The reflective glare shined onto the darkened floor below, the whispers of the night echoing through the wooded pillars. One sound was defined well within the forest, the sounds of leaves rustling, twigs breaking. Something was moving within the night, with haste, a flurry of debris flying within the moon’s glow. Footsteps were the only thing left from the midnight bustling; the movement stopped just short of an emanating ball of light. The Specter then spoke, ” The eve of the night is still anew.
I wrote this story one night I was working in Upstate New York at a summer camp. The moon was just in the right place, the sound was ideal and I was in the mood to hammer something out. The result was this short little blurb that I still enjoy reading. I’m not sure when I wrote this, I think it was before 2008, but it’s probably one of my shortest stories as well as one of my best. While there’s no ending, it paints the mood and picture and just transports you to that time in the woods…