He ran thought the forest, black like a tomb. He stumbled and fell. The village had been empty, dead bodies lying around. The plague had wiped it clean.
He got out of there, as fast as he could. Death was hanging in the air, lurking in the ground. It always does when the sickness had passed by. Evil forces stayed around.
He came out into an opening.
The ground felt moist, almost wet, giving in when he stepped. Something came flowing up from the dirt. Like smoke, yet solid. Darker than the darkness itself.
It rose up beside him, around him. He looked up towards the starless sky. They towered and came down towards him.
It hadn’t been the plague at all.