All Hallows Eve

The year was 1301, and for ten days, the sun had failed to rise. The villagers of this unnamed town had watched in fear as the world descended into an unending night, swallowed by shadows. At first, they hoped the darkness would lift, but soon after, They arrived. What They were, no one could say. All that was known was Their presence brought a chilling quiet, and a creeping death to everything touched by light. Animals disappeared, crops turned to rot, and the world became a place of lurking horrors. Today was All Hallow's Eve, once a time of celebration, but now there was no joy, no laughter - just survival. Inside a crumbling house, the last survivors of the village huddled together. The room, once a living space, was now a haven for the desperate. The walls cracked and worn, cobwebs danced in the cold draft. A flickering candle cast long, trembling shadows across the faces of those inside.

Baelor, the village elder, sat in an old rocking chair, his ancient bones barely able to hold him upright. Once revered for his bone readings and wisdom, he had become frail and brittle as the world darkened around him. Still, he was the one who told of Solstice - a distant city where, rumor had it, the sun still flickered. Hope clung to this tale like a last thread, for without light, they knew They would come. Opposite him sat an unknown group of survivors, each as lost as the village itself. The Father Thomas, a man of the clergy, sat at the table with his head bowed, clutching a simple wooden cross. His faith had been tested to its limits in the last ten days, and though he still led the remaining survivors in prayer, his whispered words carried more doubt than conviction. His holy vestments were dirtied and torn, stained by the long hours of struggle. Beside him was the Witch Hunter, Rufus Conway, a rugged man with a sharp gaze that never rested. His presence in the village had been incidental - a traveler who had been chasing rumors of dark magic through the region before the eternal night descended. His broad-brimmed hat cast shadows over his gaunt face, and his long coat was worn and covered in the dust of his journeys.

And finally, an elderly woman, the wife of Frederick, a local whose heart had been shattered. She had lost her husband to the shadows, and though her face was lined with age, her eyes told the story of someone much older. She was silent, her hands trembling in her lap as if trying to remember the warmth of her husband's touch. Grief had made her quiet, but her presence was a reminder that everyone here had lost something, or someone, to the night. At the table sat Sir Cedric, a knight who had been traveling through the town when the eternal night fell. He'd seen too much in this darkness - creatures and horrors that even his bravery faltered before. And beneath the table, curled up tightly, was Young Ellie, a girl of no more than eleven. Her father had been a farmer, but he had disappeared with the other villagers, likely claimed by Them. She clutched a tattered doll to her chest, her small frame trembling. She barely spoke anymore, only staring into the flickering candlelight, as if it was the last thing anchoring her to reality.

As they huddled in silence, the weight of their situation pressing on them, Baelor was the first to break the quiet. "Solstice is our only hope," he rasped, his voice brittle as dry leaves. "If we stay, we die. They will come for us. It's only a matter of time." Sir Cedric nodded solemnly, his voice gruff. "There may be supplies left at the church. Oil, candles - something to get us through the night." The Father, a man of the cloth whose faith had been shaken by these dark times, made the sign of the cross. "The church is sacred. We should go." And so, the decision was made. They would leave their sanctuary behind and make their way through the town to the church. Each step through the shadowy streets was a test of courage. Every creak of the ground, every rustle in the trees set their hearts racing. The buildings loomed like graves, empty and silent, their windows darkened as if the life had drained out of them long ago. When they arrived at the church, its once-proud steeple stood as a ghostly silhouette against the void of the sky. Inside, the pews were abandoned, the altar untouched. Silence reigned, but there was something else - a noise, faint and distant, coming from deeper within the building. As they moved toward the sacristy, the door was locked, but Sir Cedric, with a grunt of effort, broke it open.

Inside, their torches flickered, then died. The darkness swallowed them whole, and before they could react, movement stirred in the shadows - They were here.

Figures, barely visible, shifted in the blackness. And then - fire. Flames erupted from all around, engulfing the room in a hellish blaze. The group scrambled to escape, but the church's front doors were locked. In the chaos, Sir Cedric fell. One moment, he was fighting through the blaze, sword in hand, and the next, the beams of the ceiling collapsed on him, pinning him beneath their weight. His final shout was one of defiance, as he pushed at the flaming wood, but it was too late. The darkness claimed him. The rest of the group, panicked and desperate, smashed through the door, finally freeing themselves as the church burned behind them, lighting up the eternal night. They managed to gain control of a startled horse and cart, and with Baelor waiting for them back at the house, they rode through the village, hoping to find others. But Young Ellie, who had been terrified since the beginning, couldn't handle the fear any longer. As the group passed through the village, she slipped away without anyone noticing, vanishing into the darkness. It was only later, when they called for her, that they realized she was gone. A search through the town was fruitless, and their hearts grew heavier. They could hear the whispers in the shadows, see glimpses of movement. Ellie was lost to the night, lost to Them, just like the others.

They had no time to mourn. The darkness was closing in, and as they made their way out of town toward Solstice, the road became treacherous. The cart hit a deep pothole, and the wheel broke loose. They had no choice but to stop and fix it. As they worked, the sounds of the forest grew louder. Voices, unnatural and low, echoed between the trees. Figures barely discernible in the gloom, lurked just beyond the firelight. And then the horse, which had been their lifeline, changed. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and within moments, it was engulfed in flames, burning with the same evil that had taken the town. They had only moments to react as They emerged from the trees. A crossbow bolt cracked through the air, and a farmer couple appeared from up the road, driving off the creatures. "Come with us," they urged, "our farm's not far, and you'll be safe there." They made their way to the farm, but the safety they sought was short-lived. Their shadow figures gathered again, chanting in the distance, their voices growing louder, more insistent. They surrounded the farmhouse, setting it ablaze as they closed in. One by one, the survivors fell, claimed by the fire or by Them as they whispered promises of power and relief from the endless night. In the end, the Witch Hunter was the last to stand. Desperate and broken, he fled through the woods, hoping to reach the road that would lead him to Solstice. But the shadows were everywhere. They caught up with him, whispers filling his mind. And as They surrounded him, he could no longer resist their pull. The last thing he felt was the burning heat of their power as it consumed him, body and soul.

The woods smoldered in the eternal darkness, and the flames flickered out as the shadows retreated. There was no light left in the world.