked tough even for me. Quickly, I cleared my table and spread the wolf there. I worked well into the night, ignoring my own exhaustion, and did my best to fix the wound. It was only a creature, an animal, and yet I knew I would feel sorrow at its passing. I would not fail.

Forgoing sleep, I worked until dawn. At last, the wound was stitched up. My work was sloppy at best, but the bleeding had stopped and there were no signs of infection. Yet, I reminded myself. Best not to count all my chickens before they’ve hatched.

It was nearly noon when the beast awoke, eyes flashing open before all else. Then it was heaving itself off the table, and I did not rush to its side. It stared at me, then leapt off the table. It walked towards the door and let out a low grumble, almost a growl. I got the sense to follow it.

It seemed strange, following a wild wolf into the woods, and I was sure it would look bizarre to anyone watching. Perhaps I was lucky in that I did not have a family, nor friends. As the wolf finally stopped, I saw it had what I did not.

In a den of a fallen log, there lay pups. Young, perhaps only a few weeks old. The carcass of a wildcat’s body lay near the den, torn and bloodied. The source of my wolfs injury. At last, I understood.

I didn’t stay; I saw no reason to. The wolf had thanked me in her strange, wild way. I think leaving her be was the best way to say ‘you’re welcome’.

sorry this is a bit late! ah! I thought I set the time at 17:00, whoops haha. Anyways, if you haven't added yourself to the pinglist and wish to, look at the first post for the link!

@humanityxpeople

A little clunky, but quite a charming story! I liked how you introduced the third character, but it was somewhat strange how the girl met the wolf. Well done including the words. I like how you used different versions, made it a little hard to spot them, but you made it work! I'm curious about the wolf character and what made a witch turn him into a wolf.

@demonslayr62

The beginning was a little tough to grasp, until I read further into the story. I'm glad this prompt was perfect for you, haha. I really enjoyed how you weaved the characters together. I felt like I understood them a little at the end. Quite mysterious about the guy hunting him. Honestly, that scene felt a bit awkward, but I really loved what you wrote!

@lessthan3

This is so incredibly written I thought I was reading a book for a moment. I love the resemblance of little red riding hood in here (I don't know if it was on purpose or not, but it is awesome!), where Cara wears a red cape and hood and how she is traveling to her grandmother's cottage, and the wolf kills her! The wolf here is such an interesting character. He reminds me of some old god who is rather powerful. It's the only explanation I have for myself when he explains to Cara he would carry her in his belly.

@Karika

Oh, this was nice. I like how you portrayed the wolf to be wild still, but somehow be conscious enough to protect and trust, if only a little, the young girl. I love the beginning, how she's running from her family, for her freedom. The reason why her father is chasing her (to kill her?) remains unknown. I also liked how you described the wolf's fur, how it tapers off to a silky look towards his ears. Interesting take, I enjoyed it!

@Mypilot

Oh, I love how you used the word silky for the snow instead of the wolf's fur! This was really interesting. I love how the girl is a hunter, and her first encounter was really cool. The line where she held her bow, pointed at the wolf, struck me. I enjoyed how the wolf seemed feral, but led the girl to her pups in a way of thanking her. This was really nice!

Alright, the winner of this prompt is @lessthan3 and the runner-up is @Mypilot. All of you wrote exceptionally well and I was entranced with all of your stories. I like how each of you had a different view on the matter and girl/wolf. Thanks for entering!

@Sillywinter
Yeah, I was a bit apprehensive about writing this as I usually don't like putting out anything related to this project so I guess that reflects in the prompt. In hindsight, if told from "Gavin's" POV, it would've flowed a lot more smoothly and made a better read. But again, I don't like putting out anything related to this project as I'm very overprotective of it but I thought it was way too weird that your prompt happened to fit a scene from it so I thought, Why not just this once?

So happy you liked my characters though! I've been slowly crafting them to perfection so it means to much that you enjoyed them! And thanks for your feedback! I'm always looking for some constructive criticism.

AAAAAA I'M SO HAPPY!!

Ok, prompt:

"The night of spirits came swiftly, drawn by the death of the year."

wicked, witch, wind, leaves, burning, sunset, jack-o-lantern, headstone, salt, offering

I know most of you will go HALLOWEEN but I also celebrate el Dia de los Muertos so I will take those prompts too! CAn someone else ping I can't find the pinglist

EDIT DEADLINE IS UHHHHHHHH idk what is today? Wednesday? Hmm I am doing something on Friday but I really don't wanna wait until Saturday to judge.... ugh whatever Saturday at uhhh
(D*ng conversion ugh) at 17:33 because why the fricklefrackle not that's why

@Sillywinter @SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Karika @Annalynn @Zodiac753 @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot

pinging on behalf of lessthan3, the prompt and words are above ^^^^^^^^

@lessthan3

We stood on the edge of Headstone Plateau as we watched the sun dip for the final time below the mountains, marking the last sunset of the year. The sun had shifted into the sign of the skeletal dragon lord, and we knew we would not see it again for the coming few weeks. The death of the year was upon us.

