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The scent of oil paint filled my nostrils, a comforting aroma that had become as much a part of me as the blood coursing through my veins. Each stroke of my brush breathed life into the canvas, capturing a world only I could see. This was my escape, my sanctuary.
Then it came—a strange tingling at the base of my skull, like electric impulses dancing on my skin. I tried to shake it off, to lose myself again in the swirls of color, but the sensation intensified, turning into a painful prickling.
My hand trembled; my vision blurred. The canvas I had been so focused on seemed to melt away, its colors merging into formless shapes. I was slipping, falling into another place, another time.
And then I saw her.
A woman, running through what looked like a deserted cityscape. Her eyes were filled with terror, and her clothes were tattered, stained with grime and sweat. She was out of breath, her lungs gasping for air, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.
Chasing her was a shadow, a dark formlessness that defied description. It stretched and contorted as it pursued her, an embodiment of dread that consumed everything it touched. The air around it seemed to thicken, to curdle, as if reality itself recoiled from its very existence.
The woman ran through narrow alleys and over cracked sidewalks, her feet pounding against the ground in a rhythm of despair. My heart raced with her; I could feel her fear as if it were my own.
Suddenly, flames erupted around her, sprouting from the ground like malevolent weeds. The fire surged, swallowing buildings, cars, and finally, the woman herself. Her screams reverberated in my mind, a haunting melody that I knew would stay with me forever.
Just as suddenly, I was thrust back into my own reality.
I found myself sitting in front of my easel, the canvas now a chaotic mess of smears and blotches. My paintbrush lay on the floor, dropped in the moment of my departure or return—I couldn’t be sure.
My heart was still pounding, each beat a reminder of the horror I had just witnessed. The smell of oil paint, once comforting, now seemed suffocating.
My sanctuary had been violated, its walls breached again by an intruder I could neither see, nor understand.
“No!” I yelled at the air around me.
I sat back, staring at the ruined canvas, but it didn’t matter. Something much larger was at stake, something far more significant than a spoiled painting. These visions, these glimpses into other worlds, were escalating in a way that I couldn’t ignore any longer. They were messages, warnings of a looming darkness that I had to confront.
Enough was enough.
I headed for the shower, letting the hot water wash over me, as if it could cleanse the residue of that horrific vision. Yet even as I closed my eyes, the image of the woman engulfed in flames haunted me, an afterimage burnt into the back of my mind.
Dressed and partially pulled together, I grabbed my purse and locked the door behind me. My feet mechanically moved towards the parking lot.
"Clara!"
I turned. It was Ben, leaning casually against a car I didn’t recognize. "Ben? How did you find me? Do you live around here?" My voice wavered between surprise and suspicion.
He seemed momentarily caught off guard, his eyes darting away before meeting mine again. "Uh, well, I—"
His hesitation, that tiny stutter, was oddly charming in a way I couldn't quite put my finger on.
"I want to show you something," he finally said. “I need you to trust me.”
"I have to get to work, Ben." The words came out more like a sigh.
"You hate that job anyway. Come on." His eyes lit up, glowing with an intensity I had never seen before. "I found the tree. The one from your vision."
A cold chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t afford to lose this job. Yet at the same time, the curiosity was overwhelming. Work suddenly seemed trivial.
“For real?” I asked again with great suspicion.
“Yes, for...for real.”
"Okay, let's go," I said, giving in to the mystery that had chosen me, whether I liked it or not.
As I settled into the passenger seat of Ben's nondescript sedan, an awkward silence enveloped the car, thick as molasses. The air was heavy, weighted down by unasked questions and unspoken revelations. I glanced at the dashboard clock; it was still early, yet it felt like an eternity had passed since the morning's vision had shattered my sanctuary.
Ben's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as if he were holding onto a lifeline. His knuckles were white, and I couldn't help but notice how his fingers trembled ever so slightly.
"Is it far?" I finally broke the silence, my voice coming out smaller than I'd intended.
"Not too far," he replied, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
That was it. Two sentences, and we were back to silence, each lost in our own tangled thoughts. I stared out the window, the passing landscape a blur of colors and shapes that I barely registered. Every now and then, my gaze would drift back to Ben, studying his profile, wondering what secrets lay hidden behind those intense eyes.
My mind circled back to the woman engulfed in flames. Was this a mistake? Trusting a near-stranger to take me to an unknown location, especially after witnessing something so horrifying? My hand instinctively went to my purse, double-checking for my phone and the small canister of pepper spray I always carried with me. They were there, little talismans offering a semblance of control in a world that seemed to be spiraling into chaos.
Then, I thought about the tree, that mysterious anchor in a sea of bewildering visions. Could it hold the key to understanding what was happening to me? And if it did, was I ready to unlock that door and step through?
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing my heart to stop its frantic dance. Whatever awaited me, I needed to face it. After all, enough was enough.
Ben pulled the car into a narrow dirt road that seemed to appear out of nowhere. After another minute of bumping along, he stopped. We were in the middle of a dense forest, sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
"This is it," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
As we stepped out of the car, I felt it—an invisible wall of energy that seemed to emanate from deeper within the forest. My heart rate picked up; my palms became clammy. It was the same feeling that preceded my visions, but this time it was stronger, more immediate, as if the very air around us was charged with a sense of impending doom.
