lovely night

Lukas was confined in a dark cellar. The space was cold, damp, and weathered from years of abandonment. A hole in the ceiling provided his only source of light, moonlight shining through. His feet weren't tied, but his hands were cuffed. The light security puzzled him. *Do they really underestimate us that much?* he thought.

A bobby pin was clutched in his hand, and he was slowly working it into the handcuffs, moving so carefully that it hardly made any sound. If these monsters were like the ones he'd dealt with before, they would have excellent hearing. He knew from experience how dangerous creatures with hearing far sharper than a human's could be.

In the room next door, he heard heavy footsteps and stopped picking the lock. An argument erupted.

"You've got to let me join! I did good for you!" a man's voice shouted.

A woman's voice, one Lukas had heard before, responded sharply. "Sorry, you're not a priority, and you're not very useful to me. You didn't kill Jamie. Now, he's coming for us."

The man's voice grew louder in frustration. "Oh, come on! You can't be that dense. He's wounded. He's not stupid; he won't come for you!"

The woman replied, her tone turning sinister and sadistic. "Be careful who you yell at. A thousand years of training wouldn't save you from me."

Lukas could almost feel the tension in the air, like the crackle of a static charge ready to explode.

The man whimpered, "Yeah, sorry, boss. Come on, you're up against the world. Help a guy out. You've got all these idiots working for you, and I've done more damage than most of them."

The footsteps moved away, fading out of earshot. Lukas listened as the conversation trailed off, the women's final words cutting through: "I'm stuck with these idiots, whether I like it or not. I don't need any more of them."

Lukas took a deep breath, twisted the handcuff's lock, and freed himself. The cuffs came off suddenly, but he caught them before they hit the ground. Carefully, he set them down and slowly made his way to the door.

Lukas approached the cellar door, which had an emergency handle in case someone got trapped. An old, rusted padlock secured it, grimy and nearly as corroded as the door itself. He'd seen locks like this before and figured it wouldn't be too hard to open. He gave it a quick once-over and thought, "This won't take long."

His hands moved swiftly, picking the lock like it was a simple puzzle. Within minutes, he almost had it cracked—until the footsteps returned. The same voices from earlier began bickering once more.

"You're not Native American. I can't have you join our little merry band," the woman said.

The man sounded dumbfounded. "Native... American? The Indians?!"

There was a brief pause, followed by his laughter. "That's human culture. You can't seriously tell me you want to downgrade yourself to some human thing?"

The woman's voice hardened. "I was born Native, and I will die Native, regardless of my form. Blood is thicker than water, and it flows through anyone  foreign a native , and I will defend what little remains of my culture and my people."

Suddenly, something slammed against the door with a massive impact. Lukas took a nervous step back.

The man sneered, "Hate to break it to you, but no one on Earth is going to take you seriously. No one's going to see you as human or Native. Face it—you're a creature, Mother . No little identity you give yourself is going to change that."

Another impact hit the door, louder this time, leaving a much larger dent. Lukas felt his heart race.

The woman's voice rose again, more demonic than before. "You are only alive because of your talent. Keep pissing me off with your half-baked philosophical ramblings that wouldn't even be accepted at a community college library, and I'll tear you to pieces so thoroughly there won't even be enough left for the pigs outside. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," the man replied quickly, fear evident in his voice.

"Now find Jamie," she snarled, "before I find more inventive ways to end you."

There was a sudden thud, like a stack of wood dropping onto the floor, followed by the sound of smaller footsteps running away quickly. Lukas noticed that one of them hadn't left yet. He didn't hear footsteps—just that familiar dead silence. His eyes flicked to the handcuffs, ready to slip them back on at any moment if needed. Fortunately, the heavy footsteps finally moved away, sounding like massive elephant stomps, nearly shaking the ground.

He began counting in his mind. One, Paris... two, London... He went through eight cities, ending with ten, New York. Finally, he picked the lock, catching it silently before it could fall to the ground. He pocketed the lock—worst case. He could always return and escape later.

