The girl was afraid of the forest. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but deep down, she knew. Some day, something would happen.
Sometimes, on the warm, sunny days, the place wasn't bad. It was nice, in fact. Birds twittering, light filtering down through the leaves. But on some days, or when she was running late, it was the worst place. Silent save for her feet crunching the gravel of the path, the wind whispering through the leaves of the trees.
She hated what she had to do. The two villages were miles apart, but her mother insisted, each week, that she was to bring food to Grandmother. The old bat was senile, that was for sure, and sometimes the girl didn't know if she even ate the food that was brought to her. She didn't even notice the girl sometimes, staring off into her own world. Why the woman wasn't moved to their own village was a mystery.
It was one of the bad days. Cold, the sky a sickly gray color bruised with black and purple. Rain would come soon, no doubt. The air was cold, raising bumps on her pale skin.
She walked quickly, head down, thinking of nothing but getting home. She dreaded the idea of staying at her Grandmother's over the night. As she approached the halfway point between her home and her Grandmother's, a small brook with a wooden plank for a bridge, it began to rain heavily.
She stopped, setting down the wicker basket and drawing up her hood just as lightning flashed, striking the brook that was only ten feet in front of her. The light nearly blinded her, the thunder that came less than a second later nearly deafened her.
In shock, the girl fell back, muddying the back of her dress but unable to help it. She shut her eyes tightly, clasping her hands over her ringing ears. It felt like hours before she could open her eyes again, but in reality, it was probably not even five minutes.
When she finally cracked her eyes open, though they stung, a strange sight greeted her. Where the path in front of her had before been devoid of life, it was different now. Laying over the bridge, one foot and one hand getting tugged in the water, was a man. He had not been there before, she was sure. He had on a red plaid shirt and blue pants, with no shoes. All of his clothing was cut up, and he was obviously bleeding.
"Sir?" The girl asked hesitantly. "Sir, are you okay? Where did you come from?" The man groaned, flailing his arms before sitting up. When she saw his face, she nearly threw up. One of his eyes was missing, the socket bloody and disturbingly... wrong.
"Oh my God." She gasped, scrambling for her basket.
"Oh shit." The man swore, cupping a hand to his eye. "What the fuck?!? Where am I?"
The girl grasped wildly in the basket, eventually pulling out a white cotton napkin. She stood, her legs shaky, and walked hesitantly towards the man. He himself stood, giving her a wary look as he accepted the napkin. "Thanks..." He muttered, pressing it to his face.
"Who are you?" She demanded, clutching her basket tightly to her, like a shield. "The name's Joseph. You can call me Joe. Where is this?" He questioned.
"Halfway between Estercrest and Marshville." She responded hesitantly.
"Never heard of them." Suddenly, Joe looked worried.
"Girl, step back. Go, now! Get back!" The girl quickly obeyed, jumping backwards as another lightning strike hit the place where Joe stood. She was once again knocked back, hands over her ears and on the ground. This time, she was on her knees, dirtying the other side of herself. After a few moments, she cried out,
"Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?"
