The night was bitterly cold. Marlon, cute kid with dark wavy hair. Who was about to face his first day of elementary school, struggled to close his eyes. It wasn't because he hadn't done anything during the day—no, it was the gnawing nervousness that kept him awake. Excitement, worry, and curiosity swirled in his mind as he imagined what it would be like to be a new student tomorrow.
With one arm, he pressed his ears between two pillows like a sandwich, leaving only his nose and mouth free to breathe. Yet his mind refused to quiet down, spinning endless scenarios of what might happen and meticulously planning his every move. Marlon was far too clever for a boy his age.
But something felt wrong.
A strange, creeping discomfort slithered under his skin, as though something terrible was lurking just beyond the edges of time.
School can't be that bad, right? he thought.
It was nearly midnight. Most of the lights in the house had long been turned off, leaving only the dim glow of the porch light and the faint spill of streetlamps through his window. He had been lying like this for over an hour, occasionally lifting the pillow over his eyes to steal a glance across the room where his older brother, Thomas, lay fast asleep.
He wished Thomas would wake up and play with him until he drifted off.
But Thomas was dead to the world, sprawled on his back with his blanket tangled around his legs.
Maybe a glass of milk will make me sleepy, Marlon thought.
I can't show up on my first day looking exhausted.
His mind wandered to his father, who would usually read him a bedtime story or soothe him when sleep refused to come. But his father, Roger Holter, had left earlier that evening for work in another city.
His father, Roger Holter, came from a long line of monster hunters in London.
But now, he was simply a father—a responsible office worker who only returned home on his days off. Yet Marlon always greeted him with a beaming smile, because he knew his father would bring surprises for the whole family, every single time he came home.
A pang of sadness hit him as he sat up on the edge of his bed.
Only now did he realize he was the only one still awake.
His room, usually lively with toys and his brother's chatter, now felt dark, silent, and terrifying.
The wooden floor creaked as he stood. He moved cautiously through the darkness toward Thomas' bed, his eyes darting to the half-open closet—where the shadows between the clothes seemed to stare back at him.
"Tom… wake up," Marlon whispered, tugging at his brother's arm. "Come on, take me to the kitchen."
Thomas only groaned and rolled over, muttering in his sleep.
"Give me back my donut, Marlon…"
Marlon sighed and turned away.
It took him a few seconds to gather his courage before he finally stepped toward the half-open bedroom door. He gripped the handle, pulled it open, and slipped into the hallway.
Their room was at the far end of the second floor. The kitchen, a place he usually reached without a second thought, now felt impossibly far away.
Marlon quickened his pace until he reached the open landing where the first floor became visible—separated only by a wooden railing and the stairs. The faint outlines of furniture in the living room below caught the dim yellow light from outside.
Before descending, he glanced left toward his parents' bedroom—its door shut tight.
He continued downstairs, rubbing his arms for warmth.
Finally, he reached the kitchen, just as dark as the rest of the house. It was neat and orderly, with a refrigerator nearly twice his height at the far end.
Without slowing, he snatched a glass from the center table and headed for the fridge.
But—
His footsteps froze.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Heavy, rapid footsteps echoed from the backyard, growing louder—closer.
A cold dread shot through Marlon's veins. Fear paralyzed him, stealing his voice, his breath, even the strength to run.
Slowly, he crouched, pressing his back against the table beneath the window. One wrong move, one sound, and whatever was out there would find him.
His breaths came in ragged gasps. He bit down hard on his lip to stifle the sob rising in his throat.
Through the curtains, a massive, indistinct shadow darted past—too fast to make out clearly. It moved from one window to the next, circling the house.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The footsteps continued, relentless.
Then—silence.
The creature had stopped right outside the wall where Marlon hid.
HRR… HRR…
The sound of its breathing was thick, wet, guttural—like a beast with a throat full of mucus.
Marlon curled into a tighter ball, one arm wrapped around his knees, the other hand clamped over his mouth. Tears burned his eyes, but he didn't dare let a single whimper escape.
THUD!
A single, powerful stomp shook the ground—Marlon felt it through the floor.
Then the creature was moving again, sprinting to the other side of the house. A loud CRASH followed, the sound of splintering wood from upstairs.
Mom… Thomas!
They were still asleep.
I have to warn them!
Trembling, Marlon forced himself to stand. His legs felt like jelly, barely supporting him as he stumbled forward. He staggered, nearly falling, but pushed on until he reached the top of the stairs.
SMASH!
The sound of shattering glass split the air.
Marlon flinched, gripping the railing to keep from tumbling down.
The noise had come from his mother's room.
Oh no—Mom!
Fear and panic warred in his mind, leaving it blank. His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward her door.
But just as he passed the hallway—
SNATCH!
A hand clamped over his mouth, yanking him back.
"MMPH!"
He tried to scream, but only a muffled whimper escaped.
"Shhh! Quiet, Marlon! Don't make a sound!" A voice hissed in his ear.
"Tom!" Marlon thrashed.
"Shut up, idiot! Stay here and don't move!" Thomas' face was deadly serious as he locked eyes with his brother. "I'm getting Grandpa's hunting bow from the basement. Don't do anything stupid, got it?" He glanced toward their parents' door.
Though only three years older, Thomas was much taller and stronger.
Marlon nodded shakily, slumping against the wall. His face was pale, damp with sweat and tears.
