Creatures
of the
Night
Creatures
of the
Night
Grace Collins
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Every day is the same mind-numbing routine. I wake up, venture from the tunnels, serve breakfast for the hunters, weed the gardens, make lunch, clean the tunnels, and then cook dinner.
And finally, the most important step—go back into the tunnels and don’t leave until sunrise. I thought that by the time I turned nineteen I would’ve been able to hunt like everybody else. That I’d already have ventured farther than the tree line that guards our village. I was wrong.
“Did you slice the carrots, Milena? Remember, Charles likes them extra thin.”
The carrots on the chopping board lie in crooked chunks beside the blunt knife. “Yes, Cynthia.”
Her gray hair pops up from behind the wooden countertop, her thick eyebrows pulled together as she eyes the hacked-up carrots in front of me. Darius, her thirteen-year-old son, lingers behind, pulling a face behind her back. In charge of food preparation, Cynthia has been bossing me around for half my life now, so her disapproving tone barely affects me.
“That’s not thin.” Her nose wrinkles. “You’re turning twenty this week, child, yet you still don’t know a slicer from a knife.”
My best friend, Flo, who stands beside me, warns me to keep my mouth shut with a shake of her head, and I bite my tongue.
The only time I ever talked back to Cynthia, I was put on cleaning duties for a month. Alone. I couldn’t go more than a few hours without having to pick dirt from my fingernails.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try again.”
“Good.” She brushes her hands on her apron. “All the vegetables need to be sliced and in the pot. You have an hour before the hunters return, two before the sun sets. Make sure dinner is prepared and ready in the tunnels.”
“Yes, Cynthia,” Flo and I chime. The matron turns on her heels, grabs Darius’s hand, and drags him outside, the door swinging shut behind them.
Flo’s shoulders slump, red hair spilling over them. “She’s such a nightmare. I know the hunters are important, but I’m pretty sure how thin the carrots in the stew are is the last thing on their minds when they get back.”
“Yeah.” Still, I’m slicing the carrots as thinly as I can manage.
“Who would’ve thought that I’m days away from turning twenty and still stuck on cooking and gardening?”
“You get to clean sometimes too.”
“Oh, joy.”
“Come on, Millie.” Flo picks the bucket of potatoes up off the floor and dumps it on the wooden countertop. “It’s not that bad.”
“Easy for you to say. Charles let you hunt the moment you came of age.”
“You turn twenty soon,” she says without looking at me. “And then you’ll get your wish.”
“Everyone else only had to wait until they turned sixteen.” Flo peels the potatoes, as there’s nothing she can say to make me feel better. She knows it’s true. My entire life, I’ve been prohibited from venturing into the forest. While everyone else had some freedom starting at sixteen, Charles kept me here, wanted me safe. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s weed the garden while we wait for the stew to boil.”
Chucking the carrots and the rest of the potatoes into the simmering pot, Flo follows me out of the wooden shack we use as a kitchen. The sun glares down at us as we wander toward the vegetable patch behind it. The village we live in doesn’t look like much. With one, sole building aboveground, the rest of the clearing consists of gardens and a thin stream before a large, clear area that separates us from the reaches of the forest. To a passerby, the building would be as inconspicuous as a run-down shack.
As Flo tugs at some weeds, I lean back on my heels and gaze across the clearing at the tree line. The sun bathes the tips of trees in gold as it begins its descent, dipping between the distant mountains. Figures of hunters form in the gaps between the trees. Charles is first to come into the open, a dead boar thrown over his shoulder and four hunters following behind. Like every other day, a crowd gathers around the entrance to the tunnels beside the kitchen shack, mostly children, welcoming the hunters back. Life seems normal, like a regular day of hunting. But it isn’t. The hunters never return early.
I nudge Flo. “What?” she asks, still pulling weeds from the ground.
“The hunters. They’re back early. They’re never back early.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Charles weaves through the villagers, eyes scanning the crowd.
“Charles.” Cynthia greets him first. “You’re back early.”
He nods. His movements are stiff and intentional. Different.
“I’d like everybody in the tunnels. Curfew starts early tonight.”
Cynthia scurries away, ceaselessly obedient. Charles surveys the crowd, the limbs of the animal on his shoulder flopping left, and then right as he turns. A gentle breeze blows my dark hair across my face. “We should get the food.” I tug on Flo’s arm to pull her up. “Cynthia will be angry if we’re not ready.”
She drops her tools and together we hurry back to the kitchen.
I peer over my shoulder as we fly through the center of the village. Charles is looking at me from across the clearing, green eyes sharp. A silent message passes between us—I know what he’s trying to tell me. Night is coming, and so are they.
~
Dead—my mom, my dad, my whole family. Charles says there was a raid the day I was born. That the creatures broke into the tunnels and killed my parents. He raised me, and though he provided me with the necessities, there was never any warmth in his embrace.
