The sound of dozens of children weeping carries along the late winter breeze, along the path that hasn't been used for nearly thirty years. Weeds and common flowers have cracked through the walkway, thick moss covers the rest giving the riverside a fairytale atmosphere.
Willow trees crowd around the bank, their limbs brushing through the water with the wind, carrying the crying noise as far as the houses at the edge of the surrounding fields. Occasionally a dog walker will pause in the fields,tilting their head at the trees before leashing their dog and walking swiftly in the opposite direction.
The trees were supposed to sleep in winter but as they still called out it was clear they had never slept at all. Bloated corpses lay just beneath their tangled branches, ensnared with terror still frozen on their decaying faces. The river around the trees was always bogged with entrails of some sort or other. Dried bodies dangle high up in the boughs, all the moisture sucked out weeks ago as they gradually turn to flaky bones and tattered fabric.
The weeping willows call out to humans in the only way they know.
Everything needs to eat.
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