Collin held tightly to the small girl’s hand, Shelby following behind them. The girl, who’s name Collin was unable to get out of her, refused to let go of her knife in her other hand. Which was just as well, because he wasn’t comfortable with Shelby holding her hand.

He wasn’t comfortable holding her hand.

She creeped him out, with her strange orange eyes, bloody dress, and constant crying -- and her cryptic statements weren’t helping.

Collin peeked around the corner of the alley, noted the empty street, and prepared to move forward. But before he could take a step a small hand pulled him back.

“Not yet! I can’t watch you die again...” the girl cried as fresh tears made streaks down her face.

She was definitely creepy, but Collin decided to humor her. As young as she was, she did save their lives and seemed to have more of an idea of what was going on than they did.

They waited in the alley for another minute until the girl tugged on his hand. He followed her as she turned left onto the street, Shelby following close behind. For just a moment, Collin glanced to the right, only to see the tip of a large, purple tail sliding away down another alley.

He held onto the girl’s hand just a little tighter.

- Collin, Shelby, and the Oracle, Inclusion +2 days 04:31 hours

“Not that bad,” Melete says as we walk together through the haunted woods. “I’m not saying I’d like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely.”

The rest of us keep walking without responding. It may have deserved a chuckle the first time she said it, but even the funniest of movie quotes gets old after the fourth repetition.

An hour ago, after a short rest, our small group crossed the clearing and entered the forest. The first few steps into the woods were disconcerting: despite being early afternoon, the amount of light that managed to filter to the forest floor made it feel more like twilight, and the temperature had immediately dropped at least fifteen degrees.

Which was strange, because the trees were not much thicker than the forest we had been walking through for the last few days. But where the sun still managed to shine through the leaves of those trees, bathing the forest floor in a dappled array of light and shadows, this forest seemed buried beneath a permanent gloom.

For the first few minutes exploring the haunted woods, carefully stepping under bare branches and through piles of dead leaves, on high alert for the approach of any monsters, I worried the same paranoid atmosphere would once again take over our group. But thankfully, Melete has a ridiculously large repertoire of movie quotes she was excited to share with us to lighten the mood.

It’s a little harder to be thankful for Melete’s chaotic energy now that we’ve been exploring these strange woods for an hour.

Despite Melete’s flippant comments, all of us maintain constant vigilance. I’m in the lead, picking out a route that I think Pallas can follow with the wheelbarrow. Styx and Melete watch each of the sides, and Sam guards our rear. Despite having to continuously duck under low, dead branches that twist in grotesque patterns near to the ground, we’re able to maintain a steady pace. It helps that there isn’t any significant undergrowth to slow our progress. Aside from piles and piles of dead leaves and branches, the ground is clear.

“Heads up,” I say after another few minutes of walking, simultaneously raising my hand in the symbol for ‘stop.’ Pallas drops the handles of the wheelbarrow and swings the rifle hanging over his shoulder up to his face, gazing through the sights. I lift my hand and point. Up ahead some mist curls along the ground, and we stare at it apprehensively. For a full minute we clutch our weapons and wait for an attack, until I start to feel ridiculous guarding myself against simple mist.

“Should Pallas shoot it?” Melete asks sarcastically. It seems I’m not the only one who feels strange staring in fear at a bit of mist along the ground.

“Let’s get moving again,” I say, waving my hand for the benefit of the deafened Pallas, “just make sure to stay aware.”

Hesitantly, we lower our weapons and resume our trek.

As we walk forward, the continuous rushing of the river quiets. We’ve been keeping the water within sight to ensure we don’t miss the bridge, and I frantically look to our right to make sure we haven’t left it.

The river is still there, but a layer of fog blankets the water, allowing only the slightest of sounds of splashing to reach our ears. Once again, I’m reminded of the eerie silence we’ve been walking through -- no buzzing of insects, no chirping of birds, only the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees and the nearby flowing water. And now that I’m listening for it, I notice the breeze has also stilled, silencing the forest even further.

As more and more mist drifts off of the river and swirls between our legs, our pace slows. I didn’t think it was possible, but our level of vigilance rises even further in proportion to our decreasing line of sight. Anything more than fifty feet away is just a wall of grey, crossed with the black lines of bare trees.

The fog grows further.

Soon, the wall of grey is only forty feet away, and then thirty. Our formation moves closer together. The front of the wheelbarrow knocks against the back of my legs, but I don’t mind. The reassurance that I’m not alone in this world of grey calms my rapidly thumping heart.

“I’m not saying I’d like to build a summer home…” Melete begins, but Styx cuts her off.

