Story 1155: The Beast’s Pact

The moon hung low and red over the village of Thornmere, casting shadows that twitched where they should not. Every villager knew that once a generation, when the blood moon rose, the Beast of the Hollow Ridge would come down from the woods seeking tribute.

It was not just a beast—it was a curse made flesh. Fur like matted thorns, eyes like pits of fire, and breath that carried the rot of centuries.

This time, it wanted more than livestock.

It wanted a name.

Young Ruth Arlen, daughter of the village blacksmith, had heard the stories her whole life. She didn’t believe them—not until she heard the howl on the first night of the blood moon. Not until the earth trembled beneath her window. Not until the council gathered and announced the old words:

“One must go, or all shall fall.”

There would be a lottery at dusk.

But Ruth’s father, broken and shaking, confessed the truth to her before the drawing.

He had made a pact with the beast.