It was the 20th of December, and the whole village of Witinshott was busy with seasonal excitement. Every home had a holly wreath on its door, every fireplace was adorned with festive greenery, and every hearth had its traditional wooden bowl in front of the fire. At 8 o’clock, all of the residents of this tiny hamlet made their way to the village green and the ancient stone circle that had been the center of the community’s attention for generations. They all stood in a circle with the large table-like stone in the middle. Mr. Patterson stood in front of the small crowd, wrapped up in his large sheepskin jacket and wearing a soft brown fedora hat.

“Thank you, my friends, for joining us today. It is that time of year again. I hope you have prepared and are all ready for this evening and tomorrow evening. It is our burden to bear, and we do so with pride and resolution. I do not want to say much more, but I implore you to follow the rules to the letter so that we may all enjoy this festive season in harmony and safety.”

There was a small smattering of applause, and the crowd dispersed quietly. As quickly as they had appeared, every door in the village clicked shut, and every light was extinguished. Suddenly there was no life in the village. Then, at one window, a candle appeared, and another, and then another, until every window in the village had one candle battling the darkness. It was still, it was cold, it was quiet.

The following day was like any other. People bustled around the village, stopping and chatting, getting on with work, and eventually retiring to their homes for dinner. As the sun fell behind the trees that encircled the village, peace descended, and snakes of white smoke crept up and out of the chimneys, marking those settled in for a comfortable evening.

At ten to nine, a door creaked open, and a hooded figure stepped out and walked to the center of the stones. Soon after, all of the doors opened, and more hooded figures crept into the center of the village, creating a circle around the stones. The first figure held its hand out, and the crowd fell silent.

"It is the Yule Solstice. We make our offering to Hegar, the protector of our village."

As he said this, a second figure appeared in the center, leading a pig ahead of it. They stopped next to the other figure at the large flat center stone and whispered something into the ear of the pig.

"I invite you to mark the offering with your familial blood."

Almost simultaneously, every cloaked figure drew the small wooden bowl that they had brought from their hearth from underneath their cloak and walked towards the pig. Each in turn dipped their forefingers into the bowl and drew a symbol in thick red blood on the back of the oblivious animal. Once they had drawn it, they turned and returned to their former position. When they had all completed their task and returned to the circle, the figure leading everything stepped forward to the head of the pig, holding a long, curved knife.

"Hegar, we thank you for another year’s protection."

And with a swift action, he wrapped his arm around the pig's neck and whipped it back. There was a muffled squeal, a gurgle, and then the pig stumbled, fell, and shuddered to the floor.

The hooded figures drew closer and lifted the dead creature onto the stone, where they began decorating it with leaves, flowers, and fruit. They all paused for a moment before they turned and made their way back to their homes. Once the final door closed, every light clicked off, the smoke gradually drifted away, and the village plunged into a deep sleep.

The following day, the village was back to its charming self. Children played on the green in their winter coats and hats, adults bustled around trying to prepare for Christmas. As the evening closed in, the village pub began to fill with people and noise. The door clicked and opened, and the large figure of Mr. Patterson filled the frame. He walked to the bar, and without saying a word, he was handed a tankard of foaming ale.

"Mr. Patterson, may I have a word?"

Mr. Patterson turned to see a younger and smaller man with a nervous expression standing next to him.

"Can I ask a question? It’s just, I am worried that maybe Hegar is not really protecting us and maybe we need to think about doing something about it."

Mr. Patterson took a deep gulp from his drink and then set it onto the bar.

"And why do you think this, considering this has been a tradition that stretches back hundreds, maybe thousands of generations? Do you think we should change now?”

“I’m not sure, but last night Butler’s horse miscarried. The Gregg family lost all of their chickens.”

Another man stood up and stepped towards Mr. Patterson.

“I lost my cat last night. I think Derek’s right. Maybe we need to ask the question.”

Patterson shook his head.

“And what, dare I ask, is the alternative?”

Nobody spoke, and a silence blanketed the pub. For a few moments, the small bar area sat still, nobody daring to be the next to speak. Then, with a click, the door opened, and a woman walked in, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“Dotty is gone. I saw her yesterday, but her curtains were drawn this morning, so I went in and found her. She didn’t die naturally. Her face... Oh god, her face.”

Everyone in the pub looked around and instinctively looked at the big Mr. Patterson, who was calmly drinking his beer. Before he could say anything, another woman from across the room stood up.

“I think it’s time we looked again at what we are doing. If Hegar is taking people now, why are we following him?”

Mr. Patterson, who had remained unmoved, placed his drink down again.

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Colmaid. We can summon her at the summer solstice. She only demands the head of an adder laid on a bed of elderflower. I think we should consider it.”

Mr. Patterson paused for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“If it is the will of the whole village, then we shall do it.”

The sun shone brightly on the village as the final preparations began for the veneration of Colmaid during the Summer Solstice celebrations. The ancient tribute had been located and translated as closely as possible. This particular part of the preparations had been done with much debate and some dispute, but ultimately it had been completed to general satisfaction. The residents were to be all there, children and elderly alike, surrounding the central stone where the offering had to be placed and the tribute read.

The villagers arrived on time as the sun began to fall, and the beautiful red-orange glow warmed the stone circle. Mr. Patterson stepped forward and stood behind the beautifully decorated central stone.

“Welcome, my friends. We are here tonight to welcome the benevolent Colmaid. We ask her to come to our village and walk among us. To this end, I call out:

"Colmaid who takes the young and old in her hands. She who holds the sun’s power in her heart. See our offerings and bless us with your presence.”

Mr. Patterson produced a small flask from his pocket and poured the contents over the stone, and the gathered crowd fell silent. The air seemed to pause, and the scene was still and expectant.

Far over at the tree line, there was a rustle, and a handful of starlings fluttered up into the sky. Then, without warning, they dropped like stones to the floor, and the rustling was joined by a whistling. There was a moment of confusion before the whoosh of what seemed like an enormous wind whipped around the stone circle. The people turned and made to run towards their homes but were hemmed in by an invisible wall of motion.

Then came the first thud. A woman crumpled to the floor, the life drained from her. Before anyone could react, there was another, and another, until the sound of the falling bodies seemed a constant soundtrack. At the center of it all, Mr. Patterson crouched behind the center stone, frozen with fear.

As quickly as it had begun, it stopped. Mr. Patterson looked up. Around him were the stricken corpses of his friends and neighbors. He sensed something behind him. He turned on his knees, and rising above him was a monstrous figure. Towering over him, she grasped his collar with her bony hands and lifted him towards her skeletal face. Her dark eyes seemed to glint as she spoke.

“You fools. Why did you forsake Hegar? He was protecting you.

From me.”