Cinder Hollow: Story 1 (Complete)

The Eyes of The Fauxra

Part 1

Bill

A cold breeze brushed through the trees. The leaves stirred like a thousand hushed voices, each one whispering a dark secret, or perhaps a warning. The sound had always unnerved Bill, but now that he was all alone, with the last of the sunlight fading, it was enough to drive him mad. He used to laugh when people said the forest was haunted. He wasn’t laughing now.

He yelped as he tripped over another branch, steadying himself against a thick pine. His breathing was ragged, his frail heart fluttering with fear.

What a pair of old fools they were. Old fools who still acted like cocky young men — they should have given up an hour ago. One too many beers, combined with their hubris, had told them they’d be fine for a little while longer. They were just about to leave, too — Derek had wandered a few feet into the bushes to take a quick piss. One minute he was there, and the next he wasn’t. That must’ve been fifteen minutes ago.

Bill took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. The fresh, earthy scent filled his lungs. Then he flicked on his flashlight, the tiny one attached to his car keys, providing just enough light to make out the path ahead.

He carried on, each footstep crunching through the dead leaves. “Derek?” he shouted, knowing it would likely spook the boar they’d been tracking, but he was well past caring. It was time to go home; they could try again tomorrow, or better yet, just buy some steaks from the butchers. Maybe stick to fishing from now on.

Maybe it was just his hearing, but it was far too quiet here. Much quieter than usual. Bill had been hunting in these woods for sixty years — the place was always full of noise. Deer bleating, coyotes howling, the melodic song of birds of every kind. Where were they all tonight?

The bushes ahead rustled, just a little. Bill tightened his grip on the rifle, letting go of the flashlight button, plunging himself into darkness again. Probably just a rodent. At least that’s what he told himself.

Then he heard it. Derek’s desperate voice. “Bill!” he cried. Bill had known his buddy long enough to hear his panic.

“Derek?” Bill ran, his old legs barely keeping pace as he ducked under branches and hopped over dark shapes in the dirt.

“Bill!” Derek cried again, but this time it was strained, raspy, like he was choking.

He was close. Bill could tell that much. He ran a few more yards, shining his flashlight.

A shadowy figure lay at the foot of a tree.

Bill stepped closer, holding his breath, his heart thudding in his ears.

It was Derek. Most of him, at least.

There was a bloody crater where Derek’s insides used to be. Hollowed out, like something had scooped him clean. A few jagged ribs stuck up in all directions. Steam seemed to rise from the gaping wound, the stench of death clogging Bill’s throat. Derek’s eyes were gone too, replaced by two black holes. His head lay against the tree, mouth wide open, the empty sockets staring back at Bill — lifeless, yet filled with terror.

Bill stifled a scream with his hand, his old knees buckling as he fell onto his backside, dropping the tiny flashlight. Whimpering, he patted the ground with trembling fingers, searching for it, his mind racing.

Just as his fingers found the light, something shot past him, fast and silent, just outside the beam. A wildcat, maybe? No. Even they don’t move that quickly.

A growl — no, a hiss — seemed to surround him, the sound bouncing off the trees in every direction.

Bill stiffened, gripping his rifle tight, aiming wildly into the shadows while fumbling to keep the flashlight steady. “Who—who’s out there?”

“Bill.” A harsh, raspy voice muttered from behind.

Bill spun around, his wide eyes locking onto the figure looming in the darkness.

His heart seized in his chest. The flashlight flickered, and for a second, he wished it would just go out.

Then he screamed.

Ross

Officer Emily Ross watched Vickers take another swig from his hip flask, wrinkling her nose at the sharp, peaty scent. "Should you really be drinking on the job?"

Vickers sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't you start as well." he muttered, swaggering through the automatic doors into the hospital reception.

Her new partner hadn't exactly impressed her. When she'd introduced herself at that shithole of a police station, he'd just grunted. Then, he'd ignored her the entire day, making her feel as welcome as a fart in a cookie jar.

And his appearance... Under his wrinkled plaid shirt, he wore a stained football jersey, and his saggy cargo pants dragged on the ground, frayed at the cuffs from his boots. To think she’d spent ages ironing her uniform.

Vickers slapped his palms on the tired reception desk and leaned in. "Detective Raymond Vickers," he said, cutting off the receptionist mid-sentence. "This here's..." He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder.

Ross raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

Vickers gave a lazy shrug. "We’re here to see William Brooks. Heard about his accident, need to ask him a few questions."

"Room ten, down that way," one of the receptionists mumbled, barely looking up as she pointed to a corridor.

Ross scanned the dingy hallway, scrunching her nose. The walls were off-white, chipped, and stained. Torn posters and empty leaflet racks lined the hall, and the musty smell reminded her more of an abandoned thrift store than a hospital. She shuddered at the thought of ever needing treatment here.

Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she caught up with Vickers. "Do the police always investigate hunting accidents here?"

"Who else is gonna do it?" Vickers didn’t glance back.

A nurse brushed past her without a word, knocking her shoulder. "I don’t know... some kind of animal control unit, maybe?"

Vickers scoffed. Silence. Ross felt like an idiot.

Her stomach churned as she pictured the body in the forest. She'd seen stabbings, shootings, gang violence in the city — but nothing like this. She’d come here for a quiet life. Had she made a mistake?

"What kind of animal would take someone’s eyes out?" she asked quietly.

"That’s what we’re here to find out," Vickers replied, knocking on the door to Room Ten.

Ross stepped in and swallowed hard. She’d been briefed on Brooks’ injuries, but the sight of him still hit like a punch to the gut.

William Brooks lay in bed, his face bandaged, with dark stains where his eyes should have been. Jagged cuts ran down his cheeks, like claw marks. He shifted slightly, his head tilted toward the door.

Vickers stepped forward, speaking softly. "Jesus, Bill."

Bill’s head turned at the sound of Vickers’ voice. "Raymond? Is that you?"

"It’s me, buddy. How you doing?"

"I’ve been better." His voice cracked as he forced a weak laugh.

Vickers smirked. "Well I got news that might cheer you up. The guy in the next room wants to buy your glasses."

Ross stared in shock, but Bill gave a shaky chuckle that quickly turned into sobs. "I'm scared, Raymond."

Vickers’ smirk faded. He leaned in closer. "I know, buddy. Tell me what happened."

Bill sniffled, wiping his face. "We were tracking a boar. Big bastard. It was getting dark, we should’ve turned back."

"A boar did this?" Ross asked, incredulous.

"Who’s that?" Bill’s head shifted toward her voice.

"My new partner," Vickers said, waving in her general direction. "Officer Ross."

Bill cleared his throat. "Well, Officer Ross, it wasn’t no boar that did this. And it sure as hell wasn’t human… even though it looked like one."

Ross felt a chill crawl up her spine. "What do you mean?"

"It—it looked like a woman," Bill stammered, his voice trembling. "But the way she moved... so fast. Her eyes, her face... they weren’t right."

Vickers leaned in. "Bill, are you sure about that?"

Bill’s breathing grew more frantic. "It’s like I can still see."

"What, like phantom limbs?" Vickers said. "I've heard—"

"No!" Bill interrupted, gripping the sheets. "It’s like I can see through her eyes."

Ross froze, goosebumps rising on her arms. Bill’s voice had turned to panicked gasps.

"It comes in flashes," Bill continued. "Sometimes she’s in the trees, sometimes on the ground. She killed the boar — tore it apart with her bare hands. Last I saw, she was up on the mountain, looking down at the town, then..." His voice broke. "Oh, Jesus Christ, she’s here!"

Vickers straightened, his hand instinctively moving toward his gun. "Bill, what the hell are you talking about?"

Bill's voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "She’s in the hospital. God help us."

Suddenly, the lights flickered out, plunging the room into darkness. The emergency bulb buzzed to life, casting a sickly glow over the room. Then, from somewhere down the corridor, came a scream — high, sharp, blood-curdling.

Ross’ heart sank. Her mouth went dry. She forced herself to breathe. I’m a cop. I’m trained for this. But her hands were shaking.

Vickers pulled his gun from his holster. "You stay put, Bill. We’ll handle this."

Bill was trembling, muttering, "God help us all."

Ross fumbled for her gun, her fingers cold and stiff. She followed Vickers as he cautiously opened the door, stepping into the corridor.

Other patients peered out from their rooms. Vickers flashed his badge, his voice stern. "Police! Everyone back in your rooms. Keep your doors locked."

They moved down the corridor, following the scream. The emergency lights flickered on and off, casting them into darkness every few seconds. The air felt thick, the hospital eerily quiet.

At the reception desk, Ross stopped short. One of the receptionists was slumped in her chair, her eyes and most of her throat torn out. Blood pooled beneath her.

The other receptionist was still alive, but barely. Blood streamed from her neck, and though her eyes and eyelids had been ripped out, she seemed to look right at them.

"She... she can see you," the woman rasped before her last breath escaped her.

Ross’ blood ran cold. Bill was right. It's here.

