There are going to be some liberties taken with ages and time periods of characters, making this kind of like Relativity Falls except not quite, if that makes any sense at all. If not, hopefully it will in time. And hopefully you'll like this either way.

Led through the mist, by the milk-light of moon,

All that was lost is revealed,

Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring,

But where have we gone, and where shall we end?

If dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?

Somewhere in the Unknown, a place lost in the annals of history, two boys (and a possum) wandered through a deep, dark woods. They were both about twelve years old, and looked even more alike than your average siblings: same curly brown hair, same round faces, same slightly big noses and scrawny little bodies. The primary difference was that one of them had glasses and an extra finger on each hand, and the other was missing a few teeth and carrying a possum with a knife tied to its back on his shoulder. Despite their differences in appearance, though, both of them were walking in identical stony silence, determinedly not looking at each other.

After about five minutes, though, the one with the glasses came to a sudden halt.

"Stanley? Where are we?"

Stanley (who usually went by Stan, but his brother tended towards formality a lot more than he did and often addressed him by his full name) shrugged. "In the woods."

The other boy, Stanford (for whom Stan had a plethora of nicknames, but he usually went by Ford), gave him a withering look. "I know that-"

"Then why'd you need to ask?"

"IF YOU WOULD LET ME FINISH!"

Ford waited for a second to make sure that Stan wasn't about to make another smart alecky remark, and then went on, "How did we...get here? Last I remember, we were on the-on the boardwalk, down by the pier…"

He trailed off in thought.

Stan shrugged. His possum (who was named Shanklin) chittered and licked his ear.

Even though Stan was just as confused as his brother, this place was cool enough that he wasn't worried just yet. All the trees seemed to be reaching for them with long, grasping fingers, and he could hear the sound of an owl hooting eerily somewhere nearby, and little red eyes were flickering all around them.

It was even better than the house of horrors attractions that got set up every Halloween on the boardwalk.

Besides, every second they spent here was another second they weren't dealing with Pa.

Ford began pacing in a tiny circle, trying to figure out how they had wound up here. His instincts were telling him that something weird was going on, and weirdness was his big passion in life. He needed to know what had happened-

Stan made an exasperated noise and walked away into the trees, and Ford realized that his brother had been trying to get his attention for some reason-probably because of the faint light that he could now see was in the direction Stan was headed, accompanied by a rhythmic chopping noise-and eventually given up to go investigate it himself. He realized further that he was being left alone in the dark creepy woods, and quickly hurried after his twin.

"Stanley!" he called, "What are you doing?! We shouldn't separate from each other, it's not safe-"

"I'm spying on the lumberjack, now ssh!" Stan hissed at him, pointing down at a clearing.

Ford followed his finger, and saw that indeed, there was an old man in dirty brown overalls and a big crooked hat, holding a lantern that emitted an eerie blue-white light. He was standing next to a large tree that was being chopped up by what looked like some kind of machine that had several axes attached to it. Disturbingly, the tree had a few holes in its trunk that were shaped so it looked kind of like an agonized face.

"Maybe we should ask him for help," Stan suggested as they watched him gathering the chopped wood into a harness on the side of the machine.

"Oh yeah, trust the random stranger out in the woods who's got some kind of weapon on hand, that's a great idea," Ford muttered.

"Well I don't see you coming up with any brilliant plans!" Stan snapped back.

"Ssh!"

"You ssh!"

"You ssh!"

They punched each other in the arms, maybe a little harder than normal-and then were interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared somewhere above their heads.

"Hey, you're two lost kids with no purpose in life, right?"

Both boys froze, and then slowly looked upwards.

Perched on a branch was a small bluebird, who was staring back at them with a more appraising gaze than you'd expect.

"...Did you just talk?" Stan asked.

The bluebird actually rolled its eyes. "No, dummy, the squirrels here are ventriloquists. Yes I talked!"

"Whoa!" She-her voice sounded like a girl's-now had their mutual undivided attention.

"This is so cool! Can all animals around here talk? Or are you some kind of enchanted human who got turned into a bird?" Ford excitedly dug around in his jacket for a notebook and pen, forgetting everything else.

Something about his question seemed to make the bird uncomfortable; she blinked and shuffled on her branch, and if she had a lip, she probably would have been biting it. Before she could answer, however, a voice behind them demanded, "What in tarnation are you kids doin' out here?!"

Stan and Ford spun around, screaming in unison; unnoticed by them, the bird decided that now was a good time to exit.

It was the woodsman. Close up, the boys could see that he was unusually short for a grown-up, or at least so hunched over and spindly that he looked barely taller than them. He had a long white beard that for some reason had a piece of bandage stuck in it, and a pair of weird green glasses covering his eyes, and when he opened his mouth again, they saw that one of his teeth was made of gold.

"These woods ain't no place for children! You two oughta scrap-doodle on outta here!" he scolded, putting the hand not holding the lantern on his hip.

"Uh-sorry, sir, but we're lost!" Ford stammered. "We don't know-we were just-"

Stan cut in. "We were looking for wild mushrooms, and lost track of time! Our parents told us to meet them over at this one moss-covered rock at the edge of the woods when we were finished, but we got lost trying to find the right one! They're probably out looking for us right now, but if you just point us in the direction out of the woods we can probably call them and have them come pick us up!"

The woodsman blinked a few times, looking a little bewildered.

Ford groaned inwardly; Stan was good at coming up with somewhat-convincing lies at a moment's notice, but there were times when they just ended up getting them into more trouble than they would have by telling the truth in the first place. On the other hand, he could see the logic behind this particular lie: Stan was trying to imply that they had people who were out looking for them, so that if this woodsman turned out to be a crazy psychopath or something maybe he would be hesitant to flat-out do away with them.

Finally the woodsman said, "Iffen ya called them, ya think they could hear ya from wherever they are? Sounds like they might be pretty durn far away."

It was the boys' turn to blink. "No," Ford finally said, "he means on a phone."

If anything, that seemed to make the woodsman more confused. Finally he just shrugged and grabbed the harness attached to his chopping machine, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Ya can follow me if ya want; my place ain't far, and it's a lot safer'n here."

After a second Stan and Ford looked at each other, shrugged, and followed after him, helping push the machine over big tree roots and rocks.

He seemed harmless enough, and genuinely concerned for their safety.

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of large yellow eyes were watching hungrily from the trees.

So?

How is it?

Is the flavor too weird for you, or just right, or what?