I Try To Write…I Think?

This is one of the only things we as humans can apologize for.

Greetings, gentles and ladymen. You can call me Mindless. Because I live by it.

I’m working on some writings, stories and whatnot. If you like them, great. If not, I'm sorry. Gonna try and touch on a ton of fetish fuel for the average Joe or Joanne. Hope you all like what I’ll have to offer, and feel free to comment or send me messages with suggestions or ideas.

Stories So Far: (Thought it would be handy to have a quick link to my stuff so far)

Apocalytickle Part 1,

Apocalytickle Part 2,

Tergore Mundi: The Land of Fetishes, Chapter 1,

Apocalytickle Part 3

Sleepy, short story

Foot Treatment, short story

The Box, short story

Apocalytickle Part 4,

Rough Night Play

Tergore Mundi: The Land of Fetishes - Chapter 2, The Feather Clan

The Giggle Man

Kinktober 1: Sizing Up

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 1

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 2

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 3

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 4

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 5

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 6

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 7

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 8

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 9

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 10

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 11

The Serial Tickler, Chapter 12

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode One

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode Two

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode Three

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode Four

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode Five

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode Six

The Ticklee Chronicles, Episode Seven

More Coming...

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Got a Cashapp set up for donations and tips if you like my writing and want more. Anything and everything helps for my next project or my next meal: https://cash.app/$MindlessFlare

Helen stared at the lock.

For several minutes, she didn’t move.

The symbol carved into the stone seemed almost impossibly simple.

A footprint.

A bare foot.

She looked down at her own.

Dirty.

Scratched.

Exhausted.

A reminder of every moment since she had entered this world.

The boots she had lost.

The paths she had crossed.

The things that had chased her.

The fear she had been trying so desperately to outrun.

She had spent her entire life relying on preparation.

Equipment.

Knowledge.

Control.

But this place had taken all of those things away.

And now the one thing she had spent the entire journey trying to protect…

was the key.

Helen slowly reached forward.

“Of course it is.”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“The thing I fear most is the thing I have to face.”

She placed her foot against the symbol.

For one terrifying second, nothing happened.

Then the door opened.

A deep rumble shook the chamber as ancient stone moved aside.

Beyond it was not another forest.

Not another endless stretch of impossible wilderness.

It was a room.

A chamber.

A place built long before she had ever arrived.

Helen stepped inside.

The walls told the story immediately.

This was not a temple.

Not a sanctuary.

A containment chamber.

The ancient civilization had built this place for a reason.

The walls showed people bringing strange artifacts inside.

Studying the creatures.

Trying to understand them.

Then came the final images.

The creatures.

The feathers.

The laughter.

The people who had entered the chamber…

and never left.

Helen swallowed.

“This was where they made their last stand.”

Rows of old equipment lined the room.

Tools.

Artifacts.

Objects from another time.

She searched through them quickly.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she had no choice.

A collection of ancient tools sat on a stone table.

Ropes.

Old brushes.

Strange ceremonial objects.

Things that told her this place had been used for rituals she didn’t understand.

She pushed them aside.

“No.”

Not that.

Not that.

Then she found it.

A small box.

Perfectly preserved.

Smooth stone.

Covered in symbols.

She lifted it carefully.

A puzzle box.

At its center was a circular opening.

An orb sat inside, glowing faintly.

On one side of the box was the image of a feather.

On the other…

a foot.

Helen stared.

“The same symbols.”

She turned it over.

Rotated the pieces.

The mechanism shifted beneath her fingers.

The orb responded.

A piece moved.

Then another.

She was close.

So close.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Helen froze.

No.

Not now.

A voice echoed from the entrance.

“You always did love finding things that weren’t meant to be found.”

David.

Helen’s grip tightened around the puzzle box.

The green glow of his eyes appeared in the darkness.

“I knew you’d come here.”

She moved silently behind a stone pillar.

The box pressed against her chest.

Her way home.

The answer.

Everything she had fought for.

David entered the chamber.

He looked around.

Almost impressed.

“The old ones built this place because they were afraid.”

He smiled.

“Looks like they were right.”

Helen held her breath.

David walked closer.

“You know what I find interesting?”

He looked toward the walls.

“They recorded everything.”

A pause.

“Every explorer.”

Another step.

“Every attempt.”

Another.

“And every person who thought they could escape.”

Helen’s breathing became uneven.

Her mind raced.

Don’t listen.

Don’t react.

Don’t give him anything.

But this place was built on fear.

And David knew exactly where to aim.

“You’ve been running for so long.”

His voice softened.

“But you’re tired.”

Helen closed her eyes.

“I know you’re there.”

She froze.

David smiled.

“You always were terrible at hiding.”

Helen looked down at the puzzle box.

One piece remained.

One final movement.

“You don’t have to keep fighting.”

David stepped closer.

“You can stop.”

Her fingers moved.

Slowly.

Carefully.

“Imagine it.”

He whispered.

“Your picture on the wall.”

Helen’s hand shook.

“No.”

“The final explorer.”