Her radio trembled in her hand. "Officer Ross, requesting back-up—"

"Don’t bother," Vickers said grimly, flicking off the safety on her gun. "They’ll have gone home by now."

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Vickers may have just saved her life.

They followed the blood trail to the stairs. The dim emergency lights barely reached the landing above. Ross clutched her gun, keeping close behind Vickers.

Just as they reached the top, a thudding sound echoed from the corridor ahead. Then a strained voice, barely a whisper: "Help me..."

Vickers charged through the door, Ross close behind.

The corridor ahead was dimly lit by moonlight from the windows. A figure lay face down in a pool of blood.

Vickers crouched over the body, cautiously reaching for a pulse. The figure's face was hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair.

Ross leaned closer, wrinkling her nose at the sharp scent of antiseptic and blood. The figure wore a doctor’s jacket, but it didn’t fit right — too loose, crumpled. One arm twisted beneath them at an unnatural angle, but there was no tension of pain. The body was too still. Too... deliberate.

A weak voice rasped from the figure. “Help... please.”

Vickers narrowed his eyes. “Doc? You okay?”

The doctor shifted — slowly, stiffly. Her head lifted, shrouded in shadow. Beneath the hair, the eyes were too wide. Too focused.

The voice croaked again, lower this time, mocking. “Help me.”

Vickers stood, backing up a step. His hand hovered near his gun. Something wasn’t right.

The “doctor” rose, joints popping in quick, jerky motions, as if something was inside the coat, moving it rather than wearing it.

Ross’ breath caught as the figure stood fully, the jacket hanging loose around a thin, mismatched form.

Then it lunged.

A wild swing of its arm sent Vickers crashing against the wall, dropping to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Ross shouted, raising her gun, but hesitated. The figure shuffled into the light, its face horribly wrong. The skin hung loose on one side, taut on the other. Its jagged smile didn’t reach its eyes, which gleamed with malice.

It lurched toward her. Ross squeezed the trigger — click. Nothing.

The creature hissed in amusement, knocking the gun from her hands and shoving her to the ground. Its breath was hot and foul on her face as it leaned in, reaching for her eyes.

She braced herself for death when — bang — the creature wailed, staggering back. Vickers fired again and again, dark tar-like blood spilling from the creature’s wounds as it fell to the floor.

Gasping, Ross scrambled to her feet, backing away.

Vickers stormed over, eyes blazing. "You should’ve checked your weapon the second it was issued."

Ross stared at the ground, humiliated. "I—I'm sorry—"

"Save it," Vickers snapped. "Just make sure—"

Smash!

They both ducked as the window behind them shattered. When they looked up, the creature was gone.

Ross stared at the broken glass, trembling. "What the hell was that thing?"

Vickers tightened his jaw. "I don’t know. But I know someone who might."

Part 2

Ross

Vickers told her that The Hollow Inn was the only bar in town. “At least the only one clean enough to set foot in.” he added.

It was a Thursday night, but the place was packed. Waitresses bustled around serving food and drinks to the busy dining area, while rowdy men with a similar fashion sense to Vickers hogged the pool tables near the bar. The air was filled with the smell of freshly barbecued meat, not so fresh beer, and downright stale tobacco. In the far corner, a local band were murdering some old country tunes.

As they made their way through the crowd, Ross felt the eyes of almost everyone on her. She wasn’t surprised; this place didn’t look like it saw many “outsiders”, and she, with her crisp uniform and polished shoes, stood out like a sore thumb.

They were watching Vickers too; a few shady characters looked at him with hostile, narrow eyes, exchanging looks and angry murmurs. So I’m not the only one who hates him. she thought.

Before they reached the bar, a young man blocked their path, stopping dead in front of Vickers.

Vickers stared at the man’s chest, which was level with his eyes. “Evening, Daryl.”

Daryl stared down at Vickers, his big face pulled into a tight scowl. “I thought I told you not to come here no more, Raymond.”

Vickers snorted. “That you did. But, seeing as how you ain’t the owner of this fine establishment, I elected to ignore you. How’s your brother doing, by the way? Hope the oatmeal’s not too lumpy for him.”

Steam was practically coming out of Daryl’s ears. “You’ve always been a smart ass, haven’t—” Then he noticed Ross. “Well, well.” he said, a sly smile curling his lips. “Just who is this pretty little thing?”

Ross squirmed as Daryl’s eyes lingered on her chest, inching closer to Vickers. Could they just leave already?

“This here is my new partner, Officer Ross.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, darling.” said Daryl, stepping towards Ross with a hand held out.

Vickers stepped to the side, blocking his path now. “I think it’s best you keep away from her Daryl. No offence, but I don’t think you’re her type.”

Daryl’s face was fizzing now, turning an angry shade of purple. “You best get out of my way, Raymond.”

Vickers shook his head. “No can do, I’m afraid.”

“I’m gonna give you to five.”

 “Now, Daryl,” said Vickers, smirking. “We both know you can’t count that high.”

Daryl stepped even closer to Vickers, an inch from him. “One… Two.”

Vickers’ mouth opened in mocking surprise. “That’s a great start, big fella. Now, the next one is?”

“Three…” said Daryl through gritted teeth.”

Ross took a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun, though drawing it was the last thing she wanted to do. Escalating the situation wouldn’t help, and it’d make her look exactly like the rookie she was, but she had to be ready, just in case. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the bartender. The woman was watching the scene with wary eyes, prepared to step in if needed.

Vickers grinned, clearly enjoying himself, despite the impending ass-kicking. “I’m gonna give you the next one, just to expedite things a little. Four.”

Daryl’s voice was a low growl. “Five.”

Vickers cheered, clapping his hands together as a few onlookers chuckled. “Great job, buddy. I knew you had it in you!”

Fuming, Daryl grabbed Vickers by the shirt, almost lifting him off the floor. Ross was about to intervene, when the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked made all three turn to the bar.

The woman behind the bar aimed her weapon at the floor, but her mean face told Ross that she’d have no problem using it if she had to. “Now, now, fellas.” she said. “Let’s all play nice, okay? Daryl, put Raymond down.”

Grudgingly, Daryl let go of Vickers, shoving him back just a little as he did.

The woman nodded. “That’s better. And from now on, how about you let me decide who’s welcome in my bar?”

“Whatever you say, Loretta,” said Daryl, his scowl deepening as he barged into Vickers, muttering something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.

Vickers approached the bar with Ross trailing close behind. “Thanks for the timely save, Loretta.”

Loretta sniffed. “Wasn’t for you. Trouble’s bad for business. Now, what can I get you — and blondie here?”

“Double whiskey for me, and a…” Vickers turned toward Ross, waiting for her drink order.

Ross hesitated. Drinking on the job wasn’t her style, but Vickers downed whiskey like water. Maybe things worked differently in Cinder Hollow. “Just a diet coke for me.”

Vickers rolled his eyes and turned back to Loretta. “Double whiskey, a diet coke for the kindergartner… and a Midnight Bloom.”

Loretta raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re here on business?”

“Sure am.”

Ross frowned. Midnight Bloom? She had no idea what that was, but it didn’t sound like a casual drink order. Loretta retrieved a translucent goblet with a skull charm hanging from the stem, filling it with gin, something floral, and a splash of syrup that turned the drink a deep, eerie purple.

Loretta topped it with a violet and a twist of lemon shaped like a crescent moon before sliding it across the bar. “I’ll let her know you’re here.” she said, disappearing through a door behind the bar.

“Who did you say we’re here to see?” asked Ross.

Vickers drained his whiskey and set the empty glass down. “I didn’t.”

Ross rolled her eyes. “Well, whoever she is — you think she’ll be able to help us?”

“If anyone can, it’s her.”

Ross shivered, her mind flashing back to the hospital — the thing shuffling towards her, its joints popping and jerking like something out of a horror film. That croaky, mocking voice, and those eyes... She still couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t fled this creepy, backward town the moment she left the hospital.

She sipped her diet coke, searching for something to break the silence. “Have you asked for her help before?”

Vickers shrugged. “Once or twice.”

“What happened?” Ross asked, wondering if monster attacks were just part of life here.

Vickers shot her a sideways glance, clearly not in the mood to chat. Before he could answer, Loretta returned and gestured for them to follow.

Loretta led them to a room in the back. Colored beads hung in place of a door. Vickers pushed them aside and stepped through, letting them swing back and smack Ross in the face.

Ross wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The room was cramped and dimly lit, the only light coming from a handful of scented candles scattered around. A bookshelf packed with arcane tomes and religious statuettes dominated the room. Dreamcatchers dangled from the walls, alongside a mix of strange symbols — hieroglyphs, pentagrams, and eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

In the far corner, a middle-aged man sat at a small round table. He was draped in what looked like a purple witch’s robe covered in golden stars.  “Raymond, darling,” he said, standing and spreading his arms wide. “How wonderful to see you again!”

“Evening, Bubba.” said Vickers, setting the Midnight Bloom on the table and taking a seat.

