I am called Titania. I am one of the ageless Fae, the race that has inspired countless tales of hobgoblins, fairies, and wisps. Once I was a guardian of Eire, the land you know today as Ireland. But centuries ago, circumstances forced me to leave my protectorate as my charges were slaughtered by the Romans. I traveled for decades, helping where I could and doing what I was able.

After more years than I can remember, I arrived at the ocean’s edge. I was so tired of the killing that was the hallmark of Europe. I left Europe, striding out across the waves towards the setting sun. I traveled for weeks, my magic keeping my feet firm upon the crests of the waves.

I finally reached a forested shore, seemingly untouched by man and his destruction. I could see no buildings; I could see no fires marring the skies. I thought that for once, I might be in peace. Alas, it was not to be so. After a few years I encountered a group of dark-skinned people who lived in harmony with the land. Although they too warred amongst themselves, they did not destroy the land and build ugly cities that marred the Earth. I sought to nurture them, to give these people my help in any way I could.

After centuries of wandering this new land, I finally found my home among a group of tribes who called themselves the Iroquois. I felt at home with them, at home with the land, a plateau cut with myriad lakes and heavily forested. The peace I felt almost made me believe I was back in Eire. They were suspicious of me at first. However, after I cured their sick with my breath, infusing life into those near death, they accepted me as a gift. For years afterwards I lived among the Iroquois, helping them, guiding them.

That’s when Europe finally found me.

I had heard word of strange people building odd villages up the coast, buildings of wood and stone. Those buildings contained the seeds of destruction for my new people. Throughout the next four hundred years, my friends were driven from their homes, put in invisible cages called "reservations", and stripped of their dignity and their traditions. I was not caught, however. I remained in my new homeland, in the state of "New York". I traveled throughout the countryside, from the high mountains in the north to the rivers in the south. Helping wherever I could, I became somewhat of a local myth. It was during my travels that I encountered the man I wish to tell you about. He suffered more than most on the day the Nightlords invaded Earth, on the day known as Dark Day.

- / -

Gregor Shelley smiled widely as his daughter Iris chased a chipmunk by the edge of the partially frozen pond, her pudgy little hands flailing. The chipmunk’s chattering echoed among the trees of their campsite as dusk fell and the lively campfire threw shadows dancing across the ground. Greg turned to his wife Amelia and kissed her lovingly on the cheek, wrapping her in his arms. Smiling, he said, "Do you think she will ever get tired of terrorizing that poor chipmunk?"

Amelia grinned back, "Probably. Right about the time she discovers boys." A groan escaped Greg’s lips. She continued, "But don’t worry, we’ve still got a few years to prepare for that."

He muttered a quick "Thank God" as he lifted himself out of his small camp chair. Greg shivered slightly as the March wind caught him. "You want something to drink?" he called to his wife as he knelt down by the pot of boiling water on the little stove.

"Sure, how about some tea?"

Greg smiled, "Earl Grey, Captain?"

"No thanks. Just whatever we’ve got, wise guy. And quit making fun of my obsessions. They’re healthy," Amelia replied with a smile.

"Yeah, spending a few hundred dollars to fly to a convention full of people with pointy ears is really healthy." They continued bantering with each other as Greg mixed up their drinks and returned with a steaming cup of tea and a mug of hot chocolate for himself.

He sat down and took a sip of his chocolate and let out a contented sigh. "It’s always nice to get away from the University for the weekend, even if it is only for a weekend."

Amelia snuggled up closer to him and said, "It’s nice to get away from ironing and cleaning for a weekend too, dear. At least here the cooking and cleaning is part of the fun."

"Honey, I know that you want to go back to work, but we both agreed when Iris was born that you would stay home and raise her and that I would work." Greg said with a frown, "I know you’re getting tired of it, but we only have a few more years until Iris will be old enough to take care of herself. Then you can go back to work."

"Yeah, I know," Amelia sighed. "I love raising Iris and all, but it seems like I never get out of the house. I get to keep the house running while you work, and I know that’s important. I just miss working at the hospital. I also have to deal with all the annoying people that come to the door. More of those Preserver people came by the other day and it took forever to get rid of them. They just wouldn’t leave."

