Gloomy, that was the word that described White Village. It was languishing in a dark abyss, with no apparent light for its inhabitants who were already living in economic and spiritual poverty. The town had gotten its name from the great snowfalls that enveloped the surroundings, making it look like a magical place. Soon, however, those snowfalls never ceased, the sun hardly ever rose, and its inhabitants became as pale as the snow itself.

Some said the land was cursed, others said it was just a passing thing, and many others thought it was divine punishment. However, no one knew for sure what was happening in that place.

The trees stood dry to the roots, the icy wind blew into the wooden shacks, and the sky was gray most of the time. The homes kept their lights burning with oil lamps and indoor fires; it was the only way to feel warm in that freezing village.

The wind howled, and many were afraid to go out at night. Mothers gathered their children, and the men kept provisions but always had to go out in search of meat to survive the bitterly cold days.

As the night drowned them in its darkness, the doors of the houses fiercely protected their neighbors. Nevertheless, a feeling of stalking pervaded the village. There was something hovering over it, something they did not expect to see or hear.

The houses stood in a circle around a tree that appeared to be at least one hundred and fifty years old. After midnight, all the children came out of their homes in their sleeping clothes. A black goat bleated and they were the only ones who could hear it. Each of them went out the door mesmerized, walking toward the tree in the center. Soon, a flare was made in those dry branches, melting the snow around them, providing an intense light.

The goat bleated louder and the flames burned brighter. The children, then, as if they had been ordered, began a dance around the burning tree. A drumming sound was heard, although no one seemed to have such an instrument. As those innocent souls danced, and pranced, a blaze of fire spread toward the dwellings where, cluelessly, their parents slept.

One by one they drowned in those wings of fire, the houses from which tortured screams cried out for help. They were consumed like Viking pyres, only with living people inside them. The children remained under the spell of that black goat, which then rose on two legs and bleated even louder. The children stopped in front of it. While the houses burned and the screams were drowned inside them, the goat walked towards the path that led to a forest of tall pines. The children followed in her footsteps, subjugated before the demon disguised as an animal. The same demon that had stalked them and turned White village into Darkness Village.