The shutters snapped open, startling Dara awake. What the hell? He bolted out of the bed and stalked to where the shutters waved at him. The sky was dark beyond the sill. Silent. The desert was too—not a pebble or debris out of place. What in hell threw open the shutters? And why only Dara's?

A sickening feeling rippled in his gut. The shadows. Page said something about the shadows coming to eat people. Did they come for him? He edged closer to the window and peeked over the sill. Save for the roof's edges lining the shed's wall, the moonlight offered him no answers.

Page. He would know something about this. After all, this was his house and his town. He has to.

Dara thumped out of the room and burst into the corridor, leaving the door to the guest room open. The hallway was dim, and not a single strand of cacophony joined him as he ran around in search of the shed's owner. It was a small house, flanked by wood all over. When Dara first got here, he thought of it burning down with one wrong spark. It could get parching in the desert, after all. Page had laughed, telling Dara to not worry about silly things.

"The walls were painted with fireproof paint," Page explained after he stopped chuckling. "I made sure of that myself."

So, fire was out of the option then. What else could kill Dara out here? The crocs. Did they make it inside the shed by throwing Dara's shutters open? Where were they now? Page did say they learned to move inland, so maybe there was something out there in the swamps—something that was now coming for Dara.

But why? He was a stranger and wasn't even from this town? Maybe that was the thing's preference? Ugh. Keep moving.

Light ripped from the nearest bend to the living room where Page's bedroom stood. The beam poked Dara's eyeballs, making him shield his eyes with his hands. A weak voice called from the splotches of black blocking Dara's vision. "Dara? Is that you?"

Page.

"Yeah," Dara answered, running to where Page's voice came from. An oil-powered lamp flicked into view, held up by a familiar man who stood a head taller than him. "Did you hear my shutters? Someone snapped them open. Wasn't the wind."

Page hummed. "Strange, indeed," he said, leaning past Dara and stalking down the direction Dara left. "Did it wake you?"

Why was he asking that question and not bolting around to look for the perpetrator? Shouldn't he be concerned about someone trying to break into the shed? "I'm here now, aren't I?" He shrugged, throwing his arms up in a sign of defeat. "Did it wake you too?"

"No," Page said, lips curving into a wide smile. Okay, that was...creepy. "I was just on my way to bed when you came running."

Dara breathed a sigh of relief. Too early, because Page continued. "Because I was the one who did that."

His eyes snapped up to Page. In the harsh darkness, it was easy to think he had only imagined things. But, pointed things slid down the man's gums like retractable teeth. Fangs, more like. A streak of lightning flashed outside, striking an electric pole or something. The storms. They were coming.

"Page, come on." Dara's heels slid backwards, Page stepping forward in response. "Stop joking around. It's not funny."

Dara whizzed past the guest room door that he left ajar. A straight view from the window to the horizon beyond bled from his vision. Dread dropped as a heavy stone in his gut. Red mist hung from the air, as if the daytime sienna film had decided to show up in the evenings too. Birds cawed as one, rising to a mess of flapping wings and rustling feathers. Then, Dara's eyes fixed on the moon.

It was crimson—the color of blood.

"I've waited a long time to feed," Page growled a few paces away. Dara turned to find the man stalking towards him, his form shrouded in shadows. Right. The shadows. They have come for him and will now devour him. Dara backed away, his back hitting the corridor wall. Trapped.

Page grinned. "You are quite a catch, Dara."

Then, he lunged.