Blogtober 2025, Day 8: Gargoyle
“Emily, don’t!” Sarah’s whisper cracked into panic, but
Emily was already moving. The others stood frozen as her flashlight beam bobbed
deeper into the trees, chasing the faint glow of Lucy’s small figure.
Branches clawed at her sleeves, roots snagged her shoes, but
Emily pressed on. She could hear the humming, clearer now, like a lullaby sung
just for her. Every few steps, Lucy appeared ahead—always just far enough to
stay out of reach.
Emily stumbled into a small clearing. At its center stood a
weathered stone, taller than she was, carved into the crude shape of a child.
Its face was worn smooth except for wide, staring eyes. Perched on its
shoulders were smaller figures, hunched like gargoyles, their mouths open in
jagged grins.
Lucy stood beside the stone, her hand resting on it as if it
were a guardian. She tilted her head again, and Emily felt the weight of those
eyeless carvings watching her. The humming stopped. Silence spread like a held
breath.
Emily swallowed hard. “Lucy…?”
The girl’s smile flickered, quick and strange, before she
stepped backward, vanishing into the dark as though swallowed whole.
Emily followed.
And the woods closed behind her.
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