The Beast Beneath the Cross - Chapter Five: A Forgotten Promise

The late afternoon sun cast long, pale shadows over the narrow streets of Bedburg. Clouds thickened in the sky, dull and grey, as if the weight of the coming night pressed down on the village. The crisp air carried a sharp chill, biting at the skin, but it wasn’t just the cold that had the townsfolk moving quickly along their paths—it was the unease that always came with the full moon.

Peter Stump stood near the edge of the square, his arms crossed, his face twisted in a silent snarl as he watched a small group of villagers passing by. They spoke in hushed voices, their hands clutching at the crosses that hung around their necks, casting furtive glances toward the darkening sky. Prayers slipped through their lips, murmured under their breath, but Peter heard every word. The sound grated on his nerves, like a jagged blade twisting in his gut.