Nightmouth

by Anthony Teth

The night sky was a nebulously deep blue, and the yellowish half moon hovered just a few feet above the barn to my right - or at least it seemed that way. Apart from the occasional lazy peep or chirp coming from a random swamp frog, the only sound to be heard was the trickling of water; a small stream or rivulet snaking its way between roots and branches to eventually cease its travels in some cozy, stagnant pool. I stood at the entrance to the wooded path, still on the road, as the streetlamp to my left flickered a bit. The branches of the trees that flanked the dirt passage intertwined themselves above it, transforming what would be a quaint little walkway in the daytime into a sinister, black, gaping maw at night, waiting patiently to swallow its next victim. It was disconcerting, at best, to know that any and all light would cease as soon as I took three steps forward into this arboreal gateway. I took a few deep breaths, filling my lungs with humid night air, and walked directly into its gullet.

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Anthony Teth, when not studying mystical and esoteric literature, works as a hired thug at multiple night clubs in Providence, RI.