They were so well-disguised that we mistook them for trees at first, like saplings clustered together. We didn't realise how good they were at mimicking us until we heard Chloe laughing at us from the treetops... while she was sitting opposite us. If she'd have laughed it off as a prank we might have all died that night.
We blamed it on some escaped parrot we'd read about in the local news groups and hurriedly made our excuses to retreat back into out sleeping bags for the night. Seems that no matter how old you get, going to bed will always be your top response to danger - with a blanket over your head it can't hurt you.
If that actually worked then we'd all still be here. Instead what happened was someone forgot to turn their alarm off and we all got woken up at 05.30AM. We groggily fumbled about for the offending phone and our hands met damp dirt and hard bark that seemed to twitch away from us.
Almost in unison we looked up from our sleeping bags and into several inhuman faces that peered out from dense and towering foliage. The sapling clusters we saw were what they had adjusted themselves into so as to blend in with the woods. Upon seeing us sleeping they began to change before our eyes.
Bark softened, leave thinned out into hair and eyes sealed shut into peaceful resting faces. But this wasn't enough for them - they needed something more from us to complete their adaptation. Two of them acted first, seizing Mo and digging their roots deep into his body.
They drained him drier than a fruit pouch and took on forms that looked like several of his family members tied together. Literally. They became a cluster of people whose hair moved as one to an unfelt breeze, all sleeping and all as unbreathing as the saplings had been.
As the other creatures turned to these two to contemplate their new form, we saw our chance to run for the car park and never looked back. We said we woke up and Mo was gone, said we heard weird animal sounds and tried to call the rangers but our radio was broken.
We were believed and for some reason, the army took over the woods the next week for "training".
It's their problem now.
We blamed it on some escaped parrot we'd read about in the local news groups and hurriedly made our excuses to retreat back into out sleeping bags for the night. Seems that no matter how old you get, going to bed will always be your top response to danger - with a blanket over your head it can't hurt you.
If that actually worked then we'd all still be here. Instead what happened was someone forgot to turn their alarm off and we all got woken up at 05.30AM. We groggily fumbled about for the offending phone and our hands met damp dirt and hard bark that seemed to twitch away from us.
Almost in unison we looked up from our sleeping bags and into several inhuman faces that peered out from dense and towering foliage. The sapling clusters we saw were what they had adjusted themselves into so as to blend in with the woods. Upon seeing us sleeping they began to change before our eyes.
Bark softened, leave thinned out into hair and eyes sealed shut into peaceful resting faces. But this wasn't enough for them - they needed something more from us to complete their adaptation. Two of them acted first, seizing Mo and digging their roots deep into his body.
They drained him drier than a fruit pouch and took on forms that looked like several of his family members tied together. Literally. They became a cluster of people whose hair moved as one to an unfelt breeze, all sleeping and all as unbreathing as the saplings had been.
As the other creatures turned to these two to contemplate their new form, we saw our chance to run for the car park and never looked back. We said we woke up and Mo was gone, said we heard weird animal sounds and tried to call the rangers but our radio was broken.
We were believed and for some reason, the army took over the woods the next week for "training".
It's their problem now.
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