Bernard Bloch sighed deeply, an axe slung across his shoulder. After much blood, sweat, and tears, the woodsman finished his last delivery for the day and marched through Teutoburg Forest. His humble cottage lay deep within the murky woods, about halfway between the town of Zotteren and Velmerstot. It was a hard life, chopping wood and cooking charcoal by hand, but the smiles on his neighbors' faces always warmed his heart.

That, and Bernard enjoyed the peace and tranquility of nature. While not an unfriendly spirit deep down, Bernard found town living too noisy for his liking. It gave him headaches and often dragged him into the helter-skelter drama of everyday life. Keep your family feuds and martial squabbles to yourselves, thanks. Bernard would rather take the merry hum of bumblebees, the squawk of falcons in the canopy, and the gentle heartbeat of the forest, distant yet ever-present.

"Although..." thought Bernard, biting his lip a bit. "Returning home every day to hearty stew and a warm hearth would be nice. I turn 32 this year. Perhaps it's time to settle down, just a little? Find a wife...?"

As Bernard contemplated this, the woodsman glanced around. The sun was quickly setting; already, the golden orb nestled into the horizon's bosom, scorching the sky vibrant shades of orange, yellow, and blood-red. Dark shadows grew long, stretching between the trees. Birds nestled into their nests, the skitter-scatter of woodland critters fell silent, and only the gentlest breeze blew fallen leaves across the dirt road.

Night would arrive before long, and with it, a bitter, grim cold. Winter was within a month's time. If Bernard didn't hurry, it'd take until tomorrow to shake the icicles from his fingertips and toes.

At a quicker pace, Bernard trudged through the forest. Muscles glided beneath bronze, well-oiled skin and sinew creaked like planks on a ship. The woodsman's body was well-suited for his noble trade, both broad in the arm with thighs heavy with muscle to match, yet not so buff that it proved difficult to move between trees. Bernard's chest looked sharp like a Renaissance sculptor took a hammer and chisel to marble, while his backside was lean like a fighting rooster.

By the time dusk settled across the rural land, the forest itself was cast into an inky gloom. Shadows were everywhere and the path ahead grew murky. Worse still, a damp fog rolled in, weaving between trees like serpentine tendrils and soaking everything in a cool dew. If it got much colder, the forest would be covered in a thin frost by midnight.

That's when Bernard spotted it: ahead, south of the dirt road, was a blue, ethereal flame. The mysterious orb danced in the air like a firefly, wavering back-and-forth like a ballerina on tiptoes. It shone brightly, incandescent in the murky gloom of the forest, and something about its motion felt magnetic. Almost...

... hypnotic.

Bernard shook his head. The woodsman remembered tales about will-o'-wisps from his childhood.

'Never dare approach the ghostly flame,' said his dear sweet mother, may God rest her soul. 'The flame, it feeds on tiny tots like you! Follow its eerie glow at your peril, for you'll become lost in the forest and doomed to wander ever more. Perhaps, even, become a will-o'-wisp yourself!'

That said, Bernard was no longer a babe rocking in his crib. He was a woodsman, full grown. Why should ghost stories spook him still? Whatever the light was, it couldn't hurt him. Why, perhaps it was a family of honey mushrooms, shimmering in the darkness? Or the opalescent eye of a deer, wandering at night?

Or perhaps... it was a fire? Embers from a bonfire could travel for miles on a good wind. If they settled on dry leaves or timber, a fire could spark alive. Before anyone knew it, the whole forest could be lit aflame.

"I'd better see what's what..." said Bernard, mumbling under his breath. With a weary heart, the woodsman wandered off the path.

To his surprise, it was a fire. Namely, a bonfire nestled within
stone's reach of a large, solid-roof wagon. Cloaked under a veil of branches, the wagon was painted ruby red with leaf-shaped carvings, raised ridges, and golden adornments. Trinkets like wind chimes hung from the awning, while the wheels were bedazzled with colorful rocks. Emerald drapes covered the frost-covered windows and both wagon doors were firmly locked.

When Bernard drew close, the bonfire's dying embers erupted in a blaze of blue flame, far brighter and larger than the pale will-o'-wisp. White light danced within the hearth's heart and embers spat from its quivering fingers, hot to the touch before cooling into gray ash. Bernard flinched sharply, as if to leap out of his own skin, then clutched his chest.