“No.”

“The one who almost made it.”

Her eyes burned.

She forced herself to focus.

The symbols.

The patterns.

The sequence.

The ancient people weren’t leaving a warning.

They were leaving instructions.

The foot.

The feather.

Fear and understanding.

The lock clicked.

David stopped.

Helen looked down.

The orb was glowing.

The entire chamber awakened.

The walls shook.

David’s expression changed.

For the first time…he looked uncertain.

Helen stood.

“You were wrong.”

The doorway behind her opened.

“You thought fear was the key.”

The light surrounded her.

“But it was understanding.”

David reached forward.

The chamber filled with sound.

The forest.

The creatures.

The laughter.

Everything.

Helen closed her eyes.

And stepped through.

Silence.

Real silence.

Not the silence of a waiting forest.

Not the silence of something hunting.

Just silence.

Helen opened her eyes.

She was lying on a cold stone floor.

Dust surrounded her.

The air smelled normal.

The sky above was blue.

She was back.

The tomb.

Her world.

She stayed there for several minutes.

Not moving.

Not believing.

Then she slowly sat up.

Her notebook was still in her hand.

The orb was gone.

The doorway was gone.

The impossible world was gone.

But she was not the same person who entered.

Helen looked down.

At her exhausted, dirt-covered feet.

She stared for a long moment.

Then let out a tired breath.

“Never again.”

A pause.

She looked around the ruined chamber.

Then sighed.

“Actually…”

She glanced at the remains of her expedition gear.

“I’d give anything for a pair of boots right now.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever…

Helen Brant laughed because she wanted to.

Not because the forest made her.

Not because a creature forced her.

Because she was alive.

And somewhere beyond the walls of reality…something was still laughing back.

Helen had learned one important rule about the forest.

Never assume something is harmless.

The first few hours after escaping David had been about distance.

Now they were about survival.

She moved slowly through the enormous trees, her notebook held tightly against her chest, her eyes constantly scanning the world around her.

Every step was deliberate.

Every movement was calculated.

The moss was the worst.

At first glance, it looked ordinary.

Soft.

Green.

Almost inviting.

But Helen had learned that nothing here was ordinary.

The first patch she encountered had shifted when she stepped near it, tiny strands of plant matter rising like curious fingers reaching toward movement.

She immediately stepped back.

“No.”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

The moss settled.

Waiting.

Helen circled around it carefully, placing each foot only on clear patches of stone and hardened roots.

It was ridiculous.

She had walked through unstable ruins.

Crossed collapsing bridges.

Entered tombs where every step could trigger an ancient mechanism.

But now…

She was afraid of the ground.

That realization bothered her.

Not because she was afraid.

Fear was useful.

Fear kept people alive.

What bothered her was that this world was teaching her fear in a way she couldn’t predict.

Every branch above her.

Every vine beside her.

Every strange flower opening in her path.

Everything wanted her attention.

Everything wanted her distracted.

And distraction was dangerous.

She passed beneath a tree with long, feather-shaped leaves hanging from its branches.

Helen stopped.

Slowly, she looked up.

The leaves swayed despite the absence of wind.

She waited.

Nothing happened.

She took one step forward.

A leaf drifted down.

Helen immediately moved aside.

It brushed against the ground where her foot had been.

She stared at it.

Then continued.

The forest was learning her.

And she was learning it.

That was the only advantage she had.

Hours later, she found something impossible.

Stone.

Not natural stone.

Carved stone.

A wall hidden beneath layers of roots and massive vines.

Helen approached carefully, clearing away vegetation with shaking hands.

Ancient markings appeared beneath the growth.

Her exhaustion disappeared.

This was familiar.

A language.

A record.

A message.

She traced the symbols.

“The people who built the tomb…”

Her eyes followed the carvings.

“They came here.”

The structure wasn’t a temple exactly.

It was more like a refuge.

A place built by people who had already encountered this world and understood the danger.

The walls showed explorers entering.

The walls showed creatures watching.

The walls showed people studying the strange ecosystem.

And then…

A symbol repeated over and over.

A doorway.

Helen moved deeper.

The interior was surprisingly intact.

No dust.

No decay.

Almost as if the structure had been preserved by the dimension itself.

She found murals showing the ancient inhabitants studying the creatures.

Not worshipping them.

Not fighting them.

Studying them.

Like she was.

Helen opened her notebook.

“Okay…”

Her voice was quiet.

“Think.”

She compared the symbols.

The tomb.

The forest.

The doorway.

The creatures.

There was a pattern.

A way this world worked.

A way out.

She moved farther into the structure until she reached the final chamber.

And stopped.

A door stood at the end.

Unlike the rest of the ruins, it had no carvings of monsters.

No warnings.

No scenes of fear.

Only one symbol.

A simple shape carved into the center of the stone.

A footprint.

A bare foot.

Helen stared.

Her heart pounded.

“That’s new.”

She approached slowly.

The symbol wasn’t decorative.

It was a mechanism.

A lock.

She brushed dirt away from the edges.

The stone shifted slightly beneath her hand.

