Ghosts of the Deep Wood

by

When did December get here? I can’t tell from the weather what season we’re in right now. One day it’s near 60 degrees outside, the next a cold wind and rainstorm is tearing down branches from the trees and littering the roads with debris. I went down to town this morning for some basic supplies and it looked fairly post-apocalyptic en route. Trash, fallen leaves and the odd roofing shingle or two blowing about aimlessly. People huddled under dark coats and hats. Buying canned goods and bottled water. Getting ready to hole up and wait for the end, I guess.

Somewhat of a stark contrast to the Christmas lights and decorated storefronts but let’s be honest. The holiday season looks to be abit half-assed this year. Folks are going through the motions but there’s no heart in it, it seems. Like just another masquerade, putting on the masks and costumes and parading along like automatons.

I’ve half a mind to seek out and find some real Christmas Spirit. Old fashioned comraderie and joy, the sort that warms the heart and inspires the soul. I should find it and get it inside me and then bring it to others, spread it like a virus. Through sexual intercourse.

That’s not likely to happen, though. I’m just like all the rest. I’ve got my supplies and The Compound is secure. I’m closing up the curtains and listening to Shortwave Radio signals. Seeking through the static ether for any sort of sign or warning.

There are sounds in the Deep Woods. There might be Ghosts in there, spectral and shimmering, shadowy and half-shaped. Lurking and leering and calling to us to come in. To wander into the Dark Heart of the Forest and stay a while. A long while.

How long can we resist?

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