The Monster She Chose At Midnight

🩷 🍒 . Author's POV The wind whispered through the trees like it carried secrets no man should ever hear. Shadows crawled across the damp forest floor, twisting around thick roots and broken branches. The sky was hidden by a canopy of tall, ancient trees — their bark dark as dried blood, their limbs knotted like gnarled hands reaching toward something unseen. Even the moon, pale and distant, seemed afraid to shine too bright in this place. The air hung heavy — damp with moss, mold, and the iron tang of something dead. Dry leaves crunched beneath the man’s boots as he walked deeper into the woods. He didn’t know what he was searching for. Maybe peace. Maybe a thrill. Maybe just the echo of silence. But this silence was unnatural. Too deep. It rang louder than noise. Then he heard it. A snap. Low, deliberate. Not like a falling twig. More like... footsteps. He froze. His breath caught in his chest as he turned his head slightly, listening. There it was again — the soft pad of something walking behind him. Slow. Calculated. Heavy. He spun around. “Hello?” he called, voice strained. Nothing. Just shadows. He chuckled nervously to himself, shaking his head. “Get a grip, man.” But the forest didn't laugh with him. It only stared. He kept walking, just a little faster now. The fog had started to settle low, snaking through the underbrush like it had a mind of its own. The air grew colder. The silence deeper. And the feeling — that *awful* feeling — that he was being watched, tightened around his chest like a fist. Another snap. Closer this time. He turned. Nothing. Again. And then — glowing eyes. Low to the ground. Yellow. Watching. His blood turned to ice. It stepped forward, and now he could see the silhouette — tall, hunched, covered in matted fur. A wolf, but wrong. Bigger. Bulkier. With a snarl too wide, eyes too human, and teeth glinting under the sliver of moonlight like ivory blades. “No... no...” he whispered, stumbling backward. The creature growled. He turned and ran. Branches clawed at his arms. Roots tripped his feet. But he didn’t stop. His heartbeat drowned out every sound. His breath came in ragged gasps. Something was behind him — fast, ruthless, almost silent. Until it wasn’t. A howl pierced the air. So loud. So close. It shattered everything. He didn’t dare look back. He ran. Ran until his foot caught on a hidden root. He hit the ground hard. Mud caked his palms. Leaves in his mouth. His ears rang. His chest heaved. And then — silence again. But this one was worse. The wolf stood at a distance. Watching. Breathing. Then it began to move — slow, stalking, deadly. Saliva dripped from its jaws. “No... please...” he whispered, crawling backward. “This can’t be real...” The wolf bared its teeth. And jumped. Rivan jolted awake. His shirt clung to his body, drenched in sweat. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run for miles. The room was dark, but familiar. The old wooden ceiling above him. The soft creak of the fan overhead. The faint sound of someone snoring in the next room. A dream. Just a dream. He sat up, rubbing his face. “Damn...” he muttered to himself. “That felt too real.” He reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand, took a shaky sip, and stared out the small window. The forest stood still in the distance. Quiet. Waiting. He told himself it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks after the long flight and the heavy dinner. But as he lay back down, staring at the ceiling, his pulse still racing, the dream lingered like smoke — curling in the corners of his mind, refusing to fade. And far away, deep in the woods, a real howl echoed into the night. . The morning sun had barely stretched its golden limbs across the rooftops of Verona when Rivan zipped up the last of his luggage. Outside his apartment window, the cobblestone streets were still soaked in dew, quiet and glimmering like the remnants of a forgotten dream. Birds chirped lazily from tiled rooftops, and somewhere below, an old vendor opened his flower cart, the faint scent of lavender rising with the breeze. Inside, Rivan moved silently, his thoughts heavy and focused. The air felt different today — not heavy, not light — just... expectant, like something was about to begin, and it didn’t care whether he was ready or not. Kevin was already waiting outside, leaning against the car like he owned the sun. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and his sunglasses sat lazily on his forehead instead of his eyes. “You're late,” he smirked as Rivan joined him. Rivan didn’t reply. He just nodded, tossed his bag into the backseat, and got in. The drive to the Verona airport was quiet but comfortable — the kind of silence only old friends could share without it feeling awkward. They both had their reasons for leaving, but neither wanted to spell them out. Italy was beautiful, sure. But sometimes beauty became too predictable. What they wanted was something untouched. Unseen. The airport buzzed with its usual chaos — wheels dragging across tiled floors, coffee being poured, loudspeakers calling names no one could pronounce. Kevin managed to charm the woman at the check-in counter into giving them window seats, while Rivan stood to the side, scrolling through maps. Their flight to Foggia, a lesser-known city in the southern region of Apulia, was on time. Rivan had never been that far south before. Verona was wine, romance, art. Foggia... Foggia was mystery. Quiet. Forgotten. And maybe that’s exactly what drew him. After a relatively short flight, the plane landed with a gentle thud on the sun-baked runway. The air smelled different here — drier, more ancient, like it had carried stories for centuries. As they exited the airport, a familiar voice called out to them in a mix of Italian and rough English. “Finalmente! You two took forever!” It was David — their college friend from another region of Italy — full of wild stories and questionable jokes. He stood beside a dusty old Jeep, his white shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the same recklessness Kevin admired. “Welcome to Foggia, brothers,” David grinned. “But we’re not staying here.” Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Then where?” David pulled out a cigarette, lit it, then pointed toward the distant hills. “My grandfather’s village — San Faliero. Just 35 kilometers from here. Tiny place. No tourists. No noise. No drama. It’s right beside Foresta Umbra — the Shadow Forest.” Rivan exchanged a glance with Kevin, whose face had already lit up with curiosity. Forest. Secluded village. No noise. It sounded like the exact opposite of everything they’d been running from. With a quick shrug, they agreed. All three of them would stay there for a few nights. Just to breathe. The road twisted like a ribbon through hills and valleys, and the sun dipped lower with every turn they took. The deeper they drove, the denser the trees became. The light filtering through the branches shifted — it wasn’t golden anymore. It was pale. Cold. Like the forest held the sun hostage somewhere behind its thick canopy. “There are stories about this forest,” David said casually, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Yeah?” Kevin asked, leaning forward with interest. David smirked. “Old stories. Wolves. Spirits. Cursed bloodlines. That kind of stuff. The locals still don’t walk through the woods after sunset.” Rivan stayed silent, eyes fixed outside. The trees weren’t just tall — they were ancient. Watching. Breathing. And somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted the moment they entered these woods. By the time they reached San Faliero, the sky had already slipped into darkness. The village was carved into the hillside, like it had grown out of the forest itself. Houses made of stone and wood. Ivy swallowing the edges. A chapel that hadn't been touched in years. And silence — not peaceful, but unnatural. They parked near a two-story house at the edge of the village — abandoned, yet still standing strong. The air felt colder here. “This was my grandfather’s,” David said. “No one’s lived in it for years. We’ll stay here.” Kevin stretched, yawning. “Creepy, but cozy.” As they stepped toward the house, Rivan suddenly stopped. Just beyond the porch, in the overgrown grass, he saw something move — fast, low, and silent. “Did you see that?” he said, voice steady but alert. David looked toward the shadows. “Where?” “There. Behind the steps.” David pulled out a small flashlight and flicked it on, sweeping the beam across the yard. Something flapped, screeched, and flew straight up into the trees. A bat. Kevin laughed. “Great. Just bats. What’s next, vampires?” But Rivan didn’t laugh. The way it moved… it didn’t feel like just a bat. It felt like a warning. . TO BE CONTINUED...