It was pitch black around the house, the only light coming from the moon and from the light reflected in the eyes of the night creatures roaming around the neighbouring forest. This was the time that people just started to stir in their comfortable beds and animals were finishing up their forage and getting ready to crawl into their own beds.
The dew-filled grass left a thick layer of moisture on Ernest's wellies high enough to slip slowly down his jeans. But it was a comfortable jolt of freshness to his sleep numbed mind. He walked through the forest with a clear goal in mind, a small hill about 3 miles further, with a clear look over a large field featuring the ruins of an old mansion, abandoned for centuries, and surrounded by lots and lots of rabbits. A feast for a hobby hunter like him and a feast for his wife, who was definitely still in their comfortable bed. He would usually come here once or twice a month, fill up his knapsack with about five or six juicy rabbits and bring them back to hang in his shed, waiting for the delicious cooking skills of Mary, the love of his life.
As he walked through the forest, his steps lit up by the faint moonlight, he didn't see the rather large eyes following him through the bushes. If he had, he would have lost much of his composure, as these eyes were large and black with inhuman or un-animal-like red irises piercing into his back. Shortly after, the eyes blinked very slowly once and didn't come back.
Ernest didn't have much else to his name other than family. That he had lots of. Children and grandchildren and those would certainly have children too before Mary and him passed away. Ernest a farmer and Mary a baker, at some point decided that enough is enough and retired into their little cottage at the edge of the forest. But that didn't protect them from babysitting duties, even if some of those 'babies' were fifteen years old. It was weekend days like this that Ernest cherished and he was sure Mary appreciated the private time without him too.
He arrived at the edge of the forest. It was a brisk walk up the slanted hill structure that looked like god's hand had come down and pulled up a slab of grass partially and then forgotten about it. If he were to shoot a rabbit, he'd usually try to get a few more, just to save him the walk down. Not like there were predators other than him anyway.
Mary would sometimes make fun of him, going on his little hunts against these "fearless creatures," something he easily brushed off because he saw if all as practice for hunting bigger prey. From day one, he pretended to be hunting deers that could sniff him upwind and with their big ears detect his movement from hundreds of metres away. Well that last part, he knew, applied to rabbits as well. So, perhaps 30 metres off the top, he secured his gun on his back and started to crawl and pausing for long time if he broke a twig or made another noise. Sometimes if it was raining, he would smear stripes of dirt on his cheeks and forehead, much to Mary's amusement, to prevent his imaginary deer prey from smelling him. Not this time though.
His gun was an old Remington. His grandfather had owned it, and it had been passed down straight to him. His father, the town drunkard, hadn't had much interest in guns, preferring to beat his son for sport. One day, when he was twelve, after a rather heavy beating, he limped to his grandfather's house, who would usually just let him in silently, give him some soup, and send him right back. That time, however, had been different. He took one look at Ernest's bruised face, let him in, then hugged him. "No more," he whispered. Ernest started living with him then and that was when grandfather would take him hunting for rabbits and teach him how to shoot straight. It wasn't much of a childhood but enough to not scar him too much emotionally. His father passed away in Ernest's mid twenties. It was easy for him not to go to his funeral.
He got to the edge of the hill. The first thing he did was get out his infrared binoculars slowly. They were in one of the side pockets on his shoulder sleeve. He would usually just look for pockets of rabbits first. The game he liked to play was to find out where they would be most likely to hide, so when he shot hits first and the rest ran off, he would roughly know where to look for them. Every so now and then a rabbit would move off to his resting place and come back again. He'd make a mental mark of those spots.
There was not a single rabbit on the field of grass. This was a first for Ernest in well over 20 years! He scanned every corner, but no movement could be detected. Finally, he took a closer look at the ruin. It was a place that people in the region had learned to avoid over the years. There was no tangible evidence of its evilness, but people blamed it for all kinds of disappearances that had happened for decennia if not centuries. Whenever something happened like that, someone would eventually shout or whisper it out; at this point it sounded more like the tale you would tell children to not be bad. At least that's the way it sounded to Ernest. His grandfather, not a talkative man, had never shown any indication of what he bought of the ruins, but he had also never taken Ernest inside. They would shoot their rabbits and leave, without approaching it.
He could now see lights inside and he thought he could see movement. Rather than being afraid, he felt anger at what were probably just kids that had decided to camp there and had scared away Ernest's prey. He decided that he needed to reach those punks a lesson. Next, the arduous walk downhill, which required him to backtrack partially the way he came, until he could essentially go around the hill, which stuck out as a cliff over the field. That was a large part of Ernest's frustration, a long walk that he tended to reserve for retrieving his reward, not too tell off a bunch of idiots that this was not their hotel. It started to rain; he cursed for not having taken more than his coat, which offered some protection, and boots. He considered going back, but it was Mary's face—half amused, half disappointed—that prevented him from doing so. After a lot more cursing, he finally arrived at the field, he ruins in full view.
