The Jade House

Not much could be said for the house itself. It was a small, run-down shack with with a large, dilapidated roof and barred windows. Covering the walls was a large coating of tar, to keep at bay the frigid winter air that would seep in come December. It was situated in a large New England forest, isolated from the rest of the world, left to wither away into nonexistence. There was nothing charming about the dwelling, or anything wholesome. It was a sad little house, surrounded by a circle of diseased and dying trees, and stranded in a perpetual gloom. Something about it felt wrong, as if such a place should not exist, and being around it seemed to somehow weigh on one's mind. Even the squatters chose to stay away from it, giving a wide berth to the miserable little house. As far as anyone was concerned, nothing good came from that house, and it was left alone, free to rot in depressed silence.

This was, all but one man. He was a drifter, always a few dollars short of a meal, and a few miles from where he wanted to be. He had no house of his own, and had received word of the place from an old drunk, all in hopes of attaining another beer. The drifter did not particularly want to stay in the house; from what he had heard, it was not the kind of place one wanted to fall asleep in. But he needed a place to stay, had no money to buy a room, and held little esteem for superstition. A house was a house, and he needed somewhere to stay. And so, the drifter swallowed the last of his bummed drink, collected what little he owned, and headed for the little house.

He found it without any trouble. In fact, he was not entirely sure how he found it, considering he had never actually been told where it was. He had simply started walking, and it seemed to find him. It was, in appearances, much as it had been described. A small little shack, surrounded by a circle of dying grass and sickly trees, with an unnatural silence hanging about the place. The house itself was not too bad, he supposed. He had stayed in worse. Still, something about the place set him on edge. He told himself he was only staying for a night, just until he could move on in the morning. He stepped up onto the front porch, and slid the bag off of his shoulder. And after a deep breath, he pushed open the creaking door, and stepped inside.

Inside, the walls were bare, with long gashes on the walls and floors. All of the furniture had been shred by something, some kind of large animal by the looks of it, and strewn across the floor, collected haphazardly in large piles. From the rafters, long strands of cobwebs hung down, swaying silently with the breeze that blew in from the cracks in the walls. And In the center of the room, amid a small pile of shredded cloth, lay a large form, half buried in a pile of shredded cloth, but very much alive. The creature opened it's eyes and stared at him, with two large, jade colored eyes.

It looked like a wolf of some kind, but had a mix of dog blood within it's veins. It was black, with long, coarse hair, that had somehow stayed unmatted. It had sharp, hooked claws, which looked longer than any the man had seen. Even stationary, the creature still managed to look graceful, it's long hair seeming to ripple with each breath, difficult for a thing so large. It looked up at him, it's jade eyes searching him with almost unnatural intelligence. Still, it did not move, or attempt to rise from it's spot. 

The creature made no move to get up, and stared at him patiently, the light dancing in it's bright green eyes. He knew he was not supposed to make eye contact, but there was something in those eyes that seemed to be drawing him, calling to him in a way that was not completely natural. He started walking before he realized what he was doing. He kept staring at those eyes, at the light that swirled just under their surface. And he watched as the strange green fire danced in those large irises, as he drew closer and closer. 

He was not thinking any longer, he was obeying some long dormant instinct. He drew closer out of the singular need to do so. He could not stop his feet from walking, and, try as he might, he could not look away. Slowly, he raised his hand before him, as if offering it to the creature. He wanted to touch it, to feel it's soft head. He wanted to run his fingers through it's mane, and stare at those eyes, to watch the lights dance within them. Gradually, the house faded into the distance. It did not matter anymore. He reached the thing, close enough to touch now, and fell to his knees. He was so close now, and he could feel it's hot breath on his face. Still, he could not look away from those deep set eyes. 

And, slowly, the creature raised it's head, and looked into his face. And it drew closer, still staring into his eyes, it's gaze piercing ever deeper. And, without a sound, it leaped toward him, forcing him violently onto the floor. And with one swift motion, it bit into his neck, and tore the life from his veins, splashing it onto the bare floor. The man saw none of this, however, he saw only the jade, even as it pulled him apart. And with one long, savage wail, the creature called into the night. And from the murky darkness a thousand creatures shuffled silently out of the diseased woods, an insane hunger burning in their jaded eyes.