The houses loomed through the woods, sickly yellow lights shone through their curtained window-eyes as they searched for the small group of humans they knew were still nearby. They must have been young, too young to have heard of the nomadic town of Lower Rutside whose homes are devourers and whose people aren't human any more.
Camping. They'd only wanted to go camping, drink some booze and just forget about everything else for the night. Maybe two if the weather held up. Now they were very much lost, separated and crouching under whatever cover they could find in the hopes that the walking houses wouldn't spot them.
It was like something out of Baba Yaga's nightmares.
Instead of chicken legs, the houses all had large cross-beamed foundations that collapsed and reformed like a wave made of splinters. They were still to hard to hear against tree branches snapping together in the wind. Sometimes their front doors would open and vaguely human shapes would lean out, calling "Who's there?" and "Please help me!" to attract their prey.
Hiding in trees worked. The windows never looked up, always blinding the ground while we hid in the old oaks and held our breaths. I don't know what shook harder - the trees or my teeth in the blistering cold. Still,cold and alive was always better than warm and dead or whatever the things inside the houses were.
It had been so long since humans had come through the woods, some homes had forgotten what they were meant to look like or how their spines worked. They definitely bend but in which direction? And how do their arms sit when they aren't in use? Their eyes glow too, right? Bright with souls like our eyes, right?
Right?
Camping. They'd only wanted to go camping, drink some booze and just forget about everything else for the night. Maybe two if the weather held up. Now they were very much lost, separated and crouching under whatever cover they could find in the hopes that the walking houses wouldn't spot them.
It was like something out of Baba Yaga's nightmares.
Instead of chicken legs, the houses all had large cross-beamed foundations that collapsed and reformed like a wave made of splinters. They were still to hard to hear against tree branches snapping together in the wind. Sometimes their front doors would open and vaguely human shapes would lean out, calling "Who's there?" and "Please help me!" to attract their prey.
Hiding in trees worked. The windows never looked up, always blinding the ground while we hid in the old oaks and held our breaths. I don't know what shook harder - the trees or my teeth in the blistering cold. Still,cold and alive was always better than warm and dead or whatever the things inside the houses were.
It had been so long since humans had come through the woods, some homes had forgotten what they were meant to look like or how their spines worked. They definitely bend but in which direction? And how do their arms sit when they aren't in use? Their eyes glow too, right? Bright with souls like our eyes, right?
Right?
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