Into The Woods // ✓

Septima

•If you stand very still and listen you will hear the woods calling for you. Don't answer, never answer

After the path incident I didn't feel safe.

That's ironic, I hadn't felt great since my rope got split.

I spent what felt like a millennial sprinting down the muddy path, I even think the trees let in the tiniest slither of moonlight onto my broken body.

I stopped to catch my breath, I leaned on a nearby tree, l leaning my measly body weight among this towering tree. The branches reached up to heights I could never hope to reach.

I stood silent, to afraid to move.

Because I heard voices

Whispering in my ear.

There was a plethora of voices mingling together, sending chilling signals through my body.

They whispered blasphemy, I know it when I hear it.

But why did I believe them with every single cell in my body.

It's not that we know you secret, it's that we have broadcasted it to the entire world, it won't be long until they come for you.

The voices followed me as I escaped, journal clutched close to my chest.

I tripped over numerous logs, flailing across the creek until I no longer could cope and I reeled over.

And, that's right, we all know you murdered that man.

I fell into unconsciousness, the pain seared through my body, it was liquid fire trickling through my veins.

I felt faint, even in this dream-like haze, I was holding a long thin knife. It danced around with the surroundings, twisting to match the background.

I stumbled forward, one shaky step at a time. I placed one hand on the cold brick wall, I felt the icy brick under my calloused fingers, it felt soothing.

Oh, there he was.

He was lying in the corner of the alleyway, a tiny trickle of blood escaped from his nose and dropped onto the floor. He had a bruised eye.

He pleaded for help, I smelt the intoxicatingly strong scent of alcohol, although I couldn't remember if it was from me or from him.

I raised the knife and muttered the last words that I would ever say to him.

"It's for the best."

Then I stabbed him, I watched the life fade from his eyes as he let out a single tear, his last breath, his last call of help.

But the world didn't answer, I fled, hoping to get far away before another soul discovered my crime.

I awoke.

I was panting hard, my hand was over my head, small beads of sweat raced their way down my tainted skin.

It was him.

He was leaning over me, consumed by the pain I was feeling, he let out a small chuckle.

It was Dean Lanson.

And that, is the story of how you are a murderer, and you can never leave that behind, especially when you have the victim following you.

I wasn't focusing on him, I was focusing on the million voices blocking out his, many high-pitched whispery voice.

Come with us.

You can join us forever.