i see them, too.

our lush forests turn gnarled and decayed, their elderly trunks contorting into terrifying scowls.

the wildflower patches wither and dissipate. their cheerful spots of color alongside our roads transform into a grim reminder that we are not in control of other lives around us. we have yet to find out who the warning is for.

the welcome sign out front casts eerie shadows onto the ground when struck with the sickly headlights of passing vehicles. the beveled lettering that declare our town’s name is more wary than welcoming. perhaps it is a warning. we have yet to know.

the wolves only make their existence known at nightfall, yet never show their faces. the only evidence of them is their haunting howls, leaping and twirling their twisted dance up towards the cold, cold moon.

the corn harbor none at all times, yet glowing eyes stare out from between their stalks. the eyes belong to no one. the eyes belong to everyone. we know nothing. we shall not know anything.

the air is still at night. stiff. uneasy. not even the wind dares to blow. she knows they want silence at night. not even she dares to defy the universe’s unshakable power. the town does not inhale a single breath until the sun peeks out from above the horizon at morning.

roads seem to appear from the ground after sunset. they seem typical to unknowing eyes, but keener ones notice their lack of street signs guarding their entrance. those street signs mean safety. stories circulate through the grapevine about passerby traveling along those roads and never seeing the sun again. we aren’t sure if they’re true. we’re just sure that we don’t know this town as well as we thought we did.

she sounds wounded.

she needs help.

you do not have the resources nor the knowledge to help.

you wonder what hurt her.

you wonder if it will hurt you too.

what you do not wonder is what it is.

you already know what it is.

you do not dare think about what it is.

all you do is listen to her wail and writhe in pain.

you’re not sure when the scary thoughts began. you just know that they manifested from the ink of a dark night and carry the energy of a withering forest in autumn. they hound you, grow in size when unattended. you don’t mind much; you have more to write about if you ever really do.

the green in your header disgusts you. it reminds you of gloomy swamps oozing with matter, of the gunk in your sink that you swear comes to life when the house is still at night. still, you leave it be. you are afraid of what your identity will become if you change it.

your profile picture hasn’t been changed since you set it when you first made your account. it was originally a picture your cousin took of you outside of your house. you thought it to be goofy when you first chose it, but every so often you zoom in on it just to make sure the camera didn’t hide anything malicious behind you. sometimes right before you glance away you swear you see figures lurking in the sickly orange light in the background. you dismiss it as overthinking and continue on.

your phone never sleeps. someone is liking your post every few minutes, another is sharing it to their mass of followers. your own following grows to a monstrous size, despite not being active for god knows how long. it intimidates you. it keeps you up at night. it is thirsty for more, demanding for you to spill the contents of your horrific brain onto the cracked and ugly pavement. yet, for some reason, you continue to welcome the waves of attention crashing over you without satisfying their hunger.

you try to keep your mind clear of frustrations felt towards your blog. the ones that crank the horror machine handle will get their feelings hurt if they overhear. after all, they tell the stories. they’ve seen it all, they are capable of anything. you wouldn’t want to know what they would do to you if you ridiculed them.

you still don’t understand why you force yourself to write such gruesome, terrifying things. your own words force your eyelids open throughout the night, keeps your ears honed sharp and alert for every single noise your house makes. just to let off steam, you reassure yourself every time, pulling your covers up to cover the length of your body. who are you comforting: the demons inside your head, or yourself?

what is your purpose?

you do not know.

you may not ever know.

gather all of your assignments. mark them, label them, scribble over the top in bright red sharpie, do SOMETHING to indicate the papers you need to do. keep track of all of these assignments. make sure you get them all finished. make sure they don’t try to take them away from you. the ones at school are far more terrifying than the ones in your room with you.

decide where you will be working for the night. make this decision apparent and clear by pointing to the place and stating out loud, “this is my space, and mine only”. be confident in your tone and posture. they will be able to sense your fear and will not leave you alone if you show it.

always keep three pencils within reach, in case one goes missing. keep them sharpened, in case someone decides to join you.

keep your workplace well-lit. they are afraid of light and won’t bother you if you do so. as an added strategy, if you wish for the dark corners of your room to stay unoccupied, light them as well. that way there will be nothing staring you down or standing behind you as you work.

if your calculator starts malfunctioning on its own, leave it be. ghosts have to do their taxes, too. you will anger it if you tamper with it while one is occupying it, and your homework may be the price you have to pay for a peaceful night. if you need the calculator while it is being occupied, ask for help out loud. they may work the equation out for you.

