Not because it's well-written, particularly - I'm not any more happy with it than I usually am with things. Just because.
The first idea she had that something was wrong was when she saw the cobwebs.
They were huge, skeins hanging between the trees like fraying washing lines; in places unidentifiable objects, hanging from the threads, forced her to take the comparison further, horribly further. Looking closer she saw to her astonishment that the strings of webbing seemed to be sparkling, a trick of the light or another sign that things here were strange, somehow not right.
She looked around, hoping that in one direction or another there would be a path through the trees on which she could avoid the swaying ropes; though she could handle spiders, she would have preferred not to. To her right, there was a sizeable gap in the canopy. The only other route was back the way she had come, back through towards the town that she had left in exasperation because nobody would talk to her. It seemed unnecessary to go back; a few stray cobwebs were only unnerving, not actually dangerous. She stepped off the path, towards the gap in the trees, noting as she did so that the woods were curiously silent.
Once through the trees, the world lost its balance entirely.
The light was different; she knew that immediately. Darker. But the woods shone, reflected glow everywhere from the snow that covered the ground. Never mind that it was only September, or that there had been no snow when she left the town and walked towards the trees that bound it. Here there was snow, and it glittered. For a moment the place held its silence, giving her time enough to try to take in what she saw; the twisted branches turned sepia by the dimming sky, the snow, the patches of darkness between the trees. Then, like a gentle cadenza, the sound began to return, and it, too, was different here. The wind had been high in the town, but here it barely rustled the leaves; there were other rustlings, though. All around her, low to the ground, in the darkness, everywhere. She wanted to be frightened, could feel a voice at the back of her mind asking her, quite calmly, why she was still there, but the chill of the snow had taken her over and she felt no desire to move.
A bird, the first sign of life she had seen since stepping into the trees, landed suddenly on the ground in front of her; a crow, iridescently black. She watched, dully amazed, as it called once and its head rotated 360 degrees, three times, as if to prove a point.
When the voices began, it was hardly a surprise. Indeed everything here seemed to be nothing more than the playing-out of an old, old script, a story from somewhere at the back of her mind. The voices start, she thought, and then he comes. She could no more remember who he was than she could move, but it was inevitable that he appear, so she felt no need to worry about remembering. She would know, soon enough.
The crackle and whisper that she heard then came from much closer than had the others.
I've stopped there not because that's the end of the story - not by a long shot - but because I have scared the living daylights out of myself just in writing that. It's not that I couldn't know what happens next, it's that I don't want to know what happens next, especially not at eleven o'clock at night when I'm at home on my own. But tell me what you think, if you think anything of it - I'm curious as to how it's come across. You are welcome to laugh at me. ~s~
Edit : Gah. I can't sleep. It would have to be *this* weekend, wouldn't it, nobody's even online. ~s~