"I know its tough, honey. And I know you get tired of all those annoying salesmen, proselytizers, and everything else. At least those Preservers will be gone when the election rolls around and they fall flat on their faces," he said with a grin. Their platform of preserving America at all costs just didn’t sit well with most people. Although many people were not happy with the government, few of them actually believed that the government was failing to protect the public.

"Yeah," She paused for a moment in thought. She shook her head and said, "But we’re not here to worry about life. We’re here to relax." She looked at Iris, who was now sitting on a stump, engaged in a staring contest with the chipmunk. "Do you remember being that young? When I was eight, I used to go on camping trips like this with my parents." The both heard an indignant shriek and more chattering as Iris lost the contest. Amelia continued, "The thing is, I don’t remember much about them. I remember sitting in the bottom of a canoe while they paddled around a lake, and I remember roasting marshmallows, but I can’t remember much else."

Greg put his arm around her shoulders and took a sip of his chocolate. "Same here. I think that family camping trips are one of the constants of the universe. All families take them, but few kids remember much about them once they’ve grown up. They just remember a few details." He smiled, "And the bugs. We always seem to remember the swarms annoying bugs." He paused, and then continued, "You know, the last thing my family did together before my parents got divorced was go camping. We drove to the Catskills and went hiking for nearly a week. That’s the only campout I really remember in detail. Everything was great; my parents got along, we had great weather, and things were really looking up. Then we got home, my mom packed our suitcases, and we left. It never really made sense to me, because things had seemed to go so well on the trip." Greg shook his head. "As I look back on it now, I can see it was just the calm before the storm. They wanted to give me one good memory of the two of them together before they split up."

"Honey, they did what was best for you, even though it might not have seemed like it at the time. If they had stayed together, you would have had to deal with more screaming and violence. By taking you away from your father, your mom probably saved your life. You said that he let her take you, right? Maybe he realized what might happen if you stayed and he got angry again."

Tiring of the conversation, Greg sighed and nodded. "I’ve been trying to figure out why he let me go for years, Amelia. But I’ve never allowed myself to consider that he let me go because he loved me. You could be right. But it’s a little late to find out," Greg said, thinking of his father’s funeral three years previous. It was a surprisingly tender moment dedicated to a harsh man. Greg had taken some perverse satisfaction in the lilies decorating the funeral parlor. His dad hadn’t thought much of flowers.

Sipping her tea, Amelia said, "Somehow we got back to talking about real life again, Greg."

Greg stood slowly and set his mug on the ground, arching his back to make the vertebrae crack. He rubbed his back and said, "I’m getting tired, I think we should head to bed. I’ll go get Iris. Why don’t you go lay out the sleeping bags, honey?"

Amelia gathered the two mugs up and went to wash them in some of the water they had boiled earlier, while Greg walked a few yards down to the pond. As he approached, he watched Iris play. She was a slight, dark-haired waif, only eight years old and incredibly bright. At the moment, however, she was sitting on a log skipping rocks into the slushy pond like any other child. Greg sat down next to her and gave her a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. "Hi, pumpkin. Where’d the chipmunk go?" he said, smiling.

"I ran out of peanuts," she pouted, "but she said she’d be back tomorrow if I had more for her to eat." Iris brightened, "Do you think she’d like donuts? We’ll probably have some left over in the morning."

"I’m sure she’d love some little pieces of donut. Don’t give her any with frosting, though. It might make her sick."

Iris gave her father a slightly condescending look, "I know, silly. She told me sugar hurt her teeth."

Greg smiled, humoring his daughter. "I’m not surprised. She probably never goes to the dentist."

"That’s because she’s too small, Daddy."

"Well, you aren’t, miss, and if you don’t go brush your teeth you will be going to the dentist. So why don’t you go brush them before you go to bed?" He smiled as she tried to wheedle her way out of it, trying to stay up a little bit later. Greg wouldn’t budge, however, and she finally sulked off to brush her teeth and get ready for bed.

Greg sat there on the log, studying the stars. Although he was a history professor, he knew a bit about astronomy. He could pick out most of the major constellations. As he looked at the night sky, he could barely see the stars. He could only find three constellations: Orion the Hunter, Cassiopeia the Queen, and Hydra the Snake. The rest of the constellations seemed to be drowned out by the glow of Rochester to the north. Putting it out of his mind, he walked back up to the campsite.

