Page 39 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

Down the sloped path of the churchyard, past rusted gates and onto the main square. My shoes slap the cobblestones.

I stumble through the muddy streets, heart pounding like a drum in my ears. I don’t know where I am going. I run until the muscles in my legs grow tired and screams erupt in the distance.

So many screams.

Ahead, lamplight spills from the open windows of the blacksmith’s shop, its red sign creaking and swaying in the wind.

I don’t know if it is safe, but it’s a place alive with people, or at least, what’s left of them. I’m gasping, legs trembling beneath me as I burst inside, where four men sit, working into the night, seemingly oblivious to the nightmare in progress.

Then, I see him tall, broad, and pounding hot iron with a giant hammer.

Caleb.

The blacksmith's son must work this shift.

The giants.

They’re coming.

I must warn him.

I race over and grip his arm.

Startled, he looks up.

“Eliza? Is that you?”

“Run,” I urge. “Monsters. They are coming.”

CALEB

“Monsters,” she says. “Giants. You have to run.”

The cold stings my cheeks. I’m not used to nights like this. Hell, I’m not used to anything like this.

Eliza clutches my arm terrified and speaking in gibberish.

Her eyes are wide, wild.

“Miss Eliza, what are you doing out this late? Your father will have an apoplexy.”

“Caleb! This isn’t some game! You must run. Giants are coming! Giants from hell!”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as dust. “Giants? What giants? Eliza, are you well?”

At first, it is just something I glimpse—tall, thin figures gliding past windows in the dead of night, their elongated limbs unnaturally bending in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

My heart crashes into my feet.

My heart’s thudding so loud I’m sure it echoes off the cobblestones.

What in God’s name is happening?

What am I looking at?!

“There’s no more time!” Eliza screams. “They are already here!”

She pulls me forward and deeper inside the small building. I try to catch my breath, but the sound behind us makes it impossible. A slow, horrible screech echoes off the rooftops. A scream somewhere far behind comes next, then a deep, guttural roar.

I glance back, heart sinking.

“Eliza…”

I stumble at the sound and stare up at the ceiling in horror, confused about where it’s coming from.

“What is God’s name is that ?”

Two figures step out from the dark alleyways, towering like walking nightmares. Their limbs bend in ways that make my stomach churn, pale skin stretched tight like wax. Unholy demons walking the Earth, they do not run.

The end is here.

It is revelations.

I am being dragged to hell.

I want to scream, but Eliza jerks me forward. At my spot by the window, something presses against the glass.

I freeze as breath catches inside my throat.

“Shh,” Eliza whispers and clutches my hand to still me. “Do not move. The other men, we cannot save them. It is too late.”

Huddled in the dark, we do not call out their names. We do not warn them.

A shadow passes across the pane, and a hand is seen, pale and long, thin fingers, each one bending and impossibly long.

It is then the men stop.

“What is all the ruckus about? ”

A hand bursts through the window with a crack. Elongated fingers grip the man’s head and throat, and in one inhuman yank, he is dragged through the broken glass. His screams grow distant. “Harold….”

His friend standing beside him left behind is paralysed with terror, their body frozen in shock, unable to even scream. Blood splatters across the walls, dripping from a flung hand that once belonged to their friend—now just a lifeless pieces rotting on the ground.

The man remains huddled, trembling, surrounded by the blood-soaked remnants of his friend, the frantic beating of their heart the only sound in the room.

I gulp.

He is left in utter horror, hands pressed to their mouth, trying desperately to contain the scream, when another creature arrives.

I want to scream for him to run.

But I cannot move.

We watch from behind the two shelves and between the slits, as it cranes its head inside veers its gaze to look around. It spots the frozen man. And without hesitation, it pulls him through.

No….

The man kicks and screams. I cannot watch,

I close my eyes and hear his gurgled screams, instead.

Once the monster has feasted, it vanishes into the shadows, leaving the room in quiet, suffocating darkness. We don’t know if it’s safe to move, to scream, or to run. But every instinct tells me we must stay still. The world outside is a nightmare from which we cannot escape.

So, we wait. We wait until they turn enough for us to break through and run.

“Don’t stop,” Eliza hisses. “Head for the butcher’s. It is close. We can hide in the cellar.”

The street is deserted except for the monsters. My legs shake but I push forward, following her like my life depends on it. Because it does.

We reach the butcher’s shop—a squat, grimy building with blood-red stains smeared across the sign. The windows are shuttered tight. I hear distant screams. Eliza glances at me. “Stay close. Do not make a sound.”

She grabs my hand, and we slip inside.

BENJAMIN

I’m behind the counter, hands trembling, clutching my cleaver as I bring it down upon the pig. The smell of blood and raw meat is thick like always, but tonight it smells like death more than usual.

The door creaks open and I freeze.

Then I see them. Two figures, running like hell, bursting through the shadows.

What in God’s name?

It is Eliza and the blacksmith’s son, Caleb .

They look like hell. Their faces are streaked with sweat and dirt and something worse. They see me and run closer.

“Help us,” Eliza gasps. “Monsters. They’re here.”

Before I can ask what the blasted hell that means, a boom thunders from above. The roof groans, and then—smashing through—comes a creature. It’s huge, more twisted than anything I’ve ever imagined. Its fingers extend through the beams, long and bony, skin’s pale and smelling of rotting flesh.

“Run!” Eliza screams.

I barely have time to duck behind the counter as it crashes its head through the roof, inhales, then screams like a whistle — calling the others

A young boy and a woman running past.

It seems them first.

The meat hooks start swinging on their own — vibration from footsteps

It grabs a man by the neck—one of the farmhands who’d been working late. The poor bastard screams, blood spraying everywhere. The monster tears him in half like he’s nothing.

I choke back a sob.

Two hands pulls me aside, pleading with a whisper. Tears stream down the Eliza’s blue eyes as she lifts the door to a kitchen cellar, below. “Quiet! Don’t make a sound! Get in.”

I look down and see the cellar below.

I nod, grabbing my cleaver. “I’m coming.”

We slip down the narrow ladder, trying to keep the noise down.

“Do not make a sound,” Caleb whispers. “Do not move.”

There, we wait in silence, watching through the slit in the floorboards as that things tears open its ribs, making a hollow space in its chest like a meat cellar.

It shoves the farmhand’s remains inside, slamming its bones shut.

To store him for later, it seems. Then it lumbers away, and the floorboards shake.

ELIZA

The screaming stopped hours ago, but the silence is worse than the screams. My hands are raw from clutching the doorframe. Somewhere deep in me, a part refuses to believe anyone is coming. But then — a voice comes in the distance.

Soft.

Clear.

A woman.

“Is someone there. Are there any survivors?”

I blink against the dark, heart leaping. Footsteps come next.

Many footsteps.

Caleb pushes the latch upwards and we haul ourselves up.

Figures emerge from the shadows: The Duke, he is here with a woman, and a group of men. From their attires I deduce they are the Bow Street Runners. They have been around lately, asking questions.

Hope crashes over me like a tidal wave and I stumble forward with tears burning my eyes. “We’re saved.”