Statement Begins:

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The man is not alone in the woods. 

Leaves and twigs snap and crunch beneath his feet. Leaves and twigs snap and crunch behind him - from where, he does not know. He keeps moving, because there is little else he can do. Nothing else he can do. 

The man is not alone in the woods. 

He does not run. He ducks beneath low hanging branches, steps over roots and fallen tree trunks, and ignores the eerie, distant calls of birds that should not be calling yet. He tries not to think too hard about the sounds surrounding him, all of which sound far away. A little too far. 

The man is not alone in the woods. 

The night is still. Too still. Everything but the trees around him and the sound of his footsteps - leaves and twigs snap and crunch beneath his feet, leaves and twigs snap and crunch behind him - fades away. Do the birds sound a little odd? The birds sound a little odd. A little strange. A little wrong. In the way that is more internally sense than outwardly perceived. In the way that one can know but not describe. 

The man is not alone in the woods. 

He is kept company by a presence that is inwardly sense, not outwardly perceived. 

The man is not alone in the woods. 

How did he get here? - leaves and twigs snap and crunch beneath his feet - Where is he going? - leaves and twigs snap and crunch behind him -

Leaves and twigs. 

Snap. 

Crunch. 

The man stops. “Where am I?” Where is he? He made a mistake. 

The man is not alone in the woods. 

Leaves and twigs do not snap and crunch beneath his feet. Leaves and twigs snap and crunch behind him.