It is dark in the swamp tonight.

Of course, it is often dark in the swamp, massive trees rising up and obscuring the sky, casting a perpetual gloom over the murky waters and banks of mud. But tonight is darker than normal, for clouds fill the heavens, a thick blanket hiding the moon and stars. There is still light, enough to see by anyway, though it is not safe. Swamp gases ignite into will-o-the-wisps, dancing temptingly over hidden bogs, daring one to follow. Eyes gleam in the trees, their owners shrouded in shadow and curtains of moss. Somewhere, deep in the marsh, there is a patch of glowing lichen, poisonous but beautiful.

This is the light in the swamp.

And near a thick patch of corpse lights, stands the ghoul. He is not alone, not tonight, for he is surrounded by bones and scraps of flesh, arranged neatly in a half circle. Most of his companions are skulls, grinning eerily in the dim illumination, fire and shadow granting them the illusion of movement. They watch sightlessly, focused on the unicorn stallion standing before them, the perfect audience, silent and captive.

The ghoul is speaking.

Stories flow from his midnight mouth, one after another, a never-ending flood of them. First, he tells the bones of the Boogeystallion, who comes at night and steals away foals to eat. The Sandcougar, that fierce monster who will scratch out the eyes of those who won't sleep when it sings. Blooddrinkers and cannibals, giants and fae, angels and devils, he has tales of all. Even eldritch horrors are spoken of this night, and the ghouls eyes are shining with excitement as he shares his legends.

But then he comes to his favorite, and he leans forward, looking firmly at each of his dead listeners, daring them to speak. None do, and he is satisfied, settling back again. For he loves this tale, searches endlessly for it's star, and will tolerate no ridicule. "Look for the mare with a tan coat," he starts, deep voice filled with adoration. "Her pelt the color of sand, and mane the color of midnight. She only walks at dusk, and only in shadow, and she is beautiful. And when she comes to you, she will ask if you think her beautiful. But before you speak, she releases her glamour, and you see her mouth is ripped apart, all the way up to her eyes, with her tongue lolling out and teeth razor sharp. And again she will ask if she is beautiful. And though she is, you mustn't say so, because if you do she will use her magic to rip your mouth the same way. But if you say no, she will cut off your head, and if you run she will slice you in two." Smiling, he pauses, building suspense for his imagined rapt listeners. Then, in lowered voice, as if imparting some great secret, he continues. "You must be brave, and you must lie and tell her she is average. Then, while she's confused, you can run, run until you reach home, for she cannot follow you there."

In the swamp, it is dark.
In the dark, the ghoul is telling stories.
All of his stories are true.