Old Stories on Old Benches

'''A quick warning before you read further: This is supposed to fit into the horror genre and as such brings up creepy themes and includes non-explicit gore. It also deals with intrusive thoughts.'''

It was hot. That’s the first thing that the recruit noticed when he had arrived at his new post and it bothered him still. It was the kind of heat that sunk deep into your skin, shortening tempers and making flies start to buzz dangerously close. Incredibly irritating flies too, bring up unpleasant images of corpses and rot. Nothing he wanted to think about but the thoughts were so close, sending doubt into his mind. ''Am I crazy? Wrong?''

That’s what kind of day it was, the kind that inspired thoughts that nobody should think. Ever. But then again, this was the norm for our young soldier. But alas, to quote some old books I once read. There was something else causing the oddness in the little old forest.

To quote another, less old book “Reading is a form of escape. Running for your life is another.” The recruit was doing one when he should be doing the other, the crisp pages of his new book only making faint rustling sounds. He should be looking up, not focusing on tales on dragons and unicorns. It wasn’t even that good of a book. Rather dull in fact, considering that he main character doesn’t seem to do anything. She just kind of goes with the flow. It’s incredibly irritating, you know what I mean, right? But that’s another story, a bad one. There are many other stories told by thousands of others. New stories, old stories, bad stories, less bad stories, truly terrible stories that make your eyes burn.

But enough. Enough of stories that shouldn’t be told, more on the dark presence lurking in the trees. It was a large presence, pressing down on the minds of everyone around until they crumbled under the weight of centuries upon centuries of fear and sadness. It shouldn’t, and in fact can’t, be described by mortal words by someone such as myself. I can tell you it was long though and, according to reports, serpentine, with clawed feet and what might be wings. It also might have a head, but that’s a subject of much debate.

It doesn’t much matter what the presence looks like however. The feeling was rather more impressive. How it winds around you, sinking into your skin like cold, freezing water that weighs you down and fractures your mind. It starts slow, an aching sort of discomfort that comes from behind and makes it difficult to move. That’s what the young soldier would be feeling around now.

Let’s think of stories now. Old, old stories, intertwined with the folklore of the land that many generations have told and written. The presence was one of those stories, wandering among goblins and ancient trees. It was a true story, this one. The story of the Skelton’s that littered the forest floor.

But no, no, no. This is a common story. I want something new, something interesting. Let’s start again. With a bench this time. Like the the one we’re on now, say. I’ll tell you about unicorns or dragons. Whatever you want to hear. Please, just stay. I can use prettier words, speak with more emotion. You’re the only one who has listened in so long. I’m begging you.

You don’t know what power you hold over me. You know what I can give you whatever words you want. I can weave whatever story you want. Literally if that’s what you wish. Just stay and give me a second of your time. It’s a warm day, the sun is shining. The bench is warm, you can stay. A moment a year, what difference does it make? You’re listening now. I’ll say whatever you want if you just ''stay. ''I’ll say that woman loves you, that you’ll live until the stars die. I can make it true. Make you believe it’s true anyway. Just stay, stay, stay.

I know they warn against people like me, but I tell better stories. I have sweeter words, trust me. I have nothing to hide. I am no demon or trickster, just an innocent being looking for some... sustenance. It’s an equal exchange. I get stronger and you can grow old, happier than your stupid fellow humans. It’s been a year already, don’t you realise?

''You can’t leave. Not now.''