ist began to creep along the forest floor as Jonas tried to find the path he had followed in. Hours, it seemed, had passed since he entered the wood, yet the light had not changed its brightness. Diffused through the branches, refracted through each droplet in the fine mists, the sunlight did not cease nor seem to move, and Jonas could not tell the time. Perhaps it was the moon that now shone, he thought. Willows and birches grew everywhere, and only the gaps between them gave any hint at a path, though none were recognizable.

Evil, whispered a voice behind him.

Jonas started, falling against a stand of thin birches that caught and threw him back to his feet. He could see no one, only the mist and the light, seeming to grow thicker and brighter.

Eeeevilllllllll.

Jonas felt something brush against his leg, but could make out nothing, only the mist rising. Then he saw it- the mist, like fine arms and hands, began to wrap around his legs, curling, reaching, pulling.