They're out there in the woods still, veins full of mud and eyes crawling with worms. We never gave them a name in case they were some sort of fae - names are power to them and a bane to the rest of us. All we can do is wear iron and stick to the shallows, let them have the deeper woods.
For hundreds of years this was enough, they kept to their homes and we kept to ours but somewhere along the line things changed. Something utterly miniscule tipped the precarious balance between us and them and now we are forced to remember what they look like.
How can we not when they sit outside our windows every night and draw on the glass with filthy fingers. We don't even know where they keep getting these fingers from but they leave them neatly lined up beneath the windowsill for us to find in the morning.
Nobody can quite decide if this is good luck or bad luck...
For hundreds of years this was enough, they kept to their homes and we kept to ours but somewhere along the line things changed. Something utterly miniscule tipped the precarious balance between us and them and now we are forced to remember what they look like.
How can we not when they sit outside our windows every night and draw on the glass with filthy fingers. We don't even know where they keep getting these fingers from but they leave them neatly lined up beneath the windowsill for us to find in the morning.
Nobody can quite decide if this is good luck or bad luck...
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