The obscure darkness seems to beckon him deeper into the forest. He takes his tentative first steps into the tangled brush. Soft breaths punctuate a menacing silence. Wading slowly, he moves deeper into the heart of the ancient grove. The sight of the solitary gravel mound, straddling the center of the clearing, brings relief to his troubled face.

Rushing towards this one discerning feature, shivering hands fumble through straining pockets, frantically grasping for a candle. A pallid fist plants the waxy beacon amongst the stones. The metallic click of a lighter shatters the dead air. Born is a dancing flame that with a single kiss to the singed wick, takes root, efflorescing into a warm light seeping into the blackness. There is a distinct hum now, reverberating through these sunless woods, a symphony to the execrable – the arms of the copse sway to the unearthly song.

His pale lips begin murmuring a chant, deep and guttural. With hands raised in reverence, each syllable of his forceful din seems to rise higher out of the empty glade, threatening tear the ominous clouds gathering above. The rhythm grows faster. Erupting from the molten wax, the voracious tongues of fire devour the stones that upheld their ceraceous home. The look of fear has melted, revealing a pale face stretched in an unnerving grin. Once more a hand slips into his cloak, gingerly returning with small brown pouch, drawn tight with aging rope. Shaking with an insatiable greed, tearing open the package proves an obstacle, he fumbles with the knots. Violently curses are emitted when a swirling plume of purple powder escapes - the sack has ruptured.

Covered with a thin layer of the acrid grains, hints tangle in the wind and are carried off. Peering into the torn pack, a wave of relief that washes away a concerned squint. He tosses a meager pinch of the rank dust into waiting inferno, watching the blaze retreat to consider his offering. A bright flash of sterile light glistens in a lengthy pillar, stretching upwards, then melts away as quickly as it came. The gravel begins to dissolve, gray stones withering, spraying sparks onto the ground before his feet. The remains begin to flow like ice warmed by the afternoon sun, and soon a churning black sludge lies before him. It belches the yellow wisps of a noxious mist. The fumes are heavier than air, gathering just above of the forbidding pond, forming a menacing blanket.

He moves forward, allowing a toe graze the oily surface and yelps in pain. Still, he pushes deeper. He fades into its depths, shrieking. A hand once submerged is pulled upwards, pink flesh now greyed and leathered, veins dilated. His vocal chords tear and a trickle of scarlet dribbles down his chin. Contorted in inhuman agony, a mouth screams silently, till at last he disappears, consumed by the sludge. The bubbling increases, threatening to overboil, the liquid sloshes at the banks. Finally, it is still. The sludges filters away, leaving a transparent liquid.

An ovular head, draped in translucent skin rises from the depths. The expression is cold, the features sunken as if rolled by a baking pin. Clambering out of the hole, it shakes the water from its tall, gaunt frame. Fingers, as long and narrow as twigs, scratch at its weathered skin. Amber eyes glint in the darkness, like twin jewels. Through ragged teeth, it releases a primal croak, and rushes off, a blur, into the trees.