Just as I’m imagining what my obituary might say, sensation returns. My lungs expand, greedily sucking in oxygen. I can feel my body again!

The air is crisp and cool, heavy with the smell of rain. My eyes flicker open. I’m lying on the ground, staring up into a thick canopy of dark, thorny trees, gray-white fog wafting around me in clouds of thick smoke.

In my periphery, I become aware of a ghostly green glow. Turning my head, I blink in surprise: it’s a giant mushroom, as tall and towering as the trees around it, fanning out like an enormous umbrella. Strangest of all, it’s moving, its thick cap rising and falling like a human chest, each breath expelling thick bursts of green vapor into the air. Long, thick tendrils hang beneath the cap, sparking and glinting like lightning strikes as they extend down to touch the forest floor, where they writhe like massive snakes in search of unsuspecting prey.

A shudder surges through my body, rolling along my bones, warning me to stay far, far away from those tendrils.

Slowly, I push myself to my feet. Though it’s dark, the glow from the mushroom casts a faint light on my surroundings. Above me, sweeping white cobwebs stretched between heavy sagging branches are crawling with spiders of a size you would normally expect to find only in places like Australia. I may like spiders, but not quite at this size… certainly not in a forest where everything seems to be of a deadly variation. On the ground, thick tufts of lengthy tree roots tangle around each other, coating the earth with what look an awful lot like giant snake pits. A cool wind rattles the leaves and pushes the relentless fog along the forest floor in all directions.

I can’t shake the disturbing feeling that I’m being watched. As if the forest itself is alive, a quiet but vigilant sentinel on the lookout for trespassers.

And that’s exactly what I am, aren’t I?

A trespasser.

My gaze drifts to the black book that brought me here. It lies innocently in a cluster of leaves, bound once more by ghostlike thread. I bend down and stuff it quickly back into my rucksack, darting glances all around.

A low, guttural growl sounds nearby. Far too close for comfort. Like a startled mouse, I snap up and turn tail, running as fast as my feet can carry me in search of the forest path, leaping my way through the pitted web of tree roots twisting along the ground. Bevies of large purple-blue flowers poke out of the earth up ahead, swaying in the wind. Their bright green beaded cores glow softly in the night, illuminating the forest floor. For a moment, I’m entranced by their beauty. But as I close in, the flowers still, as though sensing my presence. Then they turn as one, their glowing cores aimed at me like a hundred glaring eyes.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I skid to a halt. What is this place? A small noise escapes my throat as I turn and race off in a different direction.

At long last, I reach a dirt path partially hidden by leaves. I bend forward, panting heavily, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. A part of me doubts it ever will.

What just happened?

The logical part of my mind reminds me none of this is possible—that it’s all some bizarre dream, or an extra-trippy hallucination. But another part of me knows it isn’t. Somehow… somehow a small book indeed swallowed me up and spit me out into the middle of some strange-scary forest in an equally strange-scary country that I had no idea existed.

A country of magic.

A sudden thought strikes me: Does that mean I can do magic? It would certainly be a useful thing to have right about now, particularly if the growling thing in the forest acquires an appetite.

I decide to test it out. I scan the path, my gaze settling on another patch of glowing flowers nearby. Maybe I could try floating a flower? That seems easy enough.

As I approach, the flowers still, as they did earlier. Then they turn in unison, facing me. I freeze, resisting the urge to back away. Other than this peculiar behavior, they seem harmless. They are just flowers, after all. And really quite beautiful ones at that. Mesmerized, I reach forward to pick one—

The flower springs to action, stinging my hand before my fingers can close around it.

“Ouch!” I shriek, jerking my hand back to see a large purple welt already blooming. I glare at the flower. Then my anger turns to fear. The flower’s green beaded core is sucking itself in, and I realize what’s about to happen a second before it does; I leap backward just as the flower shoots something slimy and green and glowing through the air that misses me by an inch. It lands on the ground near my foot and sizzles into the dirt like molten lava.

“All right, I get it, you don’t want to be picked.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “Suppose I wouldn’t either,” I mumble in afterthought. As I back away, the group of flowers relax, once again swaying leisurely in the wind.

I look around for something else and settle on a nearby twig. Perfect. Something that won’t attack or spit at me. Hopefully.

I pick it up, resting it in the palm of my uninjured hand. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate hard on the twig, trying to make it move with my mind. First with mere thought. Then ordering it aloud. Then asking it—asking it nicely—snapping my fingers…

Nothing happens.

With a resigned sigh, I drop it. Even if I can do magic, it’s probably a bit more complicated than snapping my fingers. For now, I need to focus on finding a way out of the forest. I glance uncertainly from one direction to the next, feeling my anxiety heighten. I haven’t the faintest clue where I am, or which direction leads to the village, Skeleton Grove.

Ultimately, I settle for walking in the direction opposite the growling noise from earlier.

I follow the path for what feels like hours, darting glances over my shoulder all the while. But aside from passing more glowing flowers—which I steer clear of out of fear but, at the same time, have to admit are actually quite convenient, because they light the path—nothing out of the ordinary happens.

I notice my surroundings growing lighter. I glance up to see the black sky morphing slowly into a deep gray. Almost dawn.

Thank god.

Knowing it’s nearly morning eases some of the fear that has taken residence in my gut since I arrived in Echo Forest.

But then, just as my heart rate is on its way back to normal-ish, I hear something that stops it completely.

“Help! Please help me!”