A cloak of fog shrouds the woods. Dark trees rise from the ground and scrape the sky with crooked branches. Like a mausoleum in the black of night, the air is quiet, but whispers promises of death.
A single set of footsteps breaks the silence. Leaves and twigs stir under a panicked stride.
"She's gone," The woman has. "The tall man stole my baby."
The deathly pale hands of fog slowly enclose the forest path. Is it night or day? The bright ethereal cloud bounces the smallest rays of moonlight around or perhaps it generates its own eerie luminescence. Peripheral branches seem to curl and twist like an octopus waiting to ensnare its prey, but a direct look at them halts their imaginary movement. The wicked shadow play drones on, its protagonist left without a script.
7 feet tall, thin as a sickly sapling. Jet black suit. Blood red tie. White skin. No face. She nods, yes, that's what she had said.
"Listen, you must've been mistaken." Insists a foolish person. "Your daughter probably just got lost out there in the fog."
"Yes." The woman's eyes are as hollow as her words. "And something else found her."
A sheet of lined paper hangs against the bark of a slim tree. Black letters have been hastily scrawled across the page, but are blurred by the haze. Closer, closer, stop. Trembling fingers trace the edge of the note and a palm leans exhausted against the firm trunk. A racing heartbeat slows, not because it is eased, but because it has nearly stopped.
'DON'T LOOK OR IT TAKES YOU.'
The tree is breathing.