It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain.

The birds are gone.

They left long ago,

With the breeze and the sunshine.

I’m trapped in the shadows now,

The summer heat trapping warmth in me through the night.

Even though I’m lost in the wood the chill of the air is the last fear I have.

The bits of ember flying into the sky from the lit logs do little to calm me,

Emerging small lights in the shadows I want to hid.

I see them, changing from their all four shape.

Not a cougar, or a bear to fear in this grove,

But those that can change to their feet.

Their eyes are black and soul sucking.

And just when they know you’re looking they change form.

A bear takes shape turning into the men of the mountain.

Ghosts that steal your soul with a look.

And they steal anything they find.