It was a mild-weathered, lazy day in the boonies of Hartsfield, a small town in the mountains of North Carolina. The sky was dimming into a golden haze and most of the townsfolk were settling down for the night or heading to evening church service. An exulting chill ran through the autumn air as a few more orangey red leaves fell down to a strewn path, the scent of freshly burning wood and home-cooked meals filled the air, and all around a quietness nestled, broken only by a playful wind or some far-off voices.

Near the closed down Food mart in the outskirts of the town, a group of teenage boys surrounded a small, dirty boy with burns over most of his body. “Please just leave my bird alone, there’s no reason for you to be doing this,” said the tiny, distraught-looking boy.

He had black hair, unusual silver eyes and the his unmarred skin was an olive complexion. The tallest, whom he took to be the leader, gave him a stare of slight mirth at the command.

“I don’t take orders from anyone kid”, he said with his head raised high, “ and I’m certainly not about to start with the likes of a demon child.” The gang members snickered at their leader’s comment while one or two just stared at the small boy’s scars.

“Yeah, just look how deformed he is,” said one of the meeker boys with a weary eye, “There aren’t too many people who could stomach a face like his.” A few of the gang members grimaced in agreement and darted their eyes toward the scar-faced boy, shamelessly staring at him. “No, but I’ll bet he ain’t as dumb as Mitch is calling him, and maybe the kid’s been raising that crow all its life and that’s how he tamed it, not sorcery, I mean it’s possible the kid is just good with ani--” the tall boy shot such venom at him that it made the meeker boy cower. The wind picked up as the first of the street lights came on. Mitch looked livid now and turned his attention back on the small boy, bearing a snarl on his face.

 “There’s no way he could teach that crow to do the things it does without dark magic and you only need but one look at him to see he’s a devil-child, I say we teach him a lesson”, the handsome boy said with a treacherous smile on his lips. “Now Mitch wait a second,” said a brown-haired boy hesitantly, “I mean, the boy lives with Miss Baker, and since her husband died, this kid is the old woman’s only company; if the kid really was some kind of demon-child, I don’t think Miss Baker would take care of him like she does--“I’ll bet his mama set him on fire because she hated him, but upon seeing what she had done she said “Oh my, oh my, what have I done?,” said the tall boy in a sing-song, patronizing voice. “And killed herself”.

  Two of the boys were silent while the surrounding boys were sprawled on the ground in tears of laughter--that was enough, the scar-faced boy returned an expression of pure hatred, his fear quickly ignited into rage as he glared at the haughty faced boy in front of him--all of a sudden he sprang to his feet and darted past a couple of the laughing boys. They ran after him hurriedly, but the small boy was too quick for them. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, his throat becoming numb from the gasps of cold air. “I have to get away he thought, racing through the forest, “I have to hide.” He looked around desperately for a hiding place but saw nothing. His chest was pounding and felt as glacial as a block of ice. The wind was whipping his face fiercely as he continued running, the last remnants of daylight fading.

The crow was still alive but did not look as if it were fairing well, it made a soft noise and peered out from the shelter of the boy’s sweater. He stopped for a moment, looking around to see where he was and trying to melt his icy chest. There, in the distance, was a chimney with smoke escaping from it, drifting lazily in cryptic swirls. The scar-faced boy hesitated, and was suddenly drenched in cold sweat. He took a couple of steps and there was an abrupt temperature change, his black hair was matted with what felt like a thick liquid and it felt like an invisible force was trying to pull him in all directions. He fell down and felt extremely ill for a few seconds. As he got back up to his feet, it suddenly dawned on him how silent it was, he wasn’t being chased anymore. In fact, the only thing he could hear was the rapid beating of his heart.

  There, on the tree nearest the boy, was a symbol that made his heart skip a beat, five circles overlapping a pair of eyes. He looked at it terrified, and came to the sickening realization of where he must be. “We’re in the Warshire Woods,” he whispered in a barely audible voice. The bird made no effort to express it had heard him; it appeared to be looking at the carved symbol with great interest, its feathers gleaming brighter. The small boy took in his environment, shivering under his torn clothes as a strong gale made the night itself unbearably colder. The moon shone unusually bright, casting an eerie glow on the trees and plant life. “Roenik”…..a light whisper carried the sound through the night air, echoing in the small boy’s mind. His heart froze, terror seizing him at the whisper of sound in the night. He looked around frantically, trying to determine the direction of the sound. “Roenik--is it really you--old friend?” rang out in a chorus, seemingly all around him. The small boy’s heart was racing, his only thought to escape. He started running, sprinting, but the whispers seemed to keep up with him no matter how fast he ran, he fell twice and the taunting laughter rang in his ears as he ran off even faster. It seemed all around him, inescapable, as a part of the forest as the trees, as the ground.

