Black World

         As he sat slumped against the rough bark of the tree, he stared into the peaceful array of trees before him. He was in a forest, deep in a forest, resting with his pack beside him, a canteen in his hand. He took a swig, gazing at one particular tree. It was straight in front of him, standing tall and wide. He wondered how old it was. As he continued to stare he noticed that there was an odd shape in the bark of the three, a knot that revealed itself, around seven feet tall and almost as wide as the trunk.
         Standing up Jim sauntered over to the tree, canteen still in hand. Gingerly he touched the bark, feeling the rough wood beneath his calloused hands. As he ran his hand further down something stopped him. With a frown he glanced down and found that his hand rested upon what looked like a handle.
         A handle? It can't be.
         He grapsed firmly, feeling the wood beneath his hands. Before shaking his head at his own stupidity he turned his hand, expecting resistance. Instead, the knob turned jarring to the right. A doorway opened in the trunk.
         Jim jumped backwards, staring at the tree. A door? An opening? He stared into the blackness that yawned before him. Hesitantly he sliced his hand into the blackness, feeling nothing. He pulled it back, staring it over. It's still in one piece. As if that decided everything for him, he climbed into the hole without another moments thought.

         He found himself in a dark world. It was dark within the trunk. Soon his eyes began to adjust, his surroundings finally coming into focus. He found himself surrounded by more trees in a world that was only a few notches up from black. He began to walk, not knowing where he was going, not caring. It felt good to explore, to be somewhere different.
         He heard the low chirping of birds hidden amongst the leaves. A soft noise like someone strolling through the underbrush followed him, but every time he turned he saw nothing.
         After a while he came to the edge of the forest, the trees thinning, the birds quietening. The sky was still dark. He continued walking, finding himself feeling familiar with the place. He recognised the streets, even in the darkness. Where am I?
         As he walked further and further into the centre of the town he began to recognise the shops, the restaurants. Someone strolled by. Someone he recognised as his neighbour. The place was comfortable, floating on the edge of his mind a place known, but was shrouded in darkness.
         Where am I? he continued to ask himself.
         Then, he realised. He came upon a house. His house. He gazed upon the modern brickwork, the double glazed windows, the white plastic door. He recognised the car parked in the driveway as his own.
         My house?
         He stepped forward into his garden, closing the picket fence behind him. He stalked up to the front door, a sense of unease creeping upon him. He felt uncomfortable in this place. A place that was his, but different. As he tested the front door he found it was open, moving inwards gently, revealing a darkened hallway.
         Light, I need light, he thought as he stepped in, fumbling for the lightswitch. As he flicked he noted no difference. No light came on, or none that he could perceive.
         "Honey," a familiar voice greeted him. "You're home."
         He frowned. His mother's voice. She was in the kitchen. He stepped in without uttering a word. She was standing there in all of her brilliance, just as he remembered her, pinny stretched over her calf-length skirt, a shirt tucked in, her hair pinned up neatly.
         "Welcome home," she grinned at him, holding her arms wide. Her grin was eerie, stretching her face into a deformed mask.
         "You're... you're not my mother," he told her stepping backwards, holding up his arms to ward her off.
         "I am now," her grin stretched even further, her mouth splitting at the sides, cracks opening in the pale skin of her cheeks. Her hair fell from it's neat bun, cascading down her back, falling from her scalp in rivulets of tats. It was then he saw the glinting, the knife she held in her hand. She lunged at him, the knife held high as a piercing scream fell from her split lips, inviting him to stay.
         "Join our world," she instructed him as she plunged the knife into his neck. The light in his body began to spill out, seeping all across the black floor in a foul puddle. Soon it was all but a tiny bit of light left in his body, the rest pooled on the floor at his feet.
         He was dark. Just like her. Just like the world. "Hello mum," he smiled, his lips cracking.