AI The air bit, sharp and sudden, clawing at Rory's exposed face. She pulled her worn leather jacket tighter, the material doing little against the deepening chill . Each crunch of her boots on the dry leaves sounded unnaturally loud in the silence . It pressed in, thick and heavy, a blanket of sound so profound it felt like a presence .
"Right, Fae Grove," she muttered, her breath misting into the darkness. Rory pulled out her phone, the screen a small, inadequate beacon in the gloom . The signal bars were non-existent, a fact that didn't surprise her but still offered a fresh prickle of unease. Eva’s text, sent hours ago, had been frustratingly vague: *Meet me at Isolde’s grove. Urgent. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone.* Always the drama queen, Eva. But the tone in the short message had been insistent, almost frantic, a far cry from her friend’s usual theatrical flair. That was what had driven Rory here, deep into the heart of Richmond Park, long after visitors hours.
A small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist throbbed faintly, a phantom ache from a childhood fall. Her fingers brushed the smooth, cool surface of her Heartstone pendant, tucked beneath her jumper. The deep crimson gemstone pulsed with a subtle warmth , a soft, internal glow that had become a familiar companion since it had appeared mysteriously in her mailbox weeks ago. It was supposed to pulse near Hel portals, whatever those were. She hadn't a clue what that meant, only that it gave her a strange, unsettling comfort.
The ancient oak standing stones, grey monoliths against the darker grey of the sky, rose abruptly from the tree line. They formed a silent circle, marking the boundary of the Fae Grove. Wildflowers, impossibly vibrant even in the dim light, grew in unruly profusion at their bases, their petals a riot of blues, purples, and shocking yellows. It always felt a little off, this place. A little too serene, too perfect .
A sudden snap, crisp and close, ripped through the quiet. Rory froze, every muscle tight. She spun around, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth, but saw nothing beyond the shifting shadows. A branch, probably. Or a deer. The park teemed with wildlife. Still, her hand instinctively went to the small, heavy wrench she kept tucked into her jacket pocket – a delivery driver’s multi-purpose tool, usually for stubborn tyre nuts or uncooperative bike chains, but surprisingly effective as a deterrent.
"Eva?" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper . She hated how small it sounded swallowed by the vastness.
No answer. Only the wind, rustling through the leaves like a conspirator.
Rory stepped into the circle of stones. The air instantly thickened, becoming oddly still. The chill intensified, but it felt different now, an icy tendril coiling around her ankles, crawling up her spine. Time, they said, behaved differently here. An hour inside could be minutes or days outside. She had always dismissed it as local folklore, another quaint detail about a peculiar place. Now, standing alone in the silent grove, the notion felt less like a myth and more like a warning.
She scanned the clearing. A thin, almost imperceptible mist began to writhe along the ground, clinging to the impossibly bright flowers. It swirled, a white serpent coiling around the gnarled roots of the biggest oak, a tree that must have stood for centuries, its branches like skeletal arms reaching for a moonless sky.
"Eva, this isn't funny," Rory called out, a little louder this time, her voice laced with an irritation she didn't entirely feel. Beneath it, a thread of genuine fear had begun to weave itself into the fabric of her resolve .
A low, guttural growl rumbled from somewhere to her left. Rory whirled, the wrench clenched in her hand. Her breath hitched. Nothing moved. The growl lingered in the air, vibrating in her chest, a low thrum against her ribs. Too deep for a fox, too insistent for a badger. It sounded like something large, something predatory.
Her bright blue eyes darted, searching for any flicker of movement between the close-set trees. The shadows played tricks, making every twisted branch seem to contort into a monstrous shape, every rustle of leaves sound like approaching footsteps . The Heartstone pendant against her chest pulsed harder now, a distinct beat mirroring her own frantic heart. A Hel portal? Here? What did that even mean?
She edged towards the gnarled oak, its ancient bark a tapestry of knots and ridges. Perhaps Eva was playing a joke, hiding behind it. A bad one.
"Right, that's enough," Rory said, more to herself than to the unseen presence . Her voice, despite her attempt at bravado, wavered . "Come out, Eva. Now."