Reaching his tent, he saw that Amelia had spread out their sleeping bags and put them on each side of the small tent, with a small space down the center where they could put their boots. Seeing that she was almost done, he went to tuck Iris in. Greg stuck his head through the flaps of her pup tent and found her already sound asleep, her cherubic face barely recognizable as belonging to the bundle of energy that had chased wildlife all night. Greg leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead, and then withdrew, making sure the flaps were tightly secured against any possible weather.

Greg slipped his boots off and crawled into his tent. He was greeted with the sight of Amelia reclining in her sleeping bag, reading a book by the light of a book lamp. Taking a moment, he said a quick prayer before stripping down to his boxers. He shivered slightly against the chill March air, and slid into his sleeping bag. Propping himself up on one elbow, he watched Amelia silently for a few minutes. Finally, he said to her, "Is there something wrong, honey?"

Amelia laid the book facedown on her stomach and stared up at the tent’s ceiling. Without looking at him, she replied, "No, everything’s fine, honey. I’m just tired. I’m going to go to sleep." She switched off the lamp and for a while Greg couldn’t see anything. He heard her breathing even out as she fell asleep. Later, when his eyes had adjusted to the dark, all he could see was her back.

- / -

Greg’s nose was cold.

Opening his eyes, he could hardly see anything in the gloom of early morning. Although still dark, he could see a little of the tent’s ceiling despite the sleeping bag drawn tightly around his head for warmth. There was a thin frost on the roof, frozen condensation from their breath overnight. He sat up awkwardly, still enmeshed in his cocoon-like sleeping bag. After struggling with the drawstring for a few minutes, Greg was able to escape his sleeping bag. He instantly regretted it as the chill of a March morning caressed his skin. Shivering, he pulled on some warm clothes and his boots, then glanced at his illuminated watch. Quarter to six; he still had time to make breakfast before waking everyone else up for their early morning hike.

Unlike some people, Greg was a morning person. He hated sleeping late, and was usually awake by six in the morning. He woke up even earlier when camping due to the sound of the trees and the animals making their own little noises. Although he lived in the city of Rochester, he preferred the countryside of Western New York. The city was too bright, too busy. Greg valued every moment he spent in the park, and although it was just fifteen minutes by car south of the city, it seemed like it was thousands of miles away from the buses, the drunks, and the shootings. In the woods, next to the glacial ponds, Greg felt at peace. The river campus where he worked was removed from the city, but you still knew that the city was right next door.

Struggling out of the tent, Greg walked quietly over to Iris’s pup tent and found her sleeping quietly, tucked snugly into her sleeping bag. A spray of black hair had escaped her sleeping bag, bringing a smile to Greg’s face. Closing the flap, he fired up their small stove and boiled enough water for a mug of hot chocolate. He sat on a log as he waited, going over his plans for the hike in his mind. After a few minutes, the water was hot and he made his chocolate. Greg left his family a note, grabbed his hot chocolate, and went for a walk around the pond. His wife and daughter weren’t early birds like him, and they wouldn’t wake up for a while yet. While they slept, Greg planned on enjoying a sunrise in peace and quiet.

All the ponds in the park were surrounded by trails and horse paths that ran along the edge of the water, each a dozen feet wide. Reeds grew along the banks, providing homes for the countless types of animals that lived in safety in the park. Although most of the birds were still in the South for the winter, there were still many inhabitants in the park. Greg could see a dozen different types of animal tracks in the half-frozen mud of the bank.

After a short while had passed, Greg heard the snort of a horse up the trail. Coming around a bend, he saw a beautiful chestnut stallion drinking from the edge of the pond. The marvelous creature appeared to be nearly eighteen hands tall. Oddly, the horse had no bridle or saddle, or any other trappings he could see. Greg didn’t see any people around at first, but then he spied a small, white hand resting on the horse’s black mane. He approached the pair carefully, not wanting to startle the horse. The animal’s ears twitched and it raised its head, looking straight at Greg with a look that could only be called disdainful. The giant stallion almost seemed to be saying that Greg was foolish to think he could scare the animal. Then owner of the hand stepped around the horse, coming fully into view. She was slightly built and perhaps a few inches shorter than Greg’s own five foot eight height. She was dressed in a fleece jacket, jeans, and some of those new synthetic hiking boots valued for their light weight.

The woman smiled sunnily, shaking her golden hair out of her eyes. "Good morning! Here to see the sunrise, are we?"

