The Truth

Raven, or whatever is making me write on my arms, has unnervingly accurate information.
So, truth will out, in any case.

The truth, is that the dreams have been getting worse. I can't avoid the forest when I sleep. I wake up with a cold sweat, screaming bloody murder.

The dark forest is always waiting.Twisted, blackened tress with their black and shrivelled leaves. The trees are too close together to see anything coming at you or plot a course. And there's always something watching you, moving just at the corner of your eye.

Whatever it is, you can't hear it coming. The drumming sees to that. Incessant drumming from the black, soulless heart of that forest. Like a pulse. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The wind rustles the leaves as well, a senseless susurration that never quite stops.

There is no discernible source of light. No sun, stars or moon light the canopy overhead. Instead, the light sems to come at you from every direction, a sort of green-yellow-grey ambience that pervades the entire forest, and casts no shadows.

I don't want to go to the forest He livesi n the trees the trees are too close theyretryingtogetme

The storm is coming.