The woods of
Bensirhe, as they were known by villagers of Gowrhen, stood dark and
steadfast against the the outside world. The village lay less than
half a league to the north, yet none of the villagers ever entered
the woods, not even for firewood, during the scarcest of seasons. No
one could quite explain why, but there was something...wrong about
them. Perhaps it was the fact that there was no life to the woods.
Never a sound came from them, not the howl of a wolf, nor the song of
a lark. Not even the trees, swaying like specters in the wind,
rustled a leaf. The only thing, in truth, that seemed to thrive was
the trees themselves. But even then, they grew in sinuous and
twisted shapes, like a Legion of aberrant beings, waiting to swallow
anything foolish enough to trespass on their tainted soil.
Whatever the
reason, the villagers stayed as far from the woods as possible. So
there was no one there when man's fate was sealed. The evening was
late and the sun was already half set, yet as something slunk from
the depths of the woods, the sky darkened still. As night
approached, and the beast disappeared towards the village, the woods
made their first sound in ages. A rustling...a rustling of things
long silent, of things meant to be silent, of things that should have
stayed silent. Just a brief tremor of anticipation, and then, once
again, things were silent. But not for long...not long enough. A
scream ripped through the air. Then silence, once again, enveloped
the night.
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