He could clearly see the light now. It came from one of the windows on the 1st floor. He briefly wondered why no one had done this before. Then, seeing that there was no roof or any kind of isolation from rain or the cold, he concluded it could only be kids on a dare. Who else would be so stupid to... He pressed his lips together, took his gun from his shoulder and kept walking. It would teach who ever was there a good, good lesson. Even if he had no prey tonight, it would hopefully restore his cherished hunting spot.
The ruin was originally made out of grey limestone (!fact check!). From what he knew of the place, it had belonged to an ancient clan that had eventually been slaughtered by a rival clan, as so many had, after which it had been pillaged and burned, never to be inhabited again. It now looked black in many places, which made it harder to see during the nighttime when Ernest came out here. He walked up to the wall underneath the window and listened closely for any sounds coming out. There was nothing, except perhaps that the wind started blowing harder. He walked around the building for which, he knew, there as a door somewhere on the other side. He couldn't even remember when the last time was that he entered here, perhaps as a kid with his grandfather, but he wasn't sure. In any case, he couldn't remember what it looked like at all.
The doorframe was rather large, enough to fit a few horsemen through at once, he imagined. It had a type of gargoyle, burned particularly black, above the door. Its head was cut off, making it look like a rather pathetic little dwarf with wings. At least that's what he told himself as he walked into the courtyard. There were stairs to the right and the left circling around the empty square, and both ending at another doorframe that lead into the building and the first floor. He wasn't really comfortable here, his only companions the moonlight, the rifle that he clutched a little tighter, and an eery silence.
He looked around for shadows or signs of the people staying here. Nothing. Finally, he called out: "Anybody there?" Softly at first, then louder. No response. Ernest had always been a courageous man, toughened up by his childhood, there were few things in the world that he imagined could scare him. But this place, the silence, it seriously creeped him out. Still, calling back the many times that he took a leap of faith, he took the first step up the stairs. It wasn't high to the first floor, but he still leaned against the wall when he arrived at the platform outside of the door. Again, he called out to perhaps wake some stoned campers. Again, he was greeted with silence, though he could hear the wind now, perhaps blowing through some window. It was unimaginable that anyone was here, but perhaps there had been recently and that caused the rabbits to disappear.
He went into the corridor, which lead to the room. Even though it was ancient, the construction felt remarkably elaborate. Very different from other historical sites he had come across in Scotland. Funny that he didn't remember it. He followed the corridor that lead around the courtyard to different rooms, each of which were just openings with whatever was inside burned away. Then, he arrived to the room where he knew he should be.
This one was different, it had a door. A solid wooden door that looked untouched by the elements affecting everything else. Maybe, and he realised how gullible that sounded, someone was restoring the building? He tried the handle, the door opened easily ... to an empty room. There was nothing inside. Ernest could see the window that he had seen from the outside, just a hole, much like the rest, but for the rest the room was empty... and dark. There was no sign of the light he had seen from the outside, apart from the door, it looked as abandoned as the rest.
He didn't realise, but he had moved into the room. As he looked around, still nothing. The door had closed behind him. What was going on? Ernest felt a flash of anxiety. He now knew that this wasn't normal. If his was a dream, it wasn't a good one. He stepped back to the door and pulled the handle. Again, it opened easily. Where he expected the corridor to be, a big shadow stood, in it he could see rapidly moving textures of blackness.
Outside, a rabbit's nose peeked out of a hiding place. It sniffed the freshness of the air. You could see the little head appear and look around. A loud, piercing scream could be heard. The rabbit briefly turned towards where it came from. It was the ruin and the window on the first floor looked like it was ablaze. It quickly turned around and fled back into its hole.
~
The box like object glided through the corridor as if it was on wheels. It was in fact floating as the creature behind it followed. The box was made of something semi transparent. Inside, you could occasionally see movement. Ever so now and then an face would press against the side and you could recognise Ernest, screaming. Then it would disappear in a spinning jumble, as if in a laundromat, and you would see endless movement. A door slid open and behind it you could see a green glow. A face pressed against the side of the box looking briefly at the creature. It wasn't Ernest, it had glowing red eyes and teeth that could rip flesh apart like it was nothing. It looked like it was screaming before it disappeared behind the shutting door.
The creature turned and mumbled something. Then it disappeared.
