She awoke to the unsettling sound of metal clanking. A peculiar noise to hear in the middle of the night, considering everyone should be relieved to not need tools at this hour. One might assume that such a sound would put her on high alert, but the notion of a potential robbery never once crossed her mind. In their small village, everyone knew each other, making it difficult for a thief to hide. Besides, aside from specific workers like the blacksmith, the village chief, or the miller, who required specialized equipment, every house was equipped with essentially the same things. If something broke, borrowing from a neighbor until it was fixed was the customary practice.

The next most logical conclusion was an animal. Field mice were a perpetual concern for any farmer who had ever toiled the land. In spring and summer, these creatures would eagerly feast on the meticulously cultivated crops. Post-harvest, they would leisurely invade villagers' houses, indulging in the winter-preserved bread and contaminating reserves of meat.

Insidious little demons if you will.

But this sound was too deliberate, too mechanical.

She got up from her grass-filled pillow, being careful not to disturb the old man beside her, and headed to the kitchen to address the pest issue. The typical pillow style in the village consisted of simple wooden planks that elevated their heads, providing all the comfort a dungeon might offer. Some opted to sleep without one, but she considered herself wiser than them. Creativity, after all, was one of the greatest weapons a cook had at their disposal, and she certainly wasn't lacking in that department. Thanks to her ingenuity, sleeping in this house was a more comfortable affair.

The hard earth beneath her feet seemed harder than usual, adding an ominous undertone to her every step.

The rusty sound of hinges moving reached her ears, and she instinctively looked toward the kitchen door. It must be the wind. She assured herself, even though the night air hung completely still.

Taking the flint from the top of the chest, she crouched down in the place where the lamp was meant to be, only to discover it was missing. Puzzled, she looked around, attempting to recall where they had left it, only to find it nowhere in sight. The darkness, now an almost palpable entity, pressed in around her.

That was something to be concerned about.

Attempting to reason with that knucklehead proved futile; he was back to sleep in no time, not bothering to spare her even a single glance.

“I'll give ya a taste of the crazy woman! See what ya do when there's no food in sight…” Mumbling under her breath, she retrieved the smaller extra lamp that was under the bed and ventured outside, determined to find just who the hell was out and about in other people's houses.

The notion of a group of thieves began to seem like a serious possibility. While it wasn't a frequent occurrence, she had heard rumors of bands of thieves making a living by raiding unguarded villages. For a woman, there was no greater danger than a group of men. It just didn't add up for them to invade her house without uttering a word or issuing any threats.

Illuminated by the faint light from her lamp, she surveyed the outside.

Normally, this was a scene she'd grown tired of seeing—the small stone wall, the clustered houses, and the nearby forest. Everything she had seen countless times before. So why was it that tonight, the night air felt so chilling? Why did the forest noise seem so disconcerting? And why had her legs become so heavy with every step she took?

Deciding that taking just a short look around was for the best, she stopped just short of the end of the wall, a sense of foreboding settling in. Fortunately, there was no one in sight, so she resolved to accept it as a mere prank of the wind. Men were not supposed to question the actions of the spirits, and if there was no clear explanation, it surely was their doing.

Exhaling a sigh of resignation, she prepared to head back. However, a movement at the corner of her eye drew her attention. Looking down, she saw it.

“I-it's not what it looks like! I was just borrowing it for a quick business-related thing.”

A figure, childlike but devoid of innocence, stood before her, using words unfamiliar to this realm. Its face, a mask of emotionlessness, revealed eyes that held a void—an emptiness that spoke of years beyond its apparent youth. A chill ran down her spine, and the once familiar night seemed to converge on this eerie encounter. The leaves, reluctant witnesses, rustled one last time before falling into an unnatural stillness.

“…”

“You know how it is, in the heat of the moment, things might not look as they actually are.”

The darkness of the night appeared to converge on its surroundings. It assumed the form of a child, but its atmosphere was nothing like it.

“…”

Completely dead. That is the sensation its eyes sent her. Silence lingered, and the air thickened with an otherworldly tension.

“I suppose you can have it if you wish, though I'd appreciate it if you refrained from talking about our encounter to anyone…”

A chilling realization creeps into her head, a veil of ambiguity shrouding a truth darker than the shadows it conceals, she was sure that behind its words, the line between reality and deception was blurred.

“…”

“…Secrets are delicate, you see, divulging them has consequences some do not wish to encounter.”

She took one step back, her hand gripping the little lamp so tightly that it began to ache. Then, as if to mock the terror that crept into her heart, it smiled, presenting her with a lamp she hadn't seen how it ended up in its hands.

It may have looked like a four-year-old, but she was sure. It wasn't human.