Silently, Lukas opened the door. It felt like opening a coffin, as though he were stepping into the afterlife. He slipped out and found himself in what looked like a hunting cabin. There was a fireplace, a bookshelf filled with hundreds of books—some in languages he couldn't read—and furniture draped with nice blankets and quilts. However, there were still cobwebs hanging in corners and algae creeping along the dying wood.

He tiptoed around, doing his best to stay out of sight. The shadows didn't matter—monsters could see in the dark. He entered what seemed to be a kitchen. Pots, pans, and cooking ingredients were scattered haphazardly around the room. A nice stove stood in the center, and a TV played some old black-and-white noir detective show.

Then he spotted it—one of the Skinwalkers, without its human disguise, asleep in a massive recliner. The creature was enormous, twice the size of a normal human, and covered in muscle. A yellow blanket draped over it. The recliner itself was the largest Lukas had ever seen, clearly custom-made for something of that size. Freelance monsters, he thought grimly. The vampires have gotten lazy.

Next to the Skinwalker, cooking oil and various other bottles were scattered about. Lukas, thinking quickly, started to rub some oil on himself. It is better to smell like the kitchen than like an escaped captive, he reasoned. Though if I get caught, I'll be ready to be cooked.

After his little oil bath, he noticed something in the moonlight streaming through the window: a rifle. It was a strange combination of old-fashioned wood and modern tactical gear. He picked it up, examining it. Fully loaded. He turned off the safety.

Just as he was about to continue his escape, he heard small footsteps. He ducked and hid behind some cover. The fridge door opened, its light flooding the room, illuminating everything around him.

A variety of sounds came from the fridge—glass clinking, boxes being shuffled around—followed by a brief pause, then the fridge door shutting. Lukas saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes and noticed the creature was eating a candy bar. The wrapper flew in his direction, and he heard the footsteps approaching.

He silently waited as the creature passed by, revealing itself as another Skinwalker. This one was smaller, about the size of a man, but still monstrous. It carelessly walked past him, seemingly unaware of Lukas's presence.

Lukas began to follow it, tiptoeing quietly, hoping it might lead him to an exit. The creature led him down a long, narrow hallway. The walls were lined with a few paintings, but nothing remarkable. At the end of the hallway, there was a rack filled with rifles and an array of other weapons.

The Skinwalker stopped. Lukas noticed a rifle with a silencer and quickly grabbed it, moving faster than he expected. He aimed it at the back of the creature's head, finger hovering over the trigger.

Then the Skinwalker turned sharply, locking eyes with Lukas. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he froze. The creature wasn't a full-grown monster—it was just a kid. A fleshy, distorted version of a child, but still, the innocent face stopped him in his tracks.

There was a long pause between them. The boy, or what Lukas assumed was a boy, began to tear up. Lukas whispered, "Don't say a word."

But the kid started crying—loudly. Lukas knew the game was up. He threw the rifle to the ground and raised his hands.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice calm, trying to reassure the frightened child.

"Hey, it's all right, kid. Trust me, if I was going to hurt you, I would've done it already," Lukas said softly.

The creature backed away, then bolted off on all fours, disappearing from sight.

"Wow, now that's something you don't see every day," came a woman's voice from behind him. Lukas recognized it instantly as the same woman from before. He heard the flick of a lighter, followed by the familiar scent of tobacco drifting his way.

She continued, her tone curious, "You could've killed the kid and been halfway out of here by now. So, why would you make such a dumb decision?"

Lukas took a deep breath, answering calmly, "Trust me, I thought about it. I could've pulled the trigger and been out of here. But I couldn't do it. A kid's a kid, doesn't matter what he is. I know it's not the smartest move, but to be a good man,even if not wise, that's the only way I'm willing to live with myself, even if it gets me killed."

He finished his speech just as a screech echoed from the hallway. "Where is he?!"

A pair of glowing yellow eyes locked onto him, and a Skinwalker charged forward so fast Lukas barely had time to react. The creature knocked over furniture and paintings, its massive claw inches from slashing him down—until a commanding voice halted it.

