A short story by Chris Graham

The light of the full moon reflected off the stark branches of the ancient oak, dead for the past six centuries, yet still standing, brooding alone on the hilltop.

A sweet looking young girl child with long curly blonde tresses stood, tied securely in front of it, the moonlight making her appear ghostlike as it shone onto her pale face and long white nightdress.

She was looking towards the village she had been brought from, each cottage showing candlelit windows surrounded by interwoven strands of garlic and a large consecrated wooden cross nailed to their doors.

As the last toll of the church midnight bell echoed into silence, she heard the first distant howl, then another, louder one in answer.

They were coming.

She had been discovered lost and abandoned in the nearby woods just the day before, so the village elders selected her to…