Gregor adjusted himself, his newly bought shirt was uncomfortably tight, the islands small clothing store poorly stocked for a man of his size. He adjusted the collar, pulling it away from the skin of his neck.

 The rest of his clothes were a write-off. His room in the hostel had been a torrent of gore, blood seeping through the polyester of his bag and staining the clothes within. He had stood in the doorway of the room despairing to himself. Not just for his lost belongings but for the young man who had shared his room. Gregor hadn’t spoken with him, not really, a few grunts and nods proving more than effective, the unspoken male language carrying their meaning clearly.

 The scene in the room had been horrific. The victim had been split open across the stomach, the entrails wrapped around his wrists and hooked to the ceiling fan that took up far too much space in the room. That creature, that supposed god, had removed the victim's teeth. It had pressed the bloody tooth fragments into the body's chest in the now telltale squared spiral pattern. The same one that had been attached to the keyring he and Elspeth had recovered.

Latching onto that single lead, Gregor and Elspeth had taken up a vantage point in the café opposite the visitor centre. Gregor clasped his hands around his cup of tea, the cuffs on his shirt straining under his bulk as he moved. The cuffs cut into his skin as he took a long sip.

“So,” he said between gulps of tea, “you’re thinking the same as me I guess?” He placed the teacup back onto the cheap table, the plastic wood effect veneer starting to peel off. Gregor undid the button on one of his cuffs and began to roll up the sleeve.

“Yeah, I think so,” Elspeth replied. She had her own drink tucked in tight against her, a large mug of hot chocolate covered in cream, tiny pink marshmallows sprinkled on the twisting white mountain. Its warmth was soothing against the oddly chill morning air. “That same shape appears every time our furry friend makes a kill. What are the chances of the visitor centre using the same symbol?”

“Could be a coincidence?”

“Coincidences are for normal coppers. There is no such thing in our line of work.” Elspeth lifted her cup to her lips, changing her mind as the cream came perilously close to her nose. She placed the mug onto the table and picked up a spoon. “Symbology, sacred geometry, ritual iconography and just plain old sympathetic magic. There has to be a reason every victim so far is a tourist, too right?” She waved the spoon around like a conductor waving a baton as she spoke.

“The key attached to that keyring was for our hostel. Looks like it was the one they gave the lad sharing with me.” Gregor reached into his pocket, placing the key that the hostel staff had given him onto the table with. The metal clicked as it struck the cheap plastic. The key was loose unattached to anything. “This is how I got mine. They pulled it out of a drawer full of them. I think that key is from our third victim and he attached that on there.”

“Got it from the visitor centre probably. A souvenir,” Elspeth said. She spooned a wobbling clump of cream into her mouth. “It all comes back around to the centre doesn’t it?” she continued, her words muffled through the mouthful of cream. Elspeth swallowed. “The centre has souvenirs with this logo, they exist to draw in and serve tourists, tourists who are then getting murdered and left with the same shape.”

Gregor picked up his hostel key and tapped it on the table twice. “That thing from last night. It kept talking about its children, and requests and tithes. I think that’s what’s happening. Someone is asking that thing to do something, and it’s collecting a portion of that request for itself as payment.”

 "So what? They ask it for tourists and in exchange, it gets a few of those tourists for itself?"

“I suppose so,” Gregor said. “This thing considers itself a god. It makes more sense if it’s helping with hunts and harvests. Jesus, all this is just to get some more fucking tourists? That’s sick.” He adjusted his newly rolled sleeve, brought up to match the other, the folds razor sharp.

Gregor crouched behind the car, his breathing slow, his movements deliberate. Night had fallen over the island, a slow encroaching blackness that had swallowed the visitor centre whole, embracing it in shadows. The building seemed to take on the properties of some uncaring void, a pit of oblivion cast into the skyline. Gregor watched from his hiding place, as a small line of people shuffled inside, through a small side entrance away from the main doors and their portal of glass.

Across from him, lurking in the small gap between two houses with Elspeth, watching the same procession of locals into the ominous building. His eyes caught hers and she nodded. Carefully, Elspeth stepped out of her hiding place as Gregor did the same. The stepped towards the looming construction of concrete and steel, that modern behemoth clinging to the ancient island like a barnacle.

The crowd had disappeared inside now, swallowed by the blackness of the building. Gregor stretched out his hand gingerly to the door they had been using and was pleased to find it unlocked. He twisted the handle and stepped inside, followed closely by Elspeth.