A faint glow traveled through the carving.

Helen stepped back.

Her mind raced.

A door marked with a foot.

Was it a way home?

A test?

A trap?

The ancient people had left warnings everywhere else.

Why leave a door?

Why leave a key?

And why choose that symbol?

She looked behind her.

The forest beyond the ruins was silent.

Too silent.

Helen knew better than to trust silence anymore.

Somewhere out there was David.

Somewhere out there were the creatures.

And somewhere beyond this door…

might be the answer.

Or something worse.

She raised her hand toward the lock.

Then stopped.

For the first time in hours, she allowed herself a small, exhausted laugh.

“Of course.”

She looked at the impossible doorway.

“Of course the one thing that might get me home is also the thing that looks like the biggest trap.”

The door waited.

The forest waited.

And Helen Brant, explorer and reluctant prisoner of another world, had to decide whether finding the exit was worth opening it.

So, for my birthday today, my lovely @aisabunnie made me breakfast. French toast, waffles, and their signature cheesy egg fried rice.

Completed with some lemonade on the rocks, and it should be a good start to the day!!

Helen didn’t hesitate.

The moment David took another step forward, she turned.

And ran.

Ahead of her was nothing but darkness.

A cliff.

A drop.

No path.

No plan.

Just distance.

Her survival instinct screamed at her to stop.

Her stubbornness screamed louder.

“Not again,” she whispered.

Then she jumped.

For one impossible moment, she was weightless.

The forest stretched out beneath her, an endless sea of impossible trees and glowing vegetation.

Then she hit the slope below.

She rolled.

Branches snapped around her.

Leaves scattered.

Pain shot through her shoulder.

But she forced herself upright.

Run.

That was all that mattered.

Behind her, David’s voice echoed from above.

“Helen!”

She didn’t look back.

“You really are difficult to catch.”

She pushed forward.

The forest reacted instantly.

Roots twisted beneath the soil.

Vines reached from the trees.

The entire environment seemed to recognize her movement and respond.

Not like an animal chasing prey.

Like a trap closing around something that had wandered inside.

Helen jumped over one root.

Another curled around her arm.

She tore free.

A third caught her jacket and pulled.

She stumbled, fighting against the strange living landscape.

The more she struggled, the more the forest seemed to laugh with her.

A strange pressure filled the air.

A sensation she couldn’t explain.

Like the atmosphere itself was designed to break her concentration.

Her breathing became uneven.

Her thoughts became scattered.

And despite everything…

A nervous laugh escaped.

“No.”

She clenched her jaw.

“No, no, no.”

She forced herself forward.

She refused to give the forest the satisfaction of stopping her.

The laughter followed.

Not joyful.

Not amused.

A reaction.

A crack in her control.

Every step became a battle between her mind and the world around her.

But eventually…

The voices faded.

The trees became quieter.

The presence behind her disappeared.

Helen slowed.

Then stopped.

She collapsed against the base of an enormous tree, breathing heavily.

For several minutes, she did nothing.

She listened.

No footsteps.

No voice.

No laughter.

Just silence.

She was alive.

For now.

Helen pulled out her notebook.

Her hands shook as she flipped through the pages.

“Think.”

That was what she did.

That was who she was.

Not prey.

Not a victim.

A researcher.

She looked around.

The tree beside her was covered in markings.

Not carved.

Grown.

The same symbols from the tomb.

The same impossible language.

Helen wiped away the moisture on the bark and studied the patterns.

Feathers.

Spirits.

The creatures.

The doorway.

Her eyes moved rapidly between symbols, comparing them to the notes she had taken before everything went wrong.

“They weren’t worshipping them…”

She traced a symbol with her finger.

“They were documenting them.”

Her breathing slowed.

The tomb wasn’t a temple.

It was a record.

A warning.

A map.

She followed the sequence of symbols carefully.

The first images showed humans discovering the creatures.

The next showed the dimension opening.

The next showed…

Helen stopped.

Her nervous laughter returned.

“No…”

The final symbols weren’t showing people being captured.

They were showing something else.

Someone escaping.

A figure leaving the world behind.

But there was a second symbol beside it.

A symbol she hadn’t noticed before.

A symbol that looked like a doorway…

With something following behind.

Helen stared.

The creatures didn’t just want visitors.

They wanted a way out.

Her eyes widened.

She looked back toward the direction she had escaped from.

The forest.

David.

The tomb.

Everything connected.

“If I find the exit…”

Her voice trembled.

“…I might bring them with me.”

The thought was worse than being trapped.

Much worse.

She looked down at her notes.

The answer was there.

Somewhere.

The ancient people who built the tomb had known this place existed.

They had survived long enough to leave warnings.

They had found a way to contain it.

Which meant there had to be a way to do it again.

Helen closed her notebook.

She was terrified.

She was exhausted.

She didn’t know if her assistants could be saved.

She didn’t know if she could stop the creatures.

She didn’t even know if she could stop herself from laughing long enough to think.

But she knew one thing.

She was not becoming another carving on a wall.

She stood.