The man tutted. “I’ve told you before, only my father — God rest his bigoted soul — ever called me by that vulgar name. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely new friend?”

“This is Officer Ross. Ross, meet…” Vickers sighed. “Madame Hex.”

Madame Hex grinned. “There you go, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” She extended a bejeweled hand, nails shimmering in polished black. “Pleasure to meet you, my dear. And you can call me Hex, or Hexy, or even Sexy Hexy, if you like!” She out a giggle then gestured to Vickers. “Sorry you’re stuck with this brute as your partner.”

Ross shook her hand, already deciding Madame Hex was her favorite person in Cinder Hollow. “Nice to meet you, Hex. You can call me Emily.”

“Emily,” said Hex, clasping her hands together. “A name as beautiful as you are.” She took a seat across from Vickers, and Ross joined them at the table.

Hex sipped her cocktail, but her smile faltered as she swallowed it down. Ross raised an eyebrow, wondering if Loretta had gone heavy on the gin.

“Thank you for the drink, Raymond.” Madame Hex set the glass down with a flourish, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now, what is it you need my help with this time?” She turned to Ross with a knowing look. “Honestly, Emily, he only ever comes around when he’s in trouble. Isn’t that right, Raymond?”

Vickers leaned forward, his brow furrowing. “There was… an incident in the forest tonight.”

The cheerful demeanor began to fade from Hex’s face. “Another one?”

“Yeah. Derek Pickett is dead.”

Hex gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Good Lord. Poor Derek! He was always so kind to me. Bill must be devastated.”

“Bill was with him when it happened. He’s in pretty bad shape himself.”

Hex shook her head, concern etched on her features. “What happened?”

Vickers glanced at Ross, as if gauging whether she was ready to share. “We’re not exactly sure, but something attacked them.”

“And by ‘something’, I’m guessing you don’t think it was a coyote? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here,” Hex said, arching an eyebrow.

Ross and Vickers nodded in unison. “That’s right,” Vickers confirmed.

Hex stared at Vickers without blinking, her gaze intense. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Well,” Vickers said, shuffling in his chair, “it seems like it ate Derek, or some of him, at least. Scooped out his insides, left him hollow. And it took his eyes.”

Hex sat up suddenly, her expression shifting to one of alarm. “His eyes?”

“Yeah, same with Bill. Is that important?”

“Of course it is!” Hex exclaimed, incredulous. “Eyes are the key to the soul, Raymond. Whatever did this might want to learn more about us humans. Have you spoken to Bill? Did he tell you anything else?”

Vickers rubbed his forehead, clearly trying to maintain his composure, though the earlier events had taken a toll on him. “We went to visit him at the hospital. He was pretty shaken up, but he said that he could sort of… sense the creature.”

Hex frowned. “He could sense it?”

“He said he could see through its eyes,” Ross blurted out, ignoring the look of annoyance Vickers shot her way. She was tired of his long-winded explanation. “And he knew it was at the hospital, and then we saw it there.”

“You saw it?” Hex leaned forward. “Why didn’t you say so? What did it look like?”

Vickers narrowed his eyes at Ross, still irritated by her interruption, but then his expression softened slightly. “You got a better look at it than I did,” he said, giving her a nod of encouragement.

Ross swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to convey the horror she’d witnessed. “It sort of looked human, and sounded human too. But, up close, its face just didn’t look right, unnatural. The way it moved — stiff and jerky. And its eyes… they were just wrong. It was like it was trying to impersonate a human, but failed spectacularly.”

Hex listened intently, scratching the grey stubble on her chin. When Ross finished, Hex grabbed a hefty tome from the shelf, placing it on the table and thumbing through the pages with surprising ferocity. “There,” she said, tapping her finger on a particular page. “I think this is what you’re dealing with…”

A cold draft swept through the room, making the candles flicker ominously, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Ross held her breath, bracing herself.

Hex’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “A Fauxra.”

Vickers scoffed. “And what exactly is that?”

“A despicable creature, Raymond. The lowest of the low. Some say its creation was accidental — a result of an old spell gone horribly wrong, but who knows for sure? A lot went on in that forest on the mountain, little of which we know — or care to, for that matter.”

Hex turned the book to face them, revealing a disturbing illustration. “It says here that its true form is an abomination. When the first one was created, it was cast out, banished for its hideous appearance. But what it lacks in good looks, it more than makes up for in intelligence. It learned to hunt, mimicking other animals to lure them into its trap. And boy, did it enjoy hunting. It became something of a game for it, a way to pass a few hundred years until it got bored and decided it needed more of a challenge.”

Vickers folded his arms, a skeptical look on his face. “And I suppose we’re that challenge, are we?”

Hex nodded, her expression grave. “Precisely. As its strength and cunning grew, it sought revenge on those who banished it — who shamed it for its looks. Mimicking humans is trickier than simple animals, but this thing is a fast learner. Its disguise became more convincing, until it had everyone fooled.”

Ross felt a knot tighten in her stomach, afraid to speak but unable to contain herself any longer. “Then what happened?”

“It was eventually killed. But not before slaughtering half of Cinder Hollow, feasting on their organs, and snatching their eyes.”

Vickers raised a hand, cutting her off. “Okay, I think we’ve had our fill of your fairytale, Hex, so let’s cut to the chase. Does it have any weaknesses?”

Hex shrugged, flipping through the pages. “Doesn’t say anything about weaknesses here. But it’s very self-conscious, so perhaps a compliment would do the trick.”

Vickers let out a hearty laugh, slapping his hand on the table. “A fucking compliment?”

Hex shrugged again, her expression serious. “Well, I don’t know! Maybe it would let its guard down a little?”

“You want me to tell some eye-snatching freak that she’s got a nice ass and a great rack? Or how about I just buy it some flowers? ‘Hey there, Ms. Fauxra, I know you ate my friend and left the other one for dead, but I tell you, the things I would do to you…’”

Hex lowered her gaze, sniffling. “There’s no need to be crude, Raymond. I’m only trying to help.”

Vickers rolled his eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Hex. Your help is much appreciated, as always.”

Hex turned away from him, feigning annoyance like a moody teenager.

Vickers edged his chair around the table. “Do you forgive me?”

Hex looked up at him, trying to suppress a smile. “Oh, you know I can’t stay mad at you, Raymond.” She held out her cheek. “Plant one there, and we’ll say no more about it.”

With a resigned sigh, Vickers leaned in and gave Hex a gentle peck on the cheek. “Okay, Ross. Time for us to go.”

As she stood, Ross couldn’t help but notice a faint blush on Hex’s cheeks. “It was nice to meet you, Hex.”

“You too, darling,” Hex replied, waving them off. “Run along now, and best of luck with your investigation. Raymond, don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

It was colder when they stepped outside, leaving the rowdiness of the bar behind them.

Ross looked at her new partner. “What now?”

“Now, Officer Ross,” said Vickers, sighing. “We go home, get some rest, and worry about this Fauxra bitch tomorrow.”

The Fauxra

The sun had set hours ago, and the full moon bathed the forest in silver light. This was the signal she had been waiting for.

It’s time to hunt.
Her stomach let out a low, hungry growl as she dropped from the tree, but her landing was unsteady, a stumble that ended with her on one knee. The entire forest seemed to shrink in her presence, its creatures hiding in silence. She could sense their fear. She could smell it.

It would be easy to catch one of them — those small, trembling animals nearby. She could feel their hearts racing through the stillness. It would be the sensible thing to do; she needed her strength after the injury she’d suffered the night before. But no, not tonight. Forest animals wouldn’t suffice. She craved something far more... interesting.

All day, she had thought of them — those creatures that walked on two legs, their sweet smell so addictive. Their scent filled her mind, a teasing reminder of their presence. She wished she could douse herself in it and rid herself of her own repulsive, acrid stench. Their taste lingered in her memory, too — not as satisfying as that boar, but far more intriguing.

By now, most of them would be at rest, just as she had been throughout the day. She could walk among their shadows, tricking them into thinking she was one of them. When the time came, she would strike at one of the weaker ones.

But she must be cautious. If any of them carried those things that exploded — those awful things that hurt her ears and pierced her skin — she would have to avoid them. She’d almost died the last time.

This time, though, it would be different. Her mimicry wasn’t perfect yet, but it had improved. A few more sets of eyes, and she would look just like them. Maybe even sound like them. But their strange, puzzling language? That would take more practice.

And practice she would.

She moved toward the place where their glorious scent was strongest, carefully avoiding the giant lights that stood like iron sentinels, guarding them. The air grew colder, so she pulled the human garment tighter around her new form, still fascinated by the tiny bumps that appeared on her skin when the temperature dropped.

The ground beneath her feet was rough, hard — not like the woods. Sharp objects stung her feet, but she ignored the discomfort. She passed the place where she had been hurt the night before, the memory of the burning pain still fresh from those little metal teeth that had shot from the exploding thing.

Then, she heard them. A noise unlike any she had heard before.

