I'm a genuine forest dweller.

My home is in a tiny hamlet, aptly named forest, which is even smaller than a village,

and yes, it's situated in an actual forest.

My house, an isolated abode in the midst of the woods, is encircled by a bubbling creek, two sloping hills

guarded on either side.

I often joke about being the real-life Shrek, but let me dive into my story which unfolded

in this very house some 27 years ago when I was about nine years old.

Back then, the house was a vacation home, a refurbished water mill that had been in our family for over two centuries.

This particular incident occurred in the summer.

It was during those childhood summer breaks,

a time when even my parents would take vacation days, so we could all relish our time together.

It wasn't just us either. A friend of mine and his mother were also there.

We spent our days playing, running through the woods and the streams, exploring every nook and

cranny. However, the event I'm about to recount happened on the third

day. It was just after lunch when I noticed something peculiar. All of the adults, and even I,

started feeling unusually lethargic and sleepy, which was odd because we had all talked about

staying active that day. My friend, however, didn't seem sleepy or tired at all.

Feeling a pang of guilt for leaving him awake by himself, I reluctantly agreed to take an afternoon nap.

But as I lay my head on the pillow, a strange urge surged within me. I forced myself to get up,

wander down the stairs, and step outside.

The brightness outside was blinding, even for a midday sun. I stepped onto the veranda and saw my friend approaching with an annoyed expression. I couldn't understand why he looked so irked,

but something inside me urged me to look up,

...