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Blogtober 2025, Day 11: Celebrate

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  Lucy's Path: Chapter Eleven The forest trembled as the red glow flared brighter, pulsing like a signal. Mark stumbled back, shielding his eyes. “We’ve got to move,” he said, but the ground felt slick beneath him—mud rippling as though something massive stirred below. Tyler’s flashlight caught movement near the base of the oak. A shape emerged, crawling from the soil—small, delicate fingers pressing through the dirt. Then another, and another. Dozens of them. Sarah screamed. “They’re coming out!” The hands gripped the roots, pulling shapes into view—children, pale and empty-eyed, faces slick with earth. They looked like Lucy, and yet not. Their mouths moved in unison, whispering her name as if in prayer. Mark grabbed Sarah’s wrist and ran, dragging her down the path. Tyler followed, choking back a sob. Behind them, the whispers grew louder, building into a chorus. It didn’t sound angry—it sounded joyful, feverish, as though the woods had gathered to celebrate a long-awaite...
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Blogtober 2025, Day 10: Panicked

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  Lucy's Path: Chapter Ten The sound grew thicker—too many voices, too close. Mark swung his flashlight toward the noise, but the beam flickered, catching only glimpses: faces half-formed between the trees, eyes like candle flames, small hands brushing the bark as they passed. “Run,” Sarah whispered. “Please, Mark—run.” But Mark couldn’t move. His legs felt rooted, as if the soil itself clutched him. The humming deepened, warping into a low, rhythmic chant that throbbed in his chest. Tyler grabbed his sleeve and yanked hard, breaking whatever trance had started to take hold. They stumbled down the path, Sarah close behind. “Emily!” she called, voice panicked, cracking against the night. “Answer me!” From somewhere ahead came a single, drawn-out note—high and mournful. Then silence. They stopped, chests heaving, light beams trembling over the forest floor. The ribbons were everywhere now, bright in the dark, twisting around trunks, hanging from branches, even drifting down...
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Blogtober 2025, Day 9: Moonlight

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  Lucy's Path: Chapter Nine “Emily!” Sarah’s voice carried too loudly, shattering the hush. No answer. Only the rustle of leaves settling back into place where Emily had vanished. Mark cursed, sweeping his useless flashlight as if sheer force would coax it back to life. “She knows the rules—nobody splits up. We’ve got to go after her.” Tyler shook his head, face pale. “That wasn’t her choice. You saw how she moved—like she was pulled.” The three huddled close, breathing quick. Above them, the branches shifted, letting a stripe of moonlight pierce through. It lit the trail just enough to show the ribbons again, fluttering though no wind touched them. Sarah gripped Mark’s arm. “We can’t just wander in blind. What if she’s already gone?” Mark’s jaw tightened. “If we leave her, she will be gone. Forever. We stick together. No more running off.” Tyler’s eyes darted to the glowing symbol etched into the oak, still pulsing faintly behind them. “What if it wants us all?” The...
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Blogtober 2025, Day 8: Gargoyle

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 Lucy's Path: Chapter Eight “Emily, don’t!” Sarah’s whisper cracked into panic, but Emily was already moving. The others stood frozen as her flashlight beam bobbed deeper into the trees, chasing the faint glow of Lucy’s small figure. Branches clawed at her sleeves, roots snagged her shoes, but Emily pressed on. She could hear the humming, clearer now, like a lullaby sung just for her. Every few steps, Lucy appeared ahead—always just far enough to stay out of reach. Emily stumbled into a small clearing. At its center stood a weathered stone, taller than she was, carved into the crude shape of a child. Its face was worn smooth except for wide, staring eyes. Perched on its shoulders were smaller figures, hunched like gargoyles, their mouths open in jagged grins. Lucy stood beside the stone, her hand resting on it as if it were a guardian. She tilted her head again, and Emily felt the weight of those eyeless carvings watching her. The humming stopped. Silence spread like a held b...
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Blogtober 2025, Day 7: Dream

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  Lucy's Path: Chapter Seven The path bent sharply, and there she was. A small figure stood ahead, half-lit in the jittering beams of their flashlights. She couldn’t have been more than seven, hair hanging in tangled braids, dress faded and dirty. Her face was pale, blurred somehow, as if the woods themselves didn’t want it fully seen. Emily gasped. “Lucy…” The girl didn’t move. She only tilted her head, as though listening to something far away. Then, softly, she began to hum the same tune that had drifted on the wind. Sarah grabbed Emily’s arm. “We need to go. Now.” But Emily shook her head. “She looks lost. Like she’s been waiting.” Mark raised his light, but it sputtered and died. In the dark, Lucy’s shape glowed faintly, her small hand rising as if to beckon. Tyler whispered, “She’s not real. She’s like… a dream. Just a dream we all happen to be having.” The girl smiled at that, lips barely curling, and the woods shivered as though they approved. Then she turne...
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Blogtober 2025, Day 6: Climb

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  Lucy's Path: Chapter Six The woods pressed in tighter the farther they walked. Their flashlights flickered, as if the batteries were already giving up. Tyler muttered, “We’re not even moving forward. It feels like the path keeps folding back on itself.” Mark snorted. “That’s just nerves. Keep walking.” But Sarah stopped short. “No—look.” She pointed at the trees ahead. A bundle of sticks dangled from a branch, bound with twine. Just above it, another bundle hung, and another, stacked upward in a crooked ladder that seemed to climb into the darkness. Emily whispered, “Like someone wanted to build a staircase… to nowhere.” The wind picked up, carrying a faint, tuneless humming. The sound wrapped around them, hard to tell if it was in front or behind. Mark forced himself forward, brushing beneath the hanging sticks. “It’s just kids messing around. Don’t let it freak you out.” His voice was steady, but his steps quickened. Emily trailed close behind. She swore she felt a ...
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Someone Else's Book Club: Meet the Herpezoids

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  NOTE: Today's guest blogger is Skragg, the King of the Herpezoids. Or, as he is known in his human form: Jerry. Jerry wishes to use this space to share some common misconceptions about Herpezoids. Greetings, human readers of this “blog.” I have been informed that these are where you overshare thoughts you could have kept to yourself. Excellent. I shall overshare as well. Allow me to address a few misconceptions about Herpezoids—because apparently, the propaganda machine known as “Corporate” has been spreading lies again. We are not monsters. We are a proud, nomadic species with rich cultural traditions—like conquest, body-hopping, and avoiding the written word at all costs. Yes, it’s true: books make us queasy. The sight of a paragraph can send a Herpezoid into a full existential spiral. We don’t know why. Something about “letters forming ideas” feels… dangerous. But do you mock the vampire for fearing sunlight? The werewolf for flinching at silver? No! You write fanfiction a...
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