They were faster than him at first, but the forest was dense and dark and the roots that sprouted up through the ground made it hard to run, hard to flee.
His legs grew longer and longer and longer and longer and he never stopped getting faster and his arms were outstretched as the sounds of crunching leaves echoed through the woods and then they were all of them dead, their organs filling plastic bags and skin stretched over the trees.
"Father, do you hear his voice?
Do you see his caped and crowned form?"
"Hush, child, you have nothing to fear;
We're arriving soon, take heart, rejoice."
Child, do you hear my voice?
Do you see my outstretched arms?
"Father, he wants me to take his hand.
He insists I make a deadly choice."
"Son, close your eyes,
Clasp your hands o'er your ears,
You're glimpsing at fog,
It's owls you hear."
"Father, I see him,
His ashen-white face,
The arms on his back
That grasp all about."
"Child, we're almost there;
If still you're afraid,
Just say a prayer."
Child, you are mine;
Do not be afraid,
You've finally arrived.
Come to me, child;
Now you're a cautionary tale.
A man was standing outside my window.
No.
Not a man.
The Distortionist.
He somehow looked like he was in a silent film. The way he tilted his head, the way he walked towards me. It was jerky, erratic, like he wasn't supposed to be in our world, like some of the frames of his movements had been lost.
And then he opened his mouth.
