Totally Follow Her Into The Woods, Dude (It’s A Good Idea)

The Girl With The Black Cloak In The Forest

You’ve only just met, but it seems like you’ve known her a thousand years. When your eyes locked over the flames of the camp fire at your buddy’s kegger, you could tell by the frayed edges of her cloak that she had traveled across many spiritual dimensions to sit across from you and stare at you while you clumsily tried to fit an entire s’more into your mouth.

It’s fate. Or is fate still to come? The urge to rise up from your lawn chair and follow her as she melts away from the light of the fire and draws further into the darkness is so powerful you can’t resist it.


Do you:

A – Give in to your compulsion to explore whatever mysteries are locked inside this enchanted woman?

B – Nervously consult with a buddy about whether she was ‘looking at you’ or ‘looking near you,’ and then argue with him that no, it’s not the same thing, and then angrily throw his beer can in the fire and stomp off in the other direction.

C – Finish your s’more and pass out.


You can just barely glimpse the outline of her shoulders as the moonlight cascades in through the branches above you, arrayed like so many bony fingers grasping at the sky. Oh shit – she’s just transformed into a wolf. What are you going to do now? Fuck, this is absolutely terrifying – and now your leg is in her mouth, and she’s severed your femoral artery, and this really hasn’t gone well at all….


Wait a minute – if you were walking away from the fire in the complete opposite direction that she was, then how is that she’s floating directly in front of you on the path through the woods? And what the hell happened to her face? It’s just teeth now, endless teeth, oh, and they move like gears the closer they get to you, and now you’re on your knees and praying to a god you don’t believe in, and now she is your god, and now you are inside of her.


You wake up to the sound of your ringtone – ‘Bawitdaba’ – and realize your neck is like, totally sore from sleeping on the grass all night. Your face is also completely covered in marshmallow, and someone has written ‘DIX’ on your face with what tastes like charcoal. Shrugging, you get up, wave goodbye at the girl in the cloak hovering over the ashes of the fire, her eyes glowing as red as the embers once did, and drive to your shift at KFC. You’re a bit late, but Kevin’s managing today, and he’s cool.




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