The clearing appeared between the trunks like a wound in the forest. Fog pooled in the center, thick and low, spilling over roots and stones like slow water.

You stopped at the edge of the treeline. The figures below were already gathered — masked, painted, strange. A man in a white hoodie kicked at a stone. A tall figure with a mask stood silent as a statue. The one with the knife tapped it against his thigh, as if the sound alone kept him satisfied.

At the far side of the clearing, something appeared between the trees.

Tall. Too tall.

The figure stood motionless, hands at its sides, no face to speak of — just blank space where a face should be.

No one spoke. Even the whispering quieted.