“Ha… ha… haaaa!” said one of the creatures, its steps clumsy and uneven. It was big, towering, and clearly off-balance. There was another one beside it, smaller and more stable, the big one’s arm draped over its shoulder.

“Come on, Daryl,” the smaller one said. “Let’s go back to my place. I got a six-pack in the fridge.”

“Sounds good, buddy. Sounds real good.”

Then the big one looked up and spotted her. Its companion followed its gaze. “Look what we have here,” the large one slurred, grinning stupidly. They began to approach, their scent growing stronger.

She stood still in the shadows, heart racing. Part of her wanted to kill them quickly and be done with it, but no — what would she learn from that?

“Hey, darling,” the big one called, its voice a deep rumble. “You lost?” It made that strange, loud noise again — ha-ha-ha — but quieter now. “I’d pay good money for some of what this bitch is on.”

“She sure is tripping,” the smaller one added. “What’s with the jacket? You a doctor?”

They were close now, just out of reach. Normally, she would have lunged by now, slashing them both down with ease. But tonight, she needed to be sure. She needed to know if they were a threat.

“Hey!” The large one’s voice boomed suddenly, startling her. “My friend’s talking to you. Are you a doc—hahaha! I can’t even say it!”

Its eyes — those curious, stupid eyes — looked happy, amused. Its mouth curled up at the corners in a bizarre way.

“She ain’t no doctor,” the smaller one said, stepping closer. “But she can give me a check-up anytime!” His hand reached into his garment, pulling something out.

She tensed, ready for the worst. But it wasn’t an exploding thing. No, it was something thin and green, flimsy.

“How much for a good time?” he asked, waving it as if offering a gift. She smiled inside. This one was close enough.

With one swift swipe, her claws tore through his throat, the red fluid spraying everywhere. Before his body even hit the ground, she snatched out his eyes and swallowed them whole. These eyes offered her little — a vague glimpse of loud noise, and drinking some strange amber liquid, nothing more.

The large one screamed, stumbling backward, his limbs flailing awkwardly as he tried to flee. She had never seen a creature move so slowly, with such a lack of grace. He was practically falling over himself.

He disappeared into the shadows, which suited her just fine. She could hear him, crashing into things, wheezing as his breath caught in his throat. No challenge, no excitement.

She appeared in front of him without effort, watching as he finally noticed her standing there.
He screamed again, sobbing as he tried to run, but there was no escape. Not from her.

She grabbed him, pulling him close. What had the other one said again?

“You a doctor?” she mimicked, trying to match the tone, though the words sounded garbled in her throat.

The large one’s screams turned into gurgles as blood filled his mouth. She let him fall, ripping out his eyes as she crouched over him. These eyes gave her something more — a clearer view of what lay ahead.

Then she saw it.

Another figure stood nearby, watching her. Her heart jumped. How had it snuck up on her? She crouched, ready to attack, but then realized it was mimicking her movements. It even wore the same garment as she did.

She took a step closer. So did it.

A grin spread across her face as she realized the truth. It was her reflection. And she looked more like them than ever.

Part 3

Ross

The sun was already hot. The bodies were baked pink. Their skin crackled at the torn edges, with pools of blood now dried and sticky, much to the delight of the swarm of flies buzzing gleefully around them.

Ross gagged at the smell of overripe flesh, turning away. She’d seen her fair share of dead bodies, but shootings and stabbings didn’t really compare to this. Hollowed-out insides, and the eyes had been taken again. Her heart quickened. It’s her again; the Fauxra.

An agitated crowd had gathered at the perimeter, their voices rising in angry waves. A couple of officers struggled to keep them calm as they tried to force their way forward, shouting and pointing fingers.

“Two more of our own, dead!”

“Is this the same thing that killed Derek?”

“When are you gonna catch this animal!”

Vickers strolled over, carrying paper cups and wearing a wry smile. “Looks like I don’t have to worry about that ass-kicking anymore.” He handed her a coffee. His fingers tightened around his own cup, his smile faltering ever so slightly as he glanced at Daryl’s mutilated remains.

Ross cleared her throat, murmuring a thanks for the coffee. “I think we’ve got plenty more to worry about.”

“You certainly have!” Chief Harkins waddled over, adjusting his pants, his round face glistening in the heat. He shot a nervous glance at the crowd, whose angry shouts were growing more profane by the minute. “I’ve got half this town up my ass, baying for blood, and it ain’t gonna be mine — I’ll tell ya that.”

Vickers raised a placating hand. “Relax, boss. The new guy and me are on it, ain’t that right, Ross?”

She rolled her eyes. Referring to her as “the new guy” reminded her that Vickers was still an asshole, despite the coffee.

“Well, get on it quicker!” the chief said, fanning himself with a stubby hand. “Go see William Brooks again, find out if he remembers anything else. Then go back to the forest and double-check we didn’t miss anything.”

"Leave it to us." Vickers said, his tone lighter but not quite convincing. “We’ll bring shotguns — blow the bitch to smithereens if she thinks about giving us any grief.”

Ross’ stomach tightened into a knot. The thought of setting foot in that forest after what had happened made her want to run right back to the city. She hadn’t slept a wink since that night in the hospital, haunted by the memory of the Fauxra. Those stuttered, glitchy movements — like a puppet with half-cut strings. And that voice... raspy and broken, but laced with malice. The sound still echoed in her mind as she closed her eyes at night, that twisted grin and those clawed fingers reaching for her eyes.

Vickers’ calm nature wasn’t fooling her. His voice had cracked just a little. Even if he didn’t show it, she knew he was just as terrified of going back into that forest as she was.

“Let’s go,” he said, walking towards the car.

As Ross moved to follow, the chief stuck his hand out, stopping her in her tracks. “Listen, Ross. Do you know you were the only one who applied for this job?”

Ross raised her eyebrows, faking surprise. She couldn’t imagine people lining up to move to Cinder Hollow. “I never knew that, Sir.”

“Yeah, well, you were. And, to be honest, I’m not sure we’d have hired you otherwise. I mean, I’m not saying your reference was bad, but…” He squinted at her, his voice lowering. “What the hell did you do to your old boss to make him hate you so much?”

Her lip quivered just a little, and she prayed he didn’t notice. This was just another reminder of why getting as far away from the city had been the right choice. She could still see the look on her old boss’s face when she handed in her notice — part anger, part relief. She hadn’t belonged there. Maybe she didn’t belong here either.

“Well, thank you for taking a chance on me, Sir,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside.

The chief patted her arm. “Don’t make me regret it.” He turned to leave, heading toward the crowd, but then a man broke free of the perimeter, rushing forward before being tackled by an officer. He paused, watching the scene unfold for a beat, before changing course and heading in the opposite direction.

*****

They hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. Vickers kept his eyes fixed on the road, knuckles white against the steering wheel, while Ross stared out the window, wondering if they were driving to their deaths.

Bill had been in a worse state than before. The visions, he’d said, still came and went, but he’d seen her kill the two men — every gory detail. After that, the images had faded. He figured she’d gone back to the forest.

But there was one thing Bill was certain of.

“She... she’s getting stronger. I can feel it,” he had said between desperate sobs, his whole body shaking yet rigid with terror. “Much, much stronger. Lord help us.”

Ross rubbed her forehead as the car climbed the winding hill toward the edge of the forest, nestled at the foot of the mountain. How Bill could possibly know she was getting stronger was beyond her, but she believed him. She couldn’t explain it, but there was no denying the connection between Bill and the Fauxra. And as much as she dreaded it, the forest might be their only shot at stopping this thing.

They parked near the path at the entrance — a tight space where the pines were less densely packed than elsewhere. Vickers popped the trunk and handed her a shotgun, along with enough ammo to start a war.
“Please tell me you’ve fired one of these before,” he said, his tone almost exasperated.
“Of course I have,” Ross shot back, indignant. “It was part of my training.”
Vickers leaned in, his voice dropping. “Well, I hope I don’t need to tell you this is nothing like training. That thing that tried to kill us in the hospital? It’s out here. And, newsflash, it still wants to fucking kill us. Let’s make sure we kill it first, okay?”
Ross gave a firm nod and cocked the shotgun, more to prove a point than anything. He might be a patronizing asshole, but he sure had a way with words. And the message was clear: kill or be killed.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered. “Lead the way.”

*****

The morning light vanished as they moved deeper into the forest, the pines forming a dense canopy. A thin veil of mist weaved through the trees, closing in on them until they could barely see the path.

The hairs on the back of Ross’ neck tingled as she stared into the thickening fog. It was too quiet here; the only sounds were their footsteps, muffled by the damp ground. Where are all the animals? It wasn’t just the Fauxra that scared her; it was this whole place. It was impossible to decide if the forest was watching them, or keeping something from them — something she didn’t want to discover.

Vickers nudged her, causing her to jump. “Keep moving, and stay close to me,” he muttered. His voice was low but stern. His mood had changed too; his eyes were wide, unblinking, and she noticed his grip on the shotgun had tightened. Was his hand shaking?

The sooner they got out of here, the better.