A sound came then, a soft, wet *thump * from the other side of the oak. It was like something heavy, something fleshy, hitting damp earth. Rory’s stomach clenched. She remembered Eva’s text again: *Urgent. Come alone.*
She crept around the massive trunk, her boots silent on the surprisingly soft ground. The mist here was thicker, swirling around her knees, obscuring her vision just enough to make every shadow a potential threat. And then she saw it.
A pale, slender hand, lying inert on a bed of vivid blue wildflowers. It was Eva's hand. Even in the dimness, Rory recognized the tiny silver ring on the index finger, a gift from Rory herself for Eva’s last birthday. The hand was unnaturally still, palms up, fingers splayed. A dark, sticky stain mottled the pristine white petals beneath it. Not pollen. Not mud.
Blood.
A choked cry escaped Rory’s throat. She stumbled forward, her heart hammering against her ribs, the warmth from the Heartstone now a searing heat. Her eyes followed the trail of the arm, hidden by the creeping mist, up to where Eva lay slumped against the base of the oak.
"Eva!" Rory dropped to her knees, the wrench clattering uselessly to the ground. She reached out, her fingers trembling, barely daring to touch.
Eva’s head was tilted at an impossible angle, her wide, vacant eyes staring up at the canopy of leaves, reflecting nothing but the oppressive darkness. Her neck, Rory saw with a sickening lurch , was twisted, broken. A dark, ragged tear ripped through her favourite knitted jumper, exposing a gaping wound beneath her ribs, slick with crimson.
A sound, a wet, slurping sound, came from just beyond Eva’s lifeless body, hidden by the mist. Rory froze, every nerve screaming. The growl, closer now, deeper, vibrated through the earth itself. It wasn't human. It wasn’t animal. It was something else. Something ancient and hungry.
Through the wisps of mist, a form began to coalesce. Larger than a man, gaunt and impossibly long-limbed. Its head, if it had one, was obscured by shadow and what looked like a tangle of thorny vines . Two pinpricks of malevolent red light, like embers in a dying fire, fixed on her.
Rory’s breath caught. The Heartstone pendant burned against her chest, searing hot, its glow now a furious, pulsing beacon . The air hummed with an unnatural energy, a tangible pressure pushing down on her. The thing took a step forward, its movement jerky, unnatural. A clawed hand, long and skeletal, emerged from the mist, reaching towards Eva's still form, towards the wound.
It was feeding . On her friend.
A primal scream tore from Rory's throat, raw and uncontrolled. Every instinct screamed *run *. But her legs felt like lead, rooted to the blood-soaked ground as the horror of the scene finally overwhelmed her. The creature, sensing her presence, paused its macabre feast. Its head, still obscured, turned slowly towards her. The red points of light intensified, burning into her.
She scrambled backwards, blindly bumping into the rough bark of the oak. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the impossible, terrifying thing that now regarded her, patiently, like a spider with a fly caught in its web. The mist writhed around its base, like a living shroud.
A low, sibilant whisper slithered into her mind, not a sound heard with her ears, but an insidious thought planted directly into her brain: *Little fawn, you wander far from the herd.*
Rory felt a cold, sharp pain bloom behind her eyes. The voice, if it could be called that, was ancient, powerful, resonating with a hunger that made her very bones ache. She pushed herself against the tree, desperately trying to merge with the rough bark.
The creature took another lurching step towards her, its form becoming clearer as the mist momentarily parted. Not vines, she realised with a fresh wave of nausea. Those were countless, needle-sharp teeth, each one a gleaming white spike in its cavernous mouth, which seemed to stretch far beyond the normal confines of a skull. And the eyes, those two malevolent red pinpricks, glowed from deep within the shadowed maw . It wasn't a head at all, but a gaping, tooth-filled void.
It raised one of its impossibly long, clawed hands. The air around it crackled. Rory could feel the intense draw, a magnetic pull trying to drag her towards the monstrosity, towards the unspeakable maw . The Heartstone, a searing brand against her skin, pulsed violently, its crimson light now bright enough to cast flickering shadows on the grove.
The creature’s voice coiled inside her head again, louder this time, filled with a terrible amusement. *Another morsel, then.*