"That's enough now," the woman said coolly.

Lukas recognized the Skinwalker. It was the same one that had been asleep on the fancy recliner earlier. The creature hesitated, glaring at Lukas, fear flashing in its eyes.

"Why keep him alive?" it growled. "He nearly escaped. He almost killed the kid!"

The woman replied calmly, "We need a hostage or someone to sell, and right now, he's the only male we've got alive. Sure, he stretched his legs, but he didn't hurt anyone. And unlike the rest of you, he's interesting to talk to. The kid's fine, and other than using some cooking supplies, there's no real crime here. So, Rex, do me a favor and go back to sleep."

There was clear fear and respect in the Skinwalker's voice as it muttered, "Yes, ma'am. Just a bad dream, forget I was up."

With that, the creature retreated into the darkness, moving much more calmly than before.

"All right, turn around," the woman said. Lukas hesitated but began to turn, bracing himself for the same nightmarish face he'd seen before—the distorted image of a towering, deer-like monster.

Instead, he was met with something entirely different: a pleasant face, youthful, with long, dark hair brushed neatly, hazel eyes, and a scattering of adorable freckles. She wore an elegant blue dress paired with a jean jacket, her cheerful demeanor catching him completely off guard.

She stepped closer and, with a teasing smile, said, "You know, I did plan to eat you, but not like this. You're covered in all this cooking oil."

Lukas stood there, dumbfounded, his jaw slack and hands still raised. She playfully closed his mouth with a finger, then gently lowered his arms.

"It's all right, sweetheart, I don't bite," she cooed.

Lukas blinked, regaining some sense. "Well, I do," he said, trying to muster some confidence. "So keep that in mind if you try to devour me."

She giggled, a sound light and almost disarming. "Oh, I hope you do. I'm curious to see what you can do to me, Mister... John G. Neihardt."

"John G. Neihardt?" Lukas questioned, confused.

"Not everything at once, dear," she replied with a playful grin, tapping his nose gently. "Hey, Bambi—Mr. Deer in the Headlights—I need to show you something. If you don't mind?"

Lukas stammered, struggling to find his words. "Y-yes, ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself. "It's Mommy, not ma'am," she teased.

Lukas blushed deeply at her words, and she laughed again, the sound rich with amusement. "I'm kidding," she said. "Call me Shiloh."

Lukas questioned her as they walked. "Why are we going someplace more private?"

She grabbed his arm, smiling faintly. "Something special," she replied, her steps slow and methodical.

Lukas glanced at her dress, raising an eyebrow. "Why the dress?" he asked.

Shiloh gave a soft laugh, but her words carried a somber weight. "Well, I don't think I'll be in this world much longer. My little merry band of misfits is dwindling. Soon, I'll be the last. Either Jamie or someone with more authority will take me out. So... I wanted to enjoy the night."

A grim expression crossed Lukas's face. He took a deep breath and said, "I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. You've killed a lot of innocent people, Shiloh. I don't think this is all... undeserved."

Shiloh stopped dead in her tracks, releasing his arm. Lukas stood firm. "And another thing... I'm not some bachelor for you to toy with. I know you're wearing a mask. I don't know what's coming next, but drop the charade."

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze around them. It was the closest Lukas had ever felt to time truly stopping. Slowly, life began to return—first the wind, then the snowfall, and then the sharp cold that pierced through his skin. Shiloh didn't move at first, but tears began to go well in her eyes.

"I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. She looked him in the eyes and softly asked, "Will you still humor me?"

Lukas wiped her tears away and, with a playful smile, said, "Yes, Mommy."

They both laughed, the sound unexpectedly warm, making Lukas feel a strange sense of comfort.

Shiloh smiled, her hand tightening around his arm. "Come on, the night's still young."

She led him to a door, pausing before it. "There's something behind it—something beautiful. It hardly grows anywhere else in the world, and most people kill it on sight. It rarely gets a chance to blossom."

