Ritual Under the Moon

The air in the ancient cabin was thick with a silence that pressed in on Leo, a tangible weight against his eardrums. Moonlight, fractured by grimy panes, painted long, skeletal fingers across the dusty floorboards. Ethan, his face pale and drawn, clutched Leo’s arm, his knuckles white against the rough fabric of Leo’s jacket. Caleb, stripped of his usual boisterous humor, sat hunched by the hearth, his gaze fixed on the cold ashes as if searching for answers in their grey depths. Hubert, ever stoic, stood sentinel by the doorway, his silent presence an unnerving anchor in the swirling unease.

“A ritual,” Leo whispered, the word catching in his throat. He ran a trembling hand over the crude symbols etched into the wooden table before them. They were similar to the markings he’d seen on the trees deeper in the woods, symbols that had pricked at his unease from the very beginning. “It’s… it’s some kind of ritual.”

Ethan let out a choked sob. “What does that even mean? What are they doing?”