Five Terrible Things

On October 9th, Oakswood is busy with people. They stream from houses, slowing and speeding up, but all heading to the same place: the thick forest in the northeast corner of the small town. Each person holds an object in their hands; most clutch a piece of paper, but some have objects ranging from a small necklace to a tooth. Every person wears the same glazed stare, looking at nothing but heads angled to the direction of the forest, mouths open slightly. Their fingers never brush another's, their shoulders never push past anyone. They begin to slow until everyone walks at the same pace. As rain starts up, not a single person flinches, or even seems to notice. No one speaks and a dazed silence hangs over the group as a half moon shines brilliantly overhead, reflecting in the shallow puddles collecting on the grass. Soon, the mass reaches the middle of the forest, and as they do, they drop to their knees as one. A woman's voice rises above the wind and the rain with a single sentence: "Keeper, here are five terrible things."