The forest whispered around her.

The dimension waited.

And Helen Brant, archaeologist, explorer, and very unwilling guest finally began searching for the way home.

Helen didn’t know how long she had been running.

Minutes.

Hours.

Time didn’t behave normally here.

The sky never changed.

The forest never became familiar.

Every direction looked like the one before it.

She stumbled through the undergrowth, one hand pressed against her side, her breathing ragged.

Her instincts told her to stop.

Her training told her to think.

But every time she slowed down…

She heard him.

“Helen.”

She froze.

No.

Not again.

“You know, for someone who studies ancient civilizations, you really don’t like learning from history.”

David’s voice drifted between the trees.

Calm.

Almost friendly.

That made it worse.

Helen turned slowly.

Nothing.

Only shadows.

Only leaves.

Only the endless green glow.

“You’ve seen the walls.”

A branch above her moved.

“You know what happened to the others.”

Helen clenched her jaw.

“You’re not David.”

A quiet laugh answered her.

“No.”

A pause.

“Not anymore.”

The words hung in the air.

Helen backed away.

Every part of her wanted to run.

But something stopped her.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The creatures had studied humanity for thousands of years.

They knew exactly what frightened people.

And they knew something even more dangerous.

They knew what people tried to hide.

David stepped out from behind the trees.

His expression was almost playful.

“You always acted so confident.”

Helen stared at him.

“Always the expert.”

He walked closer.

“Always the one who knew what she was doing.”

Helen raised her notebook defensively.

“Stay away from me.”

David smiled.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“That little bit of panic.”

Helen hated that he was right.

She hated that her hands were shaking.

She hated that this thing wearing David’s face could see it.

“You spent years pretending nothing scared you.”

David tilted his head.

“But everyone has something.”

Helen stepped backward.

The forest shifted.

A wall of vines rose behind her.

Not attacking.

Blocking.

Guiding.

Her escape route vanished.

David continued.

“That’s the funny thing about fear.”

His voice lowered.

“It starts small.”

Helen’s breathing quickened.

A strange sensation crept into her thoughts.

Not pain.

Not pressure.

Something worse.

A feeling like her own mind was turning against her.

Every memory of the tomb.

Every strange carving.

Every impossible image.

The laughter in the darkness.

It replayed again and again.

And with every repetition, the fear became harder to control.

A nervous sound escaped her.

A laugh.

Helen immediately covered her mouth.

No.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

David watched with fascination.

“There it is.”

Helen glared at him.

“Stop.”

But the more she fought it, the harder it became.

Her fear.

Her frustration.

Her exhaustion.

Everything tangled together until she couldn’t tell where the panic ended and the laughter began.

She tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

Only a shaky breath.

Then another laugh.

Not because she wanted to.

Because the terror itself had become overwhelming.

David stepped closer.

“You understand now.”

Helen wiped her eyes, furious with herself.

“This isn’t funny.”

“No.”

David’s smile faded slightly.

“It’s not.”

He reached into his coat.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Helen froze.

From inside, he pulled out something ancient.

A single feather.

The same shape.

The same design.

The same symbol carved into the tomb walls.

Helen stared at it.

Her laughter stopped.

For the first time, David looked almost serious.

“This was never a warning.”

He held the feather up between them.

“It was a promise.”

The forest became silent.

Every plant.

Every creature.

Every unseen presence.

Waiting.

Helen looked at the feather.

Then at David.

And she finally understood the worst part.

The tomb hadn’t been describing something that happened long ago.

It had been describing what was still happening.

David stepped closer.

“Now you know why they left the message.”

Helen tightened her grip on her notebook.

“Why?”

David’s eyes glowed brighter.

“So someone would come looking.”

The trees around them began to whisper.

And Helen realized she was no longer being chased.

She had been found.

Helen had stopped thinking about rescue.

That thought frightened her more than anything else.

An archaeologist was supposed to uncover mysteries.

Document them.

Understand them.

She had spent her entire career walking into places everyone else feared.

But this was different.

This place wasn’t a tomb.

It wasn’t ruins.

It wasn’t an artifact waiting to be explained.

It was alive.

And it had noticed her.

Helen crouched beneath the roots of an enormous tree, barely breathing.

The grove around her had changed since she entered it.

The plants no longer moved openly.

They waited.

Every leaf seemed angled toward her.

Every vine seemed to know exactly where she was.

She looked down at herself.

No boots.

No equipment.

No team.

Only a torn expedition jacket, her notebook, and the small amount of stubbornness that had gotten her this far.

She hated admitting it.

She was scared.

Not of dying.

Not even of this strange world.

She was scared of being captured.

Of becoming another image carved into a wall.

Another warning left behind by someone who had failed.

She closed her eyes.

Her assistants.

She had to find them.

She had to help them.

But every time she imagined going back…

She remembered the ground opening.

The laughter beneath the earth.

The look in David’s eyes.

A horrible thought entered her mind.

Maybe there is no saving them.

Helen immediately pushed it away.

“No,” she whispered.

Her own voice sounded unfamiliar.

