By day, the woods smell damp and mossy. By night, those smells are combined with the scent of predatory animals, sweat and terror. It’s a smell only exists in those woods and to me it signifies everything evil.
It’s darker in there than anywhere else in the world. Once your eyes adjust you see fallen trees, reaching branches and slight movement out of the corner of your eyes. Off in the distance, you can see a graveyard full of crumbling tombstones and you can’t help but wonder what is hiding in the shadows.
Everything is wet. Even when it doesn’t rain, the ground and trees are slick to the touch. The moisture chills you to the bone no matter how much clothing you’re wearing. As you walk, fallen logs trip you and branches reach out to scratch your arms and snag your hair.
Twigs are snapping all around you. Something howls in the distance. The bugs are the biggest noisemakers in the woods – and their buzzing is foreboding, almost sad. It’s as if they know that you’re lost and hope you make it out of the woods safely.
The air is thick and heavy. It tastes like decay – as if you are inhaling the final breath of all of those fallen trees. It weighs you down and you’re not sure if you’ll make it out.
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