The sound of the wind whistling made him rethink the idea of ​​getting lost in the trees, but curiosity is stronger than the desire to run away. The empty streets of the town were irrefutable proof that something was not right, what could happen on the eve of the mass for holy supper? The church father was supposed to have answers or some explanation, but he wasn't there either.

A noise echoed in the dark, getting closer and closer. Why are the trees starting to look strange? Going back is not a bad idea, his father always told him: "do not go into the forest without company", but nobody knows about obeying when the mystery calls.

Voices, like lost whispers, came as an invitation, was getting closer to knowing. The leaves rustled under his feet, perhaps they were warnings, if he had listened to nature he would have learned a great lesson.

They are murmurs and a drum, the flames illuminate a clearing with the ferocity of the orange breath of a dragon, the night sky opens its eyes almost in derision and the sparks are mistaken for fireflies.

Everything is silent, the looks are perverse and despite knowing their faces right now they seem monsters. The murmur returns with effusiveness, talks about the right time, a divine choice, a gift from heaven to achieve holiness. The chimes of midnight are heard, his screams of horror are mixed with pleas to his father, he asks for mercy, but the blinded beasts do not know about it.

His blood fills a jug as if it were a wine barrel, his cut flesh is in the right hand of each monster, the holy father's prayer promises eternal life and The Lord's Supper culminates under the thousands of eyes of heaven night.