“I don’t leave people behind.”

A twig snapped.

Helen froze.

Slowly…

She turned.

Nothing.

Only trees.

Only shadows.

Only silence.

Then a voice drifted through the forest.

“Helen.”

Her blood ran cold.

She knew that voice.

“David?”

A figure stepped between the trees.

The same expedition clothes.

The same face.

But the person wearing it was gone.

His eyes glowed faintly with the same unnatural green light that had filled the tomb.

He tilted his head.

“You were always good at hiding.”

Helen pressed herself deeper into the roots.

David walked slowly through the grove.

Not searching randomly.

Following.

“You know…”

His voice carried strangely through the trees.

“I wondered how long you’d last.”

Helen covered her mouth to keep herself from making a sound.

The possessed figure stopped.

He looked around.

Almost amused.

“The forest knows where you are.”

A pause.

“But I wanted to find you myself.”

Helen’s hand tightened around her notebook.

Her mind raced.

The creatures weren’t just hunting.

They were playing with their prey.

Testing them.

Learning them.

David continued walking.

“I’ll find you…”

Helen shifted slightly.

The root behind her moved.

She immediately froze.

The tree wasn’t protecting her.

It was adjusting.

Making room.

Making sure she stayed hidden.

But not safe.

“You can’t hide forever.”

David walked past her hiding place.

For one brief moment, Helen thought she was safe.

Then he stopped.

His head slowly turned.

“There you are.”

Helen’s eyes widened.

She didn’t know how he found her.

Scent?

Movement?

The forest telling him?

It didn’t matter.

She ran.

Branches whipped past her face as she tore through the trees.

Behind her, David followed at a steady pace.

Not rushing.

Not needing to.

“You don’t understand this world yet, Helen.”

His voice echoed through the jungle.

“Everywhere you go…”

A vine shifted beside her.

“…it knows.”

Helen jumped over a root and nearly fell as the ground moved beneath her.

She scrambled upward, grabbing onto the nearest tree and climbing into the branches.

The higher she went, the more she realized her mistake.

The trees weren’t hiding places.

They were traps.

The branches curled around her path.

The leaves brushed against her clothes.

The entire canopy seemed designed to slow her down.

She pressed herself against the trunk, trying to disappear among the leaves.

Below, David stepped into the clearing.

He looked upward.

Waiting.

Watching.

Helen barely dared to breathe.

Then the tree beneath her shifted.

Not violently.

Almost gently.

A warning.

The forest itself was giving her away.

David smiled.

“There you are.”

Helen’s heart pounded.

She looked around desperately.

No escape.

No safe place.

The ground was dangerous.

The trees were dangerous.

The plants were dangerous.

The entire dimension was built around one simple truth:

There was nowhere to run.

Helen slowly backed away along the branch.

Her foot slipped.

She caught herself.

Below, David laughed quietly.

“You’re starting to understand.”

Helen looked down at him.

For the first time since arriving, she didn’t see an enemy.

She saw a message.

The creatures weren’t trying to destroy her.

They wanted her to understand.

They wanted her afraid.

And that realization terrified her more than anything.

Because it meant this wasn’t a hunt.

It was an invitation.

Helen grabbed onto a higher branch.

And jumped.

She crashed through the leaves, hit the ground, and rolled down the side of a hill.

Pain shot through her shoulder.

But she kept moving.

Behind her, the forest erupted with laughter.

And for the first time since entering the pocket dimension…

Helen Brant ran without knowing where she was going.

Only knowing she couldn’t stop.

Helen hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from her lungs.

For several seconds she could only hear ringing in her ears.

Then…

Leaves rustled.

Something clicked.

Something else giggled.

She pushed herself upright, clutching her notebook to her chest. Her assistants had landed nearby, groaning as they struggled to stand.

“We’re together,” she breathed. “Good.”

The relief lasted less than a second.

The assistant who had touched the crystal was already walking.

Not stumbling.

Walking.

Deliberately.

His posture was stiff, almost puppet-like, and he wandered deeper into the emerald jungle without acknowledging either of them.

“David!”

No response.

“David!”

He disappeared behind a curtain of enormous fern-like plants.

Helen took a step after him.

Her remaining assistant grabbed her arm.

“I don’t think that’s David anymore.”

Helen hated how quickly she’d reached the same conclusion.

“…Move.”

The forest answered before he could.

Every branch overhead shivered.

Thousands of feather-like leaves trembled in perfect unison.

A soft chorus drifted through the trees.

Not words.

Laughter.

Quiet.

Patient.

Waiting.

“We run,” Helen whispered.

Neither argued.

The two sprinted between towering roots wider than city streets.

Nothing looked natural.

Flowers slowly turned to watch them pass.

Vines curled away from tree trunks as if making room.

The moss beneath Helen’s boots compressed like memory foam before springing back into place.

“This place…”

Her assistant gasped beside her.

“…it’s alive.”

A sharp crack echoed behind them.

Helen glanced over her shoulder.

The possessed assistant was nowhere to be seen.

