Creatures of the Night

by Grace Collins

  The command calls to my body in more ways than one, and I obey, eyes opening like they have a mind of their own. There it stands in front of me—the creature who rules the night.

  And it— he— looks just as human as me. He towers far above me, chiseled chest bare and covered in scratches. He has regal, refined features, dark hair, and a strong jawline. A faded scar runs from his jaw to his collarbone. But it’s his eyes that make me hold my breath—they contain the golden glow of sunlight yet completely lack the warmth.

  “A human. Interesting.” There’s something so frightening about this creature, and it has nothing to do with the wolves that prowl behind him, waiting to attack. “What’s your name?”

  “Milena.”

  He waves a hand and the wolves around me stand and bolt into the forest, howling into the darkness. My pulse jumps at his unwavering stare, but then his head snaps up, toward the tunnel, like he’s heard something.

  “I’ll see you soon, Milena,” he says, as if talking to a child.

  “Sleep well.”

  And like a moth succumbing to the fatal heat of a flame, I fall into the night.

  Chapter Three

  Cold pierces my skin, infiltrates my bones. I try to open my eyes but pain flourishes across my forehead. A familiar voice, sweet and gentle, reaches into the void, calling my name. A twisted groan escapes my throat.

  “Milena, wake up.” This voice is more demanding, rough.

  Figures form above me, illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern. But I feel so cold, ice inside my veins, robbed of life.

  I’m lying in my quarters, the familiar aroma of dirt filling the air. The voice I recognize as Flo’s; her face coming into focus is streaked by tears and her arm is in a makeshift sling. Beside her stands Charles.

  “What happened?” My voice is sandpaper against my throat.

  “What time is it?”

  “You don’t remember?” Flo asks.

  “You left her.” I sit up and glare at Charles, my head pounding.

  “You left her.”

  Flo looks at the ground. “Millie—”

  “Don’t defend him. He was going to leave you to die. He was going to shut the doors before you could get back.”

  “It’s all right.”

  I push myself backward, ignoring the ache in the back of my head. “Are you kidding?”

  “It was for the greater good,” she mumbles.

  “The greater good?” I say, glaring at Charles. “Are you even sorry?”

  “Fifteen people lost their lives last night. Of course I’m sorry.

  Don’t question my integrity, Milena. If I hadn’t shut those doors when I did, we’d be talking about a much higher number.”

  My stomach tightens with grief—grief for children missing their parents and parents missing their children. It feels like there’s a weight pressing on my chest.

  “What happened to you last night?” Flo asks. Images appear against my eyelids: Flo passing out, the wolves with their glowing eyes.

  “Flo has told me all she remembers before she passed out.

  The two of you were found unconscious by the kitchen,” Charles says. “With all the creatures aboveground, I don’t understand how you’re still alive.”

  Wolves crowding in, teeth bared, creeping closer and closer until. . . golden eyes.

  “ I—” Charles’s eyes pierce me as if reaching inside my brain.

  “The creatures, they abandoned us there and I—I think I fainted.”

  My room is so quiet I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. The blanket scratches against my skin as I twist in the bed, leaning up against the cold stone wall. Charles clears his throat.

  “They left? Just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t see anything else?”

  Golden eyes; a creature so normal he couldn’t possibly be a beast.

  “I fainted. I don’t remember.”

  “I see.” He examines me. “Preparations for the memorials will commence this morning. We’ll hold the ceremony at three, and then we’ll hunt later.”

  Tell him about the man. Tell him about the one who rules the night.

  “Does Cynthia need help preparing the food?” I ask.

  He glares for a few tense moments. “How does your arm feel?”

  Instinctively, I shift my arm. A white bandage has been wrapped around my bicep, red prickling through. It stings slightly but I barely even noticed it. “Fine.”

  “You’re still being punished, then, till your birthday,” he says.

  “The garden needs to be weeded.”

  “Right.”

