Ritual and violation

 The half-dozen people wait, nervously, in the small entrance hall, silent, avoiding each other's gaze. The main hall, an ordinary community space, is visible through a glass double door. They wear their ordinary clothes, some clearly having come from work, other perhaps retired. They don't understand why they are here, what draws them to do this, despite the feeling of danger.

At some collectively understood prompt, they carefully pull red hoods over their faces, tying them beneath the chin, then pull gloves up to their sleeves, covering every inch of flesh. They turn to each other for the first time, each ensuring the others are completely covered. They don't know what it is, only, somehow, that it cannot abide the sight of human skin.

After one last glance around the small space, the figure nearest the double doors, slowly pulls one open, and they file reluctantly in. The hall is almost empty, the chairs spaced in orderly stacks around the walls. However, in the centre of the expanse of stained and patchy carpet, stands a rough, irregular, but rounded granite boulder, as tall as a man's shoulder. It's surface is unmarked, but curiously free of any moss or lichen.

The line of people circle around the boulder, keeping a respectful distance. Their breathing is clearly rapid and their steps shaky. An alien presence saturates the space, rumbling in their chests, like a sound of great intensity, too low to be heard. A slight feeling of nausea washes over them, but they do not react. They stand around and face the boulder, but they are not clear if that is where the alien presence originates, in fact, it feels clear it seems to originate from everywhere except the boulder. Nobody knows how the bounder was placed there, why, when, or by whom. 

They do this every evening at sunset, but they do not know how long for, nor feel able to even speak to each other about this part of their lives. Their presence feels required, but barely tolerated. If they remain covered from head-to-toe, and do not speak, they will be allowed to leave unharmed when the moment comes when they somehow know they are dismissed, and they file out with dignified haste.

"Hey!"

The voice explodes across the space, the hooded figures startle, and turn to the door. A large group of people pour into the space. Their faces are not covered, and they exchange delighted glances as they expand into the space, encircling the boulder.

"Your faces..." a hooded figure exclaims in horror, his voice unnaturally pitched, the others hearing it, they realise, for the first time.

"It's fine!" laughs the leader of the incoming horde, several of the others nearest him exchanging glances, and laughing too.

The oppressive nauseating atmosphere in the room changes.