Instead…

Dozens of pale figures drifted silently through the trees, keeping pace without ever touching the ground.

“Don’t look back,” Helen said.

“I’m trying not to!”

The jungle suddenly erupted.

Long strands of moss whipped upward from the forest floor.

Her assistant shouted as one looped around his ankle.

He kicked free.

Another wrapped around his wrist.

Then another.

“Helen!”

She spun just in time to see thick flowering vines burst from beneath a fallen log, coiling around his legs and waist with startling speed.

He fought wildly.

“Help me!”

Helen rushed back, grabbing his forearm.

The vines tightened.

The earth beneath him rippled.

“No…”

The ground wasn’t collapsing.

It was opening.

Like a mouth.

His eyes widened.

“Helen!”

She pulled with everything she had.

For one impossible moment she thought she was winning.

Then soft, feathered tendrils emerged from beneath the moss.

They brushed against his arms.

His grip faltered.

“No!”

More tendrils appeared, moving with unsettling gentleness as they explored every exposed inch of skin they could reach.

He jerked involuntarily, unable to keep hold of her hand.

“Helen—!”

Their fingers slipped apart.

The earth swallowed him whole.

The opening sealed shut.

Silence.

Helen stood frozen.

Her breathing became shallow.

She dropped to her knees, frantically clawing at the moss.

Nothing.

No hole.

No footprints.

No sign he’d ever been there.

Only a faint, distant burst of laughter echoed somewhere beneath the ground.

Her pulse hammered in her ears.

“No…”

She backed away.

“No, no, no…”

The forest moved again.

This time it reached for her.

Roots burst from the earth around her boots, twisting around the leather before she could react.

Helen yanked one foot free.

The boot stayed behind.

She stumbled forward.

The second root caught her remaining boot.

She kicked desperately.

The laces snapped.

She lurched free, leaving both boots tangled among the roots.

Bare feet struck the soft moss.

Cold.

Damp.

Far too exposed.

She didn’t stop.

Branches slapped against her shoulders as she sprinted through the impossible forest.

Her notebook bounced against her side.

Her hat vanished somewhere behind her.

She didn’t notice.

Her mind raced faster than her legs.

The murals.

The feathers.

The spirits.

The people laughing.

None of it had been symbolic.

It had been a warning.

This world wasn’t trying to kill intruders.

It was trying to catch them.

She vaulted over a fallen trunk, nearly losing her balance as unfamiliar plants curled toward her feet the instant she landed.

Every instinct screamed at her to keep moving.

Behind her, the jungle rustled.

Not with pursuit.

With anticipation.

As though the forest itself knew she couldn’t run forever.

Helen burst into a grove of towering trees whose branches wove together high above, dimming the emerald light.

She ducked behind a massive root, forcing herself to stay absolutely still.

The laughter faded.

Only her heartbeat remained.

She pressed a trembling hand against one of the ancient trunks.

“What are you?” she whispered.

The bark rippled beneath her fingertips.

Slowly…

Almost thoughtfully…

The tree answered with a single, quiet giggle.

The sandstone corridor echoed with the sound of two archaeologists disagreeing.

“…I’m telling you, these bones are at least four thousand years older than the surrounding structure.”

“They can’t be,” the other shot back. “Look at the erosion patterns. They’re contemporary with the temple.”

“They absolutely are not.”

“They absolutely are.”

Dr. Helen Brant stopped walking.

Without turning around, she sighed.

“If either of you says ‘absolutely’ one more time, I’ll leave you here to carbon-date each other.”

Silence.

“…Sorry, Dr. Brant.”

Helen nodded once and continued deeper into the ruins.

The beam of her flashlight swept across walls untouched by sunlight for millennia.

Unlike many archaeologists, Helen wasn’t interested in legends or curses. Legends made for exciting documentaries. Evidence made for history.

She wore practical expedition clothes in light khaki, scuffed leather boots, fingerless gloves, and a faded red ascot tied neatly around her neck. A tan expedition hat shaded blonde hair tied into a low ponytail, while sharp blue eyes searched every inch of the corridor for details others overlooked.

The argument behind her resumed.

“…Fine. Three thousand years.”

“I said four.”

Helen ignored them.

Until her flashlight reached the first mural.

She froze.

Feathers.

Hundreds of them.

Carved into spirals across the stone.

Not birds.

Not wings.

Individual feathers, each painstakingly etched beside strange, translucent figures drifting above kneeling people.

The kneeling figures weren’t chained.

They weren’t wounded.

They were…laughing.

Helen stepped closer.

Her heartbeat slowed.

No…

The feather wasn’t being held like a ceremonial symbol.

It was brushing against the sole of someone’s foot.

Another mural showed shadowy tendrils curling around explorers while ghostlike figures hovered nearby, delicate feathers extended toward exposed hands and bare feet. Faces twisted somewhere between panic and uncontrollable laughter.

Further along, enormous creatures with masses of tentacle-like limbs loomed over fleeing people. Their forms were impossible to fully comprehend, as though the sculptor hadn’t wanted—or been able—to depict them clearly.

