It Lives In The Woods

Tʜᴇ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛᴏʀ

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-

Only this and nothing more."

-The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe
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"Let's go, now!" I screamed, staring at the figure of my best friend as we stood in the old ruins of the meeting house. Perhaps an old meeting house, a clubhouse, the purpose of the mysterious shack was unbeknownst to us as we screamed in terror.

Deeper we were pulled in, the black void tearing at our clothing, flailing our hair as we struggled.

"Don't let go!" My voice yelled, shrill and terrified. My voice, but not me.

"I've got you," the small red-haired girl called to me, holding my hand and keeping her grasp on the old beat-up floor. "Friends don't let friends die," she said, barely audible above the shrill sound of the supernatural force, tearing at us both. I looked into her eyes, but they weren't hers. This wasn't my friend. Come to think of it, there was no Jane, the last time she saw this girl was 10 years ago.

"You-you're not," I whimpered, feeling my grip lessen on instinct.

"Friends don't let friends die." Her voice came warped and echoing, filling the room, distorted and terrifying. "What's wrong Gwyn, you don't want to play?" it asked tauntingly. "But we all play together, it's time," it said, the features of my old friend began warping until unrecognizable, a black blur of shadows and unhuman features.

It looked me dead in the eye, making my blood turn to ice in my veins. I felt myself being thrown back into the vortex, the last thing in my sight being the hideous black eyes...

________

I ᗷOᒪTEᗪ awake, gasping for gulps of air, something to fill my starving lungs.

My hair plastered to the side of my face. It was not unlike normal mornings, being jolted awake by my anxious muscles and over-imaginative mind, except that the only light source illuminating the dust on my old leather-bound copies of my favorite tales was the moon, shining softly through my window. My chest rose and fell unsteadily, shaking and wobbly, taking in as much air as my body.

I squeezed my eyes shut violently, opening them only when I could take a solid breath. The silence in the room was unnerving, only the near-silent maddening buzzing of the electricity through the house kept my ears sane.