Greg smiled in return and walked up to the stallion, reaching out to smooth his mane with one hand. Looking to the woman, he said, "Good morning to you too. Yeah, I love the sunrise here and make a point of watching it whenever I’m here camping. It’s not the same up in Rochester." Greg stuck out his hand, "My name’s Greg Shelley, it’s nice to meet you¼ ?"

She smiled and shook his hand firmly. "Tatiana Reynard. So you’re here camping, huh? You’re pretty lucky, the park doesn’t usually allow campers here."

Greg smiled, "True, but I’ve got a friend in the park service that makes an exception for me. We go way back, and he knows I won’t create any trouble, so he lets my family and I camp here a few times a year." Changing the subject, he ran a hand down the stallion’s back. "You’ve got a beautiful horse here. What’s his name?"

"I don’t know, I haven’t named him. He doesn’t belong to me, he just lets me ride him in return for some hay and a nice warm place to sleep," Tatiana said, smiling. "And so far he hasn’t told me what his name is."

Greg laughed. "He looks like a Thunder to me, but I’m not a big horse aficionado."

She paused for a moment before asking, "So, where’s your family?"

Waving his hand in dismissal, Greg said, "They’re still sleeping, they aren’t early birds like I am. They’ll probably be sleeping for quite a while yet. For some reason both of them need about ten hours of sleep. The thought of sleeping that long and missing out on that much drives me crazy."

"I know what you mean," Tatiana said, nodding in agreement. "I’m usually up before the sun and don’t go to bed until well after night falls."

Glancing back towards his campsite, Greg said, "I hate to be rude, but I must get going if I’m going to make it all the way around the pond before my family wakes up. If you want, you are welcome to walk with me. Mr. Ed can come along too," he said with a grin.

"I’d be happy to walk with you, Greg. Can you tell me what time it is, though? I forgot my watch at my house," she said with a sheepish grin.

"Sure," he said, glancing at his watch. "It’s six on the dot. I figure that Amelia will wake up at about seven, so we should have enough time."

"Okay, let’s get going then." She patted the stallion on his strong shoulder and said, "C’mon, no more resting for you. It’s time to get moving again." He snorted and raised his head, backing away from the water to give Tatiana room to mount. She sprang gracefully up to his back, an impressive feat since he didn’t have any stirrups. She didn’t even use his mane.

With a click of her tongue, the stallion moved off at a slow trot so that Greg would be able to easily keep up. They had traveled only a few dozen yards when the predawn gloom became the black ink of the darkest night.

The stallion reared, neighing loudly. With a practiced hand, Tatiana maintained her seat and tried to calm him down. Greg stumbled backwards, away from the violent motion of the crazed equine. Tripping backwards over a root, he landed on back, looking up at the darkest sky he had ever seen. There were no stars, no glow on the horizon of the approaching dawn, nothing. The only thing he could see was a slight glow to the north where Rochester was.

Greg had gone spelunking once when he was in college. They had explored this one cave, heading deep down into its depths. Over an hour after they began, Greg had been left alone for a few minutes while his friends had gone ahead to check out some stalactites. He had been worried when he couldn’t see the glow of their lights, and he stood up quickly, cracking his headlamp against a rock by accident. His light had flickered and then died. All of a sudden, it had been pitch black. He had never seen a night so dark, there in that cavern underground where sunlight had never shined. It was exactly the same, there in the park, when the stars went out. He couldn’t see a thing.

Fear paralyzed him for a long moment, his mind refusing to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. After an interminable time, he was jerked back to awareness by Tatiana’s voice. Looking around dazedly, Greg saw that she had regained control of the stallion and that she was now leaning over him, asking him if he was hurt.

He sat up and shook his head, trying to clear it, and replied tersely, "Yeah, yeah¼ I’m okay." Greg glanced up at the terrifyingly black sky and then back to Tatiana’s more comforting face. "But what happened? What’s going on?"

Tatiana replied, "I don’t know, Greg." Greg searched her face carefully; there had been a slight pause before her answer and a quiver to her voice. "We’d better get back to your camp, though, and check on your family. If they wake up any time soon, they’ll probably be really scared." Greg thought she knew more than she was telling him. Despite her strange tone, she didn’t seem to be overly worried. "Why don’t you jump up here with me, he can easily carry both of us." Greg nodded, and eyed the horse carefully. He had done some riding as a child, but he was far from an expert. Seeing his hesitation, Tatiana reached down to give him a hand up. Although he was dubious as to whether a woman as slight as she could lift him, her grip was surprisingly strong and she helped him up without any apparent difficulty.