likewise, the others in the room with you may know a bit about other subjects. don’t be afraid to try your luck. the worst that could happen is getting your assignments confiscated.

keep track of your assignments.

it is best if you refrain from listening to music with earbuds or headphones in while you work. music transcends reality, and so do the beings that surround you. you would not want to be somewhere you don’t want to be.

do not fall asleep. if they know you gave into your urges without finishing your work, they will become annoyed, or worse, cause a ruckus in an attempt to wake you up. this may take form in shrieking, flying papers and writing utensils, flickering lights, and other paranormal activity. keep yourself busy and focused. do not succumb to the darkness.

don’t obsess over the time. time is a social construct and all of its rules disappear with the sunset. seeing the time on the device that is most convenient for you will only confuse you, and they will take advantage of that. the goal is not to work until a certain time. the goal is to work until your work is done.

keep track of all your assignments.

the rattling noise you hear from outside your room is just the fridge making ice. don’t think too much about it.

the rattling noise you hear from inside your room is just the vents. don’t think too much about it.

it is best if you keep your blinds and door closed while you work. others may peek into your room out of curiosity, and as unbothered you may be, you want the least amount of company as possible. do not peer outside at all. you may find something disturbing peering back.

don’t mind the long, lanky figure underneath your bed. he won’t harm you if you leave him be.

do not give up on your homework. there will be a punishment, and it’s much worse than a bad grade.

keep track of your assignments.

you may start hearing someone or something knocking on your door a few hours into your work. ignore it. they’re just playing tricks on you.

don’t worry about wrong answers. they won’t judge you for putting in your best effort. only worry about the rest of the factors you need to keep up with.

if you wake up in an unfamiliar place, that means you fell asleep and they took you away. all i can help you with is to obey them. don’t act out. the better you are, the higher your chances are of getting out of there. prayers will not work. god will not be able to save you. all you can do is comply.

they dance in the withering sunlight

each one of their steps further weakening the stage they waltz on

their laughter sounds through the empty house

echoing off the peeling wallpaper and the dusty floorboards

be mindful of the noises you make if you stay and watch

they are wary of their surroundings

they dislike being disturbed

do not worry if you won’t make a sound

you turn your gaze upwards. countless unanswered questions take form in your head, yet most do not even elicit an answer. the stars seem to hold the secrets to the universe, but will you ever know them?

you do not know now, and you certainly do not know if you ever will.

you return your gaze to the dark forest beyond you.

she seems to shimmer in and out of existence. her skin seems far too pale to be human. her eyes seem far too bright to be anything but.

you take a step closer.

she grins. she has too many teeth to be human.

the forest seems to chuckle ominously, as if you have made a mistake.

you feel the air grow cold. you feel the hairs on your arms rise up. you begin to panic.

you dare to take a glimpse behind you.

you turn back.

she is right in front of you.

your vision goes dark.

at night, the church lights flicker on.

next to all that blinding white is a lone orange streetlight.

every night, i sneak a glance out the window

just in case there is someone under that streetlight

watching

the blood on the wall and the body crumpled on the floor was enough to send you bolting out the door.

check to make sure all of your headlight bulbs are working before you depart from your starting location. not only are broken headlights against the law, you could potentially be blindly stumbling into some dangerous territory. the more area you can see, the better. the last thing you want is to be stuck on their land.

do not let your eyes linger on the wheat fields. some have reported a sudden drop in temperature in their car. some have spoken of a tugging sensation coming from the fields. some have claimed they saw the devil himself grinning back. you do not want to find out what lurks within the wheat fields.

if you happen to come across a hitchhiker, check for wounds or anything out of the ordinary on their person. if their eyes reflect your headlights, drive faster. do not stop under any circumstances. do not slow down until you are absolutely sure they cannot catch up to you. they are not human.

do not slow down or stop to marvel at the cottage in the forest. do not go inside or get out of your car. you will not return unscathed.

if you see yellow eyes watching you from the corn, continue on. they are just the ravens.

if you see red eyes watching you from the corn, continue on. they are just the crows.

if you see green eyes watching you from the corn, get out of there as fast as you possibly can. they will follow you. they will hunt you down.

objects in your side mirrors indeed seem closer than they look. don't glance over too often, though. they come nearer with every look.