Ross walked on, her boots sinking into the rain-soaked ground. She kept her eyes on the narrow strip of path, what little she could make out. No more staring into the trees. She couldn’t help but think of the victims — their eyes missing, their insides scooped out.

The thought of ending up like them terrified her, but there was something worse: letting it happen to anyone else. They had to find a way to kill this thing before it slaughtered half the town. Either a clue to defeat it, or a trail leading to its lair so they could take it down together. That’s what they were here for — that was their job.

Something caught her eye, shimmering on the ground. She marched over and picked it up, wiping the dirt and leaves from it. A pair of glasses — old and worn, with thick, black rims.

“Did Derek or Bill wear glasses?” she asked, turning to Vickers.

But Vickers was gone.

For a second, she stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat. Her imagination spun wildly — the Fauxra, watching them from high up in the trees, snatching Vickers in an instant, and now waiting to turn its attention to her.

No. Calm down.

She blinked hard, pushing back the panic. Vickers couldn’t have gone far; he’d been right beside her, only a few feet away on the path. The path? She looked down, her heart skipping a beat.

The path was gone, swallowed by the mist.

“Vickers?” she called, trying to sound steady but barely daring to raise her voice. The trees loomed over her, swaying slightly in a breeze she couldn’t feel. No, not swaying. Moving.

She rubbed her eyes, convinced she was imagining it. But no — the forest was alive. Trees were shifting, their roots quietly pulling up and crawling over the ground, branches twisting and bending as if they were alive. And then, just as suddenly as they moved, they stopped, freezing in place like they’d been caught.

This place didn’t want them to find the Fauxra.

And she wasn’t sure it wanted them to find their way out either.

Ross’ pulse raced as she inched forward, her senses screaming at her. Twigs snapped underfoot, and every noise felt too loud. She glanced over her shoulder, certain the trees were watching, waiting to seize her the moment she made a mistake. Staying in one spot wouldn’t help though; she had to keep moving, find the path, and find Vickers.

“Vickers?” she called again, a bit louder.

“Ross?” Vickers shouted, his voice distant but clear.

Relief washed over her. She picked up the pace, hurrying through the shifting trees toward the sound of his voice. Her movements became more frantic, the uneasy feeling of being hunted gnawing at her insides.

“Vickers! I’m over here!” she called, louder now, her heart hammering.

“Ross!” came Vickers’ voice again, much closer this time. But something wasn’t right.

She rounded a bend, expecting to see him standing there, but there was only more mist and trees. No Vickers. Her breathing quickened. The forest pressed in tighter, as if it had swallowed him whole.

Smack!

Something slammed into her side, knocking her hard against a tree. She gasped, scrambling on the ground for her weapon, vision blurred. Her fingers brushed against cold metal — her gun. She tried to grab it, but something stopped her.

A foot.

A bare, dirty foot.

“Ross...” The voice came again, but it wasn’t Vickers. It was distorted, raspy, inhuman.

Before she could react, the Fauxra was on her. Ross cried out in agony as its claws sunk into her arms, hauling her to her feet and pinning her against the tree.

“Ross...” it whispered, almost playfully, toying with her. Its face was hidden beneath a tangled mass of long, dark hair, but its jagged smile was unmistakable — wide, gleaming, and filled with a hunger that made Ross’ stomach churn. A clawed hand reached for her eyes.

Hex’s bizarre advice flashed through her mind. It felt absurd — insane, even — but it was the only chance she had.

“You… you’re so… beautiful,” Ross stammered, barely able to force the words out. They felt wrong, clumsy, pathetic.

The Fauxra’s hand froze, inches from her face. Its smile faltered, mouth hanging open in confusion.

Ross’ heart pounded. Did that actually work?

“So… so gorgeous,” she said, voice shaking. “Sexy, even.”

The creature’s eyes softened. It lowered its gaze, almost bashful.

Was Hex right?

“I think you’re amazing,” Ross whispered, disbelief creeping into her tone.

The Fauxra hissed. And then, to Ross’ horror, the its smile returned, wider than before. It lifted a finger, gently stroking her cheek, the claw leaving a thin, stinging scratch. It licked a drop of her blood from its finger, its long, reptilian tongue dancing in delight.

Please, she thought, just let me go.

A voice, this time a welcome one, rang out behind her. “Hey!” Vickers yelled.

Relief washed over her as Vickers emerged from the mist, his aim dead-set on the creature. “Let her go, you creepy cunt!”

The Fauxra’s smile vanished. With a low growl, it released Ross… and dived at Vickers.

Vickers was ready. He fired, missing the creature by an inch, the shotgun blast tearing a hole in a nearby tree. The Fauxra dodged another shot, its lithe body twisting as it vanished into the mist, scurrying back into the shadowy depths of the forest. They were safe for now.

Ross got to her feet as Vickers stormed over to her, his face fuming. “I fucking told you to stay close to me!” The anger in his voice was mixed with panic and fear.

“I tried to!” Ross protested.

“Yeah, not hard enough. Too busy daydreaming, staring into the trees, waiting for that fucking thing to kill—”

“The forest was moving!”

Vickers' face softened, but his jaw remained tight, and his grip on the shotgun didn’t loosen. He stepped closer, his voice quieter but carrying the same sharp intensity. “What do you mean?”

Ross sighed, feeling as stupid as she did when she tried to flirt with the Fauxra. “I… I saw the trees move around me.” She shrugged. “I know it sounds stupid, but I swear I saw it.”

Vickers stared at her, his eyes unblinking, searching her face for something. Ross couldn't tell if he was about to laugh at her or admit he'd seen it too. The silence dragged, making her feel more and more like she was going nuts.

At last, Vickers let out a breath through his nose and turned, muttering as he started walking away. “Come on, let’s head back to the car before that thing decides to take another pop at us.”

The Fauxra

She watched the sun set from the branches of a tall pine, licking her fingers and savoring the delicious tang of blood on her tongue. The words of the human, the one they called Ross, played over and over in her mind like a sweet melody.

You’re so beautiful.

Beautiful. The word struck a chord inside her, one she hadn’t known existed. Warmth — alien, uncomfortable warmth — filled her chest, and her eyes grew wet. A human had called her beautiful.

But as the hours passed, doubt crept in. Ross was beautiful herself, the most beautiful human she’d ever seen. Her golden hair, her emerald eyes, the soft curves of her body…

Had she really meant it? Fear had tainted the human’s scent when she said it. How could something so perfect find her attractive? I’m hideous… an abomination.

It was time to get closer to the humans. Not to hunt, but to learn more about their ways. Integrate with them. She could mimic their appearance now, enough to fool them. Their language still tripped her up, but she had time to improve. And her clothing — this long white coat wasn’t right. Maybe the garments from that hiker she’d killed would suffice.

Her stomach fluttered at the thought of Ross. Maybe she’d get the chance to speak to her again. Find out if she really meant what she said.

*****

The sign above the door read “The Hollow Inn.”

She stepped inside, immediately overthinking her movements. Was she walking too fast? Was her expression friendly? Did her hair look okay? She’d washed it in the stream, and tried to imitate Ross’ style, but it would never be as beautiful.

The place was empty. Just one human, female, behind a counter. The woman smiled. “Hey, sugar. If it’s food you’re after, the kitchen’s closed, I’m afraid.”

She grinned awkwardly, trying to mimic her expression. “No! Food.” she blurted, the tone coming out wrong, too harsh.

The woman’s brows furrowed but she kept smiling. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.” She paused. That was the first word she’d learned from humans. She remembered their shrieks, echoing through the forest. Closely followed by 'help.' Maybe she should try that one. “Help?”

The woman blinked, leaning forward. “Oh… you’re looking for work?”

Work? The word was unfamiliar, but she nodded. Humans seemed to like that gesture.

“Well, I’m sure we can get you a few hours here. Cash in hand, of course. We’re always busy, and the tips aren’t bad. I’m Loretta, by the way. What’s your name?”

Name? She thought quickly. “Ross.” No, not the same as the beautiful human. “Ross…a. Rosa.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosa,” Loretta said, offering her hand. “Welcome to The Hollow Inn.”

She mimicked the gesture, taking Loretta’s hand stiffly. “Welcome to The Hollow Inn,” she parroted.

Part 4

Ross

Vickers took a hard turn into the parking lot of The Hollow Inn. “What do you say we drown our sorrows a little?”

Ross nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” she said with a sigh.

She was exhausted — mentally and physically. A week had passed since the incident in the forest, and it had worn her down. Every day felt like she was trudging through treacle, and the dead-end leads weren’t helping. They were no closer to catching the Fauxra.

Sure, the killings had stopped, but that hadn’t kept the Chief — or half the town — from turning the screws on them. It didn’t matter that they had next to nothing to go on; their job was to keep the town safe, and right now, no one felt they were doing that.

They’d been stuck chasing bullshit leads to make it look like they were doing something. Some shop owner swore they saw a “strange figure” running at the edge of the woods; turns out a deer can look strange when you’re paranoid. Last night, someone dialed 9-1-1 about intense growling in the alley behind their house — it was just two stray dogs going at it.

