Spooky Beneath The Moonlit Sky

The whispers of the forest had promised a restless lullaby, a peaceful drift into sleep. But the moment your eyelids grew heavy, the forest's embrace tightened, no longer gentle. The rustling leaves and sighs of the wind didn't fade; they sharpened, growing brittle and chaotic. The quiet humming of the trees became a high-pitched drone, a frequency that vibrated behind your eyes, pulling your consciousness not into rest, but into a deeper, more disorienting chasm.

You didn't wake up. Instead, the ground beneath you shifted, no longer soft moss but coarse, sharp gravel that grated with every footstep. The ancient, whispering trees of the forest didn't vanish; they morphed into something else entirely. Their limbs, once like crooked, watchful arms, became a panicked, skeletal canopy overhead, scraping against a darkening sky. The gentle whispers that once told you stories now felt like a thousand panicked voices, pushing you forward, away from the quiet stillness and into a frantic, out-of-control pace.

The promise of secrets you once felt gave way to a chilling certainty. This wasn't a peaceful sleep—it was a flight. The forest hadn't lulled you to rest; it had trapped you in a dream of its own, a spiraling nightmare from which there was no escape.

As you step back onto the trail, the path ahead dusted in twilight’s blackening abyss. Did you imagine all of this? Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you decide to move up the hillside, a defining drumbeat like an annoying companion in your journey, while the breeze slips through your fingers—it bites like a blistering cold.

Your breath matches your stride and it blurs your vision as the fog exits your mouth, you start to slow at this point you are un-certain. For a second you hear the breath of someone or something else.

You move as if the earth itself whispers directions, urging you toward a secrete spot perched up on top of the hill. Stop and think for a moment can you push through this fog in your head? Your heart starts to pound is this is your sanctuary your calm and quiet area that can pull you from this bizarre dream? Dream!? you scoff to yourself this seems more like a nightmare. You tell yourself you have no reason to rush, no reason to worry you are safe, and this place is peaceful, and the shadows that appear to be moving around you are just figments of your imagination.

At the hill’s peak, the world stretches wide. Below, a quilt of golden town lights stitches itself across the valley. You settle into the grass and start to plan your way back to the village, back to your warm bed, back to your loved ones that have to be worried about you by now. Your thoughts start to race your heart starts to pound louder and louder the clearing is bathed in moonlight, but there is no clear way back to the town.

Mist gathers in the lowlands like ghostly rivers, and the sky transforms—dark blue to black ink, and stars are gone!

The moon climbs higher, painting the hills in ghostly silver, their slopes and shadows merging as one into a sea of black. Trees shiver in the distance, as if sharing secret conversations between themselves and the wind, is it the wind? Is it the branches? you can’t decide if you are hearing the whispers from the forrest again or the ambient sounds around you. This is when you notice the grass around you turns from soft to pokey like the grass just died.

Silence now.

A gentle shift into stillness.

As you get your whits about you the air grows sweet, not like jasmine though, its a different kind of sweet you’ve smelled this distinct oder before. This is putrid its the sweet smell of death! All of a sudden the presence of a being appears from behind the moon’s glow—her skin luminous, her gown spun from midnight. She sits beside you, her presence peaceful and relaxing.

“You’ve journeyed well beneath my sky,”

she says, her voice resonates like an echo.

“But all wanderers must pause…"

You sit in her embrace calmly as you let the night wrap you in her warmth.”

She presses a palm to the earth. At once, the hills rise gently around you, grass gathering ice crystals as you lay in your bed like imprint. The breeze bites so cold now, and the moon pours its light into a halo around your resting place.

“Sleep,”

she whispers, as she fades into starlight.

“Beneath this sky, you are safe. Beneath this moon, you are known.”

You lie back, eyelids heavy, as the world hums its nighttime hymn. The last thing you see is the moon—closer now, the last imprint in your mind—its glow a promise: