from the Journal, entry dated Oct. 8th 2013-
I walk in the stars and feel the songs in my chest, the rhythms resonate in my bones, and the chords go straight to the marrow.
The night skies are alight as my boots kick up the leaves, and the sweet, oaky scent of decay seduces my senses, as rare and perfect as the aroma of a well-loved and pleasantly aged text. Something dances in the spaces between flesh and bone, my skin shivering pleasantly as thoughts waltz and ideas sway with the moon and tide.
from somewhere within the Daniel Thompson series-
Dan parked the car at the head of the path, and even this
far from the crime scene, he was having reservations. His Nope alarm was
already screaming at a ‘Aw Hell No’ just at the sight of the dead forest. A
cold wind howled through the dead branches, making them creak and sway,
sounding like a voice, the creepiest goddamn voice, beckoning him to enter the
wood, and despite the fact that every cop car was long since gone, he still had
the feeling he was being watched.
"Shut the fuck up Danny," he muttered to himself,
sneakers squelching in the mud of the season, "This is not a horror movie,
there are no voices on the goddamn wind, get a fucking grip."
He walked down the trail, and hoped whatever he found didn’t
scar him for life or cause him to lose his lunch. Everything was still dead and
decaying, the ecosystem waiting for the first warm spring day to wake the woods
up again.
Danny comforted himself by pretending this was a LARP, and
the gaze he felt on the back of his neck was really just a game-maker
monitoring for fair play.
