Immortal gloom.
Hundreds of years ago a possessed human decided to change the world. He created a potion which contained a unique substance which should never be touched by flesh. Every night and day the man would observe the liquids bubbling inside, he was addicted to his only creation the lure of death. As minutes passed years passed and the man became the potions soul mate, the potions bait, the potions only prediction to life. The man grew old his veins screamed for life his wrinkles slithered along his skin searching for answers the only thing to keep the man alive forever was too do the impossible. Nobody would know about this, nobody would want this curse to be released; nobody would need this so why should he? He wanted more too life he wanted the curse to be spread so life had answers, life had endings, and life had evil! He never wanted to spread hate but it had grabbed him by the flesh and disinigrated his heart so the only bits left were black ashes of the devil.
The man swallowed the cork with his fingers and tugged the lid off throwing it viciously into the thin air. His grin became a thin line of fire blazing like a witch's cauldron. The liquid sizzled as the man poured the potion onto the lab floor watching the chemical spread across the ground popping vigorously. The potion formed and grew like a living bubble bath, it grew and grew. Distinct shapes formed around the building crushing it like a truck sized hammer. Dark holes the size of a real death slides, long musty trees, dark shadows and creepy caves were made. The man sunk into the floor beneath him absorbing the last light of the possessed moon.
Now it is said that anyone who enters the immortal gloom is to never been seen again. They are either changed into the devil or killed from the pressure of immortal gloom.
Bill woke to the disturbing echo of his alarm; nothing more he wanted but to discover a new life full of daring indulgence and pools of mystery. That day when he entered immortal gloom was the day of his nightmares. Before his hazy breath had even snuck through those gates of hell, the gravel had wrapped around his neck; the trees had gripped his wrists with their arthritic fingers; the hail from the raging clouds had choked him dismerely. All the information we have gathered suggests that he never was seen again that crescent!
Since that night no one else has returned and the forest has yet to be transformed to its normal state. For now!
By Enya