wild for hurt
wild for hurt
The mist clung to the forest floor like a shroud, suffocating the whispers of the wind. The air, thick and heavy, tasted of decay and something else, something primal and unsettling. Jan, his heart a hummingbird in his chest, clutched the worn map in his hand. He had been searching for weeks, driven by a desperation that gnawed at his soul. He was looking for a cure, a way to mend the gaping wound in his life – his wife, Elza, ravaged by the insatiable hunger of the plague.
The map, passed down through generations of his family, promised a sanctuary nestled deep within the heart of the Black Forest. A place where the whispers of the old gods still held sway, where forgotten remedies bloomed under the watchful eyes of the ancient trees. It was a desperate hope, a last resort, and the only thing that kept him going.
The forest itself felt alive, breathing with a malevolence that chilled him to the bone. The shadows danced like hungry wolves, their forms twisting and turning in the flickering light of his lantern. He could hear whispers on the wind, not words, but a chorus of mournful wails, the sound of a thousand souls weeping.
Then, he saw it. A clearing bathed in an unnatural light, a single gnarled oak standing sentinel at its center. The air hummed with an unseen energy, and Jan felt a prickle of fear crawl up his spine. But the promise of salvation was too strong. He had to press on.
He reached the clearing, the ground soft underfoot, covered in a thick layer of moss that felt strangely warm. The oak, its branches reaching towards the sky like twisted claws, pulsed with an unnatural glow. It was then he saw it – a small, shimmering pool of water, its surface as smooth as glass, reflecting the glow of the oak.
A deep, primal urge, a hunger he had never known, clawed at his insides. He felt compelled, drawn to the pool as a moth to a flame. His feet moved on their own, carrying him closer. The water, shimmering in the moonlight, seemed to beckon him.
He reached the edge of the pool and stared into its depths. The water, cold and still, reflected his own reflection, his face twisted in a mask of fear. He saw something else in the reflection – a dark, writhing shape, swirling in the depths, waiting.
His hand, guided by an unseen force, reached out towards the water. His fingers dipped into the frigid liquid, and a shock of pain shot through his arm. He looked down, his blood curdling in his veins. His fingers, once flesh and bone, were now a mass of glistening, pulsating flesh.
He pulled his hand back, a scream locked in his throat. The shape in the water writhed, growing larger, its eyes burning with an unholy light. It reached out, its tendrils of flesh snaking towards him.
He stumbled back, fear finally overtaking him. He had found the cure, but at a terrible price. This wasn’t a haven, but a place of unimaginable horrors. The cure was not a remedy, but a curse, a terrible, insatiable hunger that would consume him entirely.
He knew, with a chilling certainty, that he was no longer Jan, the desperate husband searching for a cure. He was something else now, something born of darkness and pain, a creature of the Black Forest, driven by a hunger that would never be satiated. He looked at the pool, the water now churning with his own reflection, and whispered in a voice that was no longer his own, “It begins.”
