The park around Michael Alman howled with an unrelenting autumn breeze, the cold wind prickling against his face like a million tiny insects nibbling at his flesh. The streetlamps nearby sat silent and unlit, a row of iron blemishes upon the secluded autumn scenery. The electrical box had blown out yet again in the park, meaning the streetlamps had ceased to function. Michael had originally pawned this repair off to his compatriot, Donald, but once Donald radioed in that he forgot a few necessary tools, Michael had to unhappily assist. The trail to the box was obscured by darkness and covered with decaying leaves and sturdy roots that weaved through the path like stitches across a blanket. The sole provider of visibility were the small slivers of moonlight that passed through the canopy. As the path twisted deeper into the autumn wood, an echo on the freezing wind gave Michael pause.

“Miiiiiiichael”

He paused, trying to determine the source of the sound. It seemingly changed directions, carrying on the ever shifting winds.

         “Donald?”

         “Nooooo Miiiiiiichael”

A shiver of adrenaline began to slowly inch down Michael’s spine.

“Then who are you? Where are you?”

“Wheeeere am I nooot,  Miiiiiiichael”

As the phantom voice continued, reality became twisted and distorted as the trees around Michael contorted into ghoulish faces. The moon that leered above became a large baleful eye, staring unblinking into his very soul. At the edge of his vision, a shadow moved out of place, never staying within perception. Its eyes glowed a sickening pale orange.

         “Leeets plaaaaay Miiiiiiichael”

The roots below betrayed Michael, seizing his body, hoisting him above the darkened street lamps. The trees howled with menacing laughter, and the once fallen leaves now rose to engulf Michael’s head like a hideous deathmask. The ground split asunder, revealing a gaping maw of sediment and roots. Through Michael’s blurred vision, he saw a disarray of distorted faces within the widening jaws, being viciously clawed apart and reformed. The faces spewing a whirling cacophony of endless agony. Michael tried to scream, but the suffocating leaves and howling winds muffled him as he was slowly lowered into the maw.

And then suddenly, silence. Michael found himself sprawled along the ground, breathing heavily, spitting rotting leaves from his mouth. He was in a state of bewilderment. Did he imagine this terror?! Unsure and confused and deciding it best not to linger, Michael ran to the electrical box seeing the familiar silhouette of Donald in the distance, kneeling over the open box.

“Thank God! Donald! Let’s get these lights on and get out of here!”

Before any response could be uttered, Michael’s radio shot a hiss of static.

         “Michael? Come in Michael. It’s Donald. I’m back at the station. Can you just take care of the box? I owe you for next time.”

Michael grabbed the radio from his belt.

         “Wait? But I see you ri…”

Orange eyes came alive on the silhouette and the radio died…as did Michael Alman.