Fire-moon Night
Disclaimer: Tolkien created it. I played with it.
Summary: Somewhere in Harad, one night a year...

The moon was round and dusty orange as it rose over the horizon of south Harad. Wind shrieked and clouds scuttled across the sky like tumbling leaves. No stars shone. No fires were lit that night, and all the people gathered silently around an old woman who spoke terrible truths. The mask she wore, with its squinted eyes and wide-screaming mouth, was a shadowy horror in the dimness. Her arms waved in the air over her head. Children huddled, shivering.

All other times, the people of that village revered the power of the Eye.

On fire-moon night, they feared it.