Gingerly, I cross a rickety bridge through hanging vines that brush against my clammy skin. The water beneath the rotted boards froth and steam.
Somewhere overhead, a tiny bell tinkles. A faint ping that sends cold sweat down my already sweaty spine. Still, I tip my head back and squint through the branches.
And choke on a scream.
Far above me, filthy feet swing. Sway. The rope creaks and my stomach churns.
I don’t look closer.
I don’t look back.
I throw myself headlong away from the tiny bell dangling from the big toe.
This is no longer funny. I don’t want to play anymore. But I’m too scared to call for him when shapes are moving in the mist. Spindly things with long, skeletal legs and arching horns.
Something is scuttling to my left.
A faint humming is coming from the right.
I push deeper, hoping to outrun it all, but I barely get far enough when my feet sink into mush. Wet sludge that squishes between my toes and teeters me forward into a swamp so still, it could have been glass.
Shuddering, I try to take a step back, but it only makes me slip closer. Slide in until my toes are nearly at the lip.
Across the water, a bubble pops. Then another. I lift my head and freeze as I come face to face with a pair of milky, white eyes on a molted, gray face exposed only from the eyes up.
“Come in,”it whispers in my head.“One more step.”
Around it, dozens more pop up. Gray skin and dead eyes. But the water stays still. A perfect mirror of horrific faces.
I throw myself back. Away from the water and the eyes watching me. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs. But I don’t let myself regroup. I scramble back, nails clawing into soggy dirt as I find my feet and run.
There are no more paths. The trees claw at my dress. Rip my hem. It snags on my hair and scratches my skin. Beneath my feet, a root I step on coils. I lose my balance and hit the ground on both knees, but don’t stop. Don’t look back. I crawl over thick knots and sharp stones. I no longer have any idea which way I’ve come from or how to get back.
I stumble down a small incline cut through at the bottom with a thin river. I catch myself on the bank and claw my way back to the edge but the ground is soft. It keeps crumbling under my feet.
“Here,” says a voice from over my head. “Take my hand.”
Two sets of hands hang over the side. Pale with black fingertips. They open and close. Beckoning me to them.
A third hand joins it. Then a fourth.
Then a face covered in thin, straggly hair. I think it’s upside down until I realize the eyes are at the chin and the thin, lipless mouth is at the forehead.
“Go on.” It cackles. “Take it.”
I miss a step and slide a foot towards the water. It’s by the grace of a root poking out of the side of the hill that I keep from going any further.
The thing overhead chitters. Its neck snaps as it cocks to follow my escape.
“Let me help you,” it sneers, crawling down the side of the incline, one, two, three legs.
Four legs.
Six.
Its body is a cracked, human ribcage attached to six arms with too many bends. They claw and scuttle towards me.
Moving too fast.
