Twisted Trees

                                    

                                          
The cold stone floors of the necropolis gave way to cracked tiles as Little ventured deeper, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional groan of ancient structures threatening to collapse. His small hands traced the walls, feeling for any clue that could guide him further. He had nearly fallen off a crumbling ledge not long ago, the sickening drop into nothingness reminding him just how fragile his situation was. But his will to survive kept him pushing forward.
After what felt like hours of navigating the necropolis’s labyrinthine paths, Little’s footsteps brought him to another room. It was eerily similar to the one he had found earlier, the walls lined with broken statues, and a cold draft whistled through unseen cracks. But what stood out most was the mirror on the far wall—a mirror as dark and foreboding as the one he had encountered before.
Little's heart raced. He knew this mirror was a portal, a way out, but the question lingered: where would it take him this time? Would it bring him to another horror, another grotesque world filled with nightmarish creatures? He hesitated for a moment, staring at his small reflection—only there was no reflection. Just like before, the mirror was void, reflecting nothing back at him.
He took a deep breath, the air cold against his lungs, and stepped toward the mirror. His fingers hovered just above the dark surface, trembling slightly. Then, without further hesitation, he placed his hands on the smooth, cold glass.
The world around him seemed to distort as the mirror rippled under his touch. His vision blurred, and a familiar sensation of being pulled through space enveloped him. The necropolis faded from view, and with it, the weight of the stone and the cold air. He felt weightless for a moment before his feet touched solid ground again.
When Little opened his eyes, he found himself standing in an entirely different place.
The light here was dim and muted, casting a soft, ghostly glow over the surroundings. A forest stretched out before him, vast and menacing. The trees were twisted and gnarled, their bark dark and scarred, their branches stretching high above, disappearing into the thick, dark gray clouds that hung ominously overhead. A thin, rolling fog covered the ground, swirling around Little’s ankles like ghostly tendrils, dampening the air and making it feel heavy.
The forest was silent. Too silent.
Little took a cautious step forward, his feet sinking slightly into the soft, moss-covered ground. The stillness was unsettling, as if the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. The trees seemed to loom over him, their branches swaying ever so slightly as though watching his every move.
A shiver ran down Little’s spine as he ventured further into the woods. The fog grew thicker the deeper he went, and the distant shapes of the trees became harder to discern. The sound of his own footsteps, muffled by the moss and leaves, was the only thing keeping him grounded in this strange, otherworldly place.
As he walked, Little noticed peculiar things—objects embedded in the trees. Old, broken dolls hung from branches, their lifeless eyes staring down at him with cracked faces. Rusted tools lay abandoned near the roots, as if someone—or something—had once tried to carve a life here but had long since vanished. It felt as if the forest had swallowed whatever had been here before, leaving only remnants behind.
Suddenly, a faint sound echoed through the trees, breaking the oppressive silence. It was distant but unmistakable—a soft rustling, like something moving just beyond the fog.
Little’s heart skipped a beat.
He crouched low, instinctively hiding behind a fallen log, his breath shallow as he strained to listen. The rustling grew closer, accompanied by the occasional snap of twigs. Whatever it was, it wasn’t far. He peered over the edge of the log, his eyes scanning the foggy treeline, searching for any sign of movement.
There—a shadow, barely visible through the fog, moving slowly between the trees. It was tall, towering over the forest floor, its shape distorted by the mist. Little held his breath, watching as the shadow moved closer. It was slow, deliberate, almost as if it were searching for something—or someone.
Little gripped the edge of the log, his knuckles white. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he stayed perfectly still, hoping the fog would keep him hidden. The shadow moved closer still, its form shifting as it passed between the trees, but it never made a sound beyond the rustling leaves.
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the shadow vanished, swallowed by the fog.
Little exhaled slowly, his muscles relaxing slightly as the tension eased. But the sense of danger lingered in the air, thick and oppressive. He knew that whatever that shadow was, it was still out there, watching, waiting.
He couldn’t stay here. He had to keep moving.
Little stood slowly, his body tense and alert as he resumed his trek through the eerie forest. Every sound seemed amplified—the soft crunch of leaves underfoot, the distant creak of branches swaying in the wind. His eyes darted around, constantly scanning the environment for any signs of danger.
As he walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest itself was alive, as if the trees were watching him, silently observing his every move. The fog grew thicker the deeper he ventured, making it harder to see. The world around him felt claustrophobic, as if the trees were closing in.
In the distance, through the thick fog, Little could make out a faint glow. It was faint, barely visible through the mist, but it was there—a light. Hope flickered in his chest, though tempered by caution. Whatever that light was, it might be the key to his next escape, or perhaps the entrance to another horrifying trial.
He moved toward the light, his small feet making almost no sound in the soft undergrowth. The fog seemed to thicken with every step, swirling in eerie patterns as he pressed forward.
But as Little grew closer to the glow, a soft hum filled the air—low, melodic, and haunting. It wasn’t mechanical like the horrors of the necropolis but more organic, almost like a lullaby that reverberated through the forest.
He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of the sound. Was it a trap? A warning? Or something else entirely?
There was only one way to find out.
Little tightened his grip on the small, broken tool he had found earlier and continued forward, toward the glow, toward whatever awaited him in the heart of this dark, twisted forest.
Kind of a long chapter... Sorry I got carried away but I'm planning on what ever this "shadow" is, will be creepy. Leave your suggestions and ideas in the comments please