PEOPLE ARE DISAPPEARING INTO THE TREES. Men and women, becoming sudden flashes of white that weave into the high standing oaks, the Woods accepting them into its dark bowels. They trudge on, maneuvering into the leafy abyss, in groups, of three's, more even; but never two's. I wonder why. Each group marking the treeline is made of a distinguished variety; a boy and two girls; two boys and a girl—each gender represented. Many of them are stumbling their way into the darkness of the forest, heads foggy with wine as it's halfpast midnight.
The full moon still shatters the darkness that would descend in a silver arc, but the forest trees keep out the light. Beyond the frontyard of the Manor and into the Woods, is a darkness thick as Tartarus. The village folk don't mind that. And as they walk on through the great shadows, they seem like lost souls wandering, in flickers of white.
