In the Shadow of the Woods

As the sun began to set, a collective shiver ran through the town. The creeping darkness felt heavier than usual, more ominous. Every resident shared the same thought: would the creature strike again tonight?

Bryn let out an exasperated sigh as he watched the townsfolk panic. This new intruder was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. Every evening, the people locked their doors, corralled their livestock, and stayed inside. How was he supposed to eat like this?

He rolled his eyes as several homes painted large Xs on their doors in pig’s blood. As if that would deter anything. Nothing had ever been warded off by pig’s blood. Where were they even getting this information?

As the sky dimmed, Bryn hunkered down in the bushes just off the town square. He was determined to see the imposter for himself, the cryptid daring to trespass on his territory.

---

Hours passed. Bryn’s joints stiffened in the crouch. He flexed his hooves one at a time to shake off the numbness, but it didn’t help. Soon he’d need to move.

Just as he was about to give up, a sharp scraping echoed down the street. Bryn snapped his head toward the sound, trying to make out the shadowy form moving near a house.

From a distance, it looked like a large, black, furry humanoid. The scraping continued as it dragged something against the door. Bryn pushed his head further through the bushes for a better view. His horns snagged on the branches, locking him in place.

The figure raised its arm and clawed deep grooves into the wooden door. After a moment of inspection, it nodded in approval and jumped off the porch, disappearing around the side of the house.

Bryn untangled himself and moved quickly, sticking to the shadows. Not that anyone would dare peek outside right now.

He rounded the house and spotted the figure in the backyard. It held a bucket and a bag. Bryn crept closer. With each step, more details emerged.

The head was oversized and covered in coarse fur, with pointed ears and a long snout. It was tall, almost as tall as Bryn himself, who stood over seven feet. A dark coat concealed much of its body. Long metallic claws glinted under the moonlight.

Wait…glinted?

Bryn squinted. The claws were too uniform. Too reflective. They looked like kitchen knives, strapped or sewn into gloves.

While he puzzled over the details, the figure began to pour something into the grass. Bryn sniffed the air. Pig’s blood.

The figure dumped the bag’s contents into the blood. Bones. Fur. More confusion.

Then it turned and ran for the woods.

Bryn followed. The figure’s run was... strange. The arms pumped like a runner’s, but the motion was jerky, unnatural. Its head bobbed at an odd angle, and despite the effort, it moved slowly.

Bryn darted through the trees, easily catching up. He climbed a nearby tree and waited, perched above a clearing.

The figure entered and dropped the gloves into a box. The knives clanked as they landed. Then it reached for its ears and tugged.

To Bryn’s horror, the entire head came off and was tossed into the box.

Not a cryptid. A human.

Bryn let out a long, furious breath. Not only was this idiot making it impossible to hunt, but he was also mocking Bryn’s kind. He wouldn’t tolerate it.

He howled his displeasure at the moon and sprang from limb to limb, circling the clearing loudly. The human below froze, wide-eyed and trembling.

After a few laps around the clearing, Bryn launched himself down, landing just a few feet from the man.

That was all it took. The man’s instincts kicked in and he bolted, crashing through the trees without looking back.

Bryn scooped up the box and shuffled silently back toward town.

He left the box on the mayor’s front porch and smiled to himself. Let the town interpret it however they please. One thing was certain, that human wouldn’t dare set foot on his turf again. 

Now, finally, he could hunt in peace.