the creatures in the woods are rumored to attack pickup trucks more often than any other type of automobile. make sure all of your windows are shut and your truck bed is empty and uncovered if you drive one. you wouldn't want to ferry one of them home without knowing.

do not stare at the empty, broken-down cars on the side of the road. they do not welcome the gazes of strangers. it is best if you only say a quick prayer for them and drive on. you do not want to be next.

the radio may spit out some inaudible blubber occasionally. white noise may come through for a few seconds before reverting back to what you were listening to. just convince yourself you're driving through a spot with patchy satellite signal. don't mind what they're saying through the static. ignorance is bliss.

some travelers claim they often hear shrieking while they are driving. contrary to popular belief, they do not want to hurt you. they are just playing tricks on you. just don't slow down. just don't stop.

whatever you do, don't fall asleep. pull into a rest stop, at least. do not fall asleep on the side of the road. you may not wake up again.

the witching hour does not apply when you're on the road. they roam after sunset. they are bloodthirsty. stay aware of your surroundings.

that stain on the grass over there was definitely from a deer. don't think too much about it.

right?

not everything that you can see is real.

not everything that is real you can see.

bring a flashlight.

bring another flashlight.

both of you should have at least two flashlights each. the woods are rumored to siphon battery life from certain contraptions.

bring spare batteries.

dress warm. even if it's the middle of july, the woods get colder the deeper you venture.

make sure both your phones are fully charged. there might be service. you might get lucky.

do not lose sight of each other.

do not talk above a whisper. the trees are known to lash out at things they do not like, and they despise loud noises.

there should always be some sort of noise going on around the two of you (leaves rustling, animals pattering as they walk, water rushing, etc.) if either of you notice everything has suddenly gone silent, do not panic. do not cause a commotion. just keep on walking. do not stop moving. do not look behind you, but keep your ears open. the woods can sense fear, and they prey on it.

always keep the braver of the two of you in the back. they cannot look behind them at any time lest it has its eyes on you. neither of you can look behind you. keep your head forward and your gaze ahead. do not let your eyes stray from the path.

the woods hold many secrets. it is best you refrain from finding out the truth. do not go searching for answers. they are annoyed by prying eyes.

do not lose sight of each other.

both of you may see flashes of figures in your peripherals. do not look at them. they will not hurt you, but they do not like to be looked at. they are simply curious. mind your own business.

you may feel eyes on the back of your head. you may feel eyes everywhere around you. they are watching you. do not turn your head to search for them. do not make eye contact with them. they are also curious. mind your own business.

do not anger it. do not look at it. it is all around you, and the two of you have ventured right into the heart of its territory. there is no guarantee the both of you will make it out alive if you do. be polite. be mindful. be humble. be wary.

do not lose sight of each other.

it is best you exit the woods after a few hours of walking. no one knows how long anyone can stay within the trees before they are trapped there for eternity. if you and your partner decide to explore for longer, be mindful you are voluntarily overstaying your welcome and that they might not be happy with you.

if you see anything questionable, do not go near it. avoid it. walk around it and do not stare. the woods do not appreciate rudeness and criticism. do not look behind you to look at it once you see it for the first time. do not touch it. do not stop walking to inspect it.

time does not exist in the woods. do not depend on the clock on your phone. it is no longer safe to rely on. nothing is safe to rely on in the woods. keep your cool at all times.

one of you must stay awake while the other sleeps. you cannot both be asleep at the same time. you may not wake up after. the woods are known to capture sleeping souls. it is recommended the two of you stay awake at all times lest the person who is awake cannot fight it off.

you may feel a sense of suffocation while you are walking. do not give in. fight off the sense. it will eventually give up.

do not lose sight of each other.

if by chance the two of you you get separated, pick up your walking pace. walk in a zigzag path. this confuses the things following you. do not call out for help or for each other. remember that the woods do not like loud noises. do not call attention to yourself. you are now at the mercy of it. from then on, watch every step you take. be swift. you may be able to find a way out if you are quick enough.

the airport is always packed. there is barely enough room to extend your arms out all the way. everyone is on the phone. they are cackling loudly in a language you hardly understand. hundreds of voices overlap. their laughter echoes throughout the terminal. it is never quiet. their laughter echoes in your brain. it keeps you up at night. it is never quiet.

