The last stop was the barn.
The large doors opened with a heavy wooden scrape, revealing a spacious interior lit dimly by lanterns mounted along the walls. Empty stalls lined both sides, their wooden gates neatly secured. The space was clean, but the smell of animals lingered faintly in the air: hay, leather, and something warm and earthy.
Kyrie frowned slightly. “That’s odd,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” Phillip agreed quietly. “Smells like livestock… but there’s nothing here.”
Still, the barn was clearly designed to fit the theme. Medieval farming tools hung neatly along one wall: scythes, pitchforks, wooden yokes, and various implements that looked both practical and historical.
Phillip and Alicia immediately gravitated toward them.
“This is a flail,” Alicia said, gesturing carefully. “Used for threshing grain.”
Phillip nodded, already examining another tool. “And that looks like an old-style plow component… maybe decorative, but still…”
They were clearly enjoying themselves.
By the time the group stepped back outside, the last of the twilight had faded. Night had fully swallowed the little tavern.
Casey produced a large metal flashlight from her bag, the kind that looked heavy enough to double as a weapon, and switched it on. The beam cut cleanly through the darkness, lighting the path back.
As they crossed the open space between buildings, Patrick suddenly tilted his head upward. “Whoa…”
The group followed his gaze. The sky above them was absolutely filled with stars.
With no city lights, no electricity, and only dense forest surrounding them, the night sky stretched in breathtaking clarity. Thousands of stars glittered overhead, bright and sharp in a way few of them had likely ever seen before.
“That’s… incredible,” Jennifer whispered, slipping her arm through Patrick’s.
Patrick smiled, pointing upward. “That’s Orion… and there’s Cassiopeia… and if you look just there…”
Jennifer leaned into him as he quietly named constellations, the two of them lingering for a moment before the chill of the night encouraged them onward.
They returned to the tavern, stepping back into its warm wooden interior. David immediately began arranging logs in the fireplace, soon coaxing a steady fire to life. The crackling flames filled the room with warmth and dancing shadows.
Erica poured more drinks from the bottles on the mantle, handing one to David as he finished.
The atmosphere settled into something comfortable: the soft glow of firelight, quiet conversation, and the faint sound of wind brushing against the building outside.
Then, at exactly 9:00 PM:
TICK.
The sound rang out even louder than before, sharp and commanding. Conversation died instantly. Everyone looked up. The clock above the fireplace now read three minutes to twelve. No one spoke at first.
Kyrie felt a subtle chill run down her spine as she watched the unmoving hands settle into their new position.
Three minutes to twelve. They were all thinking the same thing now.
What happens at midnight?