The white sun casts a light over the swamp. The creatures are disturbed. I creep into their dreams at night and the voices tell them what to do. Leaving behind smells of rotting flesh, vomit, urine, and faeces. Flavouring their flesh with fear.
How long have I waited for this moment? Only two hundred years but it seems like an eternity. Time enough for the fear to subside and the stories to pass into legend. No more do the parents keep their children away from the river's edge.
The white sun restores me. The harvest will be good this year.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Word Count : 100