Moonlight cascaded through the glass of the visitor centre. The building seemed to absorb the light, a seething black void nestled in the heart of the town. It was the opposite of how it appeared during the day, the gleaming modern construction transforming into something dark and terrible. It was stark, monolithic, like some ancient tribute to a long-forgotten god. Within its midnight void, something moved, a shadow barely discernible with the tomb-like building.

The shadow took up its place amongst the others. They stood around the main hall of the centre, the exhibits moved to the side to make room. All except one. That relic had been lovingly placed in the centre of the circle, removed from its glass case and sat gently on the floor. It was a perfect pillar, cast from perfectly interlocked horns and antlers. It gleamed, seemingly sucking in the moonlight that had been trapped in its glass prison.

One of the shadows stepped forward into the low light. It was cloaked in a heavy robe, the large hood concealing its face. It clutched a bushel of dried plants in his hands, a mixture of browned reeds and desiccated herbs. The robed figure knelt, placing the plants gently around the pillar, pushing them tight against its base. It stood back up, and stepped backwards, taking its place in the circle.

“Good evening brothers and sisters,” said one of the robed figures, a mans voice booming across the hall. “Things are moving as we planned. Our prayers have not gone unheard, and two sacrifices have been collected.”

“Cernunnos acts quickly it would seem,” said another of the figures, this time a woman.

“It has been effective, certainly,” said a third voice. “I am concerned about the...visibility of our actions. We don’t need some detectives snooping around, not now of all times.”

The crowd seemed to nod in unison, a wave of agreement bubbling around the circle.

“It is, unfortunate,” the first man said, “Cernunnos collects his bounty how he sees fit. It is a shame that it has drawn attention, though I suppose considering his choice it is to be expected. Ours is not to question a god, however. What do these detectives know?”

“Little I would imagine,” the woman’s voice said. “They’re looking for a human killer. How can they possibly suspect a god? They don’t know what they chase. How could they?”

“They are from London, some specialist unit,” said another of the figures.

The woman snorted. “More English fucks telling us what to do? Nothing new there. I wouldn’t worry about them. Last I heard they were headed to the old-world war two camp. They haven’t got a clue.”

“Still, it might be best to get them off the island. At least until the harvest is complete.” The first speaker stepped forward towards the pillar. “Now, let us at least proceed with tonight’s ritual.”

Brian spread out on his hostel bed, his legs aching. He had been exploring the island, seeking out its nooks and crannies, its hidden grottos and glens. He had been on the island a week and despite the tiny size still hadn’t experienced everything had to offer. It had been a pleasant surprise. He still couldn’t quite articulate why had chosen Raasay for his holiday. Everyone else at his university had laughed, taking his precious time off from studying travelling to a rural Scottish island. Something is Brian’s gut had resonated when he had seen the advertisements online. Some unseen hand guiding his clicks.

He didn’t regret it now. Brian had always loved hill walking. He had spent time as a child in the boy scouts combing the lake district. It had been put the wayside as he had gotten older, cast aside for cooler pastimes like drinking and girls. He was enjoying the resurgence of his old hobby, though his legs were now complaining.

He pulled his thin sheet over himself, trying desperately to keep out the cold. The hostel was cheap, and it showed. It's only heating an old oil-filled radiator that whistled and rattled whilst it was on, fighting against any attempt at actually outputting heat. Brian shivered. It was colder tonight than previous nights. He could hear the heavy rain slamming against the window of the room he shared with a much older man Brian hadn’t seen much of. He gripped the sheet tightly, and closed his eyes, trying vainly to get to sleep.

Blood splashed onto the top of the pillar, thick and red, it oozed happily down the column. The blood ran, trickling through carefully arranged trenches in the horns. The robed figure turned, placing the now empty wooden bowl into the waiting hands of a second figure before being handed another full container. It resumed filling the pillar. Blood flowed to its base, filling the visible gaps with stick gore. As it reached the bottom it split out from the base, being absorbed by the stacked dried plants.

Around this, the circle was kneeling. Each held another cluster of dried flowers. They were burning, a low constant heat, releasing foul-smelling smoke out into the hall. The blood pouring complete, the leader figure and the two who hand handled the blood kneeled in a triangle before the pillar, bowing their heads.

It started slowly at first, a light bubbling in the blood at the base of the pillar. It seemed to be boiling without heat, not steam listing from the sludge. It began to move, the pool collecting into one spot, drawn in by a sinister magnetism. From this pool, a set of angular antlers broke the surface. The rest of the creature followed, taking his half-human form. The blood coated his body, sticking onto his skin, matting his fur. The creature smiled, its arms outstretched. It was a grateful god, thankful for its worshippers.

