Hush

Don’t leave the hut after seven. You are not to play too loudly, or call for a distant friend down the road with a violent shout. Watch your feet come autumn; lest you crack the dry leaves. They sleep. Never think of wandering into the forest, much less while dressed in bright colours. Your footsteps shall be resigned, silent, and forgotten without an echo, much like a still-born, or a lurking phantom. You must understand. For ten years they’ll sleep, and we don’t want to lose you.
If you stand in the porch and set your sights to the west, there will only be a shadow of silver ghosts, raising their leaves into the mist, tracing small patterns with their branches when the wind bludgeons them softly. You will not see them, sleeping below, in cold lairs of mud and grass. Leave it at that, and trust our word. Dawkins, the old man who lives down the road, he saw one. He and a friend woke the creature up while trying to kill it; they didn’t think it would hear the rifle before the bullet was in his skull, but it caught them before they even got the thing out of the sling. He couldn’t say what happened to the friend. There hasn’t been a word from the man since, actually. Some people have started doubting that there is a tongue in his mouth at all. That was the last time they slept, thirty years ago, when we were children like you.
Your mother will walk you to school every morning, and Father Merrick has offered himself to drop every child off home after class. Understand it is for your own sake. They know no age, and respect no human love or value. We will take care of you, until the sun rises again, and they leave for the mountains. Trust us. It may seem harsh, but the pain would be too much for us to bear. I will take you to pick flowers from the backyard on the afternoon, but you will promise me not to giggle uproariously. They can hear for miles. Do you remember the stone wall behind the church, where you saw the crows eat the butterfly once? It wasn’t always so worn down. They say someone threw a stone at the belltower, and the bell rung. That was a hundred years ago, and nothing was left of that old town, except for the wall.
Come on over, your mum’s brewed some tea, just the way you like it. Take my hand. Don’t cry, my dear, it’s our cross to carry. Don’t cry, they’ll fall asleep at midnight and they might hear you. Wipe the tears, darling. We’ll be fine. It’s only a long night. We’ll be fine. Hush.
You must understand...