One assistant wandered beside her.

“…Well.”

He chuckled awkwardly.

“That’s…specific.”

Helen didn’t answer.

“You okay?”

She realized she’d been staring.

“…Fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s just unusual iconography.”

The second assistant smirked.

“What? Feathers bother you?”

“No.”

“The foot stuff?”

“No.”

“…You sure?”

Helen adjusted her ascot a little tighter.

“I’ve spent years excavating tombs filled with human sacrifices, plague pits, and ritual burials.”

She looked away from the carving.

“I’m not intimidated by decorative feathers.”

The assistants exchanged a glance.

“…Didn’t Sarah from the museum say you’re ridiculously—”

“Hush.”

“…”

“…”

“Continue documenting.”

Neither argued.

The deeper chamber dwarfed everything they’d seen so far.

Dozens of pillars circled an enormous stone dais.

At its center floated what appeared to be a crystal suspended inside an intricate bronze framework untouched by corrosion.

No dust covered it.

No cracks marked its surface.

It looked…

Waiting.

One assistant circled it.

“This wasn’t in the survey.”

“It couldn’t have been,” Helen replied.

“There wasn’t supposed to be a chamber here.”

He reached toward the framework.

Helen’s voice cut through the room.

“Don’t.”

“…I was just looking.”

“Look with your eyes.”

He grinned.

“I’ve heard that before.”

Ignoring her warning, he brushed a fingertip against the bronze ring.

Nothing happened.

He smiled triumphantly.

“See?”

A heartbeat later…

The crystal pulsed.

The chamber inhaled.

Every torch died.

The temperature plummeted.

Hair rose along Helen’s arms.

The carvings surrounding the room began to glow with pale emerald light.

The feather symbols shimmered.

The ghostly figures moved.

Not metaphorically.

They moved.

One by one, translucent shapes peeled themselves from the walls like living mist.

The assistants stumbled backward.

“What…”

One spirit drifted silently toward the nearest assistant.

It touched his forehead.

He screamed.

His body arched violently as green light flooded his eyes.

Then…

He stopped.

He stood perfectly still.

Smiling.

Not his smile.

Something else’s.

His companion reached for him.

“H-Hey…”

The possessed assistant turned his head with an unnatural slowness.

His grin widened impossibly.

Without warning, reality split open behind him.

The air tore apart like wet paper, revealing a swirling world of emerald skies and colossal vegetation beyond.

Invisible force erupted from the rift.

Helen barely had time to grab her notebook before the pull caught all three of them.

Stone. Light. Wind. Laughter. Then…Impact.

Helen rolled across a bed of impossibly soft moss.

She pushed herself upright, coughing.

The air smelled sweet.

The trees towered hundreds of feet overhead, their branches draped with feather-like vines that swayed despite the stillness.

Flowers opened as she looked at them.

Not toward the sun.

Toward her.

Somewhere nearby…

Something giggled.

Then something else answered.

Helen slowly stood, “…We’re not in Egypt anymore.”

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This is the beginning of a short miniseries I’m working on based on an idea I had. I’m trying to do more writings and continue stories I’ve done, but it is hard. So this is just for me to let off steam.

Hope you enjoy.

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Back underneath the school, in the hidden torture chamber of the serial tickler, two new victims find themselves in the grasp of this unnatural threat. Zuri Applegate, the would-be reporter who got in over her head, is bound by her wrists overhead and her ankles locked in stocks. Her head hangs low as her unconscious body had been searched by her captors. Her clothing had been torn and disheveled with her upper body exposed and her feet bared. Her eyes are covered by a white blindfold and her personal belongings had been removed from her person.

On a table adjacent to the bound Zuri, one of the masked figures, covered in black attire save for a white smile painted onto their mask, goes through her stuff. Searching her phone, her bag, and the pieces of lint and miscellaneous items she had in her pockets.

The figure placed her phone to the side, looking over at her bound body. They walked over and caressed her purple and blue hair, sliding their fingers through her hair. The figure looked behind them, at their other captive: Dean. The titular jock was also bound, with less clothing on. His pants, shirt and shoes were all removed, with his muscular form bound in leather straps. Before doing anything else, the figure moved over to Dean’s body as his conciousness stirred.

He groaned, instinctively pulling at his arms and legs, finding them bound in place. He panted, sweat running from his brow as he tugged effortlessly. “What the hell is this shit?! I didn’t tell her anything!”

The figure chuckled, grabbing Dean by the throat, “We both know that’s only half the truth.”

Dean choked on his spit, desperately gasping through the grip the figure had on his throat. Dean’s heart raced; drool dribbled down the corner of his mouth as he felt himself getting light headed quickly. The figure pulled back, looking over at the second masked figure in the corner of the room next to a black bag, watching everything transpire.

“Stay calm.” The second figure said, “No need to get emotional…”

The first figure sighed, while Dean struggled to catch his breath, “He needs to be dealt with, but she sent out a message before the gas knocked her out.”

“Then handle it.” The second figure said, glancing back at Zuri who began to stir as well. “Do you know who she sent it to?”

