Wicked Garden

Scary trees, reaching out to claim your soul on a dark and autumn evening. The wind blowing, the branches scraping and complaining like old, dusty bones being dragged across a bare wood floor. Scratching and clicking… their limps grasping and clutching like the digits of some old, twisted spell caster… weaving it's fear into your every fiber as you weave your way home after a few pints at the "Bloody Goat Pub"… Stay off of the Moors, Boy!!!