Hungering Teeth.

Sometime in 1774.

1774.
MEREWORTH HOUSEHOLD.

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"Agnus, heed my words," Mary's voice, serene as a tranquil river, carried the weight of sacred truth. "For the Lord's eyes wander the earth, beholding both the good and the evil."

    Yet, the whispers that coiled through the air sang a far different tune, a melody of malice and deceit. They slithered like serpents, wrapping around the room, echoing Mary's words but distorting them into something cruel, something taunting.

    "Behold the good and the evil," they hissed, their venomous tones seeping into the shadows, "Behold the torment and the despair." The whispers seemed to emanate from every darkened corner, dripping with a malicious glee that struck fear deep into Agnus's young heart.

    His small frame trembled, eyes wide with terror, darting from one corner of the room to the next, desperately seeking the source of the sinister murmurs.

    "Mama," he whispered, his voice quivering.

    Mary's gaze remained steady, dismissive, as she waved a hand through the air as though swatting away an inconsequential insect. "Agnus, it's merely your imagination. The shadows play tricks when we are weary. Now, hush, and listen. The Lord's wisdom will be our shield."

    But the boy's lip trembled, his gaze reluctantly returning to the sacred pages before him. Still, the whispers persisted, weaving through the holy verses like serpents of sound, each word a forked tongue, each hiss a threat.

    "No, Mama," Agnus persisted, "It sounds like... like voices."

    "Voices?" Mary's voice was laced with weary patience. "You must be overtired, my dear.     These are but phantoms conjured by a restless mind. They will pass as the light fades. Trust in the Lord, for He is with us."

    "But, Mama—"

    "Enough!" Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and sudden, as her hand struck out, delivering a stinging rebuke.

    Agnus gasped and cowered, the smack echoing in his ears. At that moment, he understood the gravity of doubting the Lord's protection.

    "I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered.

    Lowering his head, he obeyed her command, his breath hitched, and his hand still stung. The whispers continued to mock the holy scripture, the air heavy with menace, as his mother read. 
A tear fell down his face and fell onto one of the dingy pages, he sniffled.

    Yet, as night fell and the room was swallowed by darkness, the whispers grew ever more insistent.

    Agnus, alone in his bed, wrung with a sickening dread, the echoes of the whispers still lingering in his ears, clung tightly to his bible, as though the pages themselves were a lifeline to the Lord.

    The whispers cackled maniacally, feasting on the holy words, constructing their own, twisted verses. Their voices gyrated around the frightened boy, each syllable a stinging thorn, tearing at his peace of mind.

    Suddenly, there was a rustling at the foot of Agnus's bed – a faint thump, a whisper of fabric against the parquet floor. Unbidden, the boy's eyes darted down, their pupils dilating as they met the sight of a shadow.

    Mere moments ago, the boy had clicked his tongue at such tales of the unknown, but now?

    "Be not afraid."

    The words were neither those of Mary nor the holy teachings, but some horrid parody, siphoning their virtue. Agnus's throat spasmed, a scream choking in his chest before dissipating into a guttural sob.

    Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

    "The Lord—," his voice croaked, a pitiful squeak as it broke against the unnatural stillness in the air. "He will save me. Trust in Him."

    The shadow's amorphous form rippled with suppressed laughter that rumbled through Agnus's very bones, rattling within his chest like an insatiable ache.

    "Oh, little one," it's words whispered into Agnus's skull, so close he felt their breath warm against his ear, like the devil himself had taken form. "You cling so desperately to a promise you cannot hope to comprehend. The Lord will not come to your aid, for He sees not your struggle, nor does he heed your pleas!"

    He lets out a shuddering breath, the stifled sob escaping him. A torrent of tears ran down his face as he called for Mama, his voice breaking against the echoing darkness. To his horror, the door to his room groaned, refusing its hinges as if something had a grip on it outside.

    "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

    Shhhh.

    His voice now faltered.

    The shadow winked into being beside hum, its mouth a hideous gash as it replied to his cries, "Your mama won't come to save you, Agnus."

    Mary had finally opened the door. "Agnus, what is the meaning of all this?"

    He was frozen once more, wrung tight as a bow, he dared not to turn, eyes locked on the figure before him, his pleas now stifled as if his throat had been clogged with lead.

    "Agnus? Open up this door for me and your Mama!"

    The figure pressed its fingers to its lips before disappearing, dissolving into the darkness like a wisp of smoke.

    His chest heaved as he finally found his voice, letting out a louder, more raw, pleading choked scream. Spencer, lantern in hand, rushed in, the light flickering as he frantically scanned the room, but the shadow had already retreated, leaving behind only the echo of their torment and a boy who would never again sleep soundly.

    Agnus laid in bed, his arms lifted to be held, Spencer immediately picked him up and cradled him.

    "Hush now, little one," Spencer comforted. "Whatever that was, it's gone."

    He buried his face in Spencer's chest, the strong, familiar scent of earth and tobacco grounding him, pulling him away from the edge of panic. Spencer's arms, strong and steady, encircled him like a fortress, a shield against whatever... that was.

    Mary stood at the door, "I told you, Agnus," she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of reprimand and righteousness. "The devil prowls like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. You must guard your heart with the word of the Lord."

    Spencer shot her a look, "That's enough, Mary," he said, "The boy's scared out of his wits. He doesn't need a sermon right now."

    She stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "He needs to understand, Spencer. The Lord's protection is—"

    "I said, that's enough," He tightened his hold on Agnus, the boy's small frame still shivering in his arms. "Not everything that frightens us is the devil's doing, and not everything can be soothed by words from a book."

    Her eyes flashed with indignation, a retort hovering on her tongue, but Spencer's unwavering gaze silenced her. She knew better than to argue with him on this. He had always been a man who walked his own path, his beliefs forged in the crucible of life's harshest realities, not in the pews of a church.

    "Spencer," She began again, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Let it be, Mary," he said, his voice gentler now, but still resolute. "The boy's had enough for one night. He doesn't need fear piled on top of fear. Whatever it was, we'll deal with it together, but not by scaring him more."

    He turned his attention back to the boy, brushing a tear-streaked cheek with the back of his hand. "You listen to me," he said, his voice steady and comforting. "Whatever you heard or saw, it can't hurt you now. I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you."

    Agnus nodded, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

    "We'll get through this," he murmured. "No matter what comes, we'll face it together."

    And for the moment, that promise was enough.

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ripedsins.