Content Warnings: Moderate gore, violence, terror. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable, please do not read. Thank you!55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxogdXX9PuA
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaa7cSB20Ch
We all know how the story starts.
A little boy, a little too naive, wandered away from his mother.
He walked into the woods, and played with all the woodland creatures.
And the darkness watched.
He wandered through the grasses, his high laughter cutting clear through the crisp autumn air.
He giggled as the deer bounded away, then cried when they didn't come back.
And the darkness stalked.
He shouted in pain as he fell across the root, and skinned his knee. "Mommy!" he cried, not remembering - his mother wasn't anywhere near.
He lay there, curled up into a tight ball, weeping, calling for a woman who would never come. A lady too busy fooling around with the men to notice her own flesh and blood had wandered into the woods - woods known to be treacherous.
And the darkness crooned.
<Don't be afraid, little one. The أم الظلام shall take care of you.>
The crying faded, and the little boy giggled again, misery forgotten. He'd found a friend.
A warm, kind, good friend. Who played with him. Who summoned sparkling violet apparitions for him to run after.
The Sun stretched across the sky, and still the little boy played.
And the darkness chuckled.
<Come, and watch my pets play,> the darkness called, and the boy ran to it, overjoyed to see two puppies - little ones, dark ones, with curious red spots on them.
And he played, as young boys are wont to do, with the puppies. He fell in love with them, and them with him.
And the darkness smiled.
The Sun was setting now, fading deep under the horizon. The sky was turning gold and red and violet and black.
The boy was playing still, laughing like a bell, as he rolled around with the dogs, got covered in dirt, and messy and rumpled, as boys will.
And the darkness growled.
And the Earth stilled.
The puppies began to change.
Morph.
Mutate.
Growing, expanding, stretching. Half-grown, then adults, then BIGGER.
Now they were the size of bears.
And they were no longer innocent little puppies. Those red markings, just mere dots before, were now long, intricate swirls, inviting insanity to anyone who tried to trace them.
And their mouths were full of sharp, biting teeth, and strange, lava-like saliva. Their eyes were bright yellow, demonic flames bursting out of them.
The boy was no longer laughing.
Now, his screams pierced the air, cold and effective, cutting off the joy of the day as it faded to night.
The Moon hung overhead as the wolves - for wolves, big wolves, they clearly were - stalked forward.
Growls came from their throats, the very voices of demons.
And the darkness laughed.
<Come, little boy. Or do you no longer like my beautiful pets?>
The boy could not speak. Could not think. Could not move. All he could do was watch, as those... monsters... stalked forward.
He shivered, and the minor movement was enough to shake him.
And he ran. He ran and ran and ran.
Behind him, the snarling, slavering demon hounds chased after him, desperate to claim his soul - his flesh - him.
He screamed. Loud. "MOMMY!" he cried. Please, hear me, he thought.
But she was still with the Gentleman Manuel Dumont.
And luck was not on the boy's side today.
For he tripped, on that selfsame root he'd fallen upon before.
And he cried, and he screamed, and he tried to get up.
But his foot was stuck, trapped beneath the heavy root. And no matter how he pulled, he could not free his little foot.
So he could only wait for his doom.
As the wolves stalked closer, and their growling grew louder, he felt the darkness caressing his cheek.
<Fear not, my child. Your mother, too, shall face her punishment. In time. For now, my boys are hungry. They must feast. And you are young. Fresh. Sweet. Have him, by beauties. Gorge yourselves, for your work is not yet done.>
And the boy screamed. Loud, long, clear. But in this empty, abandoned forest, no one heard.
And no one heard that scream cut horribly off, replaced by the sound of munching.
Slow... horrendous... munching.
The wolves had found their feast.
And they hadn't fed in an age.
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