The man made his way through the forest slowly, as if he were out for a simple evening stroll. Though, not many men go out for a whimsical stroll at three o clock in the morning. Every step the man took caused a series of grumbles and cries from the bleak leaves underfoot. This, coupled with the crisp cool air acted as hostile reminders of the late October season. The trees of the forest were primarily dead, their gnarled limbs spiraling outward from their trunks like the needing arms of the starved. The canopy of dead branches was nevertheless heavy, only letting in spotted remnants of pale moonlight.

The man was young, no older than 25 and was dressed strangely for his location. Deeply blue jeans with a blood red T-shirt tucked under an unbuttoned blazer. This time of year, most late night visitors to forests were either garbed in camouflage or bright orange, to deter their fellow hunters from shooting them. Short black hair clung to his skull like a frightened animal. He slipped a phone from his pocket, examined his message, and slipped his phone and hand back into his pocket.

A twig snapped behind him.

The young man whirled around, his jacket whipping up like smoke. Nothing was there.

"Calm down, Dean." He muttered to himself, turning once more. "Keep freakin' out like that and you'll die of a heart attack before ya get home."

He resumed his walk again, though noticeably less carefree. His gait's speed had increased and his dully happy expression had been replaced by one of frightened humor. It seemed as if he had only just now noticed the unhappy look of the trees, locked in death. Another twig snapped with the sound of broken bone, and he glanced uneasily over his shoulder, expecting to see some hound, fangs dripping with the thick crimson blood of it's last hunt. Instead, there was again nothing.

The night was too quiet. The only sounds were that of Dean's breathing and his footsteps, along with the mysterious snapping twigs. No insects chirped, no wind whistled. It seemed as though the air had died along with the trees. As he advanced deeper into the forest, he could not help to notice a rank smell of ever increasing potency. The only thing he could think of that was even close was when he had accidentally let a pound of ground beef sit until it began to rot. Horrific scenes played out in his mind, depicting his body being ripped to pieces from some terrible lycanthropian beast. Another twig snapped, Dean jumped, turning his body rapidly. No one there.

"All right." He called out with all the false bravery he could muster. "Who's there? Come out!"

There wasn't a reply. He waited for a minute, picturing his imaginary hound prowling out from the shadows of the forest, sleek black fur matted with blood. No such thing occurred.

"Yeah...I ain't nevah scared..." Dean sighed, turned around once again, and staggered to the ground with terror.

There, in the tree, just for second, he could have swore he saw something. Just a flash of red and white, then gone.

"It's nothing..." He told the icy air, "I'm all alone. There's no one here."

The sound of another snapping twig broke his argument. Dean leaped up, bolting through the forest as fast as he could. Shadows took on forms of serial killers and psychopaths, grinning blades waiting to rend his flesh. His lungs burned from the chilly air, but still he ran.

"Why'd I take this short cut?" He screamed inwardly.

Eventually the need of his lungs stopped his mad run, and he was forced to stop, pulling in air like a man nearly drowned. He stumbled back two steps and felt himself slam into the chest of his pursuer. He leaped into the air, screaming, before he realized it was only a tree. He cursed and sat down against the tree, pulling in deep breaths.

"I'm going nuts..." He whispered. A small chuckle escaped his mouth. "God! I need to chill out. I'm just gettin' freaked out over some squirrel that's out gathering a few nuts for the winter!"

He said all this, but couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it until he was at home, wrapped in his covers with the door locked. Dean pulled himself up, his knees crackling not unlike the leaves, and was prepared to once again begin his walk when he saw one of the trees moving.

It was only a little swaying of the limbs at first, but it pulled the young man into a gripping terror. He had almost convinced himself it was the non-existent wind pushing the limbs about. Then the tree began to move toward him, and he saw the being for what it truly was. It stood over double of Dean's six feet, and on thin spidery legs. It's impossibly slender arms fell to it's knees, pale hands peaking out of the sleeves of what appeared to be a suit jacket. A deep red tie was wrapped around it's neck. Dean's mind, in it's panicked state, thought the being belonged in a Tim Burton movie. It stepped into a Bone white sliver of moonlight, revealing it's face.

Or lack of. Sunken hollows were pressed into the being's face where it's eyes should have been, but that was the only characteristic of the pale face. No hair, no nose, no lips. Only the sunken no eyes.

Fear ripped up Dean's windpipe, tearing his lips apart and fleeing as a howl of undignified fear. He began sprinting again, but only got five clumsy strides before a clammy and moist extremity wrapped around his wrist with an iron grip. He looked at his arms, and saw a black tentacle dripping with fowl liquid. The scent of it clogged his nostrils with death. Dean turned his head, vomiting onto the ground. He followed the sight of the tentacle, and saw it traced to the creature's back.

"Please! Please let me go! I'll give you anything! Please!" Dean pleaded, his voice breaking. The creature gave no sign to show it had heard him, and Dean felt the tentacle begin to pull him towards it.

"No no no no no!" He repeated, feeling his sanity slipping away like sand from a torn bag. "I'll be a good person, I swear! I'll do whatever you want! Just please don't hurt me!"

One long arm came forward, wrapping it's spindly fingers around his throat, and picking him up to what would have been it's eye level. Hot tears streamed down Dean's face as he felt sure his life was about to end. He tried to scream, but his lips would no longer move. He was paralyzed. A tentacle snaked across the small clearing, and wrapped itself around a high branch. Dean felt the two of them being pulled upward. His eyes snapped around madly until they settled upon a sharped branch at the top of the tree. Realization flooded through him, wiping away his fear paralysis and he began to struggle in the slender man's grip. It was of no use as four ink black tentacles restrained his limbs. He was unable to move, only scream as he was impaled upon the branch. For the first time he looked away from the branch that now shone with a thin sheen of his blood.

At least three dozen people were impaled upon dagger like branches, their eyes open, their mouths arranged in hideous grins. They were in various stages of decomposition, some looking fresh, others looking years old with their eyes hanging from sockets and broken jaws hanging askew. Dean looked once more into the hollow of his killer's eyes, and died.

Several seconds were taken by the creature to arrange the man's face. A tentacle slithered into his pocket, and pulled out a phone. It cocked it's head to the side as it saw the face on the screen. A brief nod, and the slender man lowered himself to the ground, knowing who the next one would be.