It was a dark and stormy night, the woods dank with pent up moisture. My flashlight had gone out hours ago; I was making my way slowly with the occasional light of my flip top lighter.

My feet sank into the spongy moss with every step I took. My shoes and pants were soaked through – my slicker had done it’s best to keep me dry, but even it could not hold the moisture out indefinitely.

I bumped into another rotten log, it’s decayed mass giving way before my fingers. It was too large to break. I felt my way around – too low to crawl under, I would have to climb over.

I pulled myself up on it, and slid my legs around to drop over the other side. I fell a short distance before my feet touched ground, and then there was nothing there.

I slipped down a short hill, the occasional thorn sticking into my hands and face. I was covered in mud, but I dared not make any more sound than my fall had already made.

I felt around for the lighter, and flipped it’s top. Staring at me out of the darkness was a face.