I didn't wait for a third giggle.
I bolted. I ignored the path the bushes tried to make for me and crashed through the undergrowth, my skin stinging as branches whipped against my face. Behind me, I could hear it– the sound of something heavy crashing through the brush, gaining on me with terrifying ease.
It's chasing me.
I didn't dare look back. I was terrified that if I did, I would see something that matched all the horrifying images conjured in my imagination. The forest around me was changing again. The vibrant colours had drained away into a sickly, bruised purple, and the leaves on the trees now looked like thousands of razor-sharp blades, their dew-covered edges shimmering with a metallic edge.
The air felt thick, like I was running through water. Up ahead, another opening in the treeline appeared. Light!
"I'm going to make it—!"
I burst through the trees, but my foot caught on a gnarled, thick root that seemed to lunge out of the earth specifically to trip me. I went flying, the air leaving my lungs in a painful 'gwhungh' as I crashed into the mossy ground.
I scrambled to my knees, gasping, and looked up.
The oak tree. The pebbles. And there, at eye level, was the raw, pink wound I had carved into the bark.
"How is this possible!?" I screamed at the tree.
A new laugh echoed from the shadows above– not the childlike giggle from before, but a deep, masculine sound that carried a heavy weight of amusement. It came from the tree.
I looked at the tree, my hands raised defensively, but the tree did not move.
"It's the third time she's back," the voice said, seemingly coming from the air itself. "The forest path seems to like our lost one."
I looked up. High in the sprawling branches of the oak, two figures were lounging in the shadows. They were silhouettes against the canopy, but even from here, I could tell they weren't real. No human could look that graceful while perched on a branch that high up in the air.
"Who's there!?" I demanded. My voice was thin and pathetic. I hated the way I sounded– so fragile, terrified, and vulnerable.
The figures ignored me. They continued their now-whispered conversation.
Anger, hot and sudden, bubbled up through my fear. Were they making fun of me? Was I amusing to them?
"Answer me!" I stomped forward, my fists raised, heading toward the trunk.
I didn't even make it two steps. Something thick and cold twisted painfully around my ankle. I looked down and gasped. The oak tree's roots were writhing beneath the moss. They were moving like snakes, tightening around my leg.
"What's going on!?" I thrashed to break away, but to no avail.
"Oh, the path might like her," a voice said, "but the oak doesn't."
"Well," the other voice replied with a sultry, mocking tone, "she did peel a piece of flesh right off and threw it away. I don't blame the oak for being a bit sensitive."
"It's a tree!" I yelled, clawing at the tendril roots. "It doesn't have feelings! Stop mocking me and help me!"
The roots responded to my struggle by tightening their grip. I felt the rough bark digging into my skin, through my jeans, climbing up my calves...
"Do you really need the help?" a voice asked. He sounded genuinely curious. "You seem to be doing so well on your own."
I pulled hard, trying to yank my leg free, but a sharp pain shot through my ankle. It felt like teeth– tiny, wooden teeth– were biting into my flesh. I let out a yelp and lost my balance, falling down onto the moss.
The roots didn't miss the opportunity. They leapt at my hands, wrapping around my wrists and pinning them to the earth.
"Help me!" I cried out, the panic finally winning.
The two figures didn't move. They watched from their perch, with the light reflection of their eyes bright and unblinking.
"Alright, that's enough," a voice said eventually. "We've had our fun."
"So you'll help me?" I pleaded, looking up at the branches.
"One of us will," the other voice replied. He shifted, his legs dangling off the branch. "But you need to choose, lost one. We don't know who should step in yet."
"Choose what?" I choked out. The roots were creeping over my chest now, the weight making it harder and harder to breathe.
"Do you want to be safe?" asked a soft, steady voice.
"Or do you want to be free?" the other voice countered.
A wet, thin tendril started to wrap around my neck, crawling up toward my chin.
"Both!" I screamed.
The voice that spoke last let out a bark of laughter. "So predictable. She wants everything."
The other figure leaned forward. "Stay still, little sparrow. Don't fight it. The more you struggle, the more it will hurt. Just ask, and I'll help you."
I froze. The moment I stopped fighting them, the roots stopped their aggressive groping. They didn't let go, but the crushing pressure eased just enough for me to breathe.
"Don't listen to him," the other voice chimed in. "If you let him help you, you'll owe him your gratitude. Try to help yourself first."
I looked from the darkening woods to the two terrifying men in the tree. My breath was hitching in my throat. I didn't want to owe anyone anything, especially not in a place like this– but the pain in my ankles was becoming unbearable.
"I'll..." I swallowed hard. "I'll help myself."