When the clouds parted, and the moonlight streamed down upon the square, I saw the stalking shadows. There was something in the faces of the monsters…Joel, the shopkeeper, those were his eyes, and Martha, that sweet and quiet girl, that was her smile with the canine teeth. A low growling filled the air, and on instinct, I pressed near my compatriot, the half-blind priest, and felt his sharp frame against my back.
“‘The lights of heaven are not of this earth,'” he quoted in a whisper, “‘nor are the dreams of men brought from the soft grave of impermeant death.'”
“Pastor,” I hissed.
“‘Only born from the darkness of night.’ Now, hold still, and watch.”
I felt his hand take mine and press something soft into my palm.
“What is this?” I asked, not letting my eyes fall from the dark things surrounding us.
“Moondust,” I thought I heard in answer. Before I had time to think, though, one of the shadowed beasts came running out into the pale light, half human and all ragged hair.
The priest turned, and the ballet of battle, I’d thought long forgotten, awoke in me, and we danced as one in the night, exchanging places in an instant, and I heard the monster howl. Peaking over my shoulder, I saw the red and bloody smear on the cobblestones, where a form writhed and dissolved under a cloud of twinkling stars.
Tale Told 