Blogtober 2025, Day 17: Luminous

 Lucy's Path: Chapter Seventeen


They came back after midnight, when the moon was sharp and the town asleep. Mark led the way, flashlight low. The woods seemed wider now, the path rearranged. Every crunch of dirt felt too loud, as if the forest disapproved of their return.

When they reached the clearing, the stone child gleamed faintly, its carved faces slick with dew. Small trinkets lay at its feet—buttons, pennies, scraps of ribbon, a cracked marble that pulsed with a luminous heartbeat in the dark. Sarah crouched, voice trembling. “It’s feeding on them. On the noise they made when they were loved.”

Tyler glanced up. “That’s insane.”

But the air disagreed. A low vibration rolled through the clearing, like something unseen drawing breath. Then—soft, deliberate—Emily’s humming began. Her voice floated from nowhere, sweet and broken, singing words no one recognized.

The sound thickened, weaving through the trees until it pressed against them, invisible but solid, like fog turned to glass. Mark clutched his head, the rhythm pulsing inside his skull. “It’s not her voice—it’s using her!”

The amulet hanging under his shirt flared white-hot. He tore it free, nearly dropping it, and jammed it into his pocket. The humming stopped.

Silence returned, deep and absolute. Then, from the stone child’s mouth, came a faint whisper—too low to be wind.

“Payment,” it said again, clearer this time. And behind them, something unseen began to move through the trees, circling closer, waiting to collect.

 


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Krampus Country Christmas: Day 1

Image
  Day 1: Welcome to Tinsel Bluff Holly Winters had three rules for surviving December: Don’t check the bank account before coffee. Don’t cry in front of customers. And never under any circumstances let the Christmas lights remind you of better years. Tinsel Bluff’s air smelled like snow and cinnamon, but at Winters’ Trees & Treats, the scent was more of pine sap, burnt sugar cookies, and mild dread. The “SAVE THE FARM!” banner stretched across the barn had begun to sag in the middle, giving the impression that even the slogan was tired of trying. Its message seemed to be more about somehow getting through the holidays than motivating others. Holly stood behind the counter of the small farm stand, blowing warmth into her hands as she watched her son, Max, chase a half-deflated Santa across the lot. The thing flopped through the snow like a wounded seal, and Max whooped after it in his puffy jacket, unbothered by the cold or the reality that the f...
Read more

Binge & Purge: Ted Lasso

Image
NOTE: A couple of times on the old blog I posted thoughts after bingeing a TV series. I called it "Binge &  Purge." I thought I'd bring the concept to this new space. What follows here is not so much a review of a show's quality, but how it left me feeling in this moment in my life. If you've not watched "Ted Lasso," be warned. Mild spoilers lie ahead. ***** Ted Lasso operates from the theory that we're all dealing with something and only through meaningful human relationships can we adequately overcome it. Sometimes you need to watch a show at just the right time to fully appreciate it. We were late to the party on Ted Lasso. There is only so much room on my plate for the buffet of streaming services. Apple TV+ was not an investment I had made much to the chagrin of those who implored me to watch Ted Lasso. Not wanting to repeat the peer pressure that came with not watching Breaking Bad , we borrowed our son's Apple TV+ subscription and dove...
Read more

A Krampus Country Christmas: Day 16

Image
  Chapter 16: Krampusnacht Approaches Snow came early that night. Thick, heavy flakes fell straight down without drifting, as if the sky were simply giving up and dumping everything it had left. Holly stood at the window long after Max had gone to bed, watching the storm settle over the ridge. The farmhouse creaked under the cold. The wind hummed low and strange against the eaves. Something about it set her teeth on edge. She tried to shake it off. Storms happened. Weather happened. But this felt deliberate. As though December itself had decided to lean in close and whisper. Max hadn’t told her about the dreams yet. Not all of them. Just that morning, he had mentioned something about a “red forest,” the trees glowing like embers, the snow falling upward instead of down. She’d assumed it was the result of too much cocoa and not enough sleep. But later, as she tucked him in, he held her hand tighter than usual. “Mom… if someone comes for me on Christmas… would you be scared?” She...
Read more