Hollow

Chapter 12: Scarecrow

Back again in the forest of darkness, beneath the violet night sky and surrounded by the shadowed silhouettes of trees making an endless ring around the open field of grey grass that rustles with every passing breeze.

Llwell stands in the center of the field, the shadows hugging his ankles, swirling as he wades in the parched pools of darkness' embrace. He looks around, his surroundings never changing, it's the same on all sides. But his more immediate concern is circulating around the fact that he's alone.

Etho is nowhere in sight.

He keeps looking around, and as he turns towards the field again, the scene has changed. Across the way, there's a table set with two wooden chairs across from each other. A white cloth draped over the surface, and seated at the head of the table is a shadowed figure.

Tall, menacing with its vile grin and slivered violet eyes that stare at him.

It says nothing, it just sits there across the field.

Watching.

Llwell cautiously steps to the side, refusing to take his eyes off the creature for even a moment. As he takes that step, its head follows his movement. Despite being far from the table, he hears its neck creak like a dead tree being blown by a strong wind as its head turns. Its smile stays plastered across its face.

He stops and stares at the darkened creature. It still just sits there, watching. It doesn't say anything or move aside from occasional twitching from its labored, rasping breaths.

"Where is Etho?" he calls out, and despite being surrounded by an open forest, his voice has no echo.

The creature says nothing and just continues to stare, letting out another rasping breath. It almost sounds human, like someone trying to breathe with a knife through their throat.

He looks away to peer off into the forest, searching for hopefully a way out, but as he turns around, he finds himself staring across the same field at the same table with that same grotesque mass of darkness seated and staring at him.

He turns again, only to find the same thing. Wherever he turns, wherever he looks, it's the same figure at the same table.

Llwell stares the creature down and slightly lifts his right hand with the Siphon, just in case, and he slowly approaches.

The grass crackles beneath his feet with every step, and at first it sounds like dry leaves crunching as you walk down an autumn road, but the more he hears it, the more it sounds like the snapping of tiny bones. He looks, but the shadows cover the ground.

As he gets closer to the table, the creature rigidly lifts its hand. The motion takes a while to be carried out and each movement of its joints grinds and creaks its frail bones, its limbs groaning as it directs its hand towards the open seat across from it without looking away from the elf.

Llwell keeps his face stern and his shoulders back, but he lowers into the chair. The wooden legs creak as his weight sinks into the seat.

"What do you want?" he narrows his eyes at the creature.

It stares at him, ragged breathing rasping from its throat and mouth stuck in a smile that twitches its jaw, its teeth grinding.

Then its head snaps to the side faster than he could blink and its shoulders convulse as it leans forward on the table, peering over at Llwell.

"What do... you... want...?" it rasps with a sickening chortle, its throat gurgles in a tortured grate.

Llwell can feel his right hand pulsing as the Siphon glows, but he keeps it beneath the table while watching the creature. "I want to leave, but not before you tell me where my friend is," he demands.