The wind whistled around, blowing away stray leaves, little bits of litter fluttering in the sky. It's bitter cold. The weather was always bad around the area, seeming almost haunted. The wind whipped, attacking any going near it, so, simply, few did. Those who did find the way deeper into the forest wished they had never been.

So many trees, the eerie silence, no noise from the wind, making it seem scarier. The branches as if reaching out, trying to grab any who stood unprepared. People had never returned due to storms, lost in the dark desolate forest, with only lightning to guide them. Lightning only too happy to strike down trees. death.

Fallen trees marked the places of the demise of many. Flowers, branches, everything blowing around, were striking you in the face. Soon to be a funeral. Blood. dripping down a face, hitting the ground.

Look at the ground now. a vast collection of nothingness. Footprints worn away, noone has trod here for so long. The ground. stained with memories.

A red substance lies on the ground, its smell wafting up to your nostrils. you're so squeamish. The blood making you feel sick, your stomach tighten up into a ball, you fall to the floor. The perfect target. You lie there, unsuspecting, unknowing. The danger only being in a storm, until something digs into your back, you turn. no time to identify the beast; you're gone.

People don't go here now. They're scared. Some odd mysterious creature, some new race perhaps, attacking you, killing you. You're certain they weren't killed by a storm, but killed like you, their blood staining the ground, like your own. Why people fear here I understand. But there's no monster.

I stand here now, the wind almost tearing me away from this wonderful place. Yes, it's wonderful. No fear of strange creatures that don't exist. I know they don't. Because your killer.

.Was me.