is a thick furred, male, red fox with a skittish attitude and fear complexes, in short, he tends to bolt at first glance. Christo is 20 fox years while on the smaller side, he is about fourteen inches to the shoulder and about a foot and a half long, or, eighteen inches. Christo has lived his life with a paralyzing fear of pitch. Black. Darkness.
***
Christo is running through a forest. He doesn’t remember how he got there, but he does know he’s terrified. The ground is covered with a thick, dingy, dark, fog that twines through the shriveled undergrowth and gnarled grayish trees. The branches of the trees seem to reach towards him and scour through his fur. The smell of decay clouds his nostrils, and the tang of blood fills his mouth, choking his throat. His ears are picking up a faint ticking sound, far in the distance. Christo turns towards it in hopes of finding a way out of this nightmare. His eyes widen as Christo sees a huge black abyss in the middle of his path. He slams his front paws on the ground, digging his sharp claws into the sticky black mud, but he isn’t able to slow down in time. The fox is sent hurtling over the edge of the cliff, down and down and down into the darkness.
***
Christo wakes up in a dark clearing, he gets to a sitting position and swivels his head to observe his surroundings. All he could see was twisted black trees and brush surrounded by darkness. As Christo realizes he is alone he tries to bolt, but he can’t lift his paws. He looks down and cries out in fear as he sees slimy black vines crawling slowly up his legs. He tries to leap away, but they are grasping his shoulders and winding around his midsection. Christo squirms and struggles, but it’s all in vain. The vines slither up his chest and start to wrap around his neck. Again Christo is choking on the dingy scent of death and decay, and again he is choking on the dark taste of blood as it fills his throat.
“GHACK” Christo coughs up blood, spitting it from his tongue. The vines wrapped around his neck pull tighter and tighter as Christo’s eyes flick around desperately, searching frantically for a way out. But he sees nothing, hears nothing. And then. . . Christo keels over, his eyes blank and staring as his ginger furred body thuds to the ground, dead. A smoky black form materializes out of the darkness, striding towards Christo’s limp form. It bends its head down and sniffs at the red pelt and black paws of the dead fox. Then, it opens its mouth, black saliva dripping from sharp, bloodstained teeth, backed by a slimy, black tongue and gums. The creature sinks its teeth into Christo’s neck, and begins to drag him into the black forest, slowly they are devoured by the dark fog and seem to fold into the trees and bushes.
That which you fear will eventually consume you