The ones who hadn’t called the police to report bogus sightings (or to complain) had taken to gossip to pass the time until the Fauxra struck again. Ross heard the whispers and mutterings from the small midweek crowd as soon as she entered the bar. Some thought Bill was a rambling old fool, while those who believed him speculated about what kind of monster was lurking in the forest — a vampire, a wendigo, Bigfoot.

Loretta was behind the bar, pouring a whiskey for another customer. She waved at them as they approached. “Hey, Rosa. Would you mind serving these two?”

Ross had been in Cinder Hollow for less than two weeks, but already felt like she knew all the bar staff at The Hollow Inn. She’d never seen Rosa before, though. The new girl was young, with bronze skin and messy jet-black hair. There was something about her — an air of mystery that immediately drew Ross in. Maybe it was her graceful, almost too-perfect posture or the way her eyes seemed to study every movement in the room. Ross couldn’t take her eyes off her.

Rosa walked over to them, her steps slow and deliberate. Every motion seemed calculated, almost like she was gliding instead of walking. “What can I get you?” she asked in a rough but pleasant voice, her amber eyes locking onto Ross as if she’d known her for years.

Ross froze. There was something hypnotic about her. She felt a butterfly in her stomach, her cheeks warming up. “Uhm… hi,” she managed to say, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

Rosa smiled at her, wide and genuine, like she was seeing an old friend she hadn’t spoken to in years. “Hi,” she replied, excitement bubbling in her tone.

Ross felt her tongue swell up, words fumbling in her mind. She blinked, trying to focus, but for some reason, she just couldn’t string a sentence together. “Uh…”

Vickers, watching the awkward exchange with a smirk, cut in. “Large whiskey for me, sweetheart. And a beer for my tongue-tied friend here.”

Rosa’s gaze lingered on Ross for a moment longer, her smile never wavering, before she finally turned to grab their drinks.

Vickers leaned on the bar, glancing at Loretta. “What’s the deal with the new girl?” he asked, gesturing toward Rosa.

Loretta leaned forward, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder. “She’s great, isn’t she? Wandered in off the street last week. I think she might be Mexican, or Venezuelan, or something Spanish — I don’t know.”

Vickers’ grin widened as he turned to Ross. “Well, wherever she’s from, it looks like she’s got los ojos for Ross here.”

Ross felt her cheeks flush again. “Shut up,” she muttered, though she couldn’t help but glance at Rosa’s backside out of the corner of her eye.

“And I reckon the feeling’s mutual,” Vickers teased, dodging a half-hearted punch from Ross.

“Is that right?” Loretta raised her eyebrows. “Well, you keep your hands to yourself, Emily. I’m not about to lose another good worker to a promiscuous cop.” She shot a quick scowl at Vickers before walking off.

Vickers raised his hands, laughing. “Come on, Loretta! That girl never left because of me!”

When Rosa returned with their drinks, her smoky gaze locked onto Ross again. Ross’ face was burning now, and she eventually had to look away. “Thanks,” she muttered shyly as the girl walked away. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention — at least, not from a woman — but she couldn’t deny she didn’t hate it either.

A few drinks later, the bar felt busier. The jukebox was blasting, people were dancing on tables, falling off chairs, and shouting over each other. Ross laughed as she nearly spilled a full beer down the back of some guy who bumped into her, but he didn’t seem to care. Was getting drunk midweek a normal thing in Cinder Hollow, or was the whole town blowing off steam after the past couple of weeks of chaos?

She stumbled back onto her barstool, giggling, her head spinning just enough to feel good.

“Enjoying yourself, huh?” Vickers asked, swirling his whiskey without looking up.

“Yeah! Aren’t you?” Ross grinned, but Vickers just wore that same tired smile, barely speaking to anyone else.

“I am,” he said, though there was something weary in his voice. “But a lot of people here would rather I wasn’t.”

Ross’ smile faltered. She’d noticed a few dirty looks when they entered, but had shrugged them off as the usual anti-cop sentiment. Maybe it was more than that. “Is there a reason why they hate you? Other than, you know, you being an asshole?”

Vickers snorted. “Oh, that’s nothing new. They’ve always thought that.” He looked up from his drink. “But they also think I killed my ex-partner.”

A chill crawled up Ross’ spine. The rowdiness of the bar faded into the background as she tried to figure out how best to process this. Her instincts were working overtime.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, the bar lights casting strange shadows across his face. “You’re wondering if I did it. I’d be wondering the same thing.”

Ross shook her head. “I don’t think you did it.” Her voice wavered, and despite herself, her eyes flickered with doubt.

“Well, you’re a damned fool then. You don’t know me well enough to make that call.” He downed his drink before continuing, eyes fixed on the empty glass. “His name was Hayes. Everyone loved him — youngsters, old-timers, hell, even the crooks had a soft spot for him. Not me, though. I thought he was a smug prick. Always kissing the chief’s ass, taking credit for my hard work, making himself look like the hero. He had no love for me either, and we argued all the time. Even had a dust-up in here one night — son of a bitch kicked me up and down this place, in front of everyone. That was the week before he went missing.

“One evening, we respond to a call about a burglary, and spot the two little bastards trying to make their getaway. They ran into the forest, and we followed. We must’ve been running full tilt for a good five minutes, and I’m about to cough up a lung. Hayes was always fitter than me, a total gym junkie. So, when I stopped to catch my breath, he made some comment about me being out of shape. I told him to go fuck himself… and that’s when I heard him scream.

“The trees got hold of him — wrapped him up in their branches. I wanted to help, but honestly? I was fucking terrified. Thought they were gonna grab me next. So I sort of just watched. Watched as they dragged him away, screaming. They never found him.

“When they asked me what happened to him, I had to say I didn’t know. I wasn’t about to tell anyone what I saw — they’d have thought I was a fucking nutjob. The only person I told was Hex, and she believed me. The rest of this town? Either they think I did it, or they think I might’ve.”

Ross stared at her partner, her mind racing. His face showed guilt and regret — but was it for not saving Hayes, or because he had killed him? “I’m sorry, Vickers,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended, hoping to defuse the moment.

“Sorry for what?” he asked, his voice cold. “Sorry for what happened, or sorry that you don’t trust me any more than you could throw me?”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to respond, to find the right words to reassure him, but her mind came up blank. And then, mercifully, she was saved by Rosa. “Who wants to do some shots?” the girl said, appearing with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses, batting her wild amber eyes at Ross.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Vickers said, giving Ross a final look. “Why not?”

Ross forced a smile as Rosa lined up the three glasses, filling them to the brim with gold tequila (spilling a bit too, earning a scowl from Loretta). She placed three lime wedges on a plate, alongside a salt shaker.

Vickers went first, knocking his back like a seasoned pro. Next went Rosa, who bit into the lime first, poured the salt straight from the shaker into her mouth, and finally necked the tequila, her face scrunching as she swallowed. Ross frowned — there was no way Rosa could be Mexican after that bizarre technique.

Then it was Ross’ turn. Shots had never been her thing, and her stomach churned before she even touched the glass. She pinched her nose as she drank it (spilling the salt from her hand), trying to ignore the burn in her chest. Reaching for the lime, she found the plate empty. She glanced up to see Rosa grinning with Ross’ wedge between her teeth.

The tequila (and several beers) had Ross’ head swimming, her inhibitions fading to a distant memory. Without thinking, she leaned across the bar, catching the lime with her teeth, her lips brushing against Rosa’s. When she tried to pull away, Rosa grabbed the back of her head, holding her in place, locking them in a playful, lime-infused kiss. The bar erupted into wolf whistles and applause, the regulars cheering them on with enthusiasm.

When Rosa finally let go, Ross hesitated for a second longer, savoring the moment. Rosa’s lips were soft, tender… delicious. She didn’t want to pull away.

But as she slowly withdrew, Rosa’s playful smile faded. Her wild eyes, once filled with mischief, now shifted over Ross’ shoulder. Then they narrowed.

“Hey, look who it is!” Vickers’ voice broke through, and he stood from his stool, looking toward the door.

The bar cheered again.

Ross turned just in time to see Bill shuffling inside, an older man guiding him by the arm. Bill wore a fresh bandage, with two patches covering the holes where his eyes used to be. He gave a shy wave in no particular direction, a wan smile tugging at his lips.

Vickers met him halfway across the room. “How are you, buddy? Great to see you back on your feet. Come on, first one’s on me.”

He led Bill to the bar. “Rosa, a large whiskey for me,” he gestured toward Ross, “and maybe a glass of water for my drunk friend here.” Then he patted Bill on the back. “And whatever this fine gentleman desires.”

Bill reached his hands out, feeling the bar’s edge. “I’ll have a—a…”

Suddenly, Bill’s smile crumbled. The color drained from his face, like the life had been sucked out of him.

The noise of the bar dulled, the regulars falling silent as they watched Bill tremble.

