Curse Of The Woodland King
A Fantasy
Professor Arden stood motionless in the wood, looking at the towering, ancient oak tree. A gentle breeze moved the long branches, now heavy with new spring leaf. The sun shone in the cloudless, pale blue sky. All seemed at ease, abiding peacefully in a new day.
But it wasn’t long before he noticed several grotesque, shrivelled faces observing him from the broad, old tree trunk. They mocked him, grimaced, openly laughed at him. But their laughter was silent to everyone. Only he could hear their taunts.
He looked up at the sky; its clarity suddenly felt threatening, as if something malignant was about to emerge from the cool blueness. Then, he heard a faint hissing noise like the small, boiling kettle he remembered at his grandmother’s house when he was a boy.
“All those years ago,” he whispered to himself.
Then, a low, croaking voice said rhythmically.
Who are you to spell our doom?
Know your end will come too soon
Unless you leave us standing tall
Guardians of this ancient hall.
He struggled to ignore the menacing voice. But he knew it was the best strategy; to pretend that it hadn’t happened. That had been the doctor’s advice, and he reached nervously…
