MicroHorror

Twenty feet away, snow crunches underfoot. I shift my weight, adjust my back against the freezing birch tree. I catch a glimpse of its emerald eyes and veins in the dark. I must move fast to keep up with this creature.

Three years ago, the Day Breakers severed us from our sunlight habitats, hoarding the daylight hours. Now, we only see our city by lamp and firelight. At daybreak, we bolt our doors and windows, and they do likewise at sunset. Depression and insomnia haunt many of us who cannot adjust to the endless dark, but not me. I have learned to love the night.

Consider this evening. When I walked to the woods, I admired our snow-blanketed corner of the city. The long-necked streetlamps beautifully illuminated the icy cobblestone with their yellow-orange glow. The lamps are bent and twisted around each other, arching this way and that, a jungle of wild lights that cast the oddest silhouettes. In their glow, shadows separate and merge, as if they are spindly demons attacking each other. Tonight, one of my shadows slashed the other’s throat, and as I stepped into a spot of darkness, the shadow grasping its neck sank its teeth into the other’s stomach. I have never witnessed such eloquent silhouettes during the day.

Even the walls gating off the Day Breaker’s community are a nightly sight, pasted with frosty swirls. In the streetlight, several of the sparkling patterns resemble faces screaming in agony and remorse. Some of us believe they are the death expressions of the beasts we hunt in this very woodland.

I hear the creature breathing but cannot see it among the dense birch trees, starlight struggling to brighten the snow. Good thing I have my snout about me. The creature emits the most unnatural stench of putrid flesh, a feature no thanks to us.

I accidentally scrape my nails against the tree, and the breathing falls silent.

This Day Breaker has been one of the more challenging. It called my bluff when I spread chicken entrails over the thinly frozen pond, ready to bury the starving beast in a watery grave. It stopped just before stepping on the ice and knowingly gazed in my direction. Perceptive devil.

But as formidable as the creature has proven itself, the night and the cold wear on, slowing the creature’s movements and judgment, placing me a mere twenty feet from it.

The Day Breakers once made for fine game. They were smart and deceptive, even killed a handful of us. But what is a handful compared to the hordes of them we’ve slaughtered? Soon fear conquered their fight response, and most of them sat and lamented when we dumped them in the woodlands. Field mice offered a better hunt. The Day Breakers became weak and fragile, useless in every respect. That is until Pok, an abomination even among us, began injecting the captured Day Breakers, testing various concoctions on them, making them fiercer, stronger, animalistic. Pok never hunts them—his ancient, sore-ridden body won’t allow it, but we managed an arrangement.

I creep on all fours like the wolves we believe to be our true ancestors. Not fifteen yards away I see the creature’s pale flesh slouched against a fallen log. A smarter breed than the last but still too easy. I snap a twig and the creature spins around, jagged teeth exposed, flesh taut to its skull. Good. I want it to know the thief of its last breath, that I am one of those exiled to the night.

I lunge at the creature and before the next star can wink, I crush its back, ending the attack swiftly, avoiding any damage to its flesh. Scarred hides are bad for business. Pok and I can’t sell blemished Day Breaker pelts for full price, and they are in high demand this year, especially the warm and durable ones we claim to have; forecasters predict this winter will be the coldest yet.