The pair set off at a trot towards Greg’s campsite, the whole while trying not to look at the sky. Even so, Greg couldn’t help but look up every few moments. The sky was, for lack of a better word, unnatural. Whenever he looked at its inky blackness, it felt like someone was walking over his grave. He tried not to think about it, but it kept drawing him back.

As they approached within a hundred yards of the campsite, they both heard a scream.

Greg had never heard anything like it, not when Amelia was in labor with Iris, not when he was in a traffic accident and his friend’s leg had been crushed by the other car. It was a bestial howl, a cry full of pain, sorrow, and hatred. It made his hair stand on end and it made the horse rear, dumping him to the ground. He barely registered his fall, because he recognized the voice, although barely. It was Amelia.

Greg was on his feet as the second scream rang out, this one as terrible as the last. Perhaps more so. He raced towards the campsite, his legs moving incredibly slowly. He could hear Tatiana behind him, screaming for him to stop. He didn’t listen. He just kept running, the yards passing impossibly slowly.

Eons and seven howls later, Greg reached his campsite. The screams had stopped. He pulled out a flashlight and shined it around the campsite. It stopped upon the pile of cloth that was once Iris’s tent. It lay torn upon the ground, it’s poles snapped and it’s stakes pulled up. A small white hand, stained with blood, protruded limply from its door. With an anguished cry, he rushed to her side and threw himself down beside her, his hands reaching out to comfort her. His light shone upon her face, revealing terrible gashes covering her body and a deadly crimson smile drawn across her neck. He froze, unable to move, unable to comprehend the death of his child. The death of the light of his life.

As he knelt there, a tearing sound pushed it’s way into his mind. Greg turned slowly, shining his light towards where his and Amelia’s tent had stood. He saw a gaping hole torn into its side. Protruding from it was something that could only be called a monstrosity.

A huge, fleshy body lay half outside the tent. Tentacle protruded from its trunk, reaching into the tent. Nearly eight feet of worm-like flesh lay outside the tent, and Greg couldn’t tell how much on the inside. It was making the tearing sound. A tentacle withdrew from the tent, covered in blood. It wiped itself on the fabric of the tent and then disappeared back inside. A quiet moaning was coming from inside the tent.

True fear pervaded Greg’s body, pushing thoughts of Iris out of his head. This was not the fear of death, or a phobia of heights. This was true, primeval fear. This was the fear of the hunted for the hunter, of the lamb for the wolf. Another instinct surfaced, that of survival. He was cornered in this campsite. No matter how fast he could run, he simply knew that he could not escape the terror feasting in his tent. Like the cornered dog, he attacked.

Greg slowly reached out one trembling hand and picked up one of the metal stakes from Iris’s tent. It was an old stake, twelve inches of shining stainless steel with a sharpened point to penetrate the hardest dirt. Or the toughest hide. Greg slowly crept up behind the creature, stake held in hand like a knife. As he heard another moan, Greg blindly stabbed the stake towards the creature’s maggot-like flesh. It sank in nearly eight inches, sliding smoothly through the boneless flesh.

The creature screamed as its body flailed in pain. It whipped around like a snake, revealing a gaping maw full of needle teeth and four large fangs, all covered in blood. Greg fell back in horror, jabbing blindly with the steel shiv as he began to pray. "Into thy hands, O Lord-" A tentacle whipped out and captured his wrist, cutting off his prayer as it crushed the bones and forced him to drop the blade. A scream escaped his throat, quickly cut off by another tentacle wrapping itself around his neck. His neck muscles tightened futilely against the preternatural strength of the creature as it drew his head back. The sky filled his vision as his throat was bared. The rough tentacle tightened further, cutting off his air and making his vision swim. Greg’s terror mounted to new heights as he heard the creature move outside of his line of vision.

The monster’s jaws shot forward, propelled by several hundred pounds of mystic muscle, it’s maw gaping wide. Greg felt an impact against his chest, quickly followed by pain beyond comprehension. His entire body went numb and his vision became washed red. Conscious thought mercifully left him.