The dark shapes taking shape looked like they were stalking, sticking behind trees and within the shadows. Clawed appendages scraped against the tree trunks and walls.
Tomas barely caught a glimpse of them as they rushed from place to place, faster than a horse, all the while releasing ear-splitting screams and wretches.
They’re coming again, Tomas realised in a panic, pushing through the exhaustion weighing him down, determined to do what he needed to do.
He had not seen things like these before. They weren’t like the hulking beasts that had torn through Gharland’s company, nor like the ghouls they had seen at the Repository.
These were something else entirely. Spindly, clittering, and draped in shadow.
Thunder cracked up ahead through the mist, yet no lightning was flashing. The winds were gusting yet again.
And then came the rains.
Fist-sized clumps of ice and azure fire began to fall from the sky, slicing lines through the clouds of mist before making an impact.
Frozen fire.
It took Tomas by surprise. One of the balls of ice slammed into the snow before him; the ice simply shattered like glass, yet the blue flames raged on, melting the snow around it as if fuelled by an invisible oil.
More of the strange hailstones began to fall, punching holes in the roofs of cottages and farmhouses before engulfing the structures in raging azure fires.
Tomas held his hands up to protect his head from the falling ice; they slammed into carts, walls, fences and eventually even people with ferocious booms.
The blue flames were hotter than any normal fire and seemed to suck the air in around them as they came alive, creating maelstroms of spinning snow dust.
Townsfolk were screaming and running, trying to get away from the danger all around them. Some raced for cover but were snatched and dragged off by unseen claws of shadow.
Tomas ran down the street towards his house at the edge of town- the same street he had attempted to escape his father from all those years ago.
Snow steamed and crackled around him. A ball of flaming ice smacked into Tomas’s back, knocking him to his knees. Despite the pain and sizzling clothes, he hastily got back up, only a few steps away from his front door.
A patch of Tomas’s clothing had caught alight. Upon realising, he patted it down to try and douse the flames, before resorting to using handfuls of snow.
The flames fizzed as they were extinguished, having burned through a section of his tunic, and leaving parts of his skin red and raw.
He pressed on; he was too close to quit now.
Tomas did not even wait to knock; he simply shoulder-charged the front door to his father’s house. Thankfully, it had not been locked or bolted and was flung open with a loud crash.
Tomas’s father, Evin, leapt up from his armchair in a rage. “What the fuck do you think you are doing, boy?”
No time to explain. Tomas ignored his father and ran for his old bedroom in the back, key in hand.
His father, having then heard the screams and commotion coming from outside, stumbled to the door and looked out in horror as the sky continued pummelling the town with stunning blue hailstones of ice and fire.
“What in the æther…?!”
Tomas dove to his knees, sliding towards his raggedy bed. He stuck his hands down beneath the cot, shuffling through an assortment of dusty junk and forgotten items to try to find what he was looking for.
“Come on, where are you?” he whispered to himself.
“Boy?! What the fuck have you done to my door?” Evin shouted, still in an angry tone.
Even with the chaos around them, Tomas’s father seemed more concerned with the door that Tomas had charged through. Perhaps it was fear, disbelief… or just resorting back to what he knew best when Tomas was around.
Tomas ignored him, continuing to search in the space beneath his cot, with little luck.
“Fuck this,” Tomas said in a panic, grabbing the edge of the bed and flipping it up onto its side.
His eyes searched the mess of old stuff, desperately trying to find the right item. Cobwebs, mouldy books, old boots, boxes, baskets, and dust. Lots of dust.
Then, he spotted it.
Tomas saw the black box he had purchased many years earlier from an out-of-town trader who had once visited, selling an assortment of odd trinkets and items.
Tomas had hidden it beneath his bed for safe keeping. He knew that if ever the day came when he needed protection again, it would always be there for him. Only he had the key.
Tomas took the box out from amongst the junk, crouched down and inserted the key that hung from his neck into the inbuilt lock.
With a satisfying click, the key slotted in perfectly. He twisted it and the lid popped open.
Sitting in the same position as he had placed it all those years ago, Tomas’s eyes studied his father’s old cleaver. The curved, rectangular blade was rusted yet certainly still sharp enough to cause harm. The handle had an old, brown stain permanently painted onto it from when it had been last used.
The memories flashed into Tomas’s head as he took the cleaver from the box.
The phantom, Evin, dragging Tomas out of bed. The lambs screaming. The cleaver, his only hope of freedom. Gripping that handle like his life depended on it, stabbing his father in the leg, and fleeing into the bitter night.
Tomas took a deep breath in as he felt his heart palpitate, recalling the guarantee he had made himself as a child- that if his father ever attacked him again, he would defend himself and would have the means to do
