Eight of them perched like grotesque leaves on the gnarled tree by the side of the road, and as Amy approached she began to regret the curiosity that had drawn her into the woods. Cradled in the skeletal roots of the tree lay the thing responsible for the congregation of flesh-eating birds: a bloated and rotting human corpse that was missing its face.
Ferocious bears, giant bugs, frog princes, and beautiful flowers that smell like pumpkins live in this land. They occupy the little cottage in the wood, the one where I live too.
We were out in the woods “did you see that?” “did you hear that?” she would ask, I saw nothing, I heard nothing. As we ran deeper into the woods it got darker and darker, I asked “did you hear that?” I was alone, he got her.