The first figure nodded, “Yeah. I know her, definietly. I’ll handle it.” The first figure headed to the door, before turning back, “Make sure he suffers.”

The second figure nodded as the first figure left to deal with Sky. The second figure chuckled, knowing that the two prey were right where they needed to be. Dean quickly coughed, “What the fuck is wrong….with you shitheads?”

The second figure grabbed a feather and knelt down next to Dean’s naked form, and started stroking his thighs, “You would have talked…”

“Hehehey! Stop it, you fuhuhuhuck!” Dean giggled, squirming against the feather’s soft touch, “I dihihihihidn’t say nothing..!!”

“Enough with the double entendres,” the figure said, “Time to suffer…” The figure continued stroking the feather up and down Dean’s thighs, moving a little higher to his abdomen and stomach. Dean reacted as expected: giggling and squirming, desperately trying to keep his laughter in to seem tough to little success.

While the figure worked over Dean's body, Zuri shook herself awake, blinded by the blindfold but listened carefully. She heard Dean laughing and swearing with the distinct breathing of one of the figures. She tried to stay quiet as she felt around her shackles. Her finger found a key hole and a loose piece of metal on her wrist. She tugged carefully, feeling if her wrist could slip through and she could make her escape.

“Coochie coochie coo, big guy…” the figure teased as Dean laughed harder, feeling both fingers and feathers around his upper body. Strokes across his tight abdomen, and fingers caressing the tender armpits he hid for years. Dean sweated through the torture, laughing and at the mercy of this tickler. “Well, what do we have here…?”

The tickling ceased for a moment, as Dean panicked. His body betrayed him as the tickling and semi-arousing bondage equipment had resulted in his flaccid cock growing rigid and throbbing. “No! Fuck you! I’m not a pervert!”

The figure chuckled, “We both know that’s a lie, Dean.” The figure reached down and grasped Dean’s shaft in his gloved hand. Dean shivered as the cool leather glove started jerking his shaft. The moans were choked behind failed attempts to hide them. Dean bit his lip hard, trying not to give the figure any satisfaction to his position. “You are so amusing: trying to act like a tough guy, when you crumble under this kind of pressure. Your body is more honest than your mouth, and I’m going to make sure you regret even thinking about any more of your frat boy activities behind closed doors.”

Dean gasped, growling, “How…do you…?”

“Rumors spread like wild fire. And even if you try to snuff them out, embers keep hidden beyond reach,” The figure explained, pulling away from Dean’s throbbing cock, unaware of Zuri’s attempts of escape. The figure opens the bag in the corner and pulls out a suction toy for overstimulation, with Dean’s frat house’s logo on the side. “Let’s have some fun…”

The figure secured the device onto Dean’s cock, sliding it into the cylindrical size and locking it around his testicles. A wired remote held tightly in the figure’s hand as Dean whined, “Get me…out of this thing!”

The figure chuckled again, pressing the on button and activating the toy. The device began pressurizing the inside and started caressing his shaft and jerking it up and down. The additional vibrations on the toy buzzed in the air against his balls, forcing more moans and giggles out of Dean as he struggled in vain.

“Ahahahha! Hmmmmmmmm!! MMMMMNO!” Dean groaned, thrashing and arching his body as his mind started to get twisted by the pleasure and the disgust from the circumstance. He knew he enjoyed being toyed with like this, but by an older woman. And his tough guy persona hated being at the mercy of someone he couldn’t see.

Meanwhile, Zuri managed to get her one hand free and pulled off her blindfold. She looked over at the figure, back to her, torturing Dean and watching him squirm. She looked around quickly, noticing a scapel on the table next to her. She sweated as she struggled to reach for it, just barely grabbing it, and started trying to pick the lock on her other wrist. Or failing that, cut through the lock itself. She chipped and worked the metal as quietly as she could, letting the figure work Dean over.She somehow managed to loosen the lock on her shackle enough to get her other hand free, before working on the stocks trapping her bare feet.

The figure chuckled again, watching Dean writhe in confused agony, “This is your natural state, isn’t it, Dean?” The figure stood and started scratching Dean’s ribs while his cock was still edged and teased by the toy. Dean howled, laughing and thrashing as he was being put through the ringer. Zuri quickened her pace, trying to get her feet free. She managed to get the stocks loose enough so she could pull her ankles free. With the figure’s attention on Dean, she took this moment to grab her phone and record the scene before her. After a few seconds of proving the kidnapper’s existence, she scurried to the door and opened it as quietly as she could. She slipped out, with the door making a loud squeak as it closed.

Zuri panicked and took off running. The figure turned and saw the empty stocks, bolting to the door. Dean screamed and laughed, “WAHAHAHAIT! Let meehehehehe GO!!”

The figure turned back to Dean, “I’ll be back after I catch our mutual friend. We’ll have some more laughs…” Dean whined and screamed through the cycle of tickling and orgasmic overstimulation, as the figure left him for their other intended target.

End of Chapter 13…

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Send me some info, and I’ll see if I can write it.