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The deer statue stood at the edge of the woods, where the cobblestone path turned to dirt and the lanterns grew sparse. Its stone eyes stared blindly into the forest, antlers draped in ivy, and hooves planted in a bed of dried leaves that didn't seem to stir with the wind.
Emma checked her watch. 11:59 PM.
Duskwind Hollow was dead quiet — no footsteps, no passing cars, not even a stray dog. Just the distant creak of weathered wood and the hush of pine needles rustling.
Then she heard it — a twig snapping behind the statue.
She turned fast, fingers brushing the switchblade in her pocket.
A young man stepped from the shadows.
Mid-twenties, unshaven, lean. He wore a flannel shirt and hiking boots, both worn to threads. His face was taut with wariness, but his eyes were sharp, watching her like a deer waiting to bolt.
"You're Emma," he said.
"And you sent the message," she replied.
He nodded once. "Name's Noah Kade. I've been watching them for years."
Emma narrowed her eyes. "Them?"
"The Crimson Table," he said softly. "The people who run this town. The ones who left those bones in the cave."
He pulled something from his jacket — a laminated photograph, yellowed and creased. It showed a group of men and women around a real table, dressed in ceremonial robes, faces covered in masks carved from bone. In front of them lay what looked like a carcass — human, skinned and splayed open like an offering.
"This is real," he said. "Taken ten years ago. The last Feast."
Emma stared at the photo, bile rising in her throat. "What is this? Some kind of cult?"
Noah shook his head. "Worse. It's bloodline, Emma. Family. Every ten years, they hold the Feast. Ten people are chosen — outsiders, drifters, anyone no one will miss. They disappear. The town pretends nothing happened. The Table eats."
She looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Why tell me?"
"Because they've already marked you. You poked the wrong cave, found the wrong bones. You think they don't know what you've seen?"
Emma tried to keep her voice steady. "Why not go to the state police?"
He gave a dry, bitter laugh. "The Hollow's isolated. Phones go down, roads get blocked, and any cop who comes too close either leaves confused… or doesn't leave at all."
Emma looked back at the statue. "And the town just accepts this?"
"They're part of it," he said. "Some willingly. Some too afraid to speak. But the Crimson Table keeps them fed, safe. It's their god, in a way. Feed it, and you prosper. Starve it, and you burn."
A branch snapped in the woods nearby.
Noah's head jerked toward the sound. "We don't have much time."
"Then what do we do?" Emma asked.
He turned back to her, eyes burning. "We find the names of this year's Harvest. We find proof. And we burn the Table to the ground."
More branches snapped. Footsteps — multiple this time. Quiet, practiced.
"Go," he whispered. "Back to the inn. Don't let them see you with me. I'll find you tomorrow."
Emma slipped back into the shadows, heart thudding.
Behind her, the forest swallowed Noah whole.
And beneath the earth, the Table stirred.