Terror is in the Fabric

Hoot No!

    You decide that there are more important things to do. You turn around to go back to the statue. Yet before you take two steps, the towel figure hoots like an owl. Before it sounded almost cheerful; now it sounds like a foreboding, a warning, but you ignore it and run for the bridge. Perhaps if you can make it past the thing will leave you alone; you’ll be in broad daylight anyway.

  Yet the moment you are about to reach the bridge the towel figure leaps, almost flies, and unfurls the towel. You look up just in time to see that no one is in there and as it falls on you something sharp pricks your neck and darkness takes you.

        You wake up with a shroud over your face. You try to pull it off but it seems attached. You start to struggle with it when you hear, far away, the rustle of night activity in the woods. Some deer have come to drink from the stream. Then all previous thoughts leave you. A hoot of excitement escapes your lips as you realize this was what you were made to do.

     You have chosen to become the next Owl, thus ending all other endeavors in order to hunt, hoot, and play in the stream. But this does not have to be the end. Go Back to the previous page

 

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Author: pathweaver34

My name is Isaac Craft. I've got a bachelors in Mass Communications, an Associates in Graphic Design, and I'm an aspiring novelist.

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