I woke early, still stiff from yesterday. Sleep didn't bring rest — just images of the voice, the footprints, the radio sitting at the base of the tower. My chest was tight, stomach knotted, but I forced myself up. Routine first. Coffee, beans, check gear, check radio — though I didn't touch it more than necessary.
The forest outside was misty. Sunlight barely penetrated the thick canopy, making everything muted and gray. The valley looked calm, almost peaceful. But I knew better.
I ate quickly, chewing mechanically. My thoughts were elsewhere, going over last night. Fresh footprints around the base, the radio sitting where it shouldn't have been. Whoever had left it there — whoever had been close enough to place it — was patient. They'd been waiting. Watching.
By mid-afternoon, I climbed to the observation platform. I kept the camcorder on the tripod, lens pointed toward the valley. I didn't want to miss anything. I needed proof — for myself, if nothing else.
The forest stayed quiet all day. No birds. No wind. Even the creak of the tower seemed softer than usual. I kept scanning, binoculars ready.
Then, near dusk, the fire appeared again. Faint at first, orange glimmering through the valley shadows.
I lifted the binoculars. Six figures, standing as always, surrounding the flame. They swayed slowly, in rhythm. But this time, they weren't alone in the firelight.
Something small, dark, wriggling, appeared in the hands of one figure. My stomach twisted as I adjusted focus.
It was alive.
A rabbit. Or something similar — small, soft, helpless. Its legs kicked weakly, its body rigid in the grasp of the figure. I could see it clearly now.
The six figures raised it above their heads simultaneously. A low chant began, quiet at first, then rising in volume. Their voices blended into a steady hum, rhythmic, intentional. The flames reflected on their skin and clothes, flickering, warping their shapes into something unreal.
I reached for the camcorder, hands shaking. My fingers trembled as I hit record. Zoomed in slowly, carefully, keeping the figures framed.
The chanting rose louder. My stomach knotted again. The figure holding the animal looked at the others, then down at the fire.
Then it happened.
One of the figures — the farthest left, slightly apart from the others — stopped swaying. Its head tilted slowly. And it looked straight at me.
I froze. My fingers gripped the camcorder tight. My pulse hammered in my ears.
It raised an arm slowly. Not to the fire. Not to the others.
It pointed. Right at me.
I jerked back instinctively, almost dropping the camera.
The flashlight beside me, clipped to the railing for safety, flickered violently. Then went out.
Dark.
I stared at the empty night outside, chest heaving, eyes wide. The valley glimmered faintly from the fire, but the figures were blurred shadows now.
I could still feel the gaze. That arm. The finger pointing directly at me.
I swallowed hard. The camcorder was still recording. The lens had stayed on them through the flickering light. I forced myself to lift it slightly, aiming toward the valley, trying to capture anything else.
The chanting rose again, louder now. Not humanly loud — more than one voice? Somehow amplified. The flames reflected on the figure holding the rabbit, orange glint catching its face. No expression I could read, only intent.
And then the animal. The small body twisted, jerking in rhythm with the chant.
My stomach turned. I had to look away for a moment, blinking hard, gripping the tripod to steady myself. I could feel my hands sweating.
When I looked back, the figure on the left was gone from my view. Not out of frame — gone. Nothing but empty darkness between the trees.
I spun slowly, scanning the ridge, searching for movement.
Nothing.
Then I realized the rest were still in formation, still swaying, still chanting. The firelight reflecting off them was steady, hypnotic.
I stayed crouched behind the railing, flashlight dead at my feet. My thoughts were racing — rationalizations, excuses, anything to keep myself sane.
It's a ritual. Pagan nonsense. Locals messing with me. Nothing more. Nothing real.
But deep down, I knew better.
The figure had looked at me. Pointed at me. That was communication. Not coincidence. Not chance.
I kept recording, focusing on the fire and the six figures. The chant continued, rising, ebbing. The figure holding the animal slowly lowered it back to the fire. The flames reflected off it, orange flicker revealing fur, small limbs. My stomach twisted again.
I pressed record harder, zooming in as much as the tripod allowed. The video needed to exist. Proof. Something I could use to understand what I was dealing with.
The chanting slowed, fading slightly as the fire dimmed. I backed up from the railing, hands trembling.
Then a new sound. Low. Almost a hiss from the trees surrounding the clearing.
I swung the binoculars toward the sound. Shadows moved. Not like the six figures in formation. Something slower, deliberate, weaving between trunks. I couldn't make out exactly what, but it was moving toward the tower.
I froze.
My mind screamed Don't look! Don't interact! But I couldn't stop myself.
The chanting ended abruptly. Silence fell over the valley, thick and heavy. The fire burned low, casting only faint light.
And then, just for a moment, I thought I saw the sixth figure glance up. Head tilted again. I blinked — maybe a trick of the flame.
I turned the camcorder off, dropping it to the platform with a thud. My hands were shaking uncontrollably.
I stepped back from the railing, pressing my back against the wall. My flashlight was useless. Darkness pressed in on all sides.
I tried to rationalize: They're gone. Fire fading. Animal… whatever it was… nothing more. No one's coming up here.
But the line of movement I saw from the trees — it hadn't disappeared. It had just paused, waiting.
I forced myself to eat a little, jerky and crackers. My hands shook as I chewed. Each bite felt like it took all the effort in the world.
I wrote in my journal, even though I didn't want to:
Day Eleven. Fire circle observed. Six figures present. Holding an animal — rabbit or similar — above flames. Chanting louder than before. Recorded on camcorder. One figure looked up and pointed directly at tower. Flashlight flickered and failed. Observation: increased risk of interaction. Emotional state: elevated fear, stress, hypervigilant.
I underlined the last part twice.
The night stretched on slowly. I didn't move from the desk for hours. Every creak in the tower made me jump. Every shadow outside the window felt alive.
When I finally allowed myself to lie down, I left the camcorder recording in place, lens pointed at the valley.
The last thing I saw before my eyes finally closed: the firelight flickering, shadows swaying.
And in the corner of my vision, a faint shape — darker than the trees — watching from just beyond the ridge.