Inktober 2024 - 16 - Grungy

How long have they been wandering aimlessly in this dark forest for, now? Days? A week, maybe?

Like they have lost track of time, they have lost count of all the swampy areas they have crossed, but their boots heavy with mud keep reminding them that the number is probably quite high. Their clothes are torn and stained with sap from all the branches they keep getting caught on, to the point where they are starting to get a little too cold for comfort when night comes. As for their skin, constantly brushing against harsh tree bark and incessantly tripping over roots and rocks makes it bruised and bloodied all over. They have twigs and leaves in their hair. Overall, it is hardly a cosy situation for any of them.

What even happened, for them to get so desperately lost? They weren't looking for trouble. They are all experimented hikers and campers, with equipment in good condition; they checked it before they left. And these woods are fully mapped. There wasn't supposed to be any risk of them losing their bearing. And yet here they are, dirty, sweaty, tired, scared, fighting their way across what feels like a jungle at this point, without any sense of direction.

What was it, anyway, that came out of that well? More like came out of nowhere. No trace of any man-made structure anywhere, the closest thing to a trace of human activity they ever came upon was the series of trail markings on tree trunks along the path. And suddenly, a stone well? They should have left it alone, that's what they should have done. They should have just kept going. But no, one of them had to go and drop a pebble in there. Why is it that people obsessively feel the need to know how deep a well is, when they can't see the bottom?

After that, everything is a blur. There was rumbling, from deep below the surface, but strong enough that the ground trembled. Their surroundings seemed to shift slightly. Then there was a loud roar. A then some… creature burst out of the well. None of them really made out what it was. All they can say is that it was big and slimy. Did it have scales? Tentacles? Claws? They did not need to confirm such details to decide to run from it. They are still running from it. They hear it, sometimes. Never from the same direction, though. It does not seem interested in eating or even hurting them, simply relishing in their fear and despair as they scurry around in a suddenly unfamiliar environment.

They tried organising, but none of their compasses seem to point in the same direction. None of the references they usually have make sense either – whatever moss they find grows all around the trees without any preference, and what little sunlight they detect through the canopy does not appear to follow the usual arching path across the sky. Have they opened a portal to some ancient form of Hell?