THE CHILD WHO WALKED BETWEEN SHADOWS

The first night the thing came for Mara, the rain refused to fall. She lay awake beside her two sleeping sons, Keji and Tayo, listening to the dry wind scrape against the wooden hut like claws searching for a way in. Eruwa village had not known peace for months; children vanished without footprints, elders muttered about the forest waking, and the moon often rose with a sickly red shade that no one could explain. Mara tried not to breathe too loudly. Then came the whisper. A voice that sounded like it was spoken through a mouth full of dirt. “Mara… give me what is mine…” Her blood froze. She knew that voice. She’d heard it the night her husband, Aremu, disappeared while hunting near the forbidden valley. The shadow under the doorway stretched, then rose… like a tall figure unfolding from the ground. Its fingers dragged along the roof, impossibly long. Its face flickered between her husband’s, a skull, and a crying child. The smell—rotting leaves and old sorrow—filled the room. “Your husband made a promise. A life for a life. He abandoned his.Now I’ve come for yours.” Mara clutched her sons tighter, pressing their faces into her chest. Her voice trembled. “Please… take me instead.” The shadow cocked its head. “Your heart is loud. I can taste the love in it. But I do not want you. I want the boy born under the silent moon.” Keji. Her weakest child. Her miracle child. The one whose birth had come with no cry, no wind, no sound. The creature glided toward him, claws whispering like knives. Mara hurled herself forward. The claws tore across her back, but she didn’t move. She wrapped her arms around Keji and screamed. Something inside her—fear, rage, love—exploded. “You will not touch my son.” The hut trembled. The lantern burst. The ground split with a soft glow as faint shimmering threads rose from the dirt—spirits of the lost children. Spirits of mothers’ grief. Whispers filled the hut. “Protect her… let our loss end with her…” The spectral hands grabbed the creature. It shrieked—an inhuman howl—thrashing as they dragged it back beneath the doorway into the darkness it came from. Before vanishing, it spat a curse. “You saved the child tonight.But darkness remembers.It always remembers.” Then silence. Mara collapsed, bleeding and shaking. Keji and Tayo woke crying, clinging to her. She held them close, knowing this battle was not the last. But they were alive. And that was enough—for now. Part 2 — The Darkness That Returned For weeks, the village pretended life was normal. But the forest never forgets a stolen meal. Mara healed slowly, though the claw marks on her back burned at night like the creature was touching her through the scars. Keji grew quieter, waking each night from nightmares he could never describe. The villagers said he stared at the trees too long. That the shadows bent toward him. Mara ignored the whispers—until the night Keji whispered: “Mama, it’s calling me again.” Her heart cracked. A wind howled outside—dry, sharp, carrying the same bitter scent from that night. The hut door rattled. The shadows flickered unnaturally, growing longer, leaning inward. Then the voice filled the room again. “The silent moon child is mine.You cannot protect him forever.” This time, the creature did not rise from the doorway.It rose from Keji’s own shadow on the floor. Mara screamed and grabbed a burning log from the fire pit, slamming it onto the shadow. But the flame dimmed, as if choking. The creature only laughed. The spirits did not appear this time. They had already given all they could. “Mara… you defied fate.But fate has patience.I have returned to finish the promise.” Mara’s tears hit the floor again—but instead of light, darkness spread from them, swirling like smoke. Her grief had changed. It was no longer a plea. It was rage. “Take me. Take my life.Just leave my child!” The creature paused. Something shifted in its shape. “A mother’s sacrifice…” it whispered. “That is a powerful offering.” Its claws reached for her chest. But Keji scrambled between them, arms wide. “Take me instead!Leave my mother!” The creature froze. Mara screamed his name. The spirit-threads from before flickered faintly—weak, nearly gone—but they stirred at Keji’s bravery. The air hummed. The creature snarled, enraged. “The boy offers himself?Breaking the bargain again?Then I take both!” It lunged. And then—Keji’s shadow moved on its own. It rose like a second body behind him… a small, dark figure with glowing, gentle eyes. It wrapped its arms around Keji protectively. The creature stumbled back. Keji’s “silent moon” birth had not been a curse. It had been a mark.A child born between worlds.A child darkness could not fully claim. The protective shadow-child expanded, tendrils wrapping around Mara and Tayo too. The creature shrieked as the shadow-child pushed it back. “Your time is over, devourer.This family is under my veil.” The creature crumbled into dust-like ash, sucked into the floor and sealed beneath the earth. Silence returned. Keji collapsed into Mara’s arms, exhausted but safe. His shadow returned to normal, though Mara swore she sometimes saw it wave at her softly when Keji wasn’t watching. The curse had ended. But the village would never forget the night a mother’s love, a child’s sacrifice, and a shadow’s heart stood against an ancient hunger. And won.

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