 The small boy finally collapsed, defeated by a force as inescapable as death. “What’s wrong--Roenik-- don’t you recognize-- your old friends”, chimed in a number of voices barely distinguishable to the ear. “Wha--what do want with me?,” the small boy demanded, trying to keep the trembling from his weary voice. “Why--Roenik--what would we want with you--can’t we say hello--to an old friend--an old friend?” “We wouldn’t mind taking that bird--that isn’t just any bird--but you would know that wouldn’t you?,” The small boy drew his arms protectively closer around the animal, determined to defend his friend at all costs. “You can’t have her, leave us alone,” he shouted desperately. “As you wish--old friend--may we meet again someday” the whispers seemed to cease as quickly as they had came, carried off in the wind.

  Roenik laid there with his arms gently sheltering the crow as he gasped for air. He wondered dimly how far he had run from the cabin and if the people who lived there knew what lurked outside their house. He slowly got back to his feet, stumbling at his attempt. He heaved a sigh of disbelief when he saw the log house and the tip of the chimney he had seen earlier, scarcely two-hundred yards from where he was standing. “That’s impossible,” he muttered absently, walking toward the log cabin. “These woods are said to be haunted by ghosts you know,” the scar-faced boy spun around in horror. There, standing ten feet away was the tall, haughty-faced boy that was chasing him, his face beat-red and scratched bloody from tree limbs. “I have to admire you though boy, I would never have guessed you would be brave enough to come in these woods.” The tall boy smirked and looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and conviction, slowly moving closer. 

 “Before, I might have let your crow live, but now it’s going to have to die because of you,” he leapt forward and snatched the crow from the small boy, drawing a pocket-knife from his trousers. There was a flash and something changed in his face. “And after I’ve killed your bird,” he said with a wild malice in his eyes, “I’m going to kill you too”, breathing heavily. As he pointed his knife a sadistic expression crossed his face, it was odd and terrifying, he looked confused yet wildly happy, though, his voice was surprisingly calm and gentle. “No one will care about the fate of a kinless child, they don’t care about anything. And even if they did, people disappear all the time in Warshire Woods, they would never think twice about it.” The scar-faced boy was beyond words, beyond even emotions. He could not help but stare at the creature in front of him, transfixed. It was true, yes, that these boys had a very bad reputation in the town, for the small amount of crime that went on there, prone to physical violence, but this thing was not the boy who was taunting him earlier.

  The tall boy earlier was just trying to show off to his idiot friends, and as cruel as he was, he did not have such a pungent and overpowering stench of evil about him. This creature seemed a thousand fold more menacing and not quite human. “So how did you manage to stumble into this part of the woods anyway?” the thing said in a voice that now sounded nothing like the tall boy’s. It had an almost exquisite dark quality about it which made it even more frightening, as if it were being sympathetic and appealing to some part of you. When the boy didn’t answer, it repeated the same question after a moment of silence and a chill went up the small boy’s spine. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said weakly, his senses finally returning to him. “You know what I mean,” it said in a significantly more threatening voice. The small boy had no idea what it was talking about, his wits were not about him as it were and this petrifying creature demand he explain himself.

A small, murky gray creature with long claws hovered over a distressed man. It had fangs and its eyes were a filmy-white with no pupils and some kind of black liquid seeping from its mouth. “Emily these creatures are not real, they’re figments your mind has derived from the trauma you’ve experienced”, Dr. Roberts said as he gently placed his mug on the coffee table. He walked over to his desk and wrote something down in a blue binder on a somewhat untidy, but organized desk. He sat back down and sighed. “You’re a very bright young girl Emily, I--” he paused, “I could only imagine the heartache that comes from loosing one’s parents, and at such a young age” , his tone was half pleading”, but you have to at least believe that these creatures are just in your mind, I mean don’t you?”

  He took his glasses off and ran his hands over his tired looking face. He was a man in his early thirties but wrinkles had set in prematurely, the freckles on his face were indented in his forehead and he always looked as if he were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Emily looked around the pale-brown room she had seen so many times before at the swirling design on the border, fiddling with a silver cross around her neck. “I mean-- I don’t know,” she replied honestly, giving nervous glances in his direction. “I see them everywhere, especially in large crowds and--” she looked up at the gray creature in horror, it was touching Dr. Roberts head delicately, almost absent-mindedly and the black tar was beginning to drip onto him in a most disturbing and disgusting way,” She placed her hands on her ruffled white skirt and looked directly at him for the first time the whole session. She had striking blue eyes, the aristocratic high cheekbones of her mother and a slender nose that perfectly set off the balance of her face, and very light blonde hair that came down to her waist. “Even before my parents disappeared-- I have seen them even before that, I am certain, and I am certain that you cannot help me sir.”

“I know you just come here because your cousin asks you to Emily.” Dr. Roberts stood up, ran his fingers through his red hair and placed his glasses on the mahogany coffee table.

“You shouldn’t have to live with these delusions Emily, but you have to be willing to let me help you first,” he gave a deep sigh and looked at the clock. “We’ll talk more about this next session,” he got her coat and opened the door for her. “Is James or Jason coming to get you today?,” he asked walking her out.

“James sir”, she said zipping her coat. “Ofcourse,” he muttered silently.

The rain was pouring down and smacking the pavement loudly, Bill walked her outside to his car. inside because of the thunder and lightning.