Rituals of the Crimson Moon

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The moon did not rise that night.

It leaked into the sky.

A deep, pulsing red spread through the clouds, thick and unnatural, as if something above had been torn open and left to drip.

The valley went silent.

No wind. No insects.

No distant animals.

Just the weight of something waiting.

Mara had been told never to look at the sky when it turned red.

So she didn’t.

She kept her eyes down as she walked.

But the light still found her.

It painted the ground in wet crimson, clinging to her boots like blood that refused to dry.

The path into Black Valley was not there during the day.

It only appeared when the moon bled.

And once you stepped onto it…

It did not let you turn around.

The first sound came from behind her.

Footsteps.

Not matching her rhythm.

Too slow.

Too heavy.

Mara stopped.

The footsteps didn’t.

They continued forward.

Closer.

Closer.

Until something passed her.

Without ever touching her.

She held her breath.

There was nothing there.

But the air smelled wrong now.

Iron.

And something sweet beneath it.

Rotting sweet.

“Keep walking.”

The voice came from her left.

She turned.

There was no one.

“Do not be late again.”

The ground shifted.

Not violently.

Just enough to remind her it wasn’t stable.

As if something underneath had rolled in its sleep.

The clearing opened without warning.

One step she was surrounded by trees.

The next, she wasn’t.

The Coven stood in a perfect circle.

Still.

Silent.

Watching.

Their velvet robes were darker than the night around them, absorbing the red glow instead of reflecting it.

Their faces were covered, but not with masks.

With skin.

Not their own.

At the center of the circle sat a stone basin.

Wide.

Shallow.

Filled to the brim with something thick and black.

It moved slowly.

Like it was breathing.

Mara felt it immediately.

Recognition.

Not fear.

Something worse.

Familiarity.

“You came back.”

The voice didn’t come from the Coven.

It came from the basin.

Mara’s throat tightened.

“I never left.”

A lie.

And the valley knew it.

The surface of the basin split open.

Not like liquid.

Like flesh being pulled apart.

Something rose.

Its shape refused to settle.

Limbs formed, then bent inward.

A torso stretched, then collapsed.

A face tried to exist, then slipped away.

But its eyes remained.

Fixed.

On her.

“You were meant to stay,” it said.

The Coven began to move.

Not in unison.

Not gracefully.

Each one shifted at a different time, like something was pulling their strings from different directions.

One stepped forward.

Its robe opened slightly.

Mara saw inside.

There was no body.

Just organs.

Stacked.

Layered.

Still moving.

“You broke the ritual,” the figure said.

Its voice came from somewhere inside its chest cavity.

Wet.

Strained.

Mara shook her head.

“I was a child.”

The basin rippled.

The thing inside it leaned forward.

“You were an offering.”

The ground split.

A narrow line at first.

Then wider.

Then deep enough to see into.

Hands reached up.

Hundreds of them.

All different.

All wrong.

Some were skeletal.

Some were bloated.

Some still had rings on their fingers.

They grabbed the edge of the stone.

Pulled.

Climbed.

Bodies followed.

Half-formed.

Torn.

Stitched together from pieces that didn’t belong.

The valley was giving them back.

Mara stepped backward.

The circle closed behind her.

No escape.

“You owe blood,” the Coven said.

A figure was dragged into the center.

Still alive.

Barely.

A man.

His face had been partially removed.

One eye hung loose, attached by a thin strand.

His mouth opened and closed, trying to scream, but his lungs filled with blood faster than he could breathe.

Mara felt something shift inside her chest.

A memory.

Her hands.

Covered in blood.

Years ago.

Standing in this same place.

Holding a blade.

“No,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

The blade appeared in her hand.

Cold.

Heavy.

Real.

The man on the ground looked at her.

What was left of his eye locked onto hers.

He knew.

The thing in the basin leaned closer.

“You remember now.”

The hands from the pit reached higher.

They grabbed the man’s legs.

Pulled.

His body stretched.

Not cleanly.

Not evenly.

Skin tore first.

A long, wet rip that echoed through the clearing.

Then muscle.

Then everything else.

He didn’t die immediately.

That was the worst part.

Mara could hear him trying to breathe.

Even as his chest opened.

Even as something inside him was being dragged downward.

“Finish it,” the Coven whispered.

Mara stepped forward.

Her hand shook.

The blade hovered over his throat.

Then she stopped.

The thing in the basin went still.

The valley went silent again.

“You would refuse?”

Mara lowered the blade.

“Yes.”

For a moment…

Nothing happened.

Then the man on the ground smiled.

It wasn’t relief.

It was recognition.

His remaining eye rolled back.

His jaw cracked open wider than it should.

And something inside him moved.

Fast.

It erupted out of his chest in a spray of blood and bone fragments, striking Mara before she could react.

Hot.

Thick.

Blinding.

The creature unfolded mid-air.

Limbs snapping into place.

Teeth forming as it screamed.

It hit the ground and lunged.

Mara stumbled back.

The blade still in her hand.

Too slow.

It tore into her shoulder.

Deep.

Violent.

She felt it digging.

Searching.

“Not offering,” the thing hissed.

“Vessel.”

The Coven stepped back.

This was no longer a ritual.

This was a correction.

Mara drove the blade forward.

Not into the creature.

Into herself.

The steel sank beneath her ribs.

The creature froze.

The basin screamed.

The ground convulsed.

Blood poured from the wound.

Not onto the ground.

Into it.

The valley drank.

Everything stopped.

The creature collapsed.

The hands retreated.

The basin sealed.

The red light dimmed.

Mara fell to her knees.

The Coven watched.

One of them stepped forward.

“You chose differently this time.”

Mara looked up.

Her vision fading.

“Did I break it?”

The figure tilted its head.

“No.”

A pause.

“You changed what comes next.”

Behind them, the ground began to move again.

Not opening.

Growing.

Something new was rising.

And above them…

The crimson moon split wider.

This time…

It did not stop bleeding.