Another entry
The drumbeat echoed in the oddly empty landscape. BadumBadumBadumBadumBadum, the deep staccato beat sounded back from the distant trees. Spencer Mallon stood holding Roswell, a lovely tuxedo cat, just inside the edge of the trees while looking across the empty snowy field in wonderment. He was gathering those who would come to him, gathering them for something BIG. The sound of the drum was not an alien sound here in Wisconsin. The tribes held powwows often, but the sound that issued from the field of pristine, unbroken snow was different. It had no source, and that was why the ritual needed to be held here. ”One more day,” Spencer thought. ”Just one more day and this will be done.” The smile that stretched across his gaunt face was something that would chill the blood of even the staunchest heart, but Roswell seemed not to mind a tiny bit.
“Get to sleep,” Spencer said to the small group. “Tomorrow is the big day and we all need to be in peak condition for what is waiting for us.”
A few of the people grumbled, but they all went into their tents and zipped them tight as night descended and drumbeats ceased.
The next morning dawned crisp and cold, the snow still unbroken by any human or animal presence. Roswell prowled the camp, eyeing the other humans who had gathered because of the strange, charismatic madman’s beckoning. As the sun began to rise above the tops of the trees the drum began beating again even louder. The ten people with Spencer and Roswell felt the music in their limbs and began moving to the deep yet rapid beat, being pulled against their will toward the eerie field that stretched before them. Spencer Mallon smiled at this as the first man broke the tree line. He scooped up Roswell and buried his face in her fur for a moment, murmuring so that only she could hear. As the last person jerked into the field, he set her down and followed, the same gruesome smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Get to sleep,” Spencer said to the small group. “Tomorrow is the big day and we all need to be in peak condition for what is waiting for us.”
A few of the people grumbled, but they all went into their tents and zipped them tight as night descended and drumbeats ceased.
The next morning dawned crisp and cold, the snow still unbroken by any human or animal presence. Roswell prowled the camp, eyeing the other humans who had gathered because of the strange, charismatic madman’s beckoning. As the sun began to rise above the tops of the trees the drum began beating again even louder. The ten people with Spencer and Roswell felt the music in their limbs and began moving to the deep yet rapid beat, being pulled against their will toward the eerie field that stretched before them. Spencer Mallon smiled at this as the first man broke the tree line. He scooped up Roswell and buried his face in her fur for a moment, murmuring so that only she could hear. As the last person jerked into the field, he set her down and followed, the same gruesome smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.