The night was alive with warmth and song.Bonfires flickered in the village square, casting dancing shadows across weathered beams and cobblestone paths. Sparks spiraled into the air like wayward stars, and the scent of roasted meat hung thick, mingling with the earthy smell of burning pine.
It should have been a comforting night.Every year, Birmingham held the Harvest Vigil, a night of stories, music, and shared feasting — a night to give thanks for survival and prosperity. For Darrel, it had always been one of the happiest nights of the year. He remembered sitting beside his parents as a boy, watching storytellers weave grand tales of heroes and monsters.
But tonight, Darrel stood alone in the outer ring of the crowd, a silent figure at the edge of the firelight.
The world had changed.He had changed.
He tugged at his sleeve nervously, keeping his hood low. Whispers had followed him all day, after the incident in the square with Alex. He could still feel their eyes on him—villagers he'd known since childhood—now watching him as though he were some dangerous person they didn't quite trust him.
He'd wanted to stay home. But his Dad had insisted.
"People will forget faster if they see you acting normal," his dad had said gruffly.
So here he was, surrounded by light, music, and laughter that felt utterly alien.
At the center of the square, Marcus stood near one of the larger fires. He was radiant as always, wearing that same effortless smile that made people lean closer without realizing it. Alex, sporting a faint bruise on his jaw, sat beside him, pretending to laugh at some joke.
Darrel's stomach twisted.
Marcus caught his gaze.Their eyes met across the firelight.
Marcus smiled — not warmly, but like a lion spotting prey that had wandered too far from safety.
Darrel looked away immediately. He knew that smile now. It meant he had plans.
The night wore on. Songs gave way to games, and games gave way to stories. One of the elders, old Bran, began telling a funny tale about a trickster fox who fooled the king. The crowd laughed and clapped at every punchline, but Darrel's attention remained on Marcus.
He saw Marcus whispering into Alex's ear. Then Alex whispered to two other boys.The grin on Marcus' face widened.
A chill crept up Darrel's spine.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Marcus' voice rang out suddenly, loud enough to capture the crowd's attention. "Before old Bran steals all the entertainment, perhaps we could share a story of our own!"
The crowd turned toward him eagerly. Marcus was a natural performer; people loved his energy.
"Something more… recent," he added with a sly grin.
Darrel's chest tightened. No. Please, not here.
Marcus spread his arms theatrically. "A few days ago, right here in Birmingham, a certain someone gave us a performance unlike anything we've seen before."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Darrel's breath caught.
Marcus looked straight at him. "Darrel, why don't you come join us in the light?"
Dozens of heads turned to find him.
He wanted to Marcus. He wanted to turn and run. But his dad's earlier words echoed in his head: People will forget faster if they see you acting normal.
So he stepped forward, every movement stiff, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.
Marcus clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now, everyone here knows Darrel's quite the dancer…"
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Heat rushed to Darrel's face as memories of the square came flooding back—the spinning, the forced laughter, the crawling. The humiliation.
"Why don't you give us a little spin?" Marcus teased, making a twirling gesture with his finger.
Darrel froze.
"Go on," Alex shouted from the other side of the fire. "Don't be shy, puppet!"
Laughter roared through the night like a wave crashing over him.
Darrel's fists clenched. "Stop," he fumed.
"What was that?" Marcus said mockingly, cupping his ear.
"I said STOP!" Darrel's voice broke out louder, trembling with rage.
But Marcus only smiled wider. "Oh, I think the crowd wants it. Don't you?"
The villagers, half drunk on mead and merriment, cheered without understanding the cruelty beneath the joke.
"Dance, Darrel!" someone shouted."Puppet dance!" another echoed.
The chant grew."Dance! Dance! Dance!"
Marcus' eyes caught his again. For a heartbeat, Darrel felt it—the familiar pull, the chains sliding like a noose around his thoughts.
Not here. Please not here.
He fought against it with everything he had. But the pressure built. His vision tunneled. His limbs twitched.
The crowd cheered, mistaking his struggle for hesitation.
Then Marcus whispered, just loud enough for Darrel to hear: "Obey."
The world dimmed.
His arms lifted. His legs began to move. Against his will, Darrel stepped into the firelight, spinning stiffly like a marionette. Laughter exploded from all directions, bouncing off the walls, filling his ears, choking him.
He twirled.He bowed.He waved.
The villagers clapped and cheered, not out of cruelty, but because they thought it was a game. They didn't see the horror in his eyes.
And then — he heard it.
Laughter. Familiar. Close.
He turned his head slightly. His family stood among the crowd.
His dad was laughing. His older brother was laughing too, though awkwardly, glancing at others for cues. Even his mother covered her mouth to stifle a smile, perhaps thinking he was playing along.
They didn't understand.
But that didn't matter.Their laughter struck harder than all the others combined.
Inside Darrel, something shattered.
The sound of their laughter burned itself into his heart, deeper than Marcus' commands, deeper than the crowd's mockery.
He wasn't just humiliated.He was isolated.
Marcus finally released him. The chains snapped. Darrel stumbled, falling hard on the dirt in front of everyone.
The crowd laughed even louder, thinking it part of the act.
Marcus clapped theatrically. "A round of applause for our star performer! Truly unforgettable."
The crowd roared in applause.
Darrel lay there, staring up at the swirling sparks rising into the night sky. His throat burned, but no sound came out.
Somewhere, deep in the growing darkness of his heart, a single vow formed.Cold. Sharp. Unbreakable.
I will make you regret this.
His eyes flicked to Marcus.And then, briefly, to his family.
The fire crackled.The laughter carried on.But in Darrel's chest, something new began to take root — a shadow that would no longer be silent.