Something wasn’t right.
The wraiths could feel it. A weakness, a flaw in the veil between the dead and the living. The holes that had pierced it were closed… but it wasn’t the same. Not quite.
Driven into a frenzy by the tantalising draw of real flesh, real life, the wraiths pounded the veil again and again. It rippled and warped, but held. Barely.
They renewed their attack, pushing and clawing, thinning the boundary until one creature, snarling and writhing, fought its way through.
The veil snapped back instantly, holding firm against the rest of the swarm, who screeched with frustration, but the damage was done.
Disoriented, the wraith stuttered through the air before steadying, sniffing. Searching through the darkened countryside for the intoxicating lure of blood pulsing through veins. Of life to feast on.