o̶p̶e̶n̶ || CLOSED
𝙄𝙉 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙃 ━ Students on probation become trapped in fairytales after stumbling upon their university's dark secret.
Only their stories don't go by the book.
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Once upon a time, a hungry forest devoured a boy.
The woods creaked behind the boy's back as branches and roots swallowed worn paths and opened its jaws to salivate on new ones. In this living, shifting labyrinth, Josh knew one thing and one thing only: he was lost. So lost that even his shadow couldn't find him.
This wasn't Josh's first time in the woods. Barn parties didn't leave much space for privacy, but it would take much more than that to stop horny college kids. These trees had seen him do things that would give his grandma a heart attack. Fortunately for Josh, the trees weren't narcs, and even if they were, he didn't have a grandma.
After all those hookups, no matter how drunk Josh was, he always knew his way back to the barn. From the giant rock, it was twenty steps to the "ΠΚΑ" graffiti tree, and from there, it was another thirty steps to the main path back to the barn clearing. In the event he was too belligerently drunk to see straight or count his steps, the cheering from drinking games and keg stands guided him back.
Tonight, the yells of rowdy college students couldn't be heard no matter how hard he strained to hear. Tree branches flung whispers, incoherent but alarming enough that Josh wondered if he needed to see a psychiatrist. For the first time ever, he longed for the drunken cacophony that followed his frat brothers everywhere. Without that guide, Josh followed the only route he knew: twenty steps then thirty, over and over, his heart thrumming faster at every turn without a landmark.
The trees' mumbled words turned crisper, clearer, closer as the roots nipped at his heels and the overhanging branches clawed into his cheeks. Josh walked faster, kicking back curious vines, and elbowing his way through the branches. He scanned his surroundings with wide eyes, his heart crawling up his throat—twenty then thirty, twenty then thirty—but the woods were shifting, paths opening and closing as if it was blinking, watching him intently.
"It was his own fault," the trees whispered to each other. "He shouldn't have strayed from the path."
"Straight into It's mouth." The leaves around him shivered in a fit of giggles.
Ice ran through his blood, and he pivoted, ready to bolt back toward where he came from, only to come face to face with a wall of thorns.
"Poor, poor Josh," a soft feminine voice whispered over his shoulder. He whipped around, finding nothing but his shadow and the drooling mouth of the forest before him. "Never had a mother to tell him not to wander when he's lost."
A root shot out from the Earth, curling around his ankle. A scream ripped through his throat, and Josh threw his weight forward, crashing into the ground and yanking his leg free from the root's punishing grip. Scrambling to his feet, he ran. The trees cackled, shrill and sharp as a knife. Nothing could deter him, not even when a branch smacked his forehead, knocking his fire-engine red cap onto the forest floor as thorns dug into his skin. The roots tangled around the ratty hat, arguing greedily over it. He ran even when his lungs burned in his chest and his hamstrings were shredded to ribbons.
