If what the old timer at the general store back in Goodhart said is true, you’re about to score a bounty of morels to sell. Then again he also believes a Native-American legend that claims trees out there contain the spirits of damned souls, so there’s a good chance this might be a snipe hunt. His directions prove accurate, however, and a half hour later you turn down a little used two track just past the old windmill the old man described. It leads you deep into a dense cedar forest and ends at in small clearing. The old guy wasn’t kidding, there are mushrooms everywhere! In your enthusiastic gathering you don’t notice the subtle shifting of the trees around you. Bags full, you start to head back but the forest looks different than you remember. The trees seem to loom menacingly. Frantically, as you search for your elusive car a branch reaches out, striking you in the face hard enough to leave a pretty good scratch. Desperate, you start to run, but your feet become entangled in some roots, and you go down hard. Laying there on the forest floor gasping for air, the trees move in closer. Their roots grasp your limbs, pulling, tearing, but there’s no one there to hear your screams. Back at the store the old man begins to laugh.

     

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CONTENTS RANDOM