At twilight when the sky is red from the gods bloodshed, and the sun is completing its plough across the sky, is when the world finally livens.

It is when what has been hidden and forgotten in the daylight, dares to come out.

You might have caught a glimpse of them without even knowing, by seeing the scorched ground, a light coming from the hills, seeing a ‘shooting star’, or even just felt a sudden itching.

The Hidden are everywhere for they are a part of nature itself, their hearts beating alongside it. Despite you no longer seeing them, they still see you, making it easier than ever to find victims for their mischief. 

Only a short road stretch from the woods lay a miserable little town, with more abandoned houses than lived in.

It is a town like many others that suffers from people fleeing to the cities, where there are jobs, supermarkets, and the majority of people do not have one foot in the grave. 

Despite that, some still go out on a limb to establish a new home due to the cheap housing. One of these people are a small family of three, just having moved into an rickety old house at the edge of the village.

In the house's nursery has the summer storm pried the window off its rotten frame. The infants screeching can hardly be heard over the howling of the wind and the lashing of the rain.

Despite the babies cries going unnoticed by the parents, is it heard loud and clear by the mother of the woods.

With her supernatural hearing she can hear the howls of her children throughout the forest, always ready to fiercely protect them from the dangers of the day. So when she hears the pitiful cries of the child, her motherly instincts kick in, and she begins her trod towards the house.

She steps out into the moonlight revealing her ghastly appearance. She is stumpy and plump with her bosom reaching her knees, and the face of a hag.

Unlike many humans, she and her brethren have no shame in their appearance, instead letting it bear witness to their many years of life and status as a mother. 

She slings her breast over her shoulder, to keep her from tripping as she jumps the fence. Creeping over to the open window, leaning over the frame, she peers at the cute child.

She reaches for the drenched infant, its skin red and blotchy from all the crying, but otherwise well. Cradling the child in her arms till it calms, she quickly makes up her mind to keep it.

She reaches for the foul hole in her back, blindly searching through her spawns feeding from the overslung breasts, till she finds the child she is looking for.

She has always found it of greater convenience to carry her children in her back, as opposed to a straw basket. 

The spawn is a pitiful thing. Unlike her other children from the batch, this one must have been separated from the others in the pond.

It is crucial that they get enough milk when they are still in the developing stages, indistinguishable from tadpoles, and living in the pond.

Her child's voice never fully developed, unlike its siblings that scream like nightowls,  it can only produce choked noises. There is no use for a child that will never be able to sing. 

She switches the children around, holding the human infant tight as she deposits her spawn in the crib. She gives her spawn a gentle forehead kiss, before fleeing towards the hills with her newly acquired child. 

It is summer so the twilight stretches long but the night is sparse. She must hurry so as to not get caught by the daylight, the sky has already begun to lighten, there is no time to be sentimental.