Hard times
The pale light of dawn crept through the cabin's curtains, casting a soft glow on the room's furnishings. Motes of dust danced in the air, illuminated by the first tentative rays of sunlight. The floorboards creaked, settling into the day's warmth after the cool night. In the stillness of the early morning, even the faintest sounds seemed amplified—the distant call of a loon on the lake, the gentle rustle of wind through the pines, the barely perceptible tick of the old mantel clock.
Blake stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as consciousness gradually returned. The remnants of a troubling dream clung to the edges of his mind, leaving him with a vague sense of unease. He blinked, trying to orient himself in the dim light. Beside him, Rose lay motionless. Her skin, usually warm and vibrant, now held an alabaster pallor that sent a chill through Blake's heart.
After the ritual performed the previous night, Dumpheries, Reggie and Randal had returned to their lives.