Trust
The seventh installment of my flash novella.
Trust
“I'm Sam, by the way,” Sam offered as he and the girl pushed branches out of their way. He wasn't sure how she had talked him into going into the woods, when she herself had seemed so scared of them, but he was intending on it anyway, and he was grateful to not have to brave it alone, regardless to how delightful her company was not.
“Farrah,” the girl replied.
A little ways into the forest the shrubbery lightened. The branches on the trees now started higher up, allowing Sam and Farrah an easier journey deeper into the woods. Neither had ventured in before, nor knew much about the woods other than of their existence. The two weren't sure where they led, or for how far they stretched.
“Something's not right here,” Farrah's voice shook. It almost startled Sam more to hear her voice break than her words themselves.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“I can just tell,” she answered.
“So it's just a feeling, then,” Sam said, trying not to show his own fear.
“Perhaps,” Farrah muttered.
Just as Sam was giving up hope of finding anything, a shape started to appear in the distance. As the two grew closer they realized it was a house. There was no sort of clearing leading up to the house. It sat in a sea of trees, as if it didn't belong.
They stopped several hundred yards from the house. It was large, at least three whole floors in addition to the attic. It's roof was sunken and caving in some spots, and the front had been consumed with ivy. Young trees had begun to sprout between some of the slats along the porch, which wrapped around the side of the house. None of the windows; however, had been shattered, and the front door still stood in it's frame.
Darkness had begun to settle around them. The moon sat on the horizon, large and yellow. Sam took a step toward the rotting wooden stairs that led up to the house.
“Are you sure you want to go up there?” Farrah said, her voice low and unwavering.
Sam stopped and turned to look at her. The light from the moon cast long shadows of trees, obscuring her face. He couldn't make out her expression. Wavering slightly, Sam turned back toward the house and set his right foot on the bottom step, judging it's stability.
“You're an idiot,” Farrah said as Sam worked his way up the steps. He heard her footsteps in the dirt behind him, and they followed up the stairs until they both were standing in front of a large set of intricately carved doors.
Sam reached for the brass handle but stopped when a wave of dread washed over him. He broke out into a cold sweat, despite the summer heat, and could feel goosebumps on his neck and arms.
Farrah snorted. She folded her arms over her chest and put her weight on one leg.
“What's the matter, hero?” She chided, as though she knew why Sam had come this far.
Sam was grateful for the looming shadows. His face and turned up in an awful scowl. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and pushed open the door.
Part 6: Your Eyes
Part 8: Breathless
Trust
“I'm Sam, by the way,” Sam offered as he and the girl pushed branches out of their way. He wasn't sure how she had talked him into going into the woods, when she herself had seemed so scared of them, but he was intending on it anyway, and he was grateful to not have to brave it alone, regardless to how delightful her company was not.
“Farrah,” the girl replied.
A little ways into the forest the shrubbery lightened. The branches on the trees now started higher up, allowing Sam and Farrah an easier journey deeper into the woods. Neither had ventured in before, nor knew much about the woods other than of their existence. The two weren't sure where they led, or for how far they stretched.
“Something's not right here,” Farrah's voice shook. It almost startled Sam more to hear her voice break than her words themselves.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“I can just tell,” she answered.
“So it's just a feeling, then,” Sam said, trying not to show his own fear.
“Perhaps,” Farrah muttered.
Just as Sam was giving up hope of finding anything, a shape started to appear in the distance. As the two grew closer they realized it was a house. There was no sort of clearing leading up to the house. It sat in a sea of trees, as if it didn't belong.
They stopped several hundred yards from the house. It was large, at least three whole floors in addition to the attic. It's roof was sunken and caving in some spots, and the front had been consumed with ivy. Young trees had begun to sprout between some of the slats along the porch, which wrapped around the side of the house. None of the windows; however, had been shattered, and the front door still stood in it's frame.
Darkness had begun to settle around them. The moon sat on the horizon, large and yellow. Sam took a step toward the rotting wooden stairs that led up to the house.
“Are you sure you want to go up there?” Farrah said, her voice low and unwavering.
Sam stopped and turned to look at her. The light from the moon cast long shadows of trees, obscuring her face. He couldn't make out her expression. Wavering slightly, Sam turned back toward the house and set his right foot on the bottom step, judging it's stability.
“You're an idiot,” Farrah said as Sam worked his way up the steps. He heard her footsteps in the dirt behind him, and they followed up the stairs until they both were standing in front of a large set of intricately carved doors.
Sam reached for the brass handle but stopped when a wave of dread washed over him. He broke out into a cold sweat, despite the summer heat, and could feel goosebumps on his neck and arms.
Farrah snorted. She folded her arms over her chest and put her weight on one leg.
“What's the matter, hero?” She chided, as though she knew why Sam had come this far.
Sam was grateful for the looming shadows. His face and turned up in an awful scowl. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and pushed open the door.
Part 6: Your Eyes
Part 8: Breathless