There is darkness eating away at his mind.
His hollow heart scarcely beats. Not anymore. Not even as he wanders the long-forsaken ruins, vibrant laughter still echoing in his mind after all these years.
The smell of oncoming rain hangs thick in the gray air. Autumn leaves crunch beneath his leather boots with each slow step he takes; the trees are already faded and bare, spindly branches reaching in vain for the heavens. The dirt path in their shadows was once well-worn. Now weeds and grass have erased the footprints its inhabitants left so long ago.
It had been a peaceful hamlet. He remembers children playing in the streets, their parents chattering, and a brook bubbling between their houses, feeding the flourishing pumpkin crops. How different it is now. How unrecognizable…
When he steps beside the brook, it barely moves. It crawls forward like a thing half-dead, algae littering its once-clear surface. He can no longer hear it laugh.
He ducks under a crumbling doorway and wanders inside an old house. Decaying floorboards creak beneath his feet, and layers of dust turn everything gray. The stench of mold pervades his nostrils, but it is a familiar smell to him. He has visited this place far too many times to count.
Outside, the wind begins to howl, and the weakened old house groans. Something whispers his name. But he does not listen.
He turns a slow circle to survey the dilapidated house, the air so stale he can almost taste it. Time has rotted this place. Windows are clouded, some entirely shattered; the narrow stairway leading to the second floor has collapsed entirely, leaving in its wake a mess of jagged wooden planks.
Disaster tore this place apart, long ago. An unfortunate attack, others had supposed. They said beasts had emerged from the darkness of the surrounding woods and wreaked havoc. They were sure it could not have been expected, nor could it have been defended; but even still, those were only guesses. No one knew quite what had happened.
No one save him.
He can still taste the coppery blood on his tongue and hear the piercing screams.
The house is cold - but he does not shiver. He's accustomed to the chill. After all, it's been with him this entire time, ever since their corpses fell limp to the earth and the light faded from their eyes.
He remembers the raw terror, so thick he could smell it radiating off their bodies in waves. Pale moonlight carved deep shadows into their lifeless faces. To this day he is still surprised at how quickly their bodies cooled… or perhaps he had simply lingered too long.
Shadows flicker in the corners of the house.
Rain begins to fall fast, and in its drumming rhythm he can hear footsteps just outside the doorway. His heart does not race, nor does it stop, it barely moves ever since then - and yet still he finds that he cannot turn around to face whatever presence awaits him. His throat turns dry. Cold sweat dampens his palms.
They had almost been right, he thinks. But multiple beasts had not attacked the village. It had been only one. One he could not fight, one he was utterly helpless against.
He can feel the presence lurk ever closer. Its breath is frosty on his neck.
For the first time in a very long time, his heart stutters, and skips a beat, and he whirls around toward the doorway -
Nothing is there.
"Beast," someone whispers in his ear.
"Yes," he rasps.
Then the darkness consumes him.