The marsh was full of life. An endless cacophony of sounds could be heard. Swooping dragonflies. Distant and unnamed insects chirping obtrusively. Regardless, the two men trekked onward as silently as they could manage. Despite the light clatter that their equipment made, they successfully reached their destination without attracting too much attention to themselves. A couple of hundred yards before them stood a seemingly abandoned cabin. Its roof was all but torn away and, from this distance the man in front could tell that the wood was covered in mold. This was their target. Or rather, what was inside.
The man in front stopped, set his pack down and began nervously examining his rifle. Kneeling on the ground, his hands were shaking as he attempted to reload the magazine that was already full. It was the fourth time he had done this during the trip. The man standing behind him peered at him curiously.
“Tell me the two most important rules.” the man on the ground said, breaking the silence. It was the first time either of them had spoken during the entire journey. Despite that, the man standing behind him barely reacted. “We already know what they are.” he calmly replied.
“Just tell me the damn rules!” the man on the ground exploded.
The other man sighed. “Don’t ever show fear. It allows them to overpower your senses. And uh, don’t ever address one by its name. Lord knows why you shouldn’t.”
“Some witches curse their own name.” the man with the rifle said as he stood back up. Beads of sweat now covered his forehead. He stared at the shack ahead clenching his jaw.
The other man spoke up. “And what’s this one’s name?” he asked.
“Sidera.” he replied.
The man with the rifle realized his mistake a moment too late. When he turned to face the man behind him his heart sank. The last thing he could remember was him reaching for his rifle’s trigger and the neutral expression of the man standing behind him twisting into a wicked grin.
Scripted Journal 