The Encounter

Issac whispered to himself, "I had no choice but to steal again." The night was still and silent, except for the gentle breeze that caressed the forest. There was no trace of life. This was how it always was in this place, and this is what he loved about it. This place was at its best in the middle of autumn. The colorful leaves carpeted the ground and crunched under his feet. The pale white moonlight filtered through the trees above, casting eerie shadows. This made him feel peaceful.

This was his place, his refuge from everything and anything. His mind was empty tonight, which was rare. He felt a sudden urge to walk. Sleep had eluded him this night, as it often did, and he had nothing else to do. So he let his feet guide him here.

He longed for this silence, especially after a day like today. His eyes drifted towards the small brown sack on his waist. Earlier, he had "snatched" it from an old man doing some shopping at one of the food stalls in town. He felt the weight of the coin inside it wasn't much.

Working was almost impossible in this town, and the pay was never enough. Why should he slave away for a few coins, while his bosses got rich off his labor? This mindset had given him nothing, literally and figuratively. As long as he could stay unnoticed, though, he could make it. He glanced at the small brown sack again and felt a surge of nausea. He pushed it down and realized he was in a strange place.

His aimless wandering had led him astray. He must have left the trail at some point and gone deeper into the forest than he had ever been before. He looked around, trying to find his way. At that moment, the wind blew harder. The trees seemed to bend under the force, as if bowing to an invisible king. He stood firm, as to not topple over. His eyes fixed on the ground, and as suddenly as the wind came, it ceased.

A complete stop. Nothing, only silence.

He looked up at the sky. The moon that usually glowed with such a pure white light was stained red, like blood. He heard the crunching of leaves under footsteps. He looked ahead to see a man.

Taller than any other he had seen by at least a head, his neck curved as if carrying some heavy burden. He was thin; he wore a long gray robe that trailed on the floor of the forest, like a ghost's shroud. His bare feet that showed from the bottom of the robe were black as if from coal and ash. His pale face was tinted red in the moonlight; the sockets that should have held his eyes were empty; and his long smooth hands held an old-looking walking stick.

As he came closer, he murmured something he could not make out, like a dark spell. Issacs instincts were screaming at him to flee, but he could not budge. He was frozen in fear and dread. He cursed his luck for putting him in the way of such a creature. He moved slowly until he was right in front of him. He lifted his long slim finger. He tried with all his might to move. Sweat poured off his body, soaking through his traveler's cloak into the tough leather he wore underneath. He pressed his finger against his chest, right over his heart. The pain that followed was unbearable; it felt like fire burning through his veins. The only thing he remembered was begging for death, only wanting the pain to stop. Everything started to twist and turn, and before he knew it, the world went dark.