In a village wrapped in twilight’s shroud,
Where whispers haunt, and heads are bowed,
The shadows stretched and softly crept,
And even dreams in silence wept.
The forest near, a cursed domain,
Where midnight’s air was thick with pain.
A voice would call, both sweet and low,
Inviting wanderers to the shadow’s show.
The children knew but dared not say,
What lurked and fed when night took day.
Adults would hush their frantic pleas,
Blind to the danger beneath the trees.
One fateful night, a hunter strayed,
With lantern dim, his courage frayed.
He followed a path where no trail lay,
And met the thing that craves the grey.
Its eyes were voids, yet burned with dread,
Its mouth was wide, where screams had bled.
It whispered soft, “Come closer still,
Let hunger teach you my dark will.”
The hunter ran, but shadows flew,
Their hunger fierce, their numbers grew.
They leapt and tore his fleeting light,
Till lantern’s glow surrendered the fight.
When dawn arrived, the village woke,
But none would speak, no words they spoke.
For from the forest, shadows leaned,
And in their silence, darkness gleaned.
So heed this tale, oh restless soul,
Avoid the woods; let shadows roll.
For those who wander where they should not tread,
May join the feast of the shadow-fed.