Lost Creek Hollow milton gets scared of the dark

mildred was, of course, moaning. the Between was a lonely place, and she liked to hear the sound of her own ethereal cries echoing through the trees, rebounding against trunks and rocks and growing warped and faint the further they travelled. pausing in her step between the dark-cast boughs, she let slip another yearning cry, the moan slipping through the trunks, reaching, searching. 

she liked it quite much when a reaction was solicited, from wolf or otherwise - it had her remember that she was merely in the Between, and not dead quite yet. but this night was quiet, and still, and she was sinking into a slump; perhaps her moans just weren't good enough. unknowingly did she approach the pink-eyed male, moaning irregularly still, the sound twisting through the trees and the only marker of her presence there.