“Come on, buddy,” Vickers said with a laugh. “It hasn’t been that long since you were here, have you forgotten how to order a drink?”

Bill’s lips parted, but all that came out was a terrified wail. He staggered back, his whole body shaking. Vickers lunged to catch him, but Bill crumpled to the floor, landing flat on his back.

The entire bar gasped, a crowd quickly gathering around him. His hands shook uncontrollably as he cried out, his voice raw and hysterical.

“She’s here!” he screamed. “The one who took my eyes — she’s here in the bar!”

Part 5

“Rosa”

Rosa tensed, stepping back as the commotion unfolded in front of her. The humans were in a panic, either trying to help the old man to his feet or glancing around with that familiar, terrified gaze they always seemed to have in her presence — well, when she was in her true form, that is.

"She’s here!" he screamed, shaking on the floor just as he had in the forest the other week. "She’ll kill us all — she’ll kill us all!"

The old fool's hysterics only fueled the fear, its stench thickening in the air. The room buzzed with anxious whispers and sharp, uneasy shouts:

"What’s he talking about?"
"Who’s gonna kill us?"
"Somebody help him up!"
"Get him some water!"
"Calm down, Bill."

Bill. She stood frozen in the doorway behind the bar, her thoughts racing. So that’s his name.

She remembered him well. The one she’d spared, allowing herself a closer look at the humans before making her move. He’d been useful to her then — until they'd covered his eye sockets, cutting her off and plunging her into darkness once more. She had known they’d probably do that, even with her limited understanding of their ways.

But what she hadn’t known was how this man, blind and helpless, could still sense her. Even now.

It didn’t make sense. The connection had always been her ability, not one possessed by these weak, fragile creatures. And yet, here he was, writhing on the floor, aware of her presence in a way that defied explanation.

If she'd known, she would have ripped his throat out long ago.

Everything in her instincts screamed for her to run, to slip away unnoticed before they realized who — or rather, what — he was screaming about. But curiosity kept her rooted in place, heart pounding. What was this strange link between them? And why hadn't she noticed it sooner?

Still, she hesitated. These humans had proven to be stupid, laughably so. She had walked among them for seven moons, and not one of them had suspected she was different. Not even the ones they called Ross and Vickers, who were supposed to be hunters of sorts. Why should they suddenly realize now?

At last, Bill was helped to his feet. Vickers had him by the arm and was leading him to a table in the far corner. "Let’s take a seat, buddy."

Bill was sobbing quietly now, the hysteria draining from his voice, but his body still shaking with palpable fear.

"He shouldn’t be out and about yet," Loretta muttered, her gaze fixed on Bill as she leaned in close to Ross. "It’s too soon."

Ross nodded, her expression tight. Even from where Rosa stood, she could sense the younger woman’s unease. Something about this place — or perhaps this night — was rattling her more than usual.

And then, all at once, Rosa felt the weight of Ross’ eyes shift toward her, lingering for a second too long. Did she sense it too? Was something in the air around Rosa tipping her off?

Loretta’s voice cut through her thoughts. "Rosa, honey — go bring Bill a glass of water."

Rosa froze. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of Bill from across the room, trembling even more violently now that Vickers had seated him. It was as if, even from this distance, he knew.

A creeping dread slid over her skin. What would happen if she got too close? Would Bill start screaming again? Pointing at her, shouting about the thing they still didn’t realize stood in their midst?

And worse still — what if Ross or Vickers noticed?

For the first time in what felt like ages, Rosa was unsure. Her instincts were telling her to flee. Her curiosity was whispering, wait. And all the while, the humans continued to swirl in confusion, oblivious to the predator in their midst.

“Rosa,” Loretta waved her hand impatiently. “Did you hear what I said? Bring Bill a glass of water.”

“Yes, boss,” Rosa muttered.

Her hands fumbled as she grabbed a glass and shoved it under the tap. She twisted the faucet too far, and water exploded out, soaking her sleeve. “Shit.” The humans seemed to love that word, and it had quickly become her favorite too.

She shook off the water, grabbed another glass, and turned the tap gently this time, watching the stream fill it up. As the water flowed, she found herself counting the guns in the room. Ross had one on her hip, and Vickers undoubtedly had one tucked under his coat. A few of the regulars always carried theirs, tucked away in jackets or concealed in handbags.

Ten guns, maybe more. All in the hands of drunk, careless humans. What would the odds be of her surviving if one of them figured out what she really was?

Her hand trembled as she crossed the room, the water swishing dangerously close to the rim. Suddenly, she was aware of every movement — each carefully practiced step, the way she held her body, her forced smile. It was like the first night here all over again, that terrible anticipation of being found out, waiting for someone to see through her disguise.

Vickers’ eyes were on her before she even reached the table, narrowing in suspicion. He knows, she thought. He’s waiting for me to slip up. And Bill — Bill was still trembling, his head twisting as if searching, as though he could somehow see her. The connection between them buzzed in the air like static.

She took a deep breath. Relax, they don’t know anything. With what she hoped was steady composure, she placed the glass in front of Bill.

And then he screamed.

Rosa jumped back as Vickers and the others rushed to calm him, their voices overlapping in confusion:

“She’s here, I tell you. She’s here! Right here, in this bar — I can feel her!”

“Here, Bill. Drink this.”

“Maybe tonight wasn’t a good idea.”

“You’re not ready to be out yet, buddy.”

“You’ve been through hell.”

While they huddled around Bill, Rosa made a quiet move to retreat — to just slip back behind the bar, away from their eyes. But—

“Rosa.”

Vickers’ voice cut through the noise like a sharp blade. Her heart seized. He knows.

She turned slowly, keeping her movements deliberate, cautious, ready to bolt for the door if she had to. “Yes?” she asked, her voice betraying the slightest rasp she’d been trying to suppress all week.

Vickers stared her down, his square jaw rigid, eyes scanning her from head to toe. His hand moved to his coat, slipping inside—

Rosa braced herself.

But instead of pulling out a gun, Vickers withdrew two crumpled twenty-dollar bills. “Get me and the boys a round of whiskeys, would you?”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Of course,” she said, taking the money from his hand.

*****

A while later, Bill got up to leave, apologizing to everyone for ruining their night, though still visibly shaken. Vickers led him by the arm, exchanging a serious look with Ross before guiding the old man through the exit. Most of the crowd trickled out shortly after, the noise in the bar dropping to a whisper.

Rosa sighed, safe for now. And all alone with the beautiful one.

Ross was still seated at the bar, her sparkling emerald eyes now glazed and watery, thanks to the tequila. Her head rested heavily on her hand as she looked up at Rosa, giving her a lazy smile.

Rosa mirrored the smile. “You’re beautiful.”

Ross’ cheeks flushed pink — a fascinating reaction. Surely, that was a good sign. She held Rosa’s gaze a little longer than needed, then looked away, giggling. “Says you.”

Rosa’s stomach fluttered. She really thinks I’m beautiful.

She checked her frizzy hair in the mirror behind the bar, sighing when it refused to sit the way she’d seen in magazines. How any human, especially Ross, could possibly find her beautiful, she didn’t quite understand. Still, her mind thrummed with excitement, wondering how humans measured attraction and what these odd responses — giggling, blushing — were meant to convey. It was a code she desperately wanted to decipher.

Rosa leaned over the bar until her face was inches from Ross’, their lips almost touching. She could feel the girl’s tequila-laced breath, warm and sweet. Her mind raced back to lines she’d overheard the male bartenders use on drunken women. She lowered her voice, trying to match their tone. “Let’s go back to your place.”

Ross’ smiled faded, her nervous eyes widening just a fraction. She gulped, blinking as though a small wave of hesitation rippled through her, but then her smile returned. “Alright then.”

Ross

Ross opened her eyes with a gasp, instantly aware of it — pain.

She whimpered, rubbing her forehead. Her brain felt like a peanut bouncing around inside her tin-can skull, each throb echoing in waves over her temples. She licked her cracked lips, but there wasn’t a drop of moisture to be found; her mouth felt like the inside of a rabbit hutch, dusty and stale.

Then it all came flooding back to her. The beer, the many, many tequila shots, and—

“Good morning.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She rolled over, finding Rosa lying in bed beside her, eyes bright and lips pulled into a knowing smile. How long had she been awake, just lying there, watching her sleep?

“Oh… hi,” Ross muttered, clutching the cover to her neck. She’d never enjoyed one-night stands; the awkwardness the next morning usually wasn’t worth it. She really would’ve preferred if Rosa had just… slipped out. “Uhm… do you want some coff—”

Before she could finish, Rosa leaned in and kissed her, her lips as soft and sweet as last night. All Ross could think about was her own stale breath. She pulled back quickly, her voice low. “Listen,” she began, looking away. “About last night — that’s, uh, not really my style. I prefer to, you know, get to know someone first…”

Her voice trailed off as she felt Rosa’s fingers trace a slow path up her inner thigh. Whatever excuses she’d planned to make evaporated. Tilting back toward her, she returned the kiss, her only remaining thought one of guilt as she considered calling in sick today.