Thomas turned and bolted down the stairs, vanishing into the darkness.
Then—
"GET OUT, YOU FILTHY BEAST! YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH!"
His mother's furious scream rang through the house.
CRASH! BANG!
Furniture toppled, something heavy was thrown.
Marlon jolted, sprinting toward her door.
"M-Mom! Are you okay?" His voice was thin, trembling.
"Marlon! RUN!"
A split second later—
BOOM!
The door exploded inward, splintering in half. His mother's body flew through the wreckage, slamming into Marlon and sending them both crashing into the railing.
Wood cracked. Marlon's grip slipped—
But at the last second, his fingers caught the edge. He dangled over the first floor, legs kicking empty air.
"Marlon!" His mother's voice was raw with terror.
She was still beautiful, even now—her blonde waves tangled, her face streaked with dust and blood. She reached for him with one hand, the other gripping a silver sword slick with blackish blood.
Marlon strained, muscles burning as he fought to pull himself up.
"Mom! Behind you!" he shrieked.
A massive, black-furred monster lunged from the room, jaws wide in a triumphant howl. Razor-sharp claws gleamed in the dim light.
His mother twisted, swinging her sword—
Too late.
CRUNCH!
The beast's fangs sank into her shoulder and neck. Blood sprayed.
"NO! MOM!" Marlon screamed.
She went limp. The sword slipped from her fingers.
"Mom! Answer me! PLEASE!"
From below, rapid footsteps.
"Marlon! HOLD ON!" Thomas' voice.
Marlon didn't hear him. His eyes remained locked on his mother's motionless form, her golden hair now matted with darkening blood. The world had narrowed to that terrible stillness, the way her hand still seemed to reach for him even in death.
Thomas moved with desperate precision, hands shaking as he loaded the silver-tipped crossbow bolt—his grandfather's relic. The weapon felt foreign in his grip, too heavy with purpose.
The creature rose from its kill, blood dripping from its maw, and let out a roar that shook the very foundations of the house. Plates rattled in their cabinets; picture frames slid from walls. Thomas stood frozen at the base of the stairs, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he stared up at the nightmare made flesh.
Then slowly, deliberately, the beast turned its gaze toward Marlon.
A grotesque smile split its muzzle, revealing rows of yellowed fangs. In one fluid motion, it extended a clawed hand and seized Marlon by the collar, lifting him as effortlessly as one might carry a sack of groceries.
Marlon thrashed, kicking wildly, his screams raw and frantic. But his struggles only made the creature's grip tighten, its claws digging into the fabric of his pajamas.
"Oh god—MARLON!" Thomas's voice cracked with terror, snapping him from his paralysis.
Just as the beast's jaws yawned wide—
CRACK!
The silver bolt found its mark, embedding itself deep in the creature's chest with a sound like shattering ice. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then—
WHOOSH.
Blue fire erupted from the wound, spreading across its fur like liquid lightning. The shadows behind it twisted violently, casting a monstrous silhouette against the walls.
HRRAAAAAGH!
The werewolf's howl of pain sent Marlon flying—his small body tumbling three meters before crashing against the staircase railing. The creature staggered, swiping at the burning arrow, but its claws only ignited upon contact with the blessed silver. Flames licked up its arm, consuming fur and flesh alike.
Mad with pain, it thrashed wildly, smashing through furniture as it collapsed to the first floor. Wood splintered beneath its weight; glass shattered. For one terrible moment, the house was alive with its death throes.
Then—silence.
Thomas was already moving, taking the stairs two at a time to reach Marlon, who lay crumpled and sobbing beside their mother's body.
"Marlon! Look at me—are you hurt?" Thomas's hands trembled as he checked for injuries, but his brother didn't respond. Marlon's eyes were vacant, fixed on their mother's still face.
Thomas followed his gaze.
The breath left his lungs.
He sank to his knees beside Marlon, his own tears falling freely now. There were no words. No screams. Just the awful, yawning void where a parent should have been.
Downstairs, the struggle had ended. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Below, the fire had burned itself out. Where the monster had fallen, there now lay a naked woman - her body curled around the silver bolt in her chest, dark hair splayed across the ruined floorboards. Her open eyes reflected nothing..
The Aftermath
Hours bled together.
The house, once a sanctuary, was now a crime scene bathed in the alternating red and blue pulse of emergency lights. Paramedics had wrapped the brothers in scratchy thermal blankets, but no amount of polyester could ward off the chill that had settled in their bones.
Neighbors gathered across the street, their pitying stares as palpable as the police tape encircling the property. Officers moved in and out, their radios crackling with static. Someone had taken photos. Someone had zipped a body bag.
Thomas held Marlon tighter, as if his embrace could somehow shield them both. But his own grief was a mirror to his brother's—raw, unfathomable.
Then—
"LET ME THROUGH, DAMN YOU! THAT'S MY FAMILY!"
The voice shattered the numbness.
Roger Holter barreled past a protesting officer, his face streaked with tears. He fell to his knees before his sons, his strong hands cradling their faces.
"What have I done?" His whisper was a broken thing. "My boys... my god, what have I done?"
He pulled them close, his shoulders shaking. And for the first time since the nightmare began—
Marlon sobbed into his father's shoulder.
Thomas clutched at his father's coat.
The three of them clung to each other in the flashing light, their sobs the only language left.