The girls feet bring her closer and closer to the reddish stain, until she is standing right in front of the pile of wood and there she crouches, there in the snow, just beside it. Her red rimmed eyes scan the expanse of snow all around the chopped logs, taking in the uneven tone – darkest red in some places, turning the snow to a thinning, slushy consistency; pink in others, almost as if less of whatever it is that has discolored the ground has spread there. There is a darker ring just around the woodpile. As the stain halos out, the color fades to pink, to white. There is a feeling in the pit of her stomach, even as she leans forward and reaches out with her index finger, that this is a bad idea, that there is something very, very…off – wrong…about this place, about this town. Her fingertip makes contact with the darkest part of the red snow, and comes away – dripping blood.
The girl falls back, realization slamming into her as if it were a physical force. It hits her straight in the chest, twisting into a space there between her ribs. Horror grips the dark haired girl, and it’s not just because of the blood, it’s because there’s a part of her that wonders, even as she drags her dirtied finger across her shirtfront, how this is possible, where it all came from. She wants to know the source of this carnage, and she knows – even before she really knows – that she will
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Powerful and pungent, rotting flesh has left its mark on this place, probably permanently. It has sunk into the wood, and now it lingers there – a constant reminder of what she doesn’t know. Foot by foot they dig their way down through the cedar and the pine; the closer they get to the ground, the further down they climb and the stronger the smell of decay becomes. It burns her nostrils, brings tears to her eyes. When she looks over at the boy, his own eyes are red, watery, and the girl imagines that the stink is even worse to his much more sensitive