The Beast in the Storm
Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Tempest'
“Father, why does that storm look weird?”
"Hmm?" Jake heard his son at the shed door, turning to look at the storm, and what had been a face of confusion slowly drained to terror. "Get your mother, go to the cellar." The 'storm' his son had noticed was little more than a black smudge floating low under a cloudless sky, and Jake hoped it was unlike the one he'd seen as a child, the one that had stolen his own father.
"What about you?" His son asked as Jake made his way to an old footlocker, one he had spent years happily ignoring, save to maintain what rested inside on dark nights when he couldn't sleep.
"I said go, son. I'll be along after, your mother knows why. GO!" Jake repeated as he opened the two locks, pausing to steady his nerves. Inside was a fearsome thing, a charred black staff of ancient gnarled, something that Jake hoped was only wood. What was normally an almost imperceptible vibration in his hands was instead a violent juddering as though he had swung it against a metal post. Jake swore under his breath and looked back at the storm, seeing it loom larger in the sky. It was not that it had grown, but it was much closer, close enough to see the yellow flashes within.
And the outlined shadow stalking in the black clouds.
The choice had come. The choice his every forebear had made, else he'd have never lived. A deal had been made long ago, long enough to have almost been forgotten. 'Keep the staff, seal the chaos, and your line will never end' said the deranged scratchings in the lockers lid. Could they be trusted? Could the deal be fettered? Dare he try? He looked around, his eyes settling on a handsaw nearby. Was his fate his own? What of his son's? His wife's?
The 'storm' was close enough to smell now, a noxious thing. The air wasn't charged, though, it felt alive, and every strip of wind had run away. Just like Jake wanted to. Even as he held that handsaw to the staff, every fibre of the world itself silently screamed, 'RUN.' He pushed the saw forward, blood spurting forth from the staff, and the silent scream became real, emanating from the shadow at his shed's door.
Be careful of the deals you make
What sounds great at one time will be seen as a compact
at some other time.
Break the staff, save your family
Even if the cost is your own life.