Page 32 of Spooks & Specters

It was said that those who walked this trail at night never returned the same. Legend spoke of an ancient being who guarded these woods, a shadowy demonic figure who moved silently between the trees.

He’d dismissed the rumors as nothing more than silliness. But now that the woods were before him, he wondered if there was some speck of truth to the speculation.

Did he dare to tread this path? He knew the tales of this wooded area well. But he craved excitement, and some primitive part of his brain urged him to take a chance. How could he write daring characters if he himself never took any chances?

Determined, he started down the path.

As the night deepened, a dense mist settled over the ground, and an eerie stillness enveloped the woods. The stars peeked through the branches, adding a touch of magic to his journey.

In the heart of the forest, where the thick canopy blocked out the moon and stars, he found a forgotten path. Warnings sounded in his head. He’d heard that those who had traveled this path had reported hearing whispers that seemed to come from nowhere, a soft murmuring that insisted they turn back.

The warm air carried the earthy scent of moss and the fresh aroma of pine, while the occasional rustling in the underbrush reminded him that he was not alone in this nocturnal world. His brain started to spin multiple scenarios. It was both a blessing and a curse of an author. All he needed now was some flickering lights, like ghostly lanterns, that led deeper into the woods.

He stepped onto the path, reminding himself that he wrote romance, not horror.

As the path wound deeper into the woods, the trees seemed to close in, their gnarled branches forming twisted shapes that resembled outstretched hands. Suddenly a thick fog obscured the way forward. Before his very eyes, the forest revealed its most haunting secret—a clearing where the trees dared not to grow.

In the center stood an ancient oak, its bark blackened by time and its limbs bare, as if scorched by fire. Was this the domain of the forest spirit, a sentinel who watched over the woods? Or just a burned patch of land?

Those who’d managed to return claimed that when the moon was just a sliver in the sky, a figure could be seen stalking the land—a warning to those who trespassed in the spirit’s realm.

Looking up, he saw that the moon was just that—a sliver.

He should not have come here. This place was not meant for him. He thought to retrace his steps, but the path had vanished, leaving only endless woods and underbrush. A shiver of unease crept up his spine. Amidst the silence, a voice, as soft as rustling leaves, whispered his name. Seized by fear, he fled, crashing through the underbrush.

There was a presence here, a heaviness that was felt rather than seen. Menace clung to his steps, making it hard to run. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs as something pursued him through trees—something huge. Harsh pants echoed behind him, tempting him to look to see what chased him.

He knew better. The rule was to never look back, to never make eye contact, for that was when the spirit took hold, ensnaring you in the woods forever. It was said the figure was never the same, that it took the form of your deepest fears, a manifestation of the darkness within your own heart.

He heard the beating of wings against the air currents. A primal scream of anger echoed through the night in front of him, just as something sharp sliced through his suit jacket. A gust of wind stirred the decaying leaves, tossing them into the air as he was knocked to the ground. Rolling, he tucked himself into a fetal position and prayed to whatever gods might be listening.

Grunts and growls.

Snarls and screams.

Inhuman sounds surrounded him as a fierce struggle unfolded nearby. Paralyzed, he could only lay there and whimper, his body refusing to obey his desperate commands to flee. The chilling sounds were a haunting reminder of the folly that had led him to this forsaken place. Each whimper that escaped his lips felt like an admission of his impending doom.

The darkness of the woods was oppressive, a tangible force that weighed heavily on his chest, making each breath a laborious task. The struggle nearby grew more intense, the sounds more frenzied, a symphony of chaos that played with his sanity.

What madness had driven him to venture into these woods? He was fully aware of the rumors of this place. But now, as fear gripped him, it seemed his desire for adventure was rather foolish.

The only adventure he sought now was the chance to get out of there in one piece and to escape the clutches of the unseen terror that lurked just beyond sight.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sounds, to find some inner sanctuary where the terror could not reach. But it was futile. The ungodly sounds pierced his defenses, worming their way into his very soul.

Then something changed.

The sounds became more distant, and something told him this was his chance, hisonlychance, to escape. With a newfound resolve, he pushed past the fear that had claimed his body. Inch by agonizing inch, he willed his limbs to move, to drag himself away from whatever fought nearby. It was slow, excruciating progress, but with each movement, hope flickered brighter within him.

He would not succumb and become yet another whispered tale of warning. Scrambling up, he bolted anew. Hisheart hammered in his chest, a desperate rhythm. Branches lashed at his face and roots tripped him, but he pressed on.

Then silence. Eerie and complete.

Disturbed, he darted behind a tree. Chest heaving, he listened to the sound of flapping wings coming closer. Then something heavy landed.

Austin.

Auuuustin.

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