The Old Ones Of The Forest

The thunderstorm rolled in faster than I had expected. One moment, I the trail was silent except for the rhythmic sound of my boots hitting the damp ground. The next, a wall of rain swept through the trees with a roar, and the sky cracked open with lightning. I made it to the shelter just in time—barely enough room for me, my soaked pack, and the gathering shadows of dusk. The wind howled through the gaps in the rough-hewn logs, and thunder rattled the boards beneath me. I was cold, wet, and grateful. And I had the perfect thing to pass the time. From the side pocket of my pack, I pulled out a dog-eared journal that my brother back home had had for left me. It was a handwritten note along with the journal that had been tucked inside and it read : “Read this on a rainy night. Trust me.”

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