At first, it appeared as if the old man had disappeared entirely. The sound of branches snapping under his shoes had all but vanished, leaving you alone in the wiry catacombs of mangled branches and eerie lights. More of them had popped up, flickering in and out of your vision as you desperately called out to him. While the sounds of your grandfather’s footsteps had stopped, the distant snapping noise had not. It was slowly but steadily drawing closer, and the soft sound of air parting accompanied it. The blue lights had given you the gift of eyesight, but whatever was lurking in the woods aside from you and your grandfather, was not close enough to be illuminated. 

Upon further inspection, you could tell that the lights were almost shaped like miniature people, were it not for their disproportionate heads and translucent bodies. They never acknowledged you by turning their heads, but it was clear they were there to light the way for you. Their bodies formed a line, which, seemed like the only option at the moment. A shuffling of footsteps confirmed that your grandfather was nearby. But why had he fallen so silent? Was the search for his wallet so engrossing that he had ignored your pleas to return to him?



As you closed the distance between yourself and him, the sound of running water became ever so clear. Urban legend had said that many of the spirits of the dead lingered closer to this area, as it was a place where many of them had chosen to take their own lives. It was also a place where murderers gathered to dispose of their victims. 

Mounting the very last slope, you saw your grandfather standing at the edge of the river. The consistent pattern of snapping in the distance only grew closer as he waited there. It took on a rhythm that was unlike an animal and unlike footsteps as well. With as loud as it had grown, it was hard to believe anyone would have missed it. Much less find it easy to disregard. Despite this, your grandfather remained stubborn, stepping into the rushing water without regards to you. 

The blue flickering lights caught against something on the back of his neck. It was a distinctly thick liquid that seemed to ooze and bubble. It wasn’t light enough to be water and, it certainly was too dark to be blood. Black and sludge-like, it seemed to slosh even faster from the hole in his neck the longer you stared at it. A splash into the river confirmed the dripping was real and the ones following made it impossible to ignore. Your grandfather’s skin was flaking away little by little, like wallpaper with nerve endings. As he turned ever so slightly he looked directly into your eyes, his jaw slack and sallow as if he wished to say something but his mind would not catch up with the movements of his jaw. 



Even if you had caught up with him, it was clear he would be leaving [i]you[/i] behind. 

The light in his chest had left him entirely, preferring to settle on the opposite side of the river, as if to block the way from going any farther.