What Crawls in the Dark

The night in Pleasant Hills was unnervingly still, the type of silence that precedes a storm. Darkness stretched across the town, settling like a heavy shroud. Beneath this veil, the streets seemed lifeless, save for the flicker of streetlights struggling against the encroaching gloom. But something stirred within the shadows—something far from lifeless.

At the edge of town, a group of Ravagers emerged from the forest, slinking low to the ground. Their crimson eyes glinted like dying embers, and their ragged forms twisted unnaturally as they moved. These were not vampires in the same league as the Salvatores or the elites who hid their true nature behind polished veneers. No, these creatures were the remnants—the castoffs. They thrived on chaos and destruction, and tonight, they were given a purpose.

The leader of the pack, a gaunt figure with sinewy limbs and a scar stretching across his jaw, crouched at the edge of a narrow alley. His cracked lips curled into a grim smile as he sniffed the cold night air. The scent of prey was everywhere—human fear masked behind mundane routines. They were so easy to terrorize, these people, with their ignorance and false sense of security.

"Stick to the plan," the leader rasped, his voice jagged as broken glass. "No killing. Just fear."

Behind him, the other Ravagers shifted restlessly. Their hunger was palpable, claws twitching for release. A younger one growled low under his breath, his scarlet eyes burning with impatience. "Why not just take them? They're cattle—they'll never see us coming."

The leader snarled, silencing him with a glare. "Not yet. The Thornstones gave their orders. Fear first, then chaos."

A collective hiss ran through the group, but they obeyed. The Thornstones promised more than just freedom—they promised a future where the Ravagers wouldn't need to hide anymore. A future built on the ashes of Pleasant Hills, with creatures like them reigning supreme.

The Ravagers slithered further into the town, moving through alleys, climbing rooftops with unnatural grace. They left subtle marks as they passed—scratches along windowsills, torn flowers from garden beds, and faint claw marks on the sides of cars. Enough to be noticed in the morning but not enough to be believed.

A lone man stumbled down the street, a weary figure returning from a late shift at the hospital. His footsteps echoed in the quiet night, accompanied only by the occasional gust of wind. The leader of the Ravagers signaled, and two of his pack peeled off to follow, their movements soundless.

The man paused, glancing over his shoulder, sensing a presence but seeing nothing. With a nervous shake of his head, he quickened his pace, but the Ravagers remained hidden—always just out of sight, their cruel amusement growing.

From across the street, an elderly woman let out a curse as her cat slipped through the open door. "Damn animals," she muttered, oblivious to the predators prowling outside.

The Ravagers chuckled quietly among themselves. Animals. That's all these humans thought they were—no more dangerous than stray dogs or raccoons. The idea delighted them. They thrived in the space between superstition and disbelief, crafting nightmares that left no trace but haunted minds for nights to come.

The younger Ravager scratched the side of a parked car with a claw, leaving jagged streaks in the metal. Another perched on a rooftop, his silhouette blending into the night as he leaped silently from building to building, reveling in his freedom.

At the outskirts of town, the Ravagers approached the boundary of the Monte Riego estate. The towering hedgerows and ornate gates loomed like sentinels in the moonlight, casting long shadows over the garden paths. The scent of ancient magic clung to the air, an invisible barrier warning off those who dared venture too close.

The leader of the Ravagers crouched low, his gaze fixed on the distant glow of the mansion's windows. A slow grin spread across his face, knowing the weight of the secrets hidden within. "Soon," he whispered. "Not yet... but soon."

The younger Ravager scowled, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Why do we wait? That girl—Monte Riego's heir—she's the one they want."

The leader shot him a warning glare. "Patience. The Thornstones will give the signal. Until then, we stay out of sight."

Still, the allure of the estate tugged at them, the promise of power tempting them like a siren's call. But the leader knew better. The Monte Riego family had stood against creatures like them for centuries. To attack prematurely would be foolish. And so, they lingered, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Before retreating, the leader's sharp gaze fell upon a massive oak tree near the estate's entrance. An idea flickered through his mind—an ominous message, a sign that would be recognized by those who understood ancient warnings.

With a sharp flick of his claw, he plucked a dead crow from the ground. Whispering an incantation under his breath, he sliced the bird's throat, letting its dark blood spill into his hand. He drew a jagged symbol on the oak's bark—a twisted version of the Thornstone crest, marked with a warning: We are here, and we are waiting.

The blood shimmered briefly under the moonlight before fading into the wood, leaving only the faintest trace behind. To the unknowing, it would appear as nothing more than a stain. But to those who knew better, it was a threat wrapped in silence—a promise that darkness was already at their door.

The Ravagers slinked back into the forest, their presence dissolving into the shadows as if they had never existed. The streets returned to their eerie stillness, the only signs of their passage the faint scratches on walls and the uneasy chill left in their wake.

As the leader reached the forest's edge, he glanced back one final time toward the glowing windows of the Monte Riego mansion. A slow, sinister smile curled across his face.

"She has no idea what's coming," he muttered under his breath. "Not until it's too late."

With that, the Ravagers disappeared into the night, leaving Pleasant Hills wrapped in a false sense of security. But the seeds of fear had been planted, and soon, the Thornstones' game would begin in earnest. And when it did, neither Seraphine Monte Riego nor anyone else would be prepared for the storm waiting to descend.