The air was oppressive. Not hot really, nor muggy, just... heavy. Heavy and still.
Once, this had been a place of relaxation. A place to connect with nature, and listen to the whisper of wind through leaves, the calls of birds, and the shuffling of small animals. Wind seemed to skip this place now. Birds no longer sang. Nothing moved.
This was how they liked it.
The stories of ghosts in the woods had passed through generation after generation, building with each decade, taking shape with each telling.
A missing trader who took a shortcut through the forest? Well, the Glass Men got them. A child gone missing? With the Glass Men now. A family disappeared near the edge of the woods? You knew not to build so close to the Glass Men's territory.
Every year, fools test the legend. Walk where none should walk. Talk where none should talk.
Every year, fewer and fewer return. The forest has grown over the decades. Now, even the children of the once far-away city chant:
The air is heavy where the Glass Men live, and they don't like visitors.
One day, the Glass Men will visit the city, too, and the chanting will turn to silence.
This is how they like it.
This post is inspired by the Worldbuilding prompt: Glass Statues, and the Freewrite prompt: Heavy.
