Again, the repugnant fluid from his stomach flew from his mouth and onto the poor, inanimate foliage as he coughed and hacked. As he seemed to finally expel it all from his guts, he stood there for a minute to catch his breath, wiping the residual bile from his mouth.
Perhaps it was the very ambience of the forest shrouded in constant night, but something didn't feel right.
Silence.
It was deathly silent; the rustling of bushes, the squeeks of small critters, the howls of predators--none were heard. Not even the passing winds hummed against his ears; it was still, far too still.
Swallowing his own breath, he fixed his zipper as a chill ran up his back; it felt as if it were some sort of supernatural warning, some sixth sense attempting to tell him not to turn around.
...Why does it feel like if I turn around...something will happen? He thought.