  “Florence will help Cynthia and the others prepare.” He gestures to Flo, who nods and hobbles from the room on a makeshift crutch. “As for you—”

  “Gardening, got it.”

  If there’s anything I hate more than cleaning, it’s gardening, and Charles knows that. The weeds among the crops are relentless—you pluck them one day and they’ve already choked their way around the plants the next. The conversation seems finished but Charles doesn’t leave. He stands halfway through my door, the white sheet swaying softly when he moves.

  “You could’ve died, you know? The night before your hunt.

  You’re so stupid,” he says. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  I could’ve died; I should have died, but Flo should’ve, too, and Charles doesn’t care about her, memorial for the dead or not. He threw her to the creatures without a second thought. Charles is my guardian, but that’s all. He’s never cared about me before, about my first hunt, so why now? “I’ll be better.” I blink back tears. “I promise.”

  He sighs and, holding the sheet back, turns to look at me. “If you remember anything about last night, you know where to find me.”

  I nod, body rigid at the warning in his tone. He leaves the room and I sink back into the bed, shoulders slack as the previous night’s events rip through my mind. The dim light of the lantern highlights the aged scars etched into the ceiling, and I try to think of those who lost their lives, but only the golden-eyed creature fills my mind.

  ~

  I’m hot, filthy, and frustrated by the time I arrive at the memorial. Behind the kitchen shack, beneath the blazing sun, the village stands. It’s only in seeing the horror-struck faces that I feel guilt deep in my bones. My head aches, my feet sting, and the ends of my sleeves are black with dirt. Still, I’d rather be gardening than attending this memorial. Because the crowd is missing familiar faces.

  Wilhelm, a devoted hunter and excellent cook. Abby, the woman who taught me before Charles pulled me out of school.

  Freya, Alex, Nieve. These are the people I grew up with, and despite their indifference toward me, their taunts, and how they mocked me, the crushing weight I feel by their passing doesn’t ease.

  I had spent the remainder of the morning before the memorial plucking weeds from the vegetable garden by the stream, gazing out at the journey it takes through the forest that surrounds us. My mind played tricks on me, making me believe there were eyes watching me from deep within the trees. When I turned, there was nothing there, but the eerie feeling followed me to the memorial.

  The event passes painfully slow; everyone has a memory to share, a final good-bye. The sun beats down on us, the day mocking those in mourning. I find Flo among the cluster of bodies after the ceremony. She links her arm through mine and wipes her eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She sniffs. “I just hate the creatures. I hate them so much.”

  “Yeah,” I say, ignoring the twisting of my stomach. “Me too.”

  “Do you want to play checkers? We can bring them up and sit by the stream in the sun. I was supposed to hunt but Charles gave me the afternoon off. I need to take my mind off everything.”

  “Can’t. I’m still on gardening duty, remember?”

  Her shoulders slump. “Right.”

  “Hey, it’s not all bad.” I nudge her and force a s
mile. “You should ask Charles if you can hunt tomorrow instead. He’s taking me on my first one.”

  “What?” She stops in her tracks.

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow, finally. What’s wrong? You know I’ve been waiting for this day since forever.”

  She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “I’d forgotten it was tomorrow, with everything that’s happened.”

  “Flo.” I put my hand on her shoulder but she sidesteps it.

  “Aren’t you happy for me?”

  She avoids my eye and backs away. “I have to go.”

  “Flo, wait, I—”

  But it’s too late—she’s already gone, fleeing through the center of the village like I’m some sort of disease she can’t get away from fast enough.

  ~

  It’s late afternoon by the time I reach the vines. The wooden wall built to support the tomatoes was partially snapped last night, and fragments are scattered in the garden surrounding it. A layer of sweat covers my forehead and my hair is a tangled pile atop my head as I move around in the heat, tidying up.