 The circle was formed. The pillar placed in its rightful place in the centre of the chamber. A robed figure stepped forward followed by two others, pitchers of blood in hand, a kind donation from the local butcher. Beneath the hood, Agnes Doak smiled. The community was coming together, working hard to make the islands fledgeling tourist industry a success. Or at least half of them were, some on the island were still intransigent at her decision to build the visitor centre.

She didn’t regret it, not in the slightest. It was transferring the artefacts that had been stored at Raasay house over the last century that they had discovered the pillar. That perfect cylinder of horns. They had placed it in pride of place in the visitor centre hall, proudly displaying the unique prehistoric art.

The dreams had begun almost immediately. Terrifying nightmares. Flashes of rage and blood, during which once thing hung in the air, a focal point of calm. The pillar. It was calling to them, reaching out in their dreams. Offering them peace, prosperity. All it asked in return was for a portion of its bounty. A tithe.

They had known, almost instinctively the steps to take, the ritual to complete. The needed dried plants, the blood. It had all come from their dreams, as though the pillar was calling to them, desperate to be used. To be worshipped.

Agnes held the bowl of blood high, and began to pour, allowing the thick gloopy blood to flow down the pillar. It ran over the bones, spilling into the crevices, filling the space inside. Agnes turned to the person behind her, ready to take the second bowl of blood from the waiting hands of Graham. She gripped the simple wooden bowl, nodding to him as he released it into her hands. She turned, and dropped it, sending it clattering across the ground, spilling its precious cargo, shocked by the voice she had heard.

“Police! Nobody move!” Elspeth had shouted. She was standing on the gift shop counter, her arms crossed.

“I suggest you listen to the woman,” Gregor added. He was standing in a doorway, its short corridor leading to the still unlocked side entrance.

 "Can I help you, detectives?" Graham said sliding down the hood on his robe. "We're just- "

“Engaging in a ritual? Summoning a particular horned entity?” Elspeth hopped down from the counter, her boots thumping on the white tile that covered the floor. The robed figures nearest her backed up, breaking their circle. “Don’t look so surprised. You were well aware we are specialists after all.”

 "Everyone against the wall, hands above their heads, let's go!" Gregor barked.

 Agnes slammed her hand on Graham's arm as he began to back away. "No body move. Idiots. Our Lord will deal with them. You were stupid to come here!"

“Oop, one for the bingo card there Lythgoe. Maybe she’ll start monologuing and you can get a full house.” Elspeth was smiling. Her job was hard, dangerous and terrifying, but she enjoyed every minute of it, a poorly kept secret. She opened her mouth to speak again but was stopped by an odd noise.

 The small pool of blood was bubbling, coming to a boil. There was a piercing wail as it erupted into the air, forming into the mad horned god from the night before. He was thin, gaunt, bones sticking through his humanoid chest. The fur hung loosely from his bestial legs. He was incomplete, the ritual interrupted before the required amount of blood could be gathered. 

Agnes spun around, her arms outstretched, eyes wide at the sight of her god. “My lord! These unbelievers have come to interfere with-“Agnes didn’t get to finish her sentence. Cernunnos simply gripped her head and squeezed, popping her skull like an overripe grape. He shook his hand free, allowing the now headless corpse to drop to the ground.

“Betrayers!” Cernunnos roared. "You tricked me, sent me to face my doom." He was seething with rage, stamping his hooves as he spoke. Around him, the cultists staggered backwards. Several trembled in fear.

Graham collapsed to his knees as his god loomed over him. Cernunnos stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling in deep breaths, exposing his ribs beneath the skin. He gripped Graham by the shoulder and lifted him into the air with both hands. Graham said nothing, terror stealing the words from his lips. The god's antlers shifted, becoming two long straight needles. He brought his prey forward, impaling him onto the blades.

Graham’s body shuddered, his eyes rolling back. Then he exploded, spiked blades spraying forth in a cascade of razor-sharp needles. The found the flesh of the other cultists, bursting through them. The needles were red, weapons forged of blood which splattered against the floor and walls as they struck them.  Elspeth leapt backwards, rolling over the gift shop counter and taking cover behind it. Gregor ducked back into the doorway as a cultist fell dead at his feet, too slow in hiding from the storm of death.

Cernunnos dropped Graham’s corpse to the ground, now little more than a deflated bag of bone and meat, the blood drained from it by the ruinous barrage.

“Warriors!” It screamed, its rage shaking the building itself. “Come and face me!”