Dark was the night, as a thick fog blanketed the land mystic forces were at work, but nothing was known to the villagers. They went about their night in quiet reverance, it was their job to prepare for the festival, they were the priests. The priests carried candles as they marched through the streets checking lanterns bells and other religious instruments to make sure no evil would befall their people who now slumbered deep within the darkness of safe homes. But this darkness, was not like that of years past, this darkness was alive, a shadow with both form and function. A shadow that danced about in the flickering candle light waiting for a moment to strike. The elder priest knew something was amiss and urged his men to press on quickly, but to no avail, they had been trained to work diligently, never faltering and never rushing.
No one knows exactly what happened to them, many think no one ever will. The villagers were disturbed with what they found when they awoke, instead of new religious instruments, someone had painted the town red. Whispers began to echo once more, about the return of the blood soaked reaper, though none wanted to believe it. He had been gone for decades surely if he had been a real man he would be dead, but what if he wasn’t a man they thought. These thoughts kept them up at night and soon they left fires in the streets every night so never again was the night dark in their village. But was it enough?
Only time can tell.