-I’m here to restore balance, he said, staring through them as if they were not there.
The plants laughed. The laughter spread through the forest, along the roots and through the air.
-We’ve already tried, little one, but please come right in. Give it your best shot.
The giggles lingered as he walked through the dense bushes, thorns and branches cutting his skin, ripping his clothes. He pushed through high grass and ferns, crossed puddles and swamps.
Deep inside he came to the heart of the forest, the place where the roots met, where decisions were made.
He lay down, spread his cloak out… (more)
The last word was down. The article was written. He looked at the clock. He had time. The editing shouldn’t take too long.
He went into the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee. The coffee maker fell over.
-Damn! He got a cloth and wiped it up. He could feel something breath him in the neck. He turned around. There was nothing there.
He put another coffee on, and waited. He felt it again. The breathing. He looked at the clock. The deadline was getting closer.
You won’t make it…
He turned around again…
Mary and Dale are making a story about an old accident in a pesticide factory. The area has been abounded ever since, left a toxic desert, and they drive up to make some research and photos.
Something moves in the shadows.
You can listen to the video below, or read the original story here.
It wasn’t the treads’ fault. It was the people controlling them. Mind control. There was no escape. The treads were everywhere, connected to every mind, every thought, every heartbeat.
Milka opened the door.
-Come in, he said. -Fast!
He looked down the street. Up the street. Then closed the door.
-Are you OK? Tanker looked at him with a worried frown. His friend had always been nervous by nature, but he acted strange.
-I’m perfect! Milka guided Tanker in to the living room. -Do you feel it?
-Feel what? Tanker looked around the room. Suddenly he realised what it was. The treads were different. They didn’t tell him what to do. He looked at Milka with big, scared eyes. -What did you do?
There was a box in the basement. A box Makki had never seen before. It had strange drawings and symbols on it. Faces with creepy expressions.
He tried to open it. The cover didn’t budge. He pulled and pushed, turned it around. Shook it. Something moved inside, but it was securely sealed.
He got crowbar, pushed it in under the lid. Held on to the box, pulling the crowbar down. The lid broke.
He looked inside. He couldn’t see anything, but it smelled horrible, like rotting road kill. He turned it up side down to see if something would fall out. It didn’t.
Disappointed he dropped the box on the floor and went upstairs. He started cutting some bread. He was home alone, and he hated cooking. He ate a sandwich, and went into the living room, sat down in front of the TV. He felt strange, like if someone was watching him. He could hear sounds as well, weird whispering noises…
You can read the story here. It has been rewritten. Witches Brew (audio narration)