“I—“ Lance stammers, and he turns back on instinct, only to see that now approaching them is a verifiable crowd of ghosts. There are something like twenty in all, and Lance pales to see them all together, drifting forward like a silent, iridescent sea.

“They’re warning us,” he says of the bell, his voice small as he takes a step back and the spirits overtake the party. They drift through en masse, unavoidable, only as ever to proceed forward through the woods.

In the distance glows an eerie light where they’ve begun to stop. To gather.