The small, wind-twisted trees stood stripped of their leaves as the stars sprang to life overhead, shining their cold, mocking light down upon us. But it was the only light we would have beyond the dim glow on the southern horizon, and we would accept it with reluctant gratitude.

Quietly, I turned and started along the edge of the plateau towards our home. My companions followed me wordlessly, their heavy cloaks ruffling quietly in the winter winds. With the death of the year, the gates of the afterlife were thrown open so that the dragon lord might have his way with those cast in darkness. Defending our homelands against the coming onslaught had become a ritual of sorts.

As I neared the caves, whose entrances gleamed with burning fires like the fabled jack-o-lanterns of the south, my chin lifted in defiance of the darkness that swaddled us in her icy grip. Never before had we fallen as a tribe, and we would survive this end just as we had survived the death of last year and the year before that. I stepped over a line of salt, careful not to break the fragile barrier, and passed into the small crowd that had gathered to see our return.

“It is done,” the eldest matriarch stated. Her hands were withered with age and cold, and her dark hair ratty and tangled against her head and neck. Yet hope gleamed in her one clear eye, and her toothless smile reminded us all that the sun would come again. She had seen more years live and die than anyone else in my village. We had faith she would see another born.

I nodded my head towards her, the one so many outsiders called a witch, before I cast a single glance over my shoulder towards the darkening southern horizon.

“Yes,” I stated finally. “The time is upon us.”

“Then let us finish preparations for the offering,” she said as a wicked gust raced across the entrance of the caves. The lines of salt were left undisturbed as the breeze curled and coiled through the openings, creating a haunting melody.

“It’s too late for preparations,” a man stated as he moved up behind the matriarch. He was young, he had likely only participated in the rituals once or twice and maybe seen fifteen deaths. I eyed him curiously and not without suspicion. His words were too bold.

The matriarch paid him no mind. “I must go lead the rite to guard us against the forces that would see us dead,” she stated calmly, more calmly that such words should ever be spoken.

I saw the movement, but I didn’t have time to yell out a warning as the man pulled his hunting knife and turned to plunge it into the matriarch’s back. For a moment, my entire world froze. The implications of her death, of the failed rite, weighed heavy on my mind as I watched the knife fall towards the matriarch’s heart. How many people would die this year? Would our village survive at all? Who was this man who had the audacity to attack the matriarch?

A flash of blinding light made me lift my arm to protect my eyes. All I heard above the roar of the frozen wind was a scream, wild, shrill, and unearthly.

And then the light was gone, along with the man. The matriarch stood there, looking down at a small pile of ash where he had just been standing, her expression nothing more than annoyed.

“You will have to do better than that,” she spat at the ash. “But at least you managed to make it past the barrier. Next year, perhaps you will bring a challenge.”

She then turned and hobbled off into the depths of the cave as the ash of the undead servant scattered about my feet. It was not going to be a quiet year’s death.

@lessthan3 this is meant to an AU, not set in the canon universe.

Sunset had been a magnificent sight. Vibrant shades of pinks and yellows and purples covered half the sky when they got in the Impala. They left the little town of houses to the countryside where all anyone could see was fields and trees, and the occasional farmhouses and barns.

All of it would have been more peaceful if you didn’t think about what went on areas like these where no one can hear you scream, but when they do, the police arrive too late. You could get away with anything out there.

The thought chilled Dean right to the bone.

Of course, it was his crazy idea to drive out to a haunted farmhouse, which supposedly was actually haunted, and there was no reason for panicked emotions. They had police and an ambulance on the premises should anything go awry. Nothing to worry about.

He knew it was the place when he saw the field full of cars. He parked in a spot further away from the others just to make sure his Baby stayed in one piece and didn’t get scratched up or hit by anyone who might be crap at driving at night. Tired people, specifically.

Dean exited the car and breathed in the fresh night air. Fall had a way of making him feel relaxed. The air was cold, to the point that he might button up his leather jacket if it didn’t look weird, but it was still and touched him in a way that grounded him. He looked over at Cas with a grin and walked over to him and grabbed his hand.

