The Vulture

The Vulture


Once upon a hallowed night, under the haunting moon’s pale light, we felt the veil between real and unreal thin to a brittle thread. The wind howled with a life of its own; each breeze whispered secrets no mortal was meant to know.

We seemed to fall into a forbidden zone. Only I, Su, her unseen friend Mu, and Doobie Doo—Su’s loyal black dog—were there, either foolish or unlucky enough to stumble into a world where shadows held a pulse, and time twisted past, present, and future together.

The supernatural mingled with the mundane, bending the familiar into something sinister. It was Halloween—a night when shadows stretch too long, whispers ride the wind, and all that hides in the dark stirs awake.

The place we wandered into pulled at us like a hidden force, relentless, beckoning us deeper into the heart of the dark.

I heard wings slicing through the air, felt the chill of a monstrous shadow, sensing our weight in a deadly stare. An eye, watching, spying, keeping secrets.

Mu, invisible to me, was as real to Su as the ground beneath our feet—a silent observer from a world unseen. Su had found Doobie Doo as a wounded pup, abandoned and forgotten. She nursed him back to health, and through that bond, something remarkable awakened in her—a sight beyond sight, allowing her to see Mu.

"I thought she was a bit crazy at first," I once said, "until I noticed her uncanny awareness, as if she could peer around corners. Su warned of things no one else could see. Doobie Doo had come to her with an unseen friend, Mu."

In the darkness, under that haunted glow, Doobie led us through the shadows, his lean frame tense, every movement cautious, his instincts sensing what our minds could not comprehend. A ghostly mist glowed in the moonlight, shrouding the trees.

Suddenly, Doobie halted, a low growl slicing through the quiet. He blocked our path, his bark sharp and commanding, telling us “go back” in his canine way.

Su placed a hand on his sleek coat. “Doobie senses something,” she
murmured, her voice barely a whisper as her gaze swept the trees.

The night felt alive, whispers threading through the wind as if every leaf harbored a secret.

We couldn’t turn back now; the pull of this realm was unrelenting, drawing us deeper into something ancient and vast. We moved cautiously, when a faint light flickered through the trees.

Not warm like a fire, nor cold like a lantern—its glow was something else entirely.

“Do you see that?” Su’s voice quivered, barely audible.

I nodded, and my feet moved as if drawn by a force beyond reason. Su followed, Doobie circling us, his growls silenced, his eyes wide and vigilant.

The light led us to a small clearing bordered by a steep rock wall. There, in the shadows, was the keyhole of an old stone box, half-buried and worn by time, its surface pulsing faintly, almost alive. I couldn’t look away.

“What is it?” Su’s voice trembled. Even Mu seemed unsettled, though I couldn’t hear him—only feel the shift in the air.

My hand brushed the dirt, revealing a rusted key half-buried in the ground. I picked it up, feeling an icy chill through the metal, as if it had waited there for centuries. With a trembling hand, I slid the key into the lock. The ancient mechanism groaned and gave way, and the box creaked open.

We braced for anything—a surge of spirits, an omen—but there was only emptiness.

“Empty?” Su whispered, disappointment mixing with relief.

Yet deep down, I knew better. The air around us had thickened, charged with an unseen presence. The sense of being watched—an eye fixated on us from somewhere beyond—grew stronger. A single red eye, peering from a monstrous shadow, fixed on us.

“We need to go,” Su said, her voice breaking as her hand tightened on Doobie’s collar. He was tense, ears twitching, his gaze darting through the darkness.

As we turned to leave, the air grew colder, each step echoing louder than it should. Then came a sound—massive wings flapping, a low, rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat tapping.

The wind stripped bare, the vulture’s breath around me, everywhere. A blood-red head, a single eye gleaming with dread.

Doobie barked once, sharp and fierce, his body stiff as stone, his growl resonating with a ferocity I had never heard.

High above, a limb swayed, and then I saw it: an enormous, pitch-black vulture, perched halfway up an old oak tree.

Its blood-red head gleamed in the moonlight, but it was that eye—its one, unblinking eye—that held me captive. It stared, unblinking, measuring us in a way I couldn’t fathom.

With a thunderous flap of its wings, the vulture launched into the air, casting a massive shadow that consumed the moon. The beating of its wings filled the air, harsh and relentless, each slap punctuating the silence.

“Run!” I yelled, grabbing Su’s arm, pulling her forward as we dashed through the trees.

The vulture swooped, talons reaching wide, a gust tearing at my clothes as it missed me by inches.

Doobie snarled, his barks frantic, yet the creature ignored him, circling us, that unyielding eye fixed solely on me. It wanted me.

We ran, our feet pounding the earth, the wind tearing through our clothes. No matter how fast we moved, the sound of those wings followed, the maddening tap of that cold heart beating in the air.

That eye—that single, burning eye—boring into my soul. Over rock, root, and hill, I could still feel the vulture’s piercing cry.

The faint glow of the house appeared just beyond the forest’s edge. In the night’s blackness, the distance seemed infinite. We sprinted from tree to tree, hiding to be free. To escape the light of the dark night.

The vulture hovered above, its eye gleaming, talons stretched wide. I stumbled, falling hard, Su’s scream slicing through the night.

The vulture loomed above me, its eye glowing with hunger, its talons poised to strike.

In that moment, Doobie lunged. He sank his teeth into the vulture’s wing, dragging it down. A terrible, inhuman screech ripped through the silence as the vulture thrashed, but Doobie held fast, his teeth locked. I knew the vulture’s power was too great.

“Doobie!” Su cried, rushing toward him.

“No!” I yelled, pulling her back. “We have to go!”

We ran, leaving Doobie behind to face the creature alone. My heart twisted with each step, yet I knew we had no choice. The vulture was too strong, too ancient.

By the time we reached the house, dawn crept over the horizon. The forest had fallen silent, yet that unblinking, watching eye lingered in my mind.

We never saw Doobie again, and Su never saw Mu.

Yet on certain nights, when the veil between worlds thins, I hear Doobie’s bark in the wind, his growl echoing through the dark, a guardian against something we can never fully escape.

The vulture’s eye remains—always watching, always waiting.