“SHUT U--” Styx stops as Melete looks at Styx with wide eyes. Styx takes a second to visibly calm herself. “Can you please stop quoting that movie, Melete? We’re trying to focus, and it’s a little distracting.”

Melete just nods, numbly, and looks away.

I stare at them for a moment before speaking up. “Maybe we should take a break for a bit, get something to eat?” Melete and Styx nod, while Pallas pulls out one of his earplugs to listen in.

As much as I want to get out of here as quick as possible, I don’t want our nerves to be so frayed that we make a stupid mistake in the process. Not when our lives are on the line.

But as we snack on some fruit chewies, staring out into the grey, the tension only builds. I keep reminding myself that it might not even be dangerous here, that we haven’t seen any actual signs of monsters or anything malicious. Maybe it’s just a normal, if exceedingly creepy, forest.

I can’t quite bring myself to believe it.

A few minutes later, we stand up and continue our journey. The fog is even thicker, the darkness almost that of full night, and the temperature colder than ever before. I glance to Styx, who is hugging herself and rubbing her arms. If we were willing to spend the night in this forest, I would suggest stopping for the night to set up camp, but for now I hold out hope that we’ll be able to find the bridge before this evening, little difference though evening may be. I’m regretting entering the forest this afternoon rather than camping and waiting for tomorrow morning, but what’s done is done. We pull flashlights from our bags and keep walking.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The flashlights don’t extend our vision at all, but at least they illuminate the ground at our feet to keep us from tripping over any roots.

Denied the recourse of movie quotes, Melete resorts to quietly humming under her breath. I recognize the tune to ‘Favorite Things’ from a popular old musical. Normally a happy song, in the fog and stillness it just sounds creepy.

Despite this, I try to take the advice of the song and picture things that make me happy. Puppies. Rainbows. My skills. Styx, smiling next to me this morning.

But I struggle. In my mind, the puppies grow into mangy dog monsters. The rainbows fade into the fog, the colors dimming to shades of grey. My skill tattoos do the same, fading until they’re gone and only bare skin remains. And even Styx leaves, happy to finally have the chance to ditch me, sneaking away with my ‘friends’ into the fog while my back is turned.

I frantically twist, and then breathe a sigh of relief upon seeing my companions behind me, Melete still humming. But their eyes are wide, their knuckles are white around their weapons, and I see my own fears reflected in their faces.

“I think...I know what this is,” Sam suddenly voices from the back of the group.

I start. I had almost forgotten Sam was back there.

“At least I think I do,” Sam continues. “Normally you cannot find them out in the open, only in caves or on the dark side of worlds. Which is why I never considered that they would be here. But it seems as if they have somehow modified this environment to suit their needs.” It pauses, and I hold my breath in anticipation. “Mind Spirits.”

As if on cue, something swoops through the mist over our heads, and we reflexively duck and raise our weapons. I struggle to keep my mounting fear in check.

“They are incorporeal beings, and they kill their prey by passing through them, stealing some of their life in the process. Once enough of them pass through enough times, their prey will die. They have a…” Sam pauses, before re-gathering itself. “...weak mental ability. It causes fear and confusion in the targets and usually is used to distract their prey while they attack. But this…” Sam pauses again, seeming to struggle to communicate. “...seems stronger than it should…”

Part of me listens to Sam’s words, but I can’t seem to focus on them. Instead, I stare at the sky, my head erratically swinging back and forth to try and track down the apparitions. A loud series of bangs echo through the forest, and I look to where Pallas is fumbling with a magazine, frantically trying to reload his rifle. I notice Melete is curled in a ball on the ground, crying. Good. If I run now, they’ll likely just go for her instead…

And then suddenly, as if a curtain lifts, my mind clears.

Not to the point of absolute clarity -- I can still feel fear gnawing at the corners of my mind, urging me to irrational actions -- but it’s easily ignored. I glance at Styx, who is standing still with an intense look of concentration on her face.

“...get closer together, please…” she says in a small voice. Melete is picking herself off of the ground, her eyes once again dry, and we grab Pallas’ arm and pull into a tight circle around Styx, Sam joining us. Once we’re close enough to be easily confused for a strange group hug, the look of strain on Styx’s face eases. “I’m extending my skill around us. Stay as close as you can. I’m not sure how long I can keep this up. It’s easier if you’re closer.” Her words are quick and clipped, as if she can only spare limited focus for talking.

Part of me is ecstatic at this new development of Styx’s skill, but I don’t have time to congratulate her. “Okay, be ready to fight. Melete, can you sing?” I ask, and attempt to grow a layer of skin over my ears.