“What do you want to do first? Check out the house? Walk through the corn maze? Take a hayride?” he asked, offering the possible options as they walked through the parking area. “Ooh, we could pick out a pumpkin to take home and carve out a jack-o-lantern. Freak out Sammy.”

Cas chuckled. “I want to see the ‘haunted’ house,” he answered pointing to the farmhouse. In the front of the house, there was a long line of people. It was Halloween, after all, and this was the last time this place would be open for the season.

“As you wish.”

As they walked to the line, Dean spotted a stall set up with drinks and donuts. He placed a few dollars in the tip jar and got himself a hot chocolate and a glazed donut while Cas got an apple cider and a glazed donut.

The drink warmed him right up as the winds picked up. Most of the leaves were gone off the trees at this point, but plenty still moved through the breeze, barely visible against the dark backdrop of trees and corn.

To his surprise, the line moved fairly quickly. Soon, they paid to step inside. The floorboards creaked, giving the place a very spooky vibe. If anything, he was more afraid that the wood floor might collapse than getting spooked.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. They were treated to a small entrance into a hallway with arrows pointing which way to go and curtains to block off where they’re not supposed to go. Dean noticed that the screams were much louder in the house than they were outside, and it added to the creepy feel.

The first room was just as dim as the entrance, lit only by burning candles. This room was designed like an old time living room. A fireplace crackled and all the furniture looked covered in a coat of dust. If a spider web could exist in a nook or cranny, it did. In the corner was an old lady in a creaky, old rocking chair knitting some kind of sweater. Her makeup was done so she looked like a zombie, and she stared at them with a blank stare, then she grinned a wicked grin and her eyes seemed to glow an unsettling shade of red.

She never stopped staring at them as they left the room and moved on to a dining room. The table was filled with a feast, if you’re into eyeballs that moved with you, human brains cooked up like a turkey with stuffing, and sausages made from human intestines. Front and center was a body cut open and guts were spilled out, and the room had a little bit of a decayed smell to it. There were bloodstains on the walls and the furniture and the floor, and a group of people dressed impeccably other than the blood.

On the wall was a portrait of a happy family that matched the “family” currently sitting at the table.

A man sat at the head of the table with an axe that he raised in the air and destroyed his meal with, all the while staring at Dean and Cas without blinking. A lady got up from the chair and cackled as she followed them closely.

The room was tiny, so Dean and Cas were so close to the table that they brushed against it.

Someone banged their fists on the table.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, her voice uncomfortably nice. The kind of subtle persuasion that suggested “you better listen, or else”. This was the kind of group that faked hospitality until you ended up on their dinner table, and Dean gripped Cas’ hand until his knuckles turned white. “We love company.”

“Pass the salt, Miriam!” a man yelled out.

“I’m busy,” she whispered loudly.

“No, thank you,” Dean squeaked out. Cas got the hint and they were out of the room. Now they were back in the hallway where they saw more curtains and arrows that pointed to the kitchen.

“That was freaking horrifying,” he said, panting.

“It’s unsettling,” Cas agreed with a nod. In the dim lighting, Dean could tell he looked shaken up, and it took a lot to shake up this guy, so Dean didn’t feel any safer.

There were footsteps behind one of the curtains. Someone poked a head through, looked at the two of them with that ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look and walked out of the curtains. The person wasn’t dressed like they were from decades ago. They were dressed in all black and it looked like they might have had a hood that they were not currently wearing.

“Are you guys having fun?” they asked, trying to come across as nonchalant, like they didn’t just see him go into a restricted area.

“Oh, yeah, we’re having a blast,” Dean answered.

“Good.” They ran off into the kitchen.

“What do you think is back there?” Cas asked as he walked over to the curtains.

“Hell if I know,” Dean answered. His curiosity was bugging him, telling him to go find out. A much more rational part of him said that’s a great way to get killed. Of course, if he thought rationally all the time, he probably wouldn’t have come here in the first place. “You want to find out?”

A small group walked ball, obviously spooked from the dining room. It was hard not to be when everything looked so realistic.

Cas waited for them to start screaming before he responded. “Yeah.”

Dean wouldn’t call himself a thrill seeker, but he had his days. It was pure dark behind the black curtains, except for a small sliver of light that looked like it came from a door. He walked forward and reached out to find that the door led down to a basement.

Shadows of people bounced off the wall down there. Whoever they were, it wasn’t good, because when he focused, it sounded a bit like chanting.

The door creaked when he opened it, and he was thankful that a loud group went off at the same time. This was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on down there. Someone might need saved or something.

The two of them took their time down the stairs, thankful that the stairs and wall were solid so no one could see them. The chanting grew louder. Smoke floated through the air and up the stairs.

