The Hollow woods

The trees loomed above, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. The forest was dark, even in the midst of the day, and it was here that the hermit, Jeremiah, called home. He had lived in these woods for nigh on 20 years, shunning the world beyond the treeline. Few had seen him, and even fewer had spoken to him. Jeremiah preferred it that way.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, Jeremiah settled into his routine. He gathered firewood, started a small blaze, and boiled water for a meager supper. The silence was comforting, a balm to his soul. He had grown accustomed to the sounds of the forest, the hooting of owls, the rustling of leaves, and the distant howl of wolves. But tonight was different.

As Jeremiah sat by the fire, his eyes began to feel heavy, as if an unseen weight pressed upon them. He rubbed them, thinking it was just fatigue, but the sensation persisted. Suddenly, the fire crackled and spat, sending sparks flying into the air. Jeremiah's heart quickened as he sensed a presence lurking just beyond the ring of light.

He tried to stand, but his legs felt rooted to the spot. The air seemed to vibrate with an otherworldly energy, making his skin crawl. That was when he saw it. A figure, tall and imposing, emerged from the darkness. Its face was a death's mask, pale and gaunt, with eyes that burned like embers from the underworld.

Jeremiah knew, in that instant, that he was face to face with the Rake.

The creature's presence was like a cold wind that cut through Jeremiah's very being. Its eyes seemed to bore into his soul, searching for some hidden truth. The hermit tried to speak, but his voice was frozen in his throat. The Rake did not move, did not blink, yet Jeremiah felt its gaze piercing deeper as if it sought to unravel the very fabric of his existence.

Time lost all meaning as the two locked eyes. Jeremiah's mind reeled, reliving every dark memory, every fear, and every secret he had kept hidden. The Rake was a mirror, reflecting back all the horrors that lurked within.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the creature vanished. The fire crackled back to life, and the forest was silent once more. Jeremiah collapsed, his body trembling like a leaf. He knew that he had stared into the abyss, and the abyss had stared back.

For days, Jeremiah was unable to leave his hut. He was trapped in a cycle of fear, reliving the encounter with the Rake. His mind was a jumble of terror and confusion as if the creature had left behind a piece of itself, festering like an open wound.

When he finally emerged, the forest seemed different. The trees loomed larger, their branches like grasping fingers. The shadows seemed to move of their own accord, as if the Rake still lurked, watching and waiting. Jeremiah knew that he could never truly escape the horror that lurked in those woods. The Rake had marked him, and he would carry its presence with him until the day he died.

From that day on, Jeremiah's hermitage was no longer a sanctuary. It was a prison, a constant reminder of the terror that lurked just beyond the treeline. And when the wind rustled through the leaves, Jeremiah would swear he heard the Rake's whisper, a soft, raspy voice that echoed in his mind: "I'll be back."

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