  There’s a reason gardening is the worst job to do alone—because it’s the one task that never truly ends. As soon as I mount the square wall back upright, I notice the weeds clawing through the dips in the wood. I drag my tools along the ground and hack at the browning vines gripping the wood for dear life.

  The whisper of the breeze brushes my skin, a ripple of leaves in its wake, and I hear it, then.

  Turning, I expect to see Cynthia about to scold me for the crooked wooden support. But it isn’t her. It isn’t anyone. “Hello?”

  The edge of the forest, usually inviting and fruitful during the day, looks ominous—branches reaching out to me, crying for me to get lost in their depths. It swallows the other end of the stream, shadowing the clear water. Turning back around, I snip the root of a weed and tug it from the wall, trample it. And then I pause; there are the burning, golden eyes staring right back at me.

  He stands only a few feet away, barefoot, clothed in black. I stumble back until I hit the wall; it falls behind me, the wood snapping as I brandish my cutter in my hands like it can somehow protect me. The tomato patch is the only section of the clearing not visible from the tunnel entrance, blocked by the back of the kitchen shack.

  “Don’t come any closer.” He tilts his head, glancing at the cutter in my hands. “I’m serious. I’ll, I’ll—”

  “You wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if you wanted to.”

  Though he looks and speaks human, there’s an otherworldly beauty to him that I can’t describe, but one look at his biceps makes me gulp—he could snap my neck before I could call for help.

  “I could scream.”

  He starts to walk closer. “But you won’t.”

  I hate that he’s right. I hate that I don’t understand why he’s right. Our afternoon was spent mourning fifteen of the people I grew up with—why am I not disgusted by the mere presence of this creature? Because he didn’t kill you when he had the chance.

  He’s nearly in front of me, hand reaching out, and there’s nowhere for me to go—if I step back, I’ll tumble over the unsnapped section of the wall mounted crookedly in the ground. His fingers close around the cutter pointed at him, and he pulls it from my grasp.

  Scream. Call for help.

  “Why did you come here?” I ask.

  “I said I’d see you soon.”

  “Why didn’t you kill me?”

  “You’re no monster.”

  “And the others you killed are?” The ghost of a smile appears but he doesn’t answer. “Who are you? Why does your kind kill so many innocent people?”

  His expression falters ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t believe everything they tell you.”

  “I know you kill. I saw it last night. Fifteen people died. They were murdered. ”

  “The killing isn’t the part you shouldn’t believe.”

  In the distance, laughter filters through the clearing. A group of hunters heads toward us from the tree line. Charles is at the front of the path, with Darius right by his side. When I look back the man is gone—so fast it’s as if the breeze carried him away. Charles spies me standing by the wall.

  “Milena?” He approaches me. “What happened to the wall?”

  “I—uh—it must’ve been broken last night. I was trying to fix it.”

  He looks past me, to the forest, where the man had emerged.

  “The sun will set soon. Best get to the tunnels.”

  The sun lingers in the crevice of the mountains; it’ll be hours before the sky is dark. But after yesterday, nobody will take any chances. I pick up my tools and fall into step with Darius. With a glance over my shoulder, I hold my breath, half expecting the creature to be watching me leave. The tree line is empty, like he was never even there.

  My entire life I’ve been told of the beasts, bloodthirsty creatures with no humanity. They’re the ones who killed my parents, the ones who ruined my life, the ones I should hate. But the golden-eyed man was no beast; he was beautiful the way the icicles lining the gutters in winter are—enticing yet untouchable.

  “Hey, Darius,” I say. “How was your first hunt?”

  “Fine.” His voice is tight and firm, nothing like the light, joking tone he used in the tunnels the day prior.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.”

  I grab his arm, halting him. “What’s up with you? Are you really going to ignore me now too?”

  The look in his eyes, his scowl. . . it’s familiar. It’s the one they all return with after their first hunt; it’s the way his mother, Cynthia, looks at me. I let go of his arm. “Good night, Milena.”

