Primeval Wood

A chapbook.

When Neil Keller noticed the pale set of eyes staring out at him from the shaded tangles of hawthorn, he experienced what he believed to be a wholly new form of elation, one that crackled and thrummed well beyond the accepted human spectrum. He soon realized that what blinked at him were not eyes at all, but tiny white blossoms; flowers that nonetheless seemed to glare out from some ecstatic mask. Neil exhaled a blend of laughter and a sigh. Nature would never allow a thicket to sprout the perfectly-formed fetish of some leering daemonic child. Yet that was what Neil was seeing, truly seeing.