The Shadowed Lands
He ran in terror. He had to get away as fast as he could from that which was chasing him. He hid behind a large pile of straw. How had he gotten on this farm?
He looked around. The thick fog was slowly crawling on the ground towards him. Another layer, at the level of his head, moved slowly towards him as well. He heard the shuffling of creatures moving towards him, surrounding him. He didn’t know where to go.
As he was trying to determine where to run to next, a shrill howl broke the near silence of the night. He startled, falling into the straw. He rushed to get out of it, ignoring the irritating pain of each piece. Then, he realized he had been holding his breath, and let it out as slowly and quietly as he could.
Above him, the thick clouds gave way, allowing the faint light of the crescent moon shine down. The man looked around to discover inky tendrils undulating towards him from the barn. Too worried about the darkness creeping towards him, he never heard or felt the gentle caress from behind him. Struck dumb, he knelt down. A creature then moved around to stand in front of him. It resembled nothing he had ever seen before, and feared nothing else he would ever see again.
The man knew he had to get to… where was it? He knew he had to go and warn the villagers of this danger. He knew someone would know what to do, but what was their name again? More importantly, other than the imminent danger he was in, what was his own name?
The clouds obscured the moon again, bathing the farm in darkness. The man’s vision was taken from him by the fog as it subsumed him. The crawling, skittering sounds rapidly moved towards him. He could barely make out the… thing… standing in front of him. And while part of his mind railed, desperately trying to convince him to run, to fight, to do anything, deep down, he knew he was going to die…