“My children,” it said scratching one of its hooves against the floor. “It warms my heart to see you.” Its voice boomed, thick and gravelly, audio wet cement.

"Our Lord Cernunnos, we welcome you,” chanted the crowd.

“I am welcome, children,” Cernunnos shot a wide toothy grin, gnarled stumps jutting from gums. “I can feel your warmth. I trust the bounty I have brought you is proof of my love for you. Now, before I leave to partake in my share of the bounty, can I help you further children?”

"Our Lord," the lead cultist said, their voice low and revered. "Your hunts, blessed though they are, have drawn the attention of some detectives they- "

“What are detectives?” Cernunnos titled his head quizzingly, the torcs on his antlers rattling as he did.

“Uh,” the kneeling cultist was flummoxed. “They are warriors, in a way, from another village. Here to investigate the deaths of those you hunted.”

“They seek to interfere with my hunt?”

“Yes, my lord, they do not understand your radiance.”

Cernunnos clasped his hands behind his back and strolled around the pillar. As his hooves struck the ground they clattered. Despite the blood covering them, they left no track marks. "I will see to these warriors. First, though, I will partake in my right. My hunt."

Brian had given up on trying to sleep. The constant rattle of the heater, the chill creeping through the thin sheets, they had gotten to him, needling away until he was too annoyed to drop off. Instead, he had slipped on the ratty dressing gown the hostel had provided and stepped outside into the buildings small garden. Brian lent against the wall, cigarette clutched tight between his fingers, savouring its warmth. In his other hand, he held a small keychain he had picked up at the visitor centre, a squared spiral attached to a small strap of leather. He had attached to the door key the hostel had given him.

The garden was a small fenced area behind the hostel, though the fence felt like it hardly mattered. It was the picket kind, only two feet high at the most. Beyond it lay vast open fields and rolling hills. It felt silly to designate such a small part of the countryside as owned, but also distinctly human at the same time.

In the darkness something leapt, bounding into the moonlight. It was a small deer. Brian had been surprised to see them when he first arrived, but the tiny prancing animals were common to the island. To Brian deer were things that existed only in Disney movies or Christmas movies. One of the locals had told him that Raasay meant “Isle of the roe deer” and that they had been here before humans had made the crossing.

Brian stood there watching them bound across the hillside. His cigarette burnt unsmoked, the ash collapsing off the end under its weight. Another deer leapt into the light, but this one was different. It was enormous, its antlers vast and impressive compared to the tiny horns of the other deer. It was like a stag, or at least, a stag as it would appear in Brian's imagination. It trampled down the hillside, seemingly running towards him. Brian watched it, fascinated. Its running seemed odd, as though it were skipping across the ground without actually touching it. It swept its head around, swinging its antlers. They were bizarre, cut at perfect angles, several twisting around in unsettling geometric patterns.

Something about it made Brian sick to his stomach. A visceral reaction to the wrongness of the thing. He stamped out his cigarette and made his way inside the hostel. He locked the back door behind himself. He couldn’t quite articulate why he had done that. The stag was still far away, and there was no chance it would come inside the hostel, but his instincts screamed at him to do it.

He entered into his hostel room in an awkward sort of half jog, sliding into his bed and pulling his cover over his head. Brian felt like a child, hiding from his nightmares. What am I doing? It’s just a stag. I’m being stupid. He let the cover slip for a moment, before pulling it back tight as he heard a rattle. Something was at the back door. There was a clicking as the handle was pulled up and down ineffectually. Brian breathed a sigh of relief. It’s just a guest. A stag can’t use the handle. Why am I so scared? What’s wrong with me. There was a creak, the sound of a door being pushed gently open. The back door.

Brian tried to compose himself. It must be someone with a key. Must be. He took a handful of careful breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth, a technique taught to him by a university girlfriend who was much too obsessed with meditation and healing crystals. That relationship hadn’t lasted long, supposedly they had “incompatible auras.” There was the sound of footsteps entering his room. His roommate, it had to be. That made sense, his roommate had spent almost every night so far doing whatever it was that he was doing. They must have given him a key.

There was another footstep. It sounded, wrong. Like the foot hitting the ground almost clopped, a higher-pitched, echoing sound. Brian slowly, moved his sheet, shaking slightly as he did.

Standing over him was a man. Or at least, its top half was a man. The creatures bottom portion was covered in a thick fur, hooves striking the wooden floorboards from its muscular deer-like legs. From his head, great antlers sprouted. From this distance they seemed to be almost vibrating, something about their shape made them difficult to look at directly. The figure was cover in blood, staining it a deep vivid red. It smiled, revealing a cluster of gnarled yellow teeth. Brian tried to scream, but his voice failed him, escaping in a faint whine.