Friendly Forest Entity Trying to Befriend You: A Concept
A few weeks after you had moved into that cabin in the woods, you were uncertain if you were ever truly alone out here. First, it was the letters at your doorstep. All the same. Covered in old parchment. Caked in some black, dried substance that may or may not be wax. The faint scent of wet earth. Unintelligible lettering that you weren't even sure was in an existing language.
Stranger still, was when it started leaving other things. Dripping, fresh berries, resting on leaves. Hollow seeds and old pinecones. The branches of a fir laced with wildflowers. It seemed to know when you were running out of herbs and leaves for your tea. There was also the occasional item of dubious origin. Like the bones that showed up in the backyard. Too big to be an animal, not long after that awful neighbor who would always harass you if you so much as looked at their property had gone missing.
One morning you had been getting logs for the fire. Someone mumbling in the distance. Their shape muddied in the fog. You call out and conversate. It's somewhat one-sided. They don't seem to have much to say, but they seem happy to see you. They say you are even kinder than they thought you'd be. The chill on your spine flares. You couldn't quite describe it, but their voice, the fluctuations, their pronunciations, they felt.. Off. The way they moved was stiff, artificial. Come to think of it, was their mouth always so wide? Did their eyes always glow like headlights? You ran away quickly. The firewood you had left behind appeared on the porch the next day.
On a particularly rainy night, you had been fast asleep only to be awakened by your dog barking. Trying to quiet them, you searched from your room window. Too dark to see it. It was standing just outside the door. The same all too inhuman voice from the firewood incident. It claimed it was your friend from town checking in on you. At 3 am. It was at least polite enough to leave when you asked it to.
It even seemed to watch over you beyond the cabin. You wondered why the churchgoers in town looked so afraid of you, why the gas station clerk always looked over your shoulder while you paid. Or was it something in the trees? Maybe they didn't want to bring it's attention.
At one point, you seemed to know when it was there. The room would feel like winter. The smell of oakmoss and petrichor. Somehow, it's voice didn't seem so chilling anymore. It sang of things old as time itself when you were restless at night. It seemed to enjoy reading along to the novels you brought from home. It echoed the overly affectionate words you'd give your dog, as if it was trying to show you it's appreciation. The garden seemed to flourish whenever it came by, almost like a gift of sorts. You couldn't say how or why you caught it's interest, but somehow, having it's company brought a strange comfort.