Before she opened the door, Lukas asked, "Why me? You killed everyone else at that camp. Why did you spare me?"

Shiloh looked at him thoughtfully. "Because you're the only one with the eyes of someone who's been tortured. There's nothing I can do to you that the vampires haven't already done. You have my eyes—eyes that have seen war, misery, and loss. Your whole life is dictated by the hands of a murderous, broken system. Treated as less than cattle. You have beautiful eyes, Lukas. Tortured eyes... just like mine."

With those words, she held his hand and gently pushed the door open.

What opened before him was a patio overlooking a few scattered trees. A strange light emanated from the side of the house, and at first, Lukas wondered if it was the sun rising or perhaps some elaborate decoration requiring that many lights.

"Okay, so what am I looking for?" Lukas asked.

Shiloh smiled. "How about you move ten feet and see for yourself?"

He did as she instructed, his steps echoing louder as the snow began to fall and stick. He counted each step in his head. The light was partially hidden by a small cluster of trees, but as he moved into a clearing, what he saw could only be described as something out of science fiction.

In a world where monsters and impossibilities had become the norm, this still stood out. The triumphant light in the forest was a white, burning fire that engulfed the leaves—or at least what should have been leaves—of a massive, obsidian tree. The flames danced with the wind, yet they remained in place, not spreading to the surrounding trees. It was as though the tree itself was producing the fire, which was magnificent and otherworldly, like celestial flames piercing the darkness of the forest.

He had seen bright lights before, but this one didn't burn his eyes. Instead, he was mesmerized, feeling a warmth he hadn't known in a long time. It wasn't just physical—it was something deeper, a strange sense of peace.

Lukas approached the base of the tree. Its form resembled an oak, but as if it had come from an alien world. He reached out, touching the glassy, obsidian bark, surprised to find that it was cold to the touch.

"What in the world…?" he whispered, awestruck.

Shiloh began to explain. "These trees weren't made by me. They were created by the one we call Mother. She wanted to replace the old world's trees with something more beautiful. Maybe there's another name for them, but most people call them glass trees or obsidian trees." She moved closer to Lukas, gently running her fingers over the tree's smooth, black bark. "There are many kinds of these trees—some with different fires, some of different sizes—but all of them are incredible in their own way. Mother filled the world with monsters, but she believed there had to be a counterbalance. So, she reshaped nature, making it more radiant than it was, a light in the darkness."

She sighed, turning to meet Lukas's eyes, her face glowing softly in the tree's light. "The tree is helpless. It's often stripped for its materials or destroyed because it came from the mother. And now, like me, it's a dying breed, doomed to be wiped out by people who just can't understand it."

Lukas walked over to a low branch, fire gently flickering on it. He looked at Shiloh and asked, "Does the fire burn?"

Without missing a beat, she bluntly answered, "Only virgins."

Lukas laughed nervously. "You're fucking with me, right?"

He playfully reached out and touched the fire. It surrounded his hand, but didn't burn or emit any heat. It was like something out of a science experiment, challenging everything he thought he knew about how the universe worked. The fire didn't even spread to his clothes.

Shiloh grinned. "I knew you weren't one, though the way you've been acting around me did make me wonder."

Lukas, still marveling at the fire, chuckled. "Well, I never had a girl as beautiful as you, or something as pretty as this fire," he said, stepping back with a look of awe still in his eyes. Then he added, "But you didn't bring me out here just to show me this, did you?"

Shiloh hesitated before pulling out a tiny device, no bigger than her hand. She clicked the center, and a soft melody began to play—a slow, charming violin tune. She set it down at the base of the tree, and with a graceful gesture, held out her hand.

"May I have this dance?" she asked.

Lukas smiled, accepting her offer. "Of course," he said, though he could tell from her body language that she wasn't familiar with dancing. He took her hand gently. "Let me guess—you don't know how?"

Shiloh, now blushing slightly, admitted, "I was never taught."

Lukas leaned in closer, his voice seductive. "That's okay. I'll show you."