“Everyone’s out drinking and whoring, but I’ve done enough of that for ten men in my time. What my life really lacked was warm beds and long nights spent in them.”

-an unnamed sailor lamenting his fate, three days before the Mad Moon

Gaspard took the distant rumblings for the roars of a far-off beast at first. It took him far longer than he would ever admit to remember what thunder sounded like.

The grey clouds that stood above the setting sun heralded a coming storm. From the sound of it, a large one. Gaspard had always relished a good thunderstorm -from behind a window. He resolved to find shelter and enjoy the storm in peace.

The storm front nipped at his heels as Gaspard headed for a residential district to find his latest shelter. After disqualifying a few promising candidates due to the presence of rotting corpses, Gaspard settled on a large home with a spacious interior and a large window with which to view the storm. He settled into a sturdy wooden chair in front of the window and waited, treating himself to a meal of preserved fruits as he waited.

The pitter patter of the rain against the window came first, as always, followed by growing darkness as the thick storm clouds and the coming night overtook the sun. Gaspard found an intact candle and lit it, placing it by the table as he waited for the storm to peak. To his great regret, this household had no books to read.

As the storm, and Gaspard, settled in, he felt some semblance of peace. The circumstances were hardly ideal -the absence of a book and a warm cup of coffee proved that- but there was a comforting familiarity in a night spent by the light of a candle, waiting for the storm to roll past. Gaspard closed his eyes, and listened to the drumming of the rain against the glass.

As the rain poured down, the tinny tapping of droplets against glass was joined by the dull thud of something larger slamming against the glass. Gaspard opened his eyes and looked out the window. Something was cast in a black silhouette by the candlelight. Gaspard put one hand on the candle holder and the other on his sword.

Lightning flashed, and the brief moment of illumination did nothing to brighten the black silhouette, though Gaspard did catch sight of something else in the window out of the corner of his eye. He turned his full attention to the phantom, but it was as fleeting as the lightning, gone by the time he turned his head. He looked back at the corner with the black silhouette, and found it too had vanished.

As the thunder rolled, Gaspard extinguished his candle. The light was comforting, but it also attracted unwelcome attention. Another burst of thunder roared, and Gaspard would swear he heard phantom footsteps shuffling just outside his shelter. He set the doused candle aside and kept a tight grip on his sword. He had been a fool to think he could relax and enjoy the old comfort of a storm. In the wake of the Mad Moon, even nostalgia could be corrupted.

Another flash of lightning came, and Gaspard saw another black silhouette in the street outside. It had the same shape as a man, but with long, stretched limbs, standing at unnatural height. He grit his teeth and drew his sword. Perhaps the creature would be content to stay in the street, or perhaps it would come crashing through the window, driven by the scent of living flesh to consume. Gaspard could not claim to know the mind of the abominations that lurked the street, but he had a feeling he knew which it would be.

The thunder boomed, and Gaspard stood still. He waited for another flash of lightning, listening to the rain come down, and finding no peace in it. Another flash came. Gaspard drew his sword and saw the shadowed figure move, reacting in turn.

Gaspard’s eyes narrowed. Curious, he extended his arm and waited for the next flash of lightning to come. It was a short wait, and Gaspard saw the silhouetted figure, standing, arm extended, in the same pose as he.

With a sigh, Gaspard looked over his shoulder. There was a second, smaller window behind him. The illumination of the rear window had cast a shadow towards the larger window, creating the phantom that Gaspard had feared. He replaced his sword and indulged himself in a quiet chuckle. With that matter settled, Gaspard sheathed his sword and decided he had enough of storm watching for one night.

Even as he chuckled, the initial reason for Gaspard’s fear had slipped from his mind. Something had pressed its hand against the window. Something which now made its presence known.

A humanoid figure, still wearing the tatters of of a jesters festival garb, dove through the window. Gaspard struggled to take hold of his sword and draw it as the jester lunged towards him. He just managed to pull the blade free as the jester held out clawed hands in a diving leap and tackled Gaspard to the ground. The jester roared for a minute, splitting open it’s rotted skull to reveal massive jaws formed from either half of what had once been a human head. Gaspard roared back, managing to leverage his sword and drive it down the jester’s open throat.

Gaspard reached up with a sleeve to wipe some of the jester’s blood from his face before throwing the creature’s body aside. He cursed under his breath and spat at the limp body before retreating to a bedroom and barricading the doors. So much for allowing himself a moment to relax. Gaspard resolved to continue jumping at shadows, lest the shadows jump at him.