*****

Ross woke again, this time to her phone vibrating on the makeshift bedside table, a giant cardboard box she’d been using since she moved in. She groaned, fumbling for the phone, and when she saw who was calling, her stomach dropped — Vickers. Shit. She was now late for work and hadn’t bothered to call in sick.

She cleared her throat, practicing her “sick voice.”

“Hey, Vickers,” she muttered, then coughed for effect. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it in—”

“Shut up for a second.” His voice was sharp, and his car engine revved in the background like he was tearing down the road. “Are you alone?”

Ross squinted around the room, groggy, her head still spinning. In the kitchen, through the bedroom door, she spotted Rosa’s naked form moving around, opening cupboards, inspecting the labels on tins as if reading a foreign language. She almost laughed.

“I… I can talk,” she said, trying to shake off the sleepiness. “Why?”

“Did Rosa stay at yours last night?”

Ross frowned, feeling slightly embarrassed but mostly annoyed. “Why would you even ask—”

“Answer the fucking question!” His voice snapped.

“Alright!” she hissed. “Yeah, she’s here.”

“Is she with you right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ross,” he said, his voice trembling. “You need to get out of there. Right now.”

“What?” she whispered. “What the hell’s going on?”

Vickers took a deep breath. “Bill called me this morning. Said he had another vision. This time it was a young woman — blonde hair, in bed, surrounded by cardboard boxes.”

The gears in her head started to turn, but her gut tightened faster, twisting into a sick knot. She looked again toward the kitchen and froze: Rosa had picked up a jar of instant coffee, and was tipping a spoonful into her mouth. She coughed and choked as she spat it into the sink, scraping the granules from her tongue… a forked tongue, one the length of her arm.

Ross’ stomach twisted, a chill crawling up her spine and spreading out across her skin in icy prickles. Holy fuck.

Vickers’ voice came through the phone, low and shaking. “Ross, it’s her. Rosa is the Fauxra.”

Ross sat trembling at the top of her bed, trying to speak, but fear had stolen her voice. The monster they’d been after, the one who’d killed at least half a dozen people — and eaten some of them — had spent the night with her.

“Ross, are you still there?” Vickers’ voice buzzed in her ear.

“Mhm,” she managed, fighting the urge to scream, to cry, to jump out her bedroom window.

“Look, just stay calm; I’m on my way. In the meantime, try to act normal, okay?”

“Okay.” She hung up, then took a shaky breath. He was right; any hope of staying alive hinged on remaining calm. She would have to act, to smile, to do anything but let this thing know she’d figured it out.

Get up, she ordered herself. She threw on her uniform from last night, then forced a tight-lipped smile onto her face. Just a normal day. Everything’s fine.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she found Rosa bent over the sink, drinking water straight from the tap. Ross cleared her throat, voice catching. “Coffee?”

Rosa turned slowly, wiping the water from her mouth with her arm. Her gaze narrowed, and Ross caught a hint of something alien in her eyes — a dark glint that made her stomach twist. The coffee granules clinging to Rosa’s chin mixed with the water, forming a dark, messy smear.

The same smile that had charmed her last night was still there, but now it seemed sharper, too wide, like she was forcing herself to keep her true face hidden. Another chill crept up her spine. She wasn’t looking at a human; she was looking at a predator.

“Just water,” the Fauxra said in a low voice, almost like a warning.

Trying to keep her hands from trembling, Ross grabbed a glass and filled it from the sink, passing it over with a shaky smile. Then, as she reached for the kettle, something caught her eye: a full jar of sugar on the counter. Her mind raced. She filled the kettle, adding the sugar in too. The rumbling sound of the boil filled the silence as she fought to keep herself busy.

The Fauxra edged closer, wrapping her arms around Ross’ waist. The creature’s warm breath brushed her ear, almost like she was savoring Ross’ scent. “You smell… delicious.”

Ross stifled a shudder. “Th-thank you.” She squirmed out of her grip and grabbed a teaspoon from the dishwasher.

“You’re welcome,” said the Fauxra, her voice a low purr. “But I have to say, you smell a little different than you did last night.”

Fear pulsed through her, prickling her skin, but she kept her expression neutral. “That’s probably because I need to shower.”

“No… that’s not it.” The Fauxra’s face drew close to Ross’, and she took a long, slow breath, her nostrils flaring. “You had this same smell when you called me beautiful… in the forest.”

Ross’ heart thudded in her chest. She knows I know.

“I’ve smelled it on other humans too — Bill, Derek, half the bar last night.” The Fauxra took another step closer, until Ross could feel the faint press of her breathing against her cheek. “Do you know what it is?” Her voice was barely a whisper, a predator toying with its prey. “It’s fear.”

The kettle clicked, breaking the silence.

In one swift movement, Ross grabbed it, yanked off the lid, and flung the boiling, sugary water in the Fauxra’s face.

The creature crashed to the floor, screaming and writhing like a wounded animal. This was Ross’ chance.

She dodged splashes of the scalding sugar water as she sprinted toward the front door… but she was too slow. The Fauxra darted across the floor and blocked her path. One side of her face was now a blistered horror, where melted human skin had sloughed away, revealing something black as tar underneath — crusted, slimy, not remotely human.

With a wild swing of her arm, she sent Ross hurtling across the room. Ross’ hands shot out to brace herself, but she collided hard with the open dishwasher. Her fingers closed around something — cold steel. A steak knife. She fell to the floor, clutching it beneath her body.

The Fauxra let out a raspy laugh, her voice suddenly dark and guttural. “I really liked you, Emily. What a shame.”

She seized Ross by the shirt, yanking her to her feet. But Ross had the blade ready, fingers tight around the handle.

In a flash, she struck, ramming the knife deep into the Fauxra’s eye.

The Fauxra’s scream was a harsh, inhuman wail, and she staggered back, releasing Ross as she fell to her knees.

Ross bolted for the door, yanking it open and scrambling for the stairs, the creature scurrying after her, claws scraping against the tiled floor.

But it caught her again. With a growl, it swiped at her leg, sending her tumbling down the flight of stairs. She landed with a sickening crack in her ankle.

She tried to get up, but her ankle buckled, and she collapsed, pain blurring her vision.

Keep moving, she told herself, though it felt hopeless. The Fauxra swept down the stairs, strolling toward her. “If you stop fighting, I’ll let you live. I’ll only take your eyes.”

“Fuck you.” Ross gritted her teeth and kept crawling.

The Fauxra sighed. “Have it your way,” she said, reaching down to squeeze Ross’s broken ankle.

Ross screamed, the blinding pain unlike anything she’d ever felt as her broken bones ground beneath the Fauxra’s grip. For a moment, she prayed to pass out before it tore her apart.

Then the front door burst open.

Vickers fired his shotgun, blowing a hole in the Fauxra’s chest. The creature flew back to the stairs, and Vickers hauled Ross up. “Come on, Rookie — let’s go!”

With an arm over Vickers’ shoulder, Ross hobbled into the street, where his car sat parked on the sidewalk just a few feet from her front door.

He leaned her against the car, then popped the trunk and handed her a shotgun. “Get ready.”

Ross cocked the shotgun. Together, they aimed at the open door, waiting for the Fauxra.

They didn’t have to wait long. The creature burst out, screaming and wailing, black tar spilling from the gaping hole in its chest.

They fired. Then fired again. And again. And again.

They kept firing until the creature was no more than a pile of broken body parts, some still squirming on their own.

Vickers walked over, pulling out his hip flask and emptying it onto the creature. Then he struck a match, setting the remains ablaze.

Sirens wailed in the distance as he walked back over. He opened the back door, helping Ross sit across the seat with her ankle resting up. Then, smiling, he handed her a full hip flask. “Always keep a spare. You know, for emergencies.”

Ross took a big gulp, the burn in her throat helping to dull the throbbing in her ankle.

Vickers leaned against the front seat, exhaustion hanging off him like his wrinkled coat. “Think it’s safe to say you’ve passed your probation. Planning to stick around?”

Ross met his eyes, replaying their last conversation and the doubts about him she'd wrestled with. “We still have to figure out what happened to Hayes.”

Vickers’ expression tightened, but something softened around his eyes as he held her gaze. No words were needed; she knew he understood.

A small smirk broke through her pain. “But the next monster we run into, it’s your turn to sleep with it.”

Vickers chuckled, low and hoarse. “You got yourself a deal.”

*****

Madame Hex's Midnight Bloom

• A generous measure of Gin.

• Elderflower liqueur to give it a sweet, floral note.

• A dash of violet syrup to make it bloom with a mystical purple hue.

• Topped with lavender tonic for a light, fragrant fizz.

• Garnished with edible violets (pansies will work too) and a twist of lemon peel shaped like a crescent moon.

• Served in a vintage glass goblet with a tiny skull charm on the stem. Hex also prefers to have a miniature broomstick as a stirrer, but Vickers broke the only one she had ☹