"Damn... talk about a fright!"

Although blinded by the flash, Bernad's eyesight quickly returned to him. There, he saw the wagon was drawn by a peculiar-looking horse. The steed was tall and lean, gaunt as a skeleton. It had skin dark as coal and six sunken eyes, which were red as the dying sun. Its mane was white and stringy like spider web, and a pair of wings hung around it’s back, papery like a bat.

The wagon itself was curious. The oak-carved roof came in shades of blue, yellow, and green; horribly mismatched, yet oddly festive. It brought to mind of a circus tent. Sigils were carved across the wooden frame, the language unknown to Brenard. Smoke wafted off an incense urn that hung off a pole, and over the doorway was a sign.

Sinful Selections, it read in great, fancy cursive.

"Sinful Selections?" said Bernard, murmuring under his breath. Idly, he patted the gaunt horse. It was certainly nothing like any beast of burden he'd ever seen, but then again, this wagon clearly came from another land. Horses came from all breeds, shapes, and sizes. Clearly this beast was one of them. "Well, I won't lie, friend! You and this cart are about the strangest things I’ve seen in these parts! Where’s your owner, I wonder?"

Squinting his eyes tightly, Bernard studied the sigils closer. Even if he could read the strange language, the woodsman got the impression he wouldn't care to. Something about the script, the way it spiraled like snakes and flowed like a river felt... off. Uncanny. Not evil, not malevolent, but not meant for mortal men to comprehend either. It refused understanding. The language existed for itself, by itself, and would not bend to the whims of humans, who used and abused language to their own ends so terribly often.

All Bernard could conclude, simply, was that this wagon was far too garish for a humble traveler.

"Is this some sort of shop?" Bernad tilted his head slightly. "Or a traveling circus?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Bernard knocked on the wagon's door.

"Hello? The name's Bernard, Bernard Bloch? I’m the woodsman that lives up the road. Uh, welcome to Teutoburg! If you’re a merchant of some breed, I'm afraid the village proper is a mile down the road!"

With that, Bernard stepped back and set down his axe; nothing spooks anyone more than stumbling into an axe-wielding stranger at their doorstep. Reaching into his pocket, Bernard offered an apple to the winged horse. The six-eyed steed eyed both the apple and woodsman wearily. It clearly didn’t meet many friendly faces.

After some hesitation, the winged horse sniffed the apple, let out a huff, then shook its mane. When it finally took a bite, it nipped Bernard's palm. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to send a warning.

"Don't mess with me," said the bite. "And I won't mess with you."

While the six-eyed steed ate the apple, a clamor came from inside the wagon. There was the clatter of metal hitting the floor, the shuffling of paper, and more. Muffled mutters echoed as well, followed by a nasally voice.

"Hold on a minute!"

The voice sounded strange. Not only was it deep and booming, but thin and raspy too. It sounded like a barrel-chested soldier and a wispy wafer of a princess spoke together. It made Bernard's head ache like marbles rattled around his skull and made his skin crawl like it was covered in leeches. The woodsman shook himself down, fighting against the goosebumps.

Finally, after several more shuffles and spine-tingly scrapes, the door flew open. Someone emerged from the wagon… or perhaps something?

The person was… no, that was wrong. This thing certainly wasn’t human. It was too tall, too gaunt, too pale. The Creature had pallid skin like a corpse and long, bony limbs. Hair red as blood ran down its back, cascading like a waterfall, until it stopped at the knee. The knee itself was twisted backwards, bent like a goat’s, and three black claws erupted from the feet. These claws scraped against the wagon's floor, digging grooves into the wood.

The face itself could curdle milk. A patchwork of varicose veins and knotted flesh covered the upper half of the curious face, which lacked any eyes or nose. Ears pointy as a bat’s jutted from sides and ivory teeth sharp as daggers lined the mouth. Curvy horns erupted from the skull, and black claws scrapped across the doorframe.

This thing wasn't human. Oh no, it was a Creature, something that crawled straight out of mortal men's nightmares. Bernard froze on the spot, hissing between his teeth. Just the mere presence of this Creature made his nerves taut and spine shiver like he'd leapt into an ice-covered lake.

