Veil of the Woods

Mishaps Bemoan Me

"Something is happening in the woods," Cybill muttered, her eyes drawn to a mug of hot coffee on the kitchen counter. She stared into its black surface as if she could scribe out some hidden message. "The old hunters are saying the game isn't like it was before, and you know... that massive fire. I swear it's an omen; this place always seems to hold the worst omens. All of Blooms Creek seems to get like this."

"There's always something happening in the woods," Ethan replied, pouring himself a cup and taking a sip. "Since when did you become the superstitious type?"

"Since that day, Ethan," Cybill continued, her voice trembling slightly. "You know what day I mean–"

"–And you know that it was just a coincidence," Ethan interjected, trying to remain rational. "We've had too many scares turn out to be simple coincidences."

"You're probably right," Cybill said, her eyes growing glassy as she stared off toward the window. A deep sigh escaped her lips. "But sometimes, I think the woods are alive with things we don't understand. Maybe it's not just a coincidence."

Ethan sighed, understanding that Cybill's sudden bout of existential musings was more about his own fears than anything concrete. He knew how easily a hint of fear could spiral into something more unsettling.

There was a knock at the door, breaking the tense silence. Ethan opened it to find the paperboy, whose usually cheerful demeanor was replaced by a grim expression. The boy handed over the newspaper without a word and shuffled off, glancing over his shoulder as if the woods themselves were watching him.

Ethan spread the newspaper on the counter, his fingers trembling slightly. The headline was stark and chilling: "Two Children Missing–"

Cybill's voice was barely a whisper, almost lost in the stillness of the room. "–In the woods."

Her heart sank as she scanned the article, her eyes catching on the familiar pattern of vague descriptions and the eerie mention of the old trails. The sense of dread she'd been fighting to ignore was now palpable, settling heavily in the pit of her stomach. Ethan folded the newspaper slowly, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

Cybill's mind raced with the implications of this disappearance. The missing children, the old trails, and the recurring omens all seemed to weave together into a pattern she couldn't ignore. As she looked out the window, the forest loomed dark and silent, its shadows stretching across the town like a waiting predator. Ethan watched her, his own fears mirrored in her eyes, knowing that something was deeply wrong in Blooms Creek.

"I'm going to check the cameras I set up, see if there's anything on the tape. Or with our luck find out that the recording has been broken again." She saw the worried look in Ethan's eyes, "I won't go that deep, I just need to find answers to all these strange happenings. You know what kind of girl I am."

"I know who you are. I'm just scared you're going to find something you can't face alone."

Cybill's mind churned with the news as she grabbed her jacket and stepped outside. The morning air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint, musty scent of the forest. She walked briskly towards the edge of town, where the old trail markers began. The path was overgrown but still faintly visible, winding its way into the heart of the woods.

The forest was dense and shadowed, with the rising sun casting long, eerie shadows between the trees. Cybill moved with purpose, her eyes scanning the surroundings as she followed the trail. She reached a small clearing where the trail marker was. It was an old wooden post, half-buried and weathered, with faded paint that once denoted a trail.

As she approached the marker, she noticed something unusual—a set of fresh footprints in the dirt near the base of the post. They were small, barely larger than a child's, and they seemed to lead off deeper into the woods. The camera was set on the marker, half hidden by weeds that had grown up the marker's base.

She began stalking towards it slowly but her gaze was drawn to a sudden rustling in the underbrush. She tensed, her breath catching in her throat as she peered into the darkness of the morning. Through the gloom, she saw a deer—a large buck—standing upright on its hind legs. The animal's posture was unnaturally upright, its front legs stretched out as if it were reaching for something or defending itself. Its eyes glinted in the dim light, reflecting an unsettling, almost unnatural intelligence.

For a moment, Cybill was frozen in place, her eyes locked with the deer's. The creature seemed to regard her with an odd, intense stare before it dropped back to all fours and bolted into the forest, vanishing into the shadows with a grace that left no trace of its passage. Cybill made quick work of the camera's film after that and hit record again before walking back to the outskirts of Bloom's Creek.

Shaken, Cybill quickly moved to finish documenting the scene. She made quick work of the camera's film, loading a new roll and hitting record again with hands that trembled slightly. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the strange encounter. The footprints, the eerie deer—it all seemed to tie into the growing sense of dread she felt about the woods.

As she turned to leave, she glanced back one last time, hoping to catch another glimpse of whatever had caused her unease. The forest remained still and silent, offering no further answers. Cybill retraced her steps back to the outskirts of Bloom's Creek, the oppressive feeling of being watched never leaving her.