Sable

I’m standing at the edge of the grave my mates dug for my uncle, watching as dirt rains down on his bloody face. It’s raining, and the raindrops keep washing away the soil and the blood.

The shifters kick harder, pushing buckets of dirt into the grave, but still, it never covers the body. Dirt leeches away from Clint as the rain continues to pour.

Overhead, dark clouds gather, but they don’t feel like rain clouds. This is different. This is something I recognize. The darkness creeps into the forest clearing, casting Uncle Clint’s face into shadow. That insidious evil surrounds me, tendrils of smoke wrapping around my limbs...