"Hello? Is someone there?" The Creature turned their head left-and-right, combing across the forest like an owl searching for mice scurrying in the underbrush. Without any eyes, clearly the Nightmare was blind, yet Bernard felt the surreal sensation they moved with clear focus. As if they need only pick up the faintest scent to pinpoint prey. "It’s almost midnight, you know? My grand entrance isn’t for another half ho— oh!"

Finally, the Creature locked onto Bernard like a hawk spotting hares darting between bushes. Surprise quickly melted into delight as a toothsome grin spread across the grotesque features. The softest hiss escaped the Creature's pencil-thin, black lips, not unlike steam escaping a bubbling kettle.

“Why, hello there! How may I help you?” asked the Creature. Black claws drummed across the doorframe, one after the other. The Creature leaned close, their breath smelling faintly of death. “I wasn’t expecting… company, this late at night! But please, enjoy your stay! Welcome to Sinful Selections, stranger!”

To his credit, Bernard didn't run. He didn't flee or scurry like a mouse cornered by a cat. The woodsman even resisted the temptation to reach for his axe. Instead, Bernard stood his ground. He gulped heavily and sweated up a storm, but he remained strong.

"I, ah... I apologize if I disturbed your slumber, friend? Hello!"

Bernard gave a flustered wave. The Creature made him shudder, though he sensed no malice. There was just something... off about them. It wasn't just the eyeless face, knife-sharp teeth, claws, or anything in particular. Everything just coalesced together to make for a creepy entity.

Still, Bernard was raised right. His mother taught him manners and how to be polite. Even if the Creature put him on edge, Bernard should strive to be friendly... unless the Creature became unfriendly, that is...

Clearing his throat again, Bernard continued.

"Uh, if I may? That's an interesting name for a traveling shop! 'Sinful Selections?' It, er, certainly rolls off the tongue! What do you sell, if I may ask?" Bernard clasped his hands together, striving to look placid as an undiscovered lake. "If you’d rather, I can come back once you open to the public? Sounds like you planned to visit the town, yes?"

A sharp chuckle escaped the Creature, who shook their head. They waved both hands back-and-forth.

"Oh no no, that’s quite fine! Very fine indeed! I had planned to… well, it’s no matter! You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

The Creature raised a black claw.

“One moment, would you?”

With a flurry of scarlet hair, the Creature vanished back into the wagon. There came rustling sounds as they rummaged through boxes, chests, and other such things. Muffled curses also echoed from inside. While Bernard waited, the winged steed finished the apple and nuzzled his arm fondly.

“Hrumph…” said the ebony beast.

After some more noisy clatters, the Creature emerged again. Bottles of bubbly brews were clasped in their hands. Steam wafted off the potions and skulls were imprinted on the glass.

“So, you want to buy one of my concoctions, stranger? Fancy something pretty? A wise choice, very wise indeed!”

The Creature stepped off the wagon and sauntered over to Bernard. Through the forest canopy, moonlight shimmered off their pale skin. The gibbous orb gave the eldritch Creature a silvery halo, and the gentle breeze brushing through the trees made the sapphire capelet hanging off their shoulders rustle.

When they stood before Bernard, the woodsman got a better sense of the Creature’s size. They towered over him, standing perhaps tall as a black bear. Bernard was eye level to their flat chest, but due to the gaunt frame, the Creature couldn’t weigh more than 8 Stones.

“Well then…” The Creature offered two bottles, the print just barely legible in the moonlight. “You’d better choose carefully…”

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Thought I'd give this fantastic artwork some much-needed love. BlueHandFish never fails to impress and I can only hope this story reinforces the tone. Ideally, it'll also inspire people to create their own versions for where this story goes and how it ends. Sometimes, the most fun you get outta work is what you put into it, rather than you draw out of it.

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Art by the bedazzling benevolent  bluehandfish
Commissioned as a gift from my dear friend,  ruler101

Spider8Fiend: Feel free to share whatever comments you have in mind! If you have any criticism to offer, however, please try to make it constructive. If you have a lot to say, feel free to PM me as well so the comment section doesn't get too full~

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