"The night of spirits comes swiftly. Drawn by the death of the year, come to us.” They said this over and over again in a smooth rhythm. Dean had to give it to them, they sounded good. Could work in an a capella group if it wasn’t so morbid.

Dean and Cas shared a wide-eyed, freaked out look when they took a peek around the corner. There was a witch’s cauldron with smoke billowing out of it, and a group of 12 people wearing black clothing and hoods were walking a circle surrounding it. There was an altar behind them, on the other side of the room.

The chanting stopped. They stopped moving.

“Where is Cole with the offering? Doesn’t he know that summoning demons should not take all night?” one of the hooded people spoke with a masculine voice.

“Might as well take our hoods off and wait for him. It’s getting hot in here,” another one said with a feminine voice. Everyone nodded at the same time and proceeded to remove their hoods.

“What are you doing here?”

They saw Dean and Cas. After a moment of being frozen in fear, the two of them ran up the stairs and back out of the house through a side door. Neither one of them wanted to stay any longer. That was not a part of the attraction, they understood that. They should tell someone, so they went around the building to the front.

“Hey, I need to tell you something,” Dean said quietly to the lady accepting money at the door.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s something going on the basement.”

She let out a very fake, very exaggerated gasp. “There is no basement!”

“Uh, but there is.”

She shook her head, so she knew what was going on and was fine with denying it. As long as no one got hurt, except the sacrifice. He shuddered thinking about that poor, innocent person, but he and Cas couldn’t take on a baker’s dozen of people, so they weren’t going to try.

They informed the police who didn’t do jack about it. Everyone was in on it. That kind of small town middle-of-nowhere mentality of watching out for each other.

By the way, they were crappy cops who were too busy drinking coffee and eating donuts to care what Dean and Cas were saying.

There was a little graveyard in the backyard with headstones that they looked at just for fun, since it was free and the drive back would be almost an hour long. They laughed at the ridiculous names and they looked at the stars for a few minutes before getting into the impala and going home.

Though Dean didn’t sleep well that night. His mind was stuck on the thought that those people could have killed them if they walked. They didn’t do anything, in the end, but it was creepy enough knowing that they were still out there and might kill more people in sacrifices. It seemed like a crappy way to summon a demon, so he doubted there was any luck with that.

@lessthan3

I was once told a story by my mother, where the words became a living thing. The story was meant to be a warning, a way to ward me off whatever path she believed I was going down. It was so long ago, and I can’t recall where we were. Who was with us. The story, however, remains clear in my mind.

It goes like this.

A witch lived in the forest, alone and unafraid. Her family had lived there before her, and the house was steeped in memories. She would not leave it, not for anything in the world. The cabin was nestled firmly in the trees, the forest having long since grown around it, and it was not going anywhere.

Outside, the witch watched the stars wink into being. They flickered up in the light of the waning sun, looking down on her as she looked up at them. When at last the sunset drifted below the horizon and the sky turned dark, the witch lit the jack-o’-lanterns that surrounded her house. They had once been will-o’-the-wisps, spirits that lived in the woods, but had eventually made their homes in the simple flames of the pumpkins. The burning candles reminded the witch of the many creatures that haunted the dark woods.

It seemed the night was to be more lively than the day, and the very spirits mentioned before soon woke. They rose into the sky, dancing and swaying, singing a melody that only the supernatural could hear. Like leaves, they drifted in the wind, offering themselves up to the sky. Curious, the witch took flight and began to follow them. They marched with purpose, and she was intent on finding out where.

The forest petered out around her, and eventually she came upon a field. Here, the spirits converged. Drawn, it seemed, by a powerful death. This would likely be a wicked night for the supernatural.

The dying thing lay in the grass, blood spilling around it. It lay in a circle of salt, and an athame had been tossed a few feet from the creatures body. It was a human, mortal and plain, and the witch was drawn closer to it with wide eyes.

Like the spirits that surrounded it, the creature crooned out a haunting sound. It was the final thing to pass its lips, and the creature soon turned limp. Out of pity, the witch dragged a stone forward, to act as a headstone for the creature. Perhaps then it would rise anew, another spirit claimed by the forest.

And indeed, a spirit did rise from the corpse. It joined its new kin in the sky, and the witch watched it drift towards the brightly lit moon. The forest would claim any mortal who tread too far into its depths. A lesson not many lived to tell.

So listen, dear mortal, for the forest will claim you too. Tread not in the woods, as no salt or silver will protect you. And do not, mortal, ever sing the song of the dead. The skies will welcome you all too eagerly, my friend.