Chapter 5: Circle of Bones
Caleb wasted no time.
As Eastbury woke beneath a heavy, putrid fog, he wandered through alleyways and abandoned cemeteries, gathering what he needed: human bones — old, brittle, still stained with the memory of death.
Each fragment was wrapped in strips of cloth soaked in black salt, prepared with exacting care according to the diary’s instructions.
The circle had to be perfect.
A single flaw, and the creature would not merely be drawn — it would be freed from all restraints.
Meanwhile, the town was unraveling.
Reports of disappearances doubled in a matter of days.
Ordinary people — bakers, laborers, children — vanished without a trace, except for the bloody marks of three claws, now etched onto the doors of homes, schools, even the main chapel.
Some who remained had begun to change.
Their faces turned pale, their eyes bloodshot, their behavior erratic and violent. The forest’s corruption, radiating through the new Glawackus, had taken root not only in the soil, but in the flesh of the living.
Caleb saw it in the faces passing by on the street: neighbors smiling with too many teeth, shopkeepers with elongated, bony fingers, children laughing in dissonant whispers.
Time was running out.
By dusk, Caleb had completed the circle in the basement of the library, tracing the runes with his own blood.
At its center, he lit a fire of ancient roots and charred bones.
In the diary’s final line, his grandmother had warned:
"Call it. Face it. But know this: the forest does not forget. Nor does it forgive."
Caleb closed his eyes and began to chant the forbidden words.
At the top of the town, blue eyes opened — and began to descend.
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