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i. fallen with the night
Acoldrush surged through Marie's body, pulling her from sleep. Her breath hitched as she bolted upright, shivering against the damp chill clinging to the air. Her eyes darted toward the source—her bedroom window, wide open.
That was strange. She distinctly remembered shutting and locking it before bed. Normally, she wouldn't have thought much of it. She'd always liked sleeping with the window open. But ever since the murders started, something in her gut told her not to. Whatever, she thought, shaking off the unease as she threw the covers aside. She crossed the room and shoved the window shut, but it brought little comfort. The cold still lingered. Rain drummed steadily against the glass, distorting the darkened world outside. Marie turned her head, her gaze landing on the glowing green numbers of her digital clock.
5:40 AM.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. It was much later than she expected. She'd fallen asleep around midnight, yet it felt like only thirty minutes had passed. This was becoming a pattern—every night, like clockwork, she'd wake at the same time, feeling as if she'd barely slept at all. Her body ached with exhaustion, but there was no point in trying to fall back asleep now. Sighing, she grabbed her throw blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and made her way downstairs. As she reached the fifth-to-last step, the faint whistle of a kettle echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by low voices murmuring from the living room.
From where she stood, she could see the back of her grandmother's head, her silver braided hair barely shifting as she rocked in her chair.
"Do you see this, Mari?" her grandmother murmured, eyes fixed on the television. "Another body turned up. Five miles from here."
She shook her head, knitting absently, her fingers methodical. Marie hadn't even made a sound, yet somehow, as always, her grandmother sensed her presence.
"You come straight home after school and swim practice today. No hanging out," she ordered, punctuating her words with a pointed finger.
Marie snorted at the thought. As if I'd be hanging out at all.
She stepped closer, standing beside the rocking chair, her gaze flicking toward the screen. The news anchor's voice droned on, but Marie barely processed the words. A thought tugged at the back of her mind.
"Gram... do you really believe animals are what's killing these people?" she asked hesitantly.
Her grandmother said nothing, her chair creaking as she continued to rock, eyes distant.
Marie frowned. A memory surfaced, something from years ago. A story.
"Do you remember those legends you used to tell me?" she pressed. "The ones about the shape—"
