Black Forest

As silent as a hunting wolf spider, the hooded figure stealthily traversed the sinister forest in search of the death rose. Joining him while he moved through the dense underbrush was a cacophony of shrieks, screams, and howls emanating from the unspoken creatures that thrive in this dark abyss. The veil of night slowly encroached upon the man, whose nerves shook with the ever-darkening moonless sky. Although the cloaked figure was a master of being unseen and unheard, he grew weary with every step that took him deeper into the forest. Shadows darted from tree to tree, cackling, mocking, and calling the man’s name. A metallic ringing echoed through the night as the man drew his sword. The figure would benefit from knowing that the shadows, the grisly apparitions, and the beasts could not harm him, because he was pure of heart, a trait nearly forgotten in these dark days; but no one ever ventured into this forest, so no one knew its natural limitations. The menacing oaks, maples, furs, and giant redwoods that carpet the forest seemed to edge closer to the man, as if they too desired to feed upon his flesh. Spines and thorns tore up his legs, and blood dribbled down to his feet from the scratches, gashes, and lacerations the forest inflicted. An hour passed before the man realized he was walking in a pocket of death roses that were surrounded by dense growth of the forest; each tree was a citadel home to terrifying creatures, all of which sensed the unusual presence of a human. The roses were breathtaking, yet frightening. The petals were as sharp as obsidian, and as enticing to the eye as carrion is to vultures. Enveloped by a ghoulish fog that whispered nightmares of his past, the roses seemed to float, as if they too were phantoms in this ghostly garden. As the man began to pick the roses, the whispers grew to screams that chill the blood and freeze the skin. He can hear creatures scuttling behind him; ready to take flight and attack once he started picking the trophies of the black forest.