Invitation to the Gathering

Harper Kane almost deleted the email out of habit. Subject line: Special Invitation: Harvest Gathering, Red Pines. A clean, unadorned font. No sender name, just an address tangled in random numbers. She hovered, thumb over trash. But the ache for sleep—real sleep, the kind that insulated you against dreams—had kept her awake for too many nights. Distraction or disaster? She read on:

Come, witness the ceremonies beneath the Blood Moon. Experience what cannot be told.

Below, a digital flyer depicting backlit trees and a red, swollen moon. Harper's blood prickled. She pictured her friends, huddled and whispering, plotting ways to drag her out of town. She screenshot the flyer and texted: “This you?”

Within minutes: Mia’s reply, all caps. ‘YESSSS!!! PLEASE HARPER. You promised. Weekend. Woods. Us. Rituals. (jk lol).’

Lex chimed in: ‘If you bail, you’ll literally owe me kidney rights.’

Tori, cryptic as usual: ‘Some things want to be seen. Not everything, though.’

Danny, a late interjection: ‘It’ll be fun. I’ll bring the real food, not Lex’s ‘meat sticks.’ RSVP Mia before she camps on your lawn.’

Four friends orbiting Harper, gravitational as always. She thought about her old scars: mottled and pale, crossing her inner thigh. The woods, miles from everything, promised a sort of silence. Or maybe just more ghosts. She’d never know until she said yes.

‘Fine,’ she sent. ‘But if you summon anything weird, I’m out. Mia, you drive.’

They left before sunrise Saturday, Lex already shouting shotgun. The car—a battered, sun-bleached Honda—smelled of vanilla air freshener and muddy boots. Rations: three bags Doritos, a twelve-pack of flat Coke, and Tori’s impressive cache of herbal teas. Danny had packed a worn copy of The Field Guide to Edible Foliage.

Harper glanced at Mia. “You checked tire pressure?”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Relax, Mom. It’s a two-hour drive. What’s the worst that happens?”

Lex grinned, “Last time you said that, we found a squirrel in the radiator.”

Harper and Mia snorted. Tori leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Did you guys actually read the invitation? The Blood Moon part?”

Danny made a strangled sound. “You don’t really believe any of that cult stuff, do you?”

“Not a cult,” Tori said softly. “Just—rituals. Ceremonies. This forest has stories. They should be heard.”

Mia nudged Harper. “Ignore her. She’s been mainlining creepypasta since July.”

For the next hour, the road narrowed, civilization dissolving into mist-shrouded pine. Street signs vanished, replaced by moss-cloaked mile markers. Lex took selfies every five minutes. Harper pretended to nap, growing hyperaware of the woods thickening around them.

A faded gas station, its letters half-crumbling into dust, broke the monotony. A red pickup sat out front, ancient and battered. Harper forced herself out while Mia bought snacks, the others stayed behind arguing over playlists.

The bell over the door croaked as she entered. The attendant was nobody—mid-fifties, eyes like washed-out denim, beard in a perpetual twitch. She recognized the type. Local. Watching, always.

“You kids camping up in Red Pines?” he asked, voice gravel slow.

She managed a cautious nod. “Just a weekend. Group thing.”

He scowled. “Full moon soon. Blood Moon, they say. Woods get hungry.”

Harper locked onto his gaze. “You believe all that old legend stuff?”

He shrugged. “Belief don’t matter. Folks go up there, sometimes they don’t come back. You see any strange signs, you leave.”

Mia breezed in, arms laden with snacks. “Everything good, H?”

The attendant just watched, silent now. Harper paid and left, heart thudding against her chest.

They parked down a rutted fire road, lugging gear along a half-faded trail. Lex led, machete in hand, hacking through brambles with unnecessary enthusiasm. Tori muttered half-remembered chants, trilling at every odd-shaped root.

The site stretched before them: ringed with pines, a hollow patterned with last autumn’s leaves. A rough-hewn circle of stones squatted at the center. Someone—recently—had painted runes on every boulder.

Danny stopped dead. “What the hell is that?”

Harper squatted, tracing one crimson symbol. The pigment flaked under her finger; it stank of rust and rot. “Not paint. Something else.”

Mia knelt beside her. “Dare you to lick it.”

Lex gagged. “It’s probably fox blood. Or, you know, serial killer stuff.”

Tori stared at the runes, voice shaky. “I’ve seen this online. They’re protection sigils. Or invitations.”

The wind gusted hot and sharp through the circle. Leaves danced. Shadows slithered.

Danny broke the tension, setting up the tent with mechanical precision. The others drank warm Coke, talking low, refusing to meet Harper’s eyes.

As dusk bled into night, the sigils seemed to glow. The woods pressed in—hungry, expectant.

Harper wrapped her arms around her knees, the old ache in her scars burning.

She was here. They all were. Whatever waited beneath the Blood Moon, it had already noticed them.