The Safety of the Light

The perimeter must remain lit. It was the only rule the village enforced. For generations, as dusk set in a handful of adults would gather by the fire, light the torches, and carry them to the edge of their homes. Children watched gleefully as the flames danced to life one by one, like stars hovering just above the earth. “You must never venture beyond the light,” the elders warned in the gravest of tones.

In truth, it’s doubtful that anyone knew why they were confined to this halo of light each night. Was it a mere warning for children to not venture into the wooded glen alone? Were there beasts that only tread at night? Perhaps it was a mere superstition that passed down from parent to child for so long that it became ingrained in the day to day. It was never questioned; the children watched in anticipation of the dancing flames night after night. In time, as youth, they would be charged with gathering the wood and oils, and as adults light the torches and usher the younger ones inside immediately if that was not possible.

The sky changed from blue to crimson and gold, the children poured outside in anticipation as the inky black began to stretch across the edges of the sky. Parents moved to the edge of the village lighting the torches around the perimeter. Moths danced too close to the flames, their wings burning off immediately. Lightning bugs danced across the sky as they sat in front of the large central fire sharing a meal, swapping stories, the youngest guessing why they were confined to the light. “There are monsters out there! I’ve heard them!” Elias yelled as his raggedy mutt Jasper sniffed the ground for scraps. “Mom said it was so that we’re never in the dark and the good spirits could always find us!” Moira piped in as well. The youth and adults laughed as they reminisced on telling similar stories in their younger years. Together they ate, sang, and played as they had every night, until the storm came in.

“Everyone indoors!” The parents shouted as the wind and rain picked up. One by one the torches were doused. The trees swayed and branches cracked as everyone was ushered into a home. Hearths were lit; oil lamps set on the table. “Jasper come back!” Elias yelled as the mutt scurried under his father’s legs and out into the storm. “Jasper!” Elias took off after him, “No!” His mother yelled but Elias had sprinted out after the dog. Lightning cracked and thunder boomed around us as Elias was quickly swallowed by the night. His mother ran out hysterical, oil lamp in hand, screaming for her boy to return. The village watched from windows and doorways as she tore off in the direction her son did. Concern quickly turned to terror as her body flew from the shadows, landing in a crumpled heap at the village center, bloody, dead.

A loud snarl drowned out of the rain as a beast burst forth from the tree line into the center of our village. Parents and children alike screamed in terror and flattened themselves against the floor, silently screaming, praying to whatever deity they could remember in the moment. Before anyone could react, a second beast made its presence known. Through the cracks of lightning there were glimpses of its form; limbs too long to be human that bent in every direction, its body covered in slick wet fur, a large, fanged snout, they resembled monstrous wolves, the larger of the two wearing the mangled remains of Elias’ face like a hat.

Men grabbed weapons and charged at the monsters. The beasts snarled in unison and began swatting them away or tearing them to shreds. The sound of several more of these beasts filled the air. They began hammering at the doors, splintering the frames, trying with all their might to get at their prize, us. Roofs were ripped off homes, and as the rain poured in, and the lanterns and fires were snuffed they pounced, decimating the town, one by one, until there was no one left.

The beasts turned on each other, eyes alit golden with fury. The numbers were far more than they had been initially. Clawing, biting and tearing at each other long into the night. One tore into another, chewing, maiming until daylight.

Elias awoke to a wet tongue on his face, the smell of iron strong in his nose. He was sticky, eyes unfocused as he struggled to his feet, Jasper yipped happily, but as Elias’ eyes adjusted, he instantly retched, expelling his insides. The dismembered bodies of his family and friends lay scattered around him, the iron stinging his nose, their blood. If he had bothered to look down at the pile of vomit Jasper was happily lapping at, he would have seen chunks of flesh.

Elias had his answer, he knew why the torches were lit, why they were confined to that circle of light. There weren’t monsters beyond the trees, THEY were the monsters beyond the trees, the halo of light a prison to keep them from changing, from taking their true form. What would Elias do now that he was alone? He couldn’t possibly stay there alone, could he? In the morning light, he found himself shuffling one foot in front of the other, beyond the trees, into the unknown, searching for another being, another village, prey.