“The stew is good,” Charles says once we’re secure in the tunnels. He sits at the head of the tunnel with a group of hunters.
“Thank you, ladies.”
“You’re welcome, Charles.” Flo smiles brightly.
Even though she’s one of my only friends, the way she sucks up to Charles annoys me like nothing else. I move my piece across the checkerboard and kick Flo to let her know it’s her turn. She nearly knocks her bowl off the table as she turns back.
“Milena,” Charles calls. “Come here. I want to speak with you.”
Pushing myself to my feet, I move toward him. “Yes?”
He nods to one of the hunters sitting beside him, who gets up and moves away. “Please sit.” As I do, the other hunters at the table stare at me, but I ignore it. I do their cooking and cleaning, but I’m not allowed to hunt, and that makes me an outcast.
“What’d you do today?” Charles asks.
“What?”
“I’m asking what you did today.” He lifts his spoon to his mouth, stew catching in his gray beard. “I’m trying to have a conversation.”
Charles never tries to converse with me. My childhood consisted of instructions and scolding; I can count the number of casual conversations we’ve had on one hand.
“Cooking and gardening with Flo, like every other day.”
�
��You didn’t do anything . . . unusual?”
“No. Why?”
“No reason.” He stirs the spoon in the bowl. “You can go now.”
“Charles, what brought the hunters back early?”
“We finished early.”
“You never finish early.” He ignores me, turning to say something to the woman next to him. “I’m turning twenty in two days, Charles. I finally get to hunt. Isn’t it time you let me in on things? Isn’t it time I get to learn a thing or two about the hunts?”
I’ve never been afraid of Charles, and although he’s never been kind, he’s never hurt me either. But as he stands and stares down at me, I feel so very small. “We finished early. The reasoning is none of your concern.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Go. I’m sure Cynthia could do with some help cleaning up.”
I step away as he ventures around the corner to the cleaning station. We’re in the room designated for dining and recreation, separated from the stone walls blocking the entrance by a mere three steps. And despite the fact that there are fewer than two hundred of us living in the tunnels, the rooms always feel crowded.
“You okay?” Flo appears at my side and puts her hand on my arm. “I know he’s harsh, but he cares about you. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
Memories of my childhood blur my mind: begging Charles to carry me through the tunnels, crying when he refused; scraping my knees against the ground and hanging my head in shame when he told me to grow up. If Charles won’t allow me to hunt because he cares too much for me, he has a funny way of showing it.
“I’m going to have an early night,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”
Before she can respond, I take the two steps that lead to the narrow halls. Unlike the main rooms in the tunnels, the hallways aren’t well maintained. Carved from compacted dirt, they’re thin, winding passageways littered with dips in the ground and badly attached pipes that drip water. Their only purpose is to connect the various rooms. I take the familiar corner, ducking my head to avoid a low-hanging pipe protruding from the entranceway of my room.
When I was younger, I stayed with Charles in his quarters—the largest and most extravagant of the rooms. But when I turned ten, he left me in a box-sized room right at the end of the passageway, separate from the rest. He said it was time for me to mature, to grow up and start being more independent. I cried out for him every night for the first two weeks. But tonight, lying in my stone room void of anything save for a lumpy bed and set of drawers, I enjoy the loneliness. The blanket scratches against my skin as I pull it to my chin. I trace the crooked letters Flo and I scratched into the wooden bed frame when we were kids—an F and an M—with my finger. The distant howls coming from above provide a familiar comfort. They allow me time to sort through my racing thoughts.
My entire life I’ve waited for my twentieth birthday. I thought people would be more inclusive, would accept me as one of them—a hunter. But the closer the day gets, the more secretive Charles becomes, and the more ostracized I feel. And today was no exception.
Bang. I jolt up in bed. Bang. The screeching starts. It rebounds off the stone walls, rattling my brain. I put my hands over my ears and listen: deep, familiar growls echo through the tunnels—sounds that make my chest burn. But these growls aren’t coming from above. Shouting fills the halls. Footsteps barrel past my quarters. I slide out from beneath my covers, throw a coat from the floor on, and pull the sheet covering the doorway open—then leap back in fright.
Charles stands in the doorway. “You’re still here,” he says, relieved.
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t leave this room.”
“Charles—”
“Listen to me: do not leave this room until I come back for you!” His voice shakes me to the bone. I can do nothing but nod as he slips from the room, the sheet billowing as he exits. His footsteps get farther and farther away. Panic blazes through my body like wildfire. I stand frozen, staring at the door. Night has broken into the tunnels, and so have the creatures who own it.
~
The screaming ends before the night does and a piercing silence takes its place. I don’t leave my room. I don’t venture into the halls. I don’t disobey Charles. I stay in my quarters, hugging my knees and waiting for the screaming and growling to start again.
It never does.
