Capítulo 118: Chapter 118
The wind whipped through the trees as Jonas trudged across the wet ground, mud sucking at his boots with every step. He had been walking for hours, but the dark sky never lightened. The dense forest stretched on, as if the woods were endless. The trees groaned in the wind, their bare branches like skeletal arms reaching out, grabbing at the space between him and any potential safety.
He had heard the stories. Rumors of a creature, something that didn't belong, something wrong, deep in these woods. He'd been told to avoid the eastern forest line, to never walk past the old barn, but Jonas had ignored all that. He had to know. The people in town spoke in hushed voices about it—about the sheep who sang.
Most laughed at the stories, dismissing them as superstition or the product of too many beers. But Jonas had never been one to believe in ghosts or myths. Yet, the whispers of the singing sheep were different. They stuck to the back of his mind, gnawing at him. He needed to see it for himself.
As he walked deeper into the woods, the air seemed to grow colder. Not that it mattered much; his breath still formed clouds of vapor in the still, damp air. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves beneath his feet and the occasional rustle in the underbrush.
A few more miles, and he came to the barn. It was old—dilapidated—and it stood there like some forgotten relic. The roof sagged in places, and the walls seemed to be slowly crumbling with time. Yet, there was something about it. The barn felt... alive, like it was watching him.
Jonas approached cautiously, his boots quiet against the ground, but his heart began to hammer faster. He had heard it now—the softest melody. A voice. Not human. Not quite animal either.
It was the sound of a sheep singing.
The notes were high-pitched, strange, and they seemed to come from everywhere at once. His skin prickled with unease. He should turn back. It was just a sheep, after all. But as he pushed the barn door open, the singing grew louder.
Inside, the barn was dark and damp. Straw was scattered across the floor, and the smell of wet wood filled the air. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by a dim, flickering light. He heard it again—a soft bleat followed by a strange humming, like a lullaby twisted into something unnatural.
Jonas took another step inside. The sound stopped.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then, he saw it. In the far corner of the barn stood a single sheep. Its wool was thick, matted with dirt and blood, its eyes too wide, too aware. The thing's mouth moved as it hummed, and Jonas could see its lips tremble with the sound of the melody. It was not a bleat. It was a song.
The air turned cold, impossibly so. Jonas shivered and took a step back, but the barn felt smaller now, like the walls were closing in. The sheep's song grew louder. It wasn't the song of an animal, though. The voice—if it could even be called that—was soft, sweet, and strangely comforting, like it was calling him closer.
He forced himself to step forward, even though his instincts screamed to turn and run. He was so close to it now, the sheep's sing-song voice almost soothing. He could almost ignore the eyes that never blinked, the way the creature's body seemed to twitch, as if there was something moving beneath the skin.
Jonas couldn't help himself. He reached out, his hand trembling, almost as if it had a mind of its own. He brushed the creature's wool. It was wet.
The sheep stopped singing. Its eyes locked onto him.
Jonas froze. It wasn't the sheep's gaze that made his blood run cold, though. It was the feeling that came with it. A deep, gnawing hunger, something dark that spilled from the creature like poison. It was then that he noticed something else—there were others in the barn. The shadows had not been moving by themselves.
Jonas turned his head slowly.
There, just beyond the corner of his vision, were more sheep. They stood in the dark, still as statues. Their wool was matted, their eyes too bright in the low light. They did not sing, but their presence was undeniable, their attention fixed solely on him.
A new sound began. It was a low murmur, like voices whispering in a language he couldn't understand. The air thickened, heavier with each breath he took.
Jonas felt something wet touch the back of his neck. He twisted around, heart pounding, but there was nothing.
The barn door slammed shut behind him. He wasn't sure how it happened, only that it was sudden.
Suddenly, the singing started again, louder now, swelling as if the sheep were all singing in harmony, calling to something. The barn seemed to twist, stretching and warping like a living thing, the beams overhead groaning. The smell of rot filled the air.
Jonas couldn't breathe.
The sheep closed in.
The first one lunged at him, teeth sharp and stained red. It ripped at his leg, tearing through the flesh like paper. The pain shot up his spine as the creature chewed, and he screamed. But no one would hear him. No one ever would.
The others followed.
Jonas stumbled back, crashing into the wall. His vision blurred, but he could still see the sheep moving in strange ways, as if their joints weren't right, too fluid, too smooth. They circled him, their teeth snapping, their song blending with the sounds of tearing flesh and his desperate cries.
He didn't know how long it lasted. Time was irrelevant, just like pain. But eventually, the noise died down. The sheep were gone.
Jonas lay in the hay, blood soaking the ground beneath him. His body was broken, torn apart. His heart still beat, but weakly, too weak to matter. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The wound on his leg was the least of his worries. His chest was torn open, his ribs exposed, and there was no air left in his lungs.
And yet, he could still hear it. The song. Soft, sweet, and so close.
Jonas tried to scream, but his throat was too raw. He could feel the life draining from him, but the song never stopped. It wrapped itself around him, pulling him deeper, suffocating him, dragging him into the void.
By the time the sun came up, Jonas was gone.
And in the barn, nothing had changed. The sheep still stood in their places, unmoving, their eyes bright and hollow.
They would wait. They would always wait.
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