there are taxis everywhere you look. they are all the same shade of yellow. you open the door of one. a man greets you cheerfully through the rearview mirror. his eyes scream for help. you blink. he has no eyes. you blink. you cannot understand what he is saying. he will not let you leave the taxi. you blink. it is 10:28 pm. three hours pass. you blink. it is 10:29 pm. he will not let you leave the taxi.

your grandparents meet you at the door. their smiles are plastic. their eyes are hollow. you hug them warmly. you haven't visited them in years. they step aside for you to go in. there is a red handprint on the wall directly opposite from you. the bathroom is locked. no one else lives in this house. grandmother says your great-uncle was playing with sriracha sauce. you do not have a great-uncle. you hear the front door lock. the entire house smells like copper. you ask no questions.

at night, the ambulances scream. they rip through your skull. they sound like crying children. you know that none of them will ever reach their destination. you'd be better off dead than calling for one. god knows what they do to the people who call for them.

it is exactly 12:30 am. you are hungry. there is a 7/11 a ways down the street. you hop into your car and start driving. you pass a 7/11. that is not the right one. there is another 7/11 across the street. that is not the right one. you check your side mirrors. you have driven past three more 7/11s. none of those are the right 7/11. their led lights beckon you eerily. they tempt you. you continue driving. there is a 7/11 at every stoplight. you have been driving for ten minutes. you check your dashboard clock. it is exactly 12:30 am. you are no longer hungry. you do not stop driving. the 7/11s call to you. you do not stop driving.

taipei 101 looms over the city. you can see it wherever you go. there is glass on every side of the tower. the tower sees all. the glass reflects the truth. you do not look at the glass. you do not want to know the truth.

you go to visit your child cousins. they are overjoyed to see you. you notice their hair glinting raven-black in the sun. they ask you how you are. you cannot understand their language. you cannot understand the words coming out of your mouth in response. they do not stop talking. their words become slurred as the heat melts off their lips. the girl's tongue falls out of her mouth. the boy's eyes begin to lighten. they do not stop talking. you notice their hair shimmers strawberry-blond in the sun. you cannot understand their language. you respond anyways.

this city is covered in cockroaches. they scuttle between people's feet as they walk down the street. they live in the subway station. they party in the gutters. they buzz up in the air to dodge traffic. you do not step on any of them. you remember you stepped on one once, years ago. they have not stopped following you. they have not stopped judging you. you remember a story told to you about a distant cousin who stepped on too many cockroaches one day. his body was found in the road the night after. his entrails were scattered about him. the cockroaches got revenge. you see the empty husk of a cockroach lying in the corner of a store. you hear shrieking from the floorboards. you mind your own business.

the locals say that ximen station is haunted. they say that the spirits come out and roam after sunset. you are meeting a friend in ximen for dinner. you call them and lightheartedly joke about the haunted subway. they laugh with you. they tell you that they will not hurt you. just don't look at them directly in the eye. don't look at the little girl at the bottom of the rails. don't be late or they will not let you leave. you say you feel ill. you ask if you can meet tomorrow in taipei. the line goes dead. you do not hear from them again.

"try our bubble tea!" vendors screech from the side of the road. their large sunhats keep their faces hidden. you stop at a booth and squint at the sign. you can only make out the words "milk tea" in messy, scrawled handwriting. you cannot read the other words on the sign. the vendor takes a step closer to you. in his hand is a cup of boba. the boba is not black like normal. the boba is the color of swamp moss. the vendor smiles underneath his enormous sunhat. you swear he has more teeth than normal. he thrusts the cup towards you. "only 70 dollars!" you take a step back. he takes a step forward. you manage to sneak a peek under his gigantic sunhat. you now know why the vendors wear such huge sunhats. the sun is not the reason. you no longer walk down that road. their screeches still follow you everywhere you go.

it is the night before the day you fly home. grandfather has scrubbed the handprint off the wall. grandmother has made pig intestine for dinner. flies buzz around the dish. you lean in and take a whiff. it smells like copper. you recoil. grandmother looks at you curiously. her plastic smile fades. “do you like it?" you bite back your tongue. you do not show disgust at grandmother's cooking. you nod your head enthusiastically. your heart is pumping wildly. grandmother's plastic smile returns. she leans in to give you a hug. she praises you. you hope she cannot feel how rapid your heartbeat is. everyone in the family knows what happens when you criticize grandmother's cooking. you realize the bathroom door is still locked. the house still smells like copper. everything smells like copper. you hope she doesn't know.

grandmother knows all.