A quick short story that I wrote to get my mood back into writing on a downer day.
The ruins were silent, but not empty. The crumbling stones and decaying walls seemed to breathe with a life of their own, as if the ancient spirits of a forgotten time were still trapped within the cold, lonely chambers. The moon shone through the broken windows, casting long, twisted shadows that crept across the floor like ghostly fingers.
It was then that the creature emerged from the shadows. It was tall and menacing, with glowing eyes that burned like fiery coals in the darkness. It wore a cloak that seemed to shift and flow like black mist, and its movements were slow and deliberate, as if it were searching for something.
The creature moved silently, as if it were weightless, and it seemed to glide across the stone floor without making a sound. Its breathing was heavy and laboured, and each breath it took seemed to rattle the very foundations of the ruins.
As it drew closer, the creature’s features became more defined. Its skin was pale and sickly, and its fingers were long and gnarled like twisted branches. Its eyes were deep-set and sunken, as if it had been dead for centuries.
The creature stopped, and for a moment, it stood still, as if listening for something. Then, it turned its head slowly, and its eyes locked onto its prey. It was a lone traveller, lost and alone in the ruins, and the creature’s hunger grew as it sensed the fear in the traveller’s heart.
With a sudden burst of speed, the creature lunged forward, its cloak billowing behind it like a pair of great, leathery wings. The traveller screamed as the creature closed in, its sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the creature vanished back into the darkness, leaving nothing behind but the echo of its haunting laughter.
Very few would ever hear the The Örtüer speak, but once you were its target, you would never hear it again.