"Are you okay?" Ben looked at me, concerned.
"I don't know," I replied honestly, my gaze meeting his. "I feel something, and it's not good."
We continued walking, my steps hesitant but resolute. As we moved deeper into the forest, the sensation intensified, a physical weight that made each step feel like wading through quicksand.
Then we saw it—a massive, gnarled tree standing alone in a clearing, its branches twisted into grotesque shapes, as if frozen in agony. The leaves were a dark, almost unnatural shade of green, and the trunk had deep, blackened grooves that gave the impression of scars.
"I told you," Ben whispered, almost reverently. "It's the tree from your vision, isn't it?"
I didn't need to answer; my face said it all. Standing in front of that tree, I felt as if I were teetering on the edge of an abyss, one false step away from plummeting into unknown darkness. The dread that had been a distant murmur now roared in my ears, filling me with an indescribable sense of foreboding.
It was as if the tree itself were a conduit, channeling the fears and horrors of other dimensions, other realities into this one. And for the first time, I questioned whether some doors are better left unopened.
I looked back at Ben, trying to gauge his reaction to my palpable discomfort. He seemed to be caught in a struggle between awe and caution, his eyes still fixed on the gnarled tree.
Finally, he spoke, breaking the heavy silence. "Clara, there's something you should know. This tree, it's more than just a vision. It's a marker—a relic of dark history."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling as much as my hands.
"You've heard of Wormwood, haven't you?"
I nodded. "The name sounds familiar, like a myth or a legend."
"It's more real than you might think," Ben said, taking a deep breath. "Wormwood is a being, a dark entity. He's said to have unimaginable power, capable of warping reality itself. Legends say that centuries ago, the people of this land managed to banish him. They sealed him in a well, deep within this forest."
"A well? As in, like, a water well?" I looked at Ben skeptically, despite the oddity of everything else I had experienced.
"Yes, but not just any well. It's a conduit between worlds, a sealing mechanism of sorts. The rituals they used to imprison him were very specific, very ancient," he continued. "The tree was planted to mark the location so that future generations could keep the seal intact. The problem is, nobody knows where the well is anymore. The tree is all that's left."
"So, you're saying this tree is basically a big 'Do Not Disturb' sign, and Wormwood is the evil that lies beneath?" My voice dripped with incredulity, but given what I had experienced so far, dismissing him outright seemed foolish.
"Exactly. And the fact that you had a vision of it...I think it's a sign, Clara. A warning that the seal might be weakening. That Wormwood could be close to breaking free."
As Ben spoke, the weight of his words settled over me like a dark cloud, merging with the dread that I had felt since laying eyes on the tree. Whether legend or reality, the sense of impending doom was undeniable. I looked at Ben, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and resolve, and realized that whatever was coming, we were in it together.
Taking a deep breath to muster courage, I stepped forward and placed my palm against the rough bark of the tree. I braced myself for another jolt of vision, another leap into an alternate reality. My skin tingled in anticipation; my senses hyper-aware.
But nothing happened.
No flashes of light, no blurred scenery. No whispers from other worlds. It was just a tree—old and withered, but mundane.
"I don't understand," I said, pulling my hand back as if the tree had personally offended me. "Why didn't I see anything?"
"Maybe it's not the right time, or perhaps it requires something more," Ben offered, though I could hear the disappointment in his voice as well.
Just as I was about to respond, a rustling came from behind us. I turned sharply, heart pounding in sudden alarm, to find Alex emerging from the shadows of the forest, his face a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"What are you two doing here?" he demanded, his eyes darting between me, Ben, and the looming tree.
Caught off guard, I stammered, "Alex? What are you doing here?"
"I asked you first," he shot back, now standing just a few feet away. "This place isn't exactly a tourist attraction, you know. It’s family property. The Banks family, that is, Clara."
"We were just exploring," Ben interjected, attempting to defuse the tension. "Clara’s fiery visions led us here. Wait! You’re a Banks? As in Jezreel Banks?"
"Visions?" Alex's eyes narrowed; skepticism written all over his face. He completely ignored Ben’s questions. I felt like a deer in headlights.
"Yes," I asserted, suddenly feeling the need to validate my experiences. "I saw this tree in a vision, and we wanted to see if it was real. Turns out, it is."
"And?" Alex looked between us again, his eyes finally settling on me. "Did your touch bring about another revelation?"
"No," I admitted, my voice tinged with frustration. "It didn't. But Alex...are you a Banks?"
Alex looked at the tree, then back at me, as if weighing the validity of our entire endeavor. "That’s my last name, yes. Well, if you're done playing around with folklore, maybe you two should leave. This area isn't safe, especially as it gets darker."
His warning hung in the air, thick with unspoken implications. I looked at Ben, then back at Alex, and realized that the unfolding situation—our search, the tree, and now Alex's unexpected appearance—was spiraling into a complexity that I had not anticipated.
And somehow, I knew that this was just the beginning.
