Story 1033: The Poison Pixie Parade

They came at dusk.

Tiny lights bobbing through the trees like drunken fireflies, weaving through the fog-drenched woods outside Whitsley Hollow. To the untrained eye, they were beautiful. Magical.

But Celia Wynn knew better.

She’d seen them once before — twenty years ago, when her brother walked into the woods and never came back.

They called it “The Lost Parade.”

No one believed her when she said she saw tiny figures with sharp teeth and glowing green eyes, dancing in a line behind a music no one else could hear.

Until now.

Celia had returned to Whitsley, a woman hardened by years and loss, drawn back by rumors: vanished children, strange lights, and animals turning up dead — their bodies bloated, lips stained with pollen-yellow foam.

She came armed with iron dust, salt lines, and an old druid’s charm etched on a coin from a forgotten country.

And she came with a plan.

The first night, she found them again.

Not just lights — faces. Grinning. Inhuman.