The Yellow Eyes
1035 Words
“Ah… finally.”
The young man lifted his gaze to the moon, silver light spilling through the cracked window frame. He wiped a smear of fresh blood from the corner of his lips with his thumb and turned back to the figure slumped before him.
An old man sat bound to a wooden chair, wrists lashed with rope, chest heaving. His muffled whimper seeped out from behind the strip of duct tape plastered across his mouth.
“I hate doing this, truly I do,” the young man said, voice smooth as silk but carrying a twisted amusement. “But I can’t bloody help myself. I suppose sleep would be kinder, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry—the second bite won’t hurt.”
His pupils bled into a deep crimson, catching the dim light like pools of wine. A grin stretched across his pale face, sharp fangs gleaming.
“Mmmph!” The old man thrashed weakly, chair legs scraping against the wooden floor.
The young man tilted his head, almost pitying. “Would you like to say something before it’s too late?”
A desperate nod.
He ripped the tape away. The old man wheezed, gulping air before babbling, “Have mercy, son! I beg you, I won’t tell a soul—please!”
A chuckle rolled from the young man’s throat. “Christ, how cliché. Humans and their lies. Always pretending to be weak when in truth you’re the most dangerous bastards on this earth.”
“I’ve a family,” the old man gasped, trembling. “Surely… you must have one too.”
“Oh, I did. Once.” His grin widened, feral. “And then I killed them. Just as I’ll kill you.”
“No—!”
The fangs sank into the old man’s neck. His body stiffened, then sagged limp as life drained away.
The young man licked the last drop from his lips, then clicked his tongue in boredom. He gave the corpse a lazy shove, sending it crashing to the floor.
Enough of this dreary house. He wandered to the window, eyes flicking across the street. A line of quiet cottages stood under the moonlight. Normality. Fragile. Sickening.
He exhaled, sharp and hungry. He needed air. Fresh prey.
With inhuman speed, he slipped through the door and out into the night. By the time he reached the old oak tree at the settlement’s edge, the bones in his body began to crack, shifting like dry twigs under pressure. His jaw clenched, clothes tearing as fur burst through skin.
The crimson of his pupils melted into a glowing yellow. His frame hunched, reshaped, claws splitting from his fingers. In seconds, the man was gone. In his place stood a towering beast, black pelt glistening, breath steaming in the cold.
He tilted his head to the sky and let out a howl that split the night wide open.
Instinct roared inside him. Every scent in the air unfurled sharp and vivid—damp earth, woodsmoke, the tang of blood clinging still to his tongue. And then, cutting through it all—something different.
Something sweet. Alluring. Irresistible.
Pheromones.
The word rang in his head like a drumbeat. His jaws snapped once, eager. He prowled forward, tracking the invisible thread that pulled him deeper into the forest, then out again to the road that bordered it.
And there—he found her.
A woman. Alone.
His eyes narrowed, glowing in the dark as he watched her. Hunger and something darker stirred within.
Edith’s boots scuffed against the uneven tarmac, each step far too loud in the dead of night. The road curved into shadow ahead, the only light the pale silver wash of the moon. She hugged herself tighter, breath fogging in the cold.
Bloody Seth. His name burned in her skull. She couldn’t go back—not after what he’d said. Not after the way he’d looked at her. The thought of seeing him again tonight made her stomach twist.
Around her, the world hissed and whispered. Crickets thrummed. Leaves shivered in the trees. Somewhere distant, an owl hooted, long and low, like a warning.
She cursed under her breath when she realised she’d taken the back road—the one no one used after dark. The shortcut to Shepperton was always empty, half-forgotten. Anyone sensible stuck to the lit main road.
But she had stormed off without thinking, and now her stubbornness was rewarded with shadows and silence.
Her mind reeled back to Seth—his sharp words, the betrayal lacing his tone.
But the night wasn’t kind.
A rustle.
Edith froze, heart lurching. The sound came from the trees on her left—quiet, deliberate, like something moving where nothing should.
“Who’s there?” she called, voice too thin, too shaky. Then, weaker still: “Seth? Is that you?”
No answer.
Her pulse hammered. Her eyes darted through the dark, and then—she saw them.
Two glowing yellow eyes. Steady. Watching.
Her breath snagged in her throat.
The lights moved. Slow. Purposeful. A shadow crept into view, slipping out from the undergrowth.
Her knees buckled.
It stepped into the moonlight, black fur rippling, eyes blazing like lanterns. Fangs flashed in the pale glow, long and wet. Muscles coiled tight beneath its frame, ready to spring.
“No…” The word slipped out, fragile as glass.
The beast crouched low.
Then it lunged.
Edith stumbled back, boot snagging on loose gravel. She hit the ground hard, palms scraping, lungs choking on fear. She opened her mouth to scream, but not a sound left her throat.
The creature’s shadow blotted out the moon as it soared above her. She curled in on herself, every nerve shrieking.
It landed, claws gouging the earth inches from her. The ground shuddered. Its breath washed over her face, hot and metallic, reeking of blood.
Her body refused her. She tried to crawl, to fight, to breathe—nothing.
The growl that rumbled from its chest wasn’t just sound; it was weight, pressing down on her, vibrating through her bones.
Her vision blurred, edges dimming.
“What… the hell… was that?” she croaked.
And then the dark swallowed her whole.
- Writer
