"I see things in the woods sometimes."
Bernadette glances at her son, sitting in the front passenger seat of her car with his school bag still strapped to him. He's looking hard out the window despite the rain that obscuring his view of the trees and brush. Breathing hard, too, she can see the foggy patch on her glass.
"Yeah?," she asks while narrowly missing a dead animal on the road.
Marty nods and then runs a single small finger down the window and creates an odd shape. It resembles a human in a way, but theres something not right about it. It's too twisted to be fully human.
"Yeah." He continues to draw and only stops when he gets to the face. "They move fast, and they hide behind trees so I can't see their faces."
Bernadette doesn't react and keeps her eyes on the rainy road. Marty has had several imaginary friends in the past, he's only eight and he hasn't managed to make friends that are flesh and blood. This isn't anything new to her, unconcerning at the least
"Why won't they let you see their faces?"
Then, Marty pauses. He looks to his mother for a moment, like he's trying to gauge her current expression. And, then—
"I don't think they have faces."
