In the midst of the summer heat, I foolishly ventured into the forest to find the witch. There had been whispers, tales of missing children and twisted, shadowy creatures, handed down for generations.

 

Though I questioned the locals, the most I could pry from their toothless jaws was that she- or it- dwelled south of town across the river. As I staggered across the creaking, moldy bridge clutching my camera, the air already warm air became hot and still, as though the wind refused to follow me over water.

 

I became more aware of the forest. Not the sounds, but its very essence. A malignant energy seemed to course through my very soul. This was indeed a cursed place. Whispers began to float through the branches, slithering across my face and into my ears. Were they real or the product of some bizarre hallucination? A heady fever washed over me. The heat became so great that I had to lay down in the crook of a tree. Though I feared what sleep would bring, I was unable to stave it off any longer. The dreams that swirled in my head were not of a godly world.

 

I awoke to a rustling nearby in the leaves and a deep red evening sky. My senses returned to consciousness and I heard that the forest all around me was emanating a hellish roar. As I staggered to my feet, I noticed fleeting, ambling shapes in the forest closing in. I rushed back towards the river and across the bridge, snapping whatever pictures I could.

 

Upon review, I know with certainty that I'll never be returning to this place. But that's okay, as I feel that a part of it will stay with me forever.

​

​