Dirge of Woodworms

I have seen these woods a thousand times Yet today every tree seems new A trunk pulses upwards against my palm in steady rhythm I feel sick as I remove the knife from my hip Wet splinters tumble onto my feet as my blade digs into the rotting wood Pale-yellow, undulating bodies… there must be thousands of them They curve and carve in impossible order I cannot read these glyphs but they must have meaning I see the towering stag, ankle-deep in the snow, its decorated head turning to face me I’m clouded by my breath but not a wisp escapes its leathered snout We are close enough now that I can see my face in the wet of its eyes In an instant, the barrel is hot in my hand The ringing in my ear turns deafening as I see the warm wound nestled in his fur Each hair stands on end and falls, rippling in waves as if something is underneath I can hear their every gnarled black leg—scraping and scratching, burrowing They’re deafening now, and I can hear their every gnarled black leg Swimming in my terror I peer into the bullet hole and see the infestation of woodworms beneath Hacking and sawing to find only bone His antlers cut irregular furrows in the blanket of snow as I drag him across the forest bed

Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 24, 2026