[ IP ] Into the depts of the Unknown

The old growth was always a dim, foreboding place. Folks around here traded nightmares like old wives' tales, maybe that's how they worked through their fear. I was a bit more analytical than that, though I'm certainly not immune to the atmosphere surrounding that forest. And I use forest in the loosest way. It is n't the place you'd go for a hike, and certainly not a place to thrive. 
 
 Which is why it was troubling when my childhood friend gained an inexplicable fascination for that glorified bramble patch, he once told me he wanted to see the heart of it, the oldest of the old growth. Being a teenager at the time, I was n't prescient or witty enough to tell him to write a will beforehand, or to use string or breadcrumbs to find his path in the darkness. 
 
 He vanished in August of that year, just before school resumed. His parents were despondent, and once it was known that I was likely the last person to see him alive, it fell on my shoulders to explain the unexplainable. I did n't get it then, now it only makes me bitter. 
 
 There were no search parties, no grid search, nothing of the sort. The elders simply repeated the tired line, `` the old growth claims its own.'' Fliers stapled to lightposts deteriorated and vanished as quickly as Jason, and as early as that winter he was a rumor to all but his family and closest friends. 
 
 Maybe it was a quirk of misfortune that I saw something move in the old growth yesterday. It contrasted with the deep earthen tones, and moved fluidly between the gnarled roots of the edge. I felt it stop to study me, which sent a chill up my spine as I turned away. I put it out of my mind last night at the local watering hole with copious amounts of liquid fire. It would have worked too, had I not seen it again. 
 
 This time it made it's presence obvious, standing atop one of the thickest roots, facing away but seemingly aware of my focus. I could see it sway in the breeze, and for a moment I thought it was an animal, before it walked to the highest point of the root, giving away it's form against the graying sky. 
 
 A chill ran up my spine when I thought of Jason, and this thing turned its head toward me as if he heard me whisper his name. It reached down with one arm, and swung down into the underbrush, in a display that will haunt me until the end of my days. Its arm was more a collection of tangled vines, it stretched as the lump descended out of sight, and as the disfigured appendage released its grip, I heard my name, sharply. At that moment I saw the root pulse with energy, it glimmered with a faint but deep crimson. I wasted no time in retreat, and to be fair I'm still shaking like a leaf. 
 
 The old growth claims its own. I do n't know how that phrase came to be, or what it may signify. All I know is that my train leaves in an hour, everything I cherish is clumsily packed in two bags. This might be the most reckless, hasty decision I've ever made but I need to make distance. I hope to never see that foul place again.
