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It's an ordinary forest as far as spooky-looking forests go, filled mostly with craggy gnarled oaks, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers and deeply wrinkled trunks covered in cracked bark. The trees cluster together, their branches twisted and tangled, daring anyone to enter their midst.

The land here lies low and wet in the spring, so the tree cover leaves a small island of clumping saplings and sparse tall yellow grasses attacking wild roses with sharp thorns standing in a shallow pool of meltwater throughout the spring months.

They are far from the quiet forest. A small stretch of dense growth surrounded by fields of crops interspersed with some areas left behind by grass, weeds and stray crop seeds. There is also a small happy community nestled on one side of this stretch of trees, in the middle of agricultural fields. The forest teems with life, red and gray squirrels, rabbits, mice and voles and a variety of birds. Thanks to the moist ground, the forests are a haven for frogs and toads and, of course, the ever-present blood-sucking mosquitoes.

It's a typical small town community located next to a miniature forest. It grew out of a centuries-old land of grasslands mixed with forests. Old forests and grasslands were slowly cut down, overturned and populated as the world was slowly populated by humanity; the landscape of humanity is changing from hunter-gatherers to farms, cities and villages.

Towns and communities eventually morphed into cities, family homesteads settled into small farming communities, and pristine land became rare pockets of pristine old-growth forest scattered in small patches bordering agricultural fields and tracts of small community homes.

Some of these small pockets of untouched wood still hold secrets. Some of these secrets may be best left alone.

The woods sit silent and brooding, an ugly mess of dead leafless skeletal branches that look like they belong in a darker and more sinister world, the world of the dead. The clouds are heavy, dark and gray on this day; a suffocating thick blanket hanging low in the sky to cover this little piece of the world.

The snow lies heavy and wet, the crystalline flakes shrinking and melting into a dirty slush as the temperatures slowly rise. Over time, the snow will disappear and be replaced by murky, stagnant meltwater that will take several months to dry out.

Most of the rodents, birds and other small forest creatures are conspicuously absent on this day as they choose to hide and wait out this gloomy day. Yet a few squirrels and birds still flit around the skeletal trees, a small rabbit twitches its nose nervously as it sits still and waits.

Two children playing in the backyard near the forest dare each other to explore the haunted trees.

"I bet you can't go to the fallen tree," said the older and taller of the two boys.

The younger boy paled, his stomach turning, but he stared at the stone facing the fallen rotting tree that lay in the narrow strip of forest behind their yard. You can only see the tree because there are no leaves on any of the branches.

"I'm not going to tell you how scared I am," he thinks. He can already smell the mossy rot of a long-dead tree, though he's never been close enough to smell it. In his vivid young imagination it smacks of death and decay and something even darker. He watches a small red squirrel flitting around the trees, untouched by dark brooding sullenness, and the ghosts, ghosts and monsters his mind screams must surely be lurking in these eerie woods. swallow

"I can too," he said, his voice shaking with fear. "I bet you can't stand on that old stump," he countered.

An old tree stump is the rotting remains of an even older fallen tree that has long since disappeared into the mud and decayed understory of the forest. The stump remains, standing defiant and menacing behind the fallen tree, which now lies tossed and tangled in the forest, sharp splinters and points of splintered wood sticking out as if waiting to pierce any foolish boy who tries to climb it and fall. Its wood is now soft and crumbly with rot, the sharp jagged edges unlikely to be able to pierce anything for years.

Kevin growled at his younger brother. He's just as scared, but he definitely won't show it to his little brother. He nervously pulled on his pants that didn't need it and stepped forward on the mission. He marched purposefully into the woods, careful to keep his back to the younger boy so he wouldn't see the pallor of his waxen face filled with fear.

Scratching and shrugging, Jesse reluctantly followed his older brother.

As they passed, a little red squirrel ran up to the high branches and stopped to chatter angrily at the boy.

They reached the first point, a fallen tree to which Kevin dared his younger brother. It's not a victory for either boy.

Kevin continues his forced march of pride, determined not to reveal his fear of some silly trees. He crawls up a fallen tree, its rotting length bending under his weight with a wet crackle. His forward march slows the closer he gets to the hideous looking ancient broken stump.

It stops; staring at the stump as if it were some otherworldly thing. He doesn't dare touch him, but he also doesn't dare to let Jesse think he's weak or scared.

Unable to let his older brother face the forest alone, Jesse follows him. As he approaches the old stump where his brother has stopped to stare at him motionless, he notices something unusual as he looks at the base of the stump.

"What is it?" Jesse asked nervously.

Kevin tears his eyes from the stump to look down. He kneels and reaches for what is lying there.

"Don't touch it."

“It's nothing. Kevin picks it up and turns it over in his hand.

Jesse turns at the sound of a branch snapping.

The boys are never seen again.