Brazen Folk Horror

Chapter 4

We’re about a month away from Mabon, celebrating the final harvest. For some who celebrate the great cycle of the earth, Mabon is regarded as the lesser of the sabbats.
The shifting of light is different in the afternoon now. Between the blazing shards and shadows, this shift offers a hint of calmer days ahead. A promise of peace. These are the days of introspection as the earth settles and a time when we must appease restless spirits, ebbing ever closer to the thinning of the veil. Perhaps this time of introspective reflection is more aligned with particular personality traits. Maybe we all have that core of being either a child drawn to the light or one drawn to the dark deep within, and the season’s change calls to that soul source.
Ruthann’s fields are empty, and the hay bailed. Round bales rest in the fields like watchful sentinels, guarding mysterious secrets.
Natasha’s life in rural Scotland is settling into a more peaceful ebb and flow. Her chicken coop is full of chatter, as are her delightful children.
It’s an essential time of the year for the residents of Badb. Our village, always under the watchful eye of Delevan House, never forgets the traditions and rituals of this golden season that ensure continued security. Straying from the familiar born from the foundation of their lives might have dire consequences. We’re ensuring the lanterns are adequately fueled, tools sharpened, and preparations are underway for the dwindling energies of humans and the land to thrive.
But nothing is ever at peace in Delevan House.
It’s watching.
It’s listening.
Growing stronger.
The inhabitants are waiting.
Whispering.
They may even have eyes on you.