The Woods

The pale face of the full moon cast little light down through the bare canopy. Each tree sitting many meters apart yet reaching high into the night, looking down upon the stark, cold forest floor. Rough bark and dead leaves litter the ground, shuffling in the crying wind. No sound but the creak of the branches. The feeling of claustrophobia enhanced by the darkness seeping from all around. The air, cold and damp with the oncoming storm. A dead tree, its trunk left to rot and break away. The silence was shattered by the sound of crunching leaves. An old man stumbled through the woods, his breathing sharp and fast. A way behind him, more sounds of footsteps, but no breathing. The mans’ fear obvious in his ragged pace. The being behind him was gaining. He had escaped the ritual, but would not escape death as its embodiment closed in. He screamed for help but no help came. Not out in the woods. Even if somebody had been out in the huge expanse that was the forest, there was nothing they could do. Death bearing down upon the man and soon, he screamed no more. The ritual was complete.