It

It’s that night again, five hundred years have passed.

Everyone gathered in the town hall, and every male who is capable of holding a sword stood outside, they surrounded the hall to defend themselves and their families against the unknown,
No one has seen it before, They heard dozens of stories when they were young, but nothing in the world could have prepared them to face the fear that awaits them tonight.
What the others felt inside the hall was in no way better, It’s devastating enough to live your life knowing when it ends, but to know nothing about how it ends, why it ends and who (or what) is going to take it, is a million times more frightening.


It has started outside and they heard it all,
They heard their soldiers...
One by one they fell, their screams were full of pain, but they were short and quickly disappeared.

Back inside they said every prayer they knew and only one thought remained to think about, their last hope of salvation: the legend
Father to son and generation to generation they passed it on.
A legend every man, woman and child of that town knows by heart, for it runs like blood in their veins, a legend that is as old as the town itself

“ When it’s that night of that day, He whose power is more than that of a thousand men, and whose sword is molded in hell, shall rise to fight off the evil that haunts the town on that damned night ”


The sounds from outside ceased to exist, chilly wind blew off the candles that were lighting the hall, only to leave them in total darkness, they seemed to have stopped breathing; fear made their lungs unable to even ask for air, all eyes were looking at the door when it opened...
None of them survived that night and none lived to tell what happened,
And no one...came to save them.
By the dawn of the next day, the town was as empty as if no one has ever lived there.

.
.
.

Five hundred years have passed. It’s that night again…

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