  His face is so young, but his voice is so cold and knowing. “I’ll see you tomorrow for your first hunt.”

  He strides away. Tomorrow, I turn twenty. Tomorrow is the day I’ve been waiting for my entire life—the day I get to experience my first hunt; the day I get to join the ranks of so many people before me. I should be excited. But I only feel heaviness thrumming through my veins.

  ~

  The mood in the tunnels feels different, and it has nothing to do with the fact that families are mourning the loss of their loved ones. People stare at me when I walk past, averting their eyes when I catch them, as if somehow last night was my fault. I hold my head high as I search for Flo in the main room, her quarters, and the hall, but she’s nowhere to be seen. There’s so much on my mind.

  Darius’s attitude change makes my head spin, and Flo’s absence is peculiar. And the hunt tomorrow—what does it involve? The hunters usually return with dead animals for meals, although sometimes with nothing. But there’s always an air of mystery that surrounds them, a huge secret I feel left out of. And yet it’s the creatures who plague my mind, intrigue and fear warring against one another.

  I retire to my quarters early, giving up on finding Flo. At exactly a quarter past seven, Charles arrives at my door with a stoic expression. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  I shrug halfheartedly. “I’m all right.”

  “Good. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow. Make sure to sleep well tonight. I need you at your very best.”

  I nod eagerly, thoughts of finally uncovering the mystery of the hunt shooting a surge of energy through me. “Charles.” I catch his arm before he can leave. “Did the hunt go well today?

  With Darius?”

  “Of course.”

  “He seemed different.”

  Gently, he wraps his hand over mine and untangles my fingers from his arm. “That’s the hunt, Milena,” he says. “It changes everything. You’ll see.” And then he turns and exits, leaving me alone with a messy arrangement of thoughts to sort through.

  Chapter Four

  Charles arrives at my room early the next morning with a pair of brown trousers and a white shirt that he instructs me to put on. I’m twenty. It’s the most important day of my life. Today, I’ll become like everyone else—a hunter. And I can fe
el like I belong here for the first time, maybe ever.

  I’m aboveground within five minutes. Despite the early morning sun, the air has a bite to it. This isn’t unusual heading into winter—what is unusual, however, is the absence of life both in the tunnels and around the village.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask Charles, tugging my trousers by their waistband.

  “Busy.” He waves my question off with a flick of his wrist and heads toward the forest. The wind whistles through the empty clearing, an eerie emptiness following us from the underground.

  “Keep up, Milena.”

  We pick up the pace and take the forbidden step into the forest. I’m awestruck, briefly forgetting where I am—that I’ve left the village and am in the territory of the creatures. I forget that I’ve waited twenty years for this moment. I forget that I should be nervous.

  The trees tower overhead, touching the sky as rain runs down in rivulets, dampening my arms. From inside the village, the forest always looks ominous, but the trees widen their branches in welcome and the chirping of insects bounces through. Leaves crunch beneath my feet; a melancholic song echoes off the treetops as birds flutter from one side of the forest to another.

  Charles bashes through the plants, whacking them aside haphazardly, widening the flattened path before us. He isn’t careful; he shoves through it, unnecessarily disrupting the peace of the inhabitants who call this place home.

  “Where are all the other hunters?” I ask. Charles uses his machete to chop a low-hanging branch to the left of us. His knife glints in the sun and reflects in my eyes.

  “They’re waiting for us.”

  “Where?” I frown. “Where are we going? When do we start?

  Don’t I get a weapon?”

  “Patience, Milena.” The irritation in his voice only grows so I shut my mouth. I’m not about to blow it because a few things seem out of the ordinary. We walk deeper into the forest. The farther we get from the village, the further I feel I’m being stretched. It feels strange to aimlessly wander through a place I’ve been forbidden from entering my entire life—ludicrous, even.

  Snap.

  Charles pauses in front of me. The sun filters through the branches, creating a patchwork of light on the forest floor.