obelisk 2026
time. In the corner, hidden by shadows, there lay an old, dusty writing desk. Something about the desk drew me toward it. An odd, brown, weathered journal with water damaged pages stood out, as if calling to me. I slowly settled into the aged, ripped leather chair and picked up the dirty tattered booklet.
Inside the thick cover, I turned past the flyleaf to the first page, where I read:
My name is James Poe, and this is a journal of my stay in the mystical forest.
Day One: There is a nice cool breeze, and leaves move back and forth, rustling in the wind. The forest feels so alive, so bright with the scorching sun beaming over the treetops. Birds whistle from all around as if singing with the wind.
Day Two: The change between day and night feels so drastic. The moon rises as the temperature falls. Nights are very cold, dark, and thrilling among the trees. I can hear owls whispering through the branches, but I can’ t get this idea out of my head that the whispering sounds oddly familiar.
Day Three: The more I explore this oddly placed cabin, the more strange things I find. I can’ t help but notice scratch marks on the floors and the inside of the door frame, as if someone had originally tried holding the door shut from something. The weird familiar voices continue through the trees, but they no longer sound like an owl.
Day Four: I’ m beginning to wonder whether I’ m alone or not. Every time I come back from hunting and hang the heads of the
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