Interlude: Stalker (Patreon)

The forest was quiet, eerily so. After a long, harsh winter, the snow had thawed, leaving the ground muddy and allowing plants to take root easily. And take root, they did. The entire forest was teeming with life, and for the longest time, that life had caused a lot of noise. There were the plants, leaves quietly rustling in the wind, wood groaning under sudden gusts, creating a soft background din. But most of the noise came from the various animals that were thriving; it came from buzzing insects, from grunting deer and howling wolves, from tweeting birds and screeching raptors. For the longest time, the forest had been alive with noise, but that noise was now all gone. 

Even the wind seemed quiet during the night, as if it wanted to hide. Maybe it was afraid to draw attention from the stalker moving through the quiet forest, the thing that frightened the various animals into frozen silence. Not that any of the animals could pinpoint what frightened them. They just felt the need to hide, to avoid the gaze of the stalking shadow, as they cowered in whatever hidden den they could. Or as they crouch between trees and leaves, hoping that their camouflage will conceal them, as they instinctively know they won’t be able to evade death if it comes for them. 

Though not all animals have that instinctual understanding. Some are less aware, their instincts long-buried by generations of abundance, drowned out by the confidence of the apex predator. After all, few animals dared to hunt them, not when hunting them meant that the hunter became the prey soon after, relentlessly pursued and hounded until the hunter that dared to challenge the apex was no more. That was, after all, their greatest innate strength: the ability to pursue prey persistently, hunting it until exhaustion sapped even the strongest prey, until it could not stand, let alone fight back. They didn’t conquer their throne by brute strength or superior speed; they conquered it through intelligence, cunning and persistence. 

Now, those conquerors, the apex predators, had lost their edge. Their world had crumbled, leaving them anxious, and even after surviving two years, they were far from confident. Comfortable, maybe, possibly content, but not confident that they would be able to face the challenges they might meet. 

So, they hunker together. Some cower in fear, making themselves as small and inconspicuous as possible, while others do the opposite. They bluster, puff themselves up and make noise as they try to chase away their own fear, but all they accomplish is making themselves a bigger target. 

Not that the shadow truly cared about these displays of supposed intimidation. Why would the stalker in the night care if the target was puffed up and had the back arched up in an attempt to look bigger? Why would the creeping darkness be bothered by the noise, as they laughed and jeered, acting as if they weren’t deeply afraid of what lurked beyond the light of their fires? What hid in the deep shadows all around them?

No, the shadow simply observed, fascinated by the wide variety of behaviour she could see. Deep within her, faint fragments of a being called Chantalle were quietly stirring, adding context and a faint, mocking voice in the back of her head, reminding her that she was once like these pathetic creatures. Worse, really. At least these mewling and baying creatures had been strong enough to endure the change, not like Chantalle, who had cracked. Not quite strong enough to endure, not weak enough to fully shatter, just cracked, slowly breaking apart until she was nothing but another shattered soul, creeping through the world. 

A momentary grin cracked an unseen face, as the shadow crept just a little closer, concealed by the darkness of the night. Ever closer, until the shadow is close enough to pounce, if it so wished. Or maybe the shadow would keep observing the people, amused that the people supposedly keeping watch are now waking their compatriots, hoping to find strength in numbers. 

For a moment, the shadow is tempted to mess with the group, to make the freshly waking people think that their friends are crazy. It would be so easy, so utterly trivial to create just a bit of noise, to make everyone think that nothing is going on. Nothing, beyond people jumping at shadows in the night, as amusingly true and misleading as the notion is. 

The temptation faded quickly, but not before it left the kernel of a plan: the idea that the shadow might simply want to remain where it was, letting the group seep into paranoia on its own. Maybe with a bit of magical assistance, she really needed to work on her Mind Magic after all. 

And so, for the next few hours, the shadow remained hidden, too close to the group to let them calm, too concealed from them to be detected. Nothing but a shadow blending into the night, watching in amusement as their minds started to crack. Watching, and helping the cracking along. Poking, prodding, creating noises only one person can hear, making another see something behind a third, nothing big, nothing overt- just small acts, making them doubt their sanity while constantly evoking suspicion against their friends. 

It didn’t take long for the tension to become self-reinforcing, the magical manipulation no longer necessary. They didn’t need to be poked magically to see something that isn’t there; they didn’t have to be prodded into suspecting their friends of foul play and gaslighting. Their paranoia has taken the wheel, and it is driving them right towards a cliff. The only question is, will they hit the cliff before the night ends and the sun dispels their suspicions, before the light of day brings sanity with it?

Eventually, the shadow's patience ends. The game had become stale; the group was fighting, sure, but they had yet to go for their throats. They were just shouting, blustering and arguing, nothing truly exciting. Nothing that would get the blood flowing, either that of the shadow, as her game came to fruition, or their own, as they spilt it in the mud. 

So, the shadow decided to spice things up a little and up the stakes of her game. No longer were the manipulations small and inconspicuous; instead, the shadow moved for a moment, slithering into the middle of the camp unseen, and shifted around a few things. Nothing major, nothing too obvious, but just the right kind of suspicious, making one of the targets draw a terrible conclusion and shout an angry accusation. An accusation that was instantly denied, only for it to be substantiated with evidence. 

Evidence created by the shadow, sure, but the group didn’t know that; they only saw what was in front of them and went from there. With that, suspicion turned into confidence, paranoia morphed into anger, and the frustrations of a sleepless night filled with tension erupted. And now, they finally had a target, giving them something to vent their anger on. Accusations rapidly turned into a verbal altercation, and the verbal became physical soon after. It only took a few more pokes, a bit more prodding, for the group of humans to give in to their violent instincts, to become little more than beasts, driven by their base desires. Justice, fairness and kindness became little more than words, waved away like the stink of a fart in the wind. 

Once the first punch was thrown, the shadow moved in, turning the fight into her own private puppet-show, her own amusement. Formerly secure footing shifted suddenly, causing one person to stumble into another's punch; the sudden move made the impact so much worse. A subtle trip as one was trying to avoid a punch caused a horrible injury, simply because a sharp rock was in a terrible spot; a stumble became a fall, right into the lingering flames of their fire.

It would have continued like that, if not for a small detail. The shadow had to retreat suddenly, her game over before it could come to fruition. Dawn was coming, far too quickly for the shadow’s taste, but the days were getting longer, and so her game was cut short. Unwilling to be caught out in the open, the shadow receded, and with her disappearance, sanity could make a comeback. 

Suddenly, shouts of anger were replaced with exclamations of confusion as the light drove home what the group had done to each other. Blood had mixed in the mud, knuckles were split and weeping, and realisation dawned under the light of the sun. 

The shadow would have loved to stay and observe the results of her game, but there were more important things to do. Somewhere, in the distance, the shadow could faintly feel her Mother’s call. So, with just another glance at the game she had played, she faded away, leaving behind nothing that could tell anyone of her presence.