But after a second of futile effort, I give up, realizing the problem.

“Not when I’m in Styx’s skill I can’t,” Melete says. I struggle to think of a solution when a Mind Spirit swoops out of the surrounding fog, an almost invisible blob of grey against the murky backdrop, and passes through my chest.

I’ve always heard the expression, ‘someone walked over my grave,’ but until this moment never understood what it meant. An uncontrollable shiver passes through me and I drop to my knees next to our group, Pallas barely catching my armpit to keep me from falling further. Lethargy overwhelms me, and I fight to push myself back upright.

Melete stares at me for a moment, her eyes fixed to where the spirit flew through my chest, before she seems to come to a conclusion. With only the barest hesitation, she steps away from our group and starts to sing.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…

I look up and can see the fog swirling above us where Mind Spirits fly. For the first time, I realize that they are completely silent, and Melete’s voice echoes strangely in the dead quiet fog.

These are a few of my favorite things...

Melete continues to sing, and I wait for the Mind Spirits to react.

And I keep waiting.

When I’m feeling sad…

Melete now has tears dripping down her cheeks, but she continues to sing. A spirit flies down and passes through her chest, and she drops to her knees. She’s still singing, but her voice is barely above a whisper.

I make a decision, and dash the five steps to Melete. The instant I step away from Styx, the cloying fear resurges. What if I get lost in the mist and can’t find my way back? Why should I risk myself for Melete? I should just leave her.

But I ignore my own thoughts, grabbing Melete’s armpits and dragging her back to Styx. I can feel the instant I’m back within range of Styx’s skill, the terror fading back to a tolerable level.

I’m still holding Melete up while she struggles to get her feet under her. In the meantime, Pallas questions Sam, wincing as a spirit passes through his own chest.

“What are their wea...weaknesses? How can we kill them?!”

Sam doesn’t respond, its large eye dilated and darting back and forth in its socket.

“Sam!” I yell, trying to get’s its attention. Finally, its eye fixes on my face. “What are their weaknesses?!”

Sam just stares at me without responding. Finally, it turns and quickly scuttles away from our group. Panic sweeps through me, and belatedly I reach out to try and grab its leg, but it’s already out of reach. Sam’s abandoning us?

But after only a few feet Sam turns back, and I hear its voice in my mind. “What did you say?”

Realization strikes. Sam’s translation skill...is a skill. Not a natural ability like its illusions. It can’t understand, or speak to us in English, while it’s within the area of Styx’s skill.

“How can we defeat them?” I repeat quickly.

“Heat and light,” Sam responds before crawling back to our group, its legs twitching when it finally comes to a rest next to us. Its body presents a smaller target for the spirits and as of yet is untouched by their direct attacks, though their fear ability seems just as potent for Sam as it does for us. Melete has regained her footing, and we press close to Styx, attempting to shield her body from the spirits with our own. We can’t afford to let her lose focus. Pallas lifts his flashlight and attempts to shine it at the above swirling spirits. An image forms in my mind, a message from Sam that requires no translation, that of Pallas pointing a flashlight at a horde of unaffected spirits. But in the next instant the scene changes. Clouds part to reveal sunlight streaming through the limbs of the trees, the spirits dissipating in moments.

Pallas and I make eye contact, instantly coming to the same realization. Pallas dashes to the wheelbarrow, pulling out a blanket and ripping off a large strip. Meanwhile, I’ve dropped to my knees next to my pack, digging through the bag. A few seconds later, I triumphantly lift the cigarette lighter in my fist.

Pallas has wrapped the strip of blanket around the handle of his axe, and is dousing the fabric in some of the lighter fluid we found at a house with a barbeque pit. I join him next to the wheelbarrow and flick the lighter. It takes three tries for my shaking hands to produce a small flame, but once successful the makeshift torch lights up almost instantly.

The effect is immediate. The previously silent Mind Spirits emit a shrill wail, and a spirit that was preparing to swoop through Pallas’ chest veers sharply to the side at the sudden appearance of the flames.

Pallas hands the torch off to Melete and proceeds to make another, this time with the fabric wrapped around the end of my machete.

Soon, three torches are blazing in my, Pallas’, and Melete’s hands. We surround Sam and a visibly struggling Styx, keeping the spirits away.

We’re safe for now, but I worry how long it will last. We only have a limited supply of fabric, and although the Mind Spirits are kept at a distance by our torches, they aren’t fleeing or dying like I’d hoped.

We huddle closer together, the small flames the only thing keeping the darkness and the monsters at bay.

S: 148

D:144

W: 321

I: 102

C: 101

0

Skills: Adjust:Self, Bond:Mental