When Charles finally appears in my doorway, I know, from the absence of howling, that the sun has risen. “You did as you were told, good.” His shirt is torn across the chest, his head of gray hair mussed.
“Yes.”
He clears his throat, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than usual. “Cynthia called for you. They’re preparing breakfast in the kitchen shack.”
I grab his wrist before he can leave. Why is he acting like everything is normal? Nothing like last night has ever happened before. “Charles, what happened last night?”
“Everyone is safe and accounted for.” He pries his hand from my grip. “The rest is none of your concern.”
He spins and exits without another word, not addressing my curiosity. Whatever happened last night, however abnormal, I’ll have to ask somebody else about it. I throw on a light-blue shirt and braid my black hair to the middle of my back before venturing into the cocoon of the morning sun. The village is quiet, the songs of birds wafting through the trees surrounding us. On a warm day like today, children are usually playing in the small stream that runs through the clearing, but everyone is still in the tunnels.
“Millie!” I turn as I reach the kitchen to see Flo rushing toward me, Darius’s hand clasped in hers. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “You’re okay! I couldn’t find you anywhere last night.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Don’t tell me you slept through it,” Darius says, blue eyes wide.
“I heard screaming and growls. Charles made me stay in my room.”
Darius opens his mouth. “They caught—”
“You’re okay, that’s all that matters,” Flo says, shooting Darius a look.
“It was terrifying, ” he says. “The entrance wasn’t sealed properly. Someone—something—broke in. It had red eyes and matted fur, and it was in the tunnels.”
“A creature of the night . . . you saw one?”
“No. But Flo did,” Darius says. I stare at Flo but her eyes are focused on the ground. “She said it almost killed her but the hunters got there just in time.”
“They killed it?”
“No.” He leans closer. “They caught it. It’s down in the tunnels, chained up.”
A creature of the night alive and in the tunnels. It broke in and we’re still alive. What’s it like? Why didn’t they kill it? Why didn’t anybody tell me?
“Hey!” Cynthia appears behind Flo, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Mom!” Darius yells. “They have one in the tunnels. Flo said the hunters caught it and—”
“Stop spreading nonsense and complete your chores, Darius,”
Cynthia snaps, looking at Flo and me. “Get inside and get to work. The hunters need a meal before they leave.”
We follow her timidly into the kitchen and stand to attention. A gust of wind rattles the pots hanging on the wall. There are three other girls present—Allison, and the twins, Katie and Alexis. The twins started in the kitchen with me and Flo less than a year ago, but this will be their final year before they’re promoted to hunting. “Allison and Flo, Charles wants you on the hunt today,” Cynthia says. “The rest of you: gardening, cleaning, and cooking.”
“I’ll clean the tunnels,” I say.
“You’re on breakfast.”
“After breakfast, then. Instead of gardening. I need a change of scenery.”
“Fine,” she says, and the tension in my shoulders releases when she looks away. “Get to it.”
Flo gives me a sheepish look before exiting with Allison to prepare for
the hunt. Alexa hands me a pot full of water collected from the stream. I kneel down to the basket of supplies Cynthia brought from the tunnels, for once glad I’m not getting my chance to hunt today even though I’d like to go with Flo. Today, I have other plans. None of what Darius said makes sense. They should have killed the creature. Stopped it before it got to the entrance. But as the hunters leave soon, the tunnels will be unguarded, and I’m going to see a creature of the night.
Chapter Two
Aside from mealtimes, nobody likes being in the tunnels during the day, so when I appear belowground with a bucket and cloth, Darius and I are surprised to see each other. With a smile, I hold up my bucket to answer his question about what I’m doing down there today. “Cleaning duty. Shouldn’t you be at school?”
There are only around thirty kids in the village, but until the day they turn sixteen, they’re stuck here like me. They spend most of the morning at school, where they’re taught writing and reading in the tunnels, or if it’s a nice day, in the patch of grass before the kitchen. I was never given that luxury. When I was a kid, Charles made me learn to cook while other kids were taught to write. He said I was good at it, and it’d be a waste not to take advantage of that.
“Mom’s mad at me again.” He sighs. “You know what that means—cleaning duty.”
“What’d you do this time?”
He shrugs. “Aren’t you usually on gardening?”
“I wanted a change of scenery.”
He shrugs and wipes down the table. I’ve always liked Darius.
He’s only thirteen, so he hasn’t hunted yet, and doesn’t look down on me because I haven’t either. Hunting is a rite of passage in the village—everyone, even Cynthia, participates every now and again. And it always happens the same way: When they’re young, they’re kind to me; and then they go on their first hunt.
The next day, I’m a distant memory and lucky to receive a smile, as if being a hunter makes them so much better than me. The only one who’s stuck around is Flo.
Darius smiles at me. “So, the creature. . . . Is that why you wanted to clean?”
“No.” I look at the wall again and focus on the distant dripping of water.
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