Dawn of The Fallen
My life...what could one make of my life? Living each passing day out here amongst the trees is not exactly the life I would have chosen. Yet, my circumstances will not allow me any other position. Every day, I maintain my location, out amongst nature, soaking in the rays of the sun, basking in the heat, trying to forget the sorrow and fear I felt every time that night would fall. For when the sun would set, the monsters of the night were unleashed. The spirits of those long-forgotten would roam the land, searching out those who might be able to free them from their prison within the wilderness. And those who come to this place will meet a similar fate.
The latest tragedies happened just the night prior. I remained in the thicket, as I always do and always have. The night was slow to arrive, as it was in the midst of the summer.
The fires in the distance would be lit ablaze by the camp counselors who would run a summer camp for teenagers just up the hill away from where I was. But, once every full moon, they would come out to one of the tree stumps near where I stayed and would have a campfire in a fire pit they made from stones. They would spend the night out in tents and would stay around the fire into the darkest hours of the night telling each other scary stories. I was always some distance away, but I could still make out the stories they would tell each other. Each of the teens would try to outdo one another with their own urban legends, scary stories, and tales of terror. But the camp counselor always had the most horrifying tale to tell.
I can still faintly remember the story. He claimed it to be true and claimed that it happened there within that camp just a mile away from where I was. He was likely referring to the nearby thickets, of which, I lived near the edge of. The image is hard to make out from where I was at, but I would often see them try to scare each other when their stories would falter by jumping up at important moments in an attempt to scare one another. This tactic always tended to cause more laughter than it did fear. I would see this and attempt laughter, but always found myself silent in observation. I wanted nothing more than to fit in with people again but was always reminded after one of these events would end why I should never want to be a part of these "gatherings".
As the night would wear on and the others would head back to their camp, one would always stay behind with the captain. And then, he would take advantage of them. Swiftly, they would be found on their backs, their clothes being stripped from their bodies, and soon, they would find themselves being violated by this man, this man that they had trusted since their arrival, trusted to protect them. It was always so violent, so ruthless, and when he was done, he would take out his large hunting knife, and begin his murderous rampage upon their often shrieking and frantic bodies. One large slash across their neck and a firm hand over their mouth were often enough to do them in and finish off the life that they would never live. All of their experiences that they would have had if they had just not gone to the gathering, gone, forever.
Their bodies were always placed similarly throughout the thicket. He would find a small spot, chop up their bodies, dig a large hole, and drop their bodies in. He would then place several seeds over their remains and bury everything beneath the soil. He continued this process over and over again, summer after summer. It was nearly endless how many times he would do this. As each summer would pass, he would find another young teenager to target, he would take advantage of them, and then would brutally murder them and hide the bodies. All of this was done while I was forced to sit here, helpless.
Every time I see this done, it tears me apart, but there are no tears to wipe, as I cannot cry, and no hands with which to hide my face, and no one willing to end my suffering, for I am but a lonely soul, trapped within the life force within one of the trees he planted. First to arrive, and hopefully one day, first to shrivel up and finally be released, I was the first to be planted here, after having been murdered by my camp counselor. He arrived from another camp some years back. Everyone thought he was fun and interesting, but there was always something kind of off about him. I should have trusted my instincts back then. I would still have my life, my friends, my family. But now I'm stuck out here, trapped within the bark of this tree, able to watch on and do nothing.
Mr. Newell, why would you do something like this? Why would you do this to me, us? I'm not the only one trapped out here. Their souls, I can feel them through the breeze. And the fruit that comes off of our branches, you eat it and feed off of our energy, our very existence. Why would you wish such agony upon us, you monster? One day, your life will end, but the lives you took and planted in this field, this thicket, will live on past you. Within the dawn of the fall, the souls you long harbored within this thicket will live on in misery for another lifetime.
As the night would wear on and the others would head back to their camp, one would always stay behind with the captain. And then, he would take advantage of them. Swiftly, they would be found on their backs, their clothes being stripped from their bodies, and soon, they would find themselves being violated by this man, this man that they had trusted since their arrival, trusted to protect them. It was always so violent, so ruthless, and when he was done, he would take out his large hunting knife, and begin his murderous rampage upon their often shrieking and frantic bodies. One large slash across their neck and a firm hand over their mouth were often enough to do them in and finish off the life that they would never live. All of their experiences that they would have had if they had just not gone to the gathering, gone, forever.
Their bodies were always placed similarly throughout the thicket. He would find a small spot, chop up their bodies, dig a large hole, and drop their bodies in. He would then place several seeds over their remains and bury everything beneath the soil. He continued this process over and over again, summer after summer. It was nearly endless how many times he would do this. As each summer would pass, he would find another young teenager to target, he would take advantage of them, and then would brutally murder them and hide the bodies. All of this was done while I was forced to sit here, helpless.
Every time I see this done, it tears me apart, but there are no tears to wipe, as I cannot cry, and no hands with which to hide my face, and no one willing to end my suffering, for I am but a lonely soul, trapped within the life force within one of the trees he planted. First to arrive, and hopefully one day, first to shrivel up and finally be released, I was the first to be planted here, after having been murdered by my camp counselor. He arrived from another camp some years back. Everyone thought he was fun and interesting, but there was always something kind of off about him. I should have trusted my instincts back then. I would still have my life, my friends, my family. But now I'm stuck out here, trapped within the bark of this tree, able to watch on and do nothing.
Mr. Newell, why would you do something like this? Why would you do this to me, us? I'm not the only one trapped out here. Their souls, I can feel them through the breeze. And the fruit that comes off of our branches, you eat it and feed off of our energy, our very existence. Why would you wish such agony upon us, you monster? One day, your life will end, but the lives you took and planted in this field, this thicket, will live on past you. Within the dawn of the fall, the souls you long harbored within this thicket will live on in misery for another lifetime.
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