Do_you_listen_to_that?_VIDEO

 Do_you_listen_to_that?_VIDEO

"Do you know what is weird?" Mark said, narrowing his eyes on the horizon. His voice cut the quiet buzz of the engine.

"That?" John replied, his eyes on the road. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, the knuckles bleached by the tension of the bad trip.

"All." Mark made a gesture to the vast empty extension around him. "This path, these sounds ... is as if we were driving through the mixtape in someone's disorder."

His laugh was short, swallowed by the endless asphalt section that seemed not to start or end. They had been on the road for hours, after a GPS route that was supposed to take them to a small picturesque city, but the landscape had become disturbingly homogeneous. The trees remained high and scarce, their branches throwing irregular shadows that danced next to the car, driven by a breeze that did not reach the cabin. The occasional whisper of the leaves was the only partner of the rhythmic blow of the tires.

Silence was a living being, pressing on them from all sides, thick and palpable. It was only broken by the sudden and distant echoes of laughter who seemed to bubble from the land itself. The first time John heard it, he had shaken the wheel, sure there was someone or something out of sight, playing tricks. Now, he tried to ignore him, focusing on the stain of yellow lines that led them to the unknown.

However, the smell was the strangest part. He hit them in waves, a cloying sweetness that made John's stomach turn. He reminded him of a fruit post in the Summer Apogee, where the aromas of sugar from the too mature peaches and the bananas hung heavy in the air. But here, in this desolate place, it was wrong, almost sinister in its insistence. The aroma became stronger, which makes Mark's nose wrinkle in disgust while rolling through his window. A slight buzz became stronger, and John's heart began to compete.

"Do you listen to that?" Mark leaned closer to the open window, his curiosity exceeded his repulsion.

"Yes," John murmured, with his eyes running towards the lateral mirror. "But I see nothing."

The automobile headlights cut the dusk, revealing the desert landscape. The sun had submerged under the horizon, leaving the bleeding sky, a washing of faded blue and purple. The road was gently curved in front, inviting them to hug the darkness. John swallowed strongly, his eyes looked for any sign of civilization in the gloom. The GPS had gone crazy about fifty miles, leaving them only with their lower sense of direction and a growing feeling of restlessness.

The sound became stronger, the buzzing now an insistent drone that seemed to fill the car. John's knuckles became more tight in the wheel, sticky leather with sweat. He could feel the tension on his shoulders, an oppression that spread through his body like a cold hand.

"What the heck is that?" Mark's voice was tight, a thread of panic fabric through words.

"I don't know," John whispered, his eyes never left the road. "But I think we are about to find out."

The car rounded the curve, and there it was: a sea of ​​lights, pressing and dancing in the middle of the road. Thousands of them, floating in the air like a swarm of angry fireflies. Automobile light washed over the bright dough, revealing colored chaos that made John's eyes be awaited. He hit the brakes, the tires squeak in protest angry at the loss of inertia.

The swarm was around for a moment, as if he considered them, and then, with a collective buzz that seemed to resonate in his own bones, he advanced.

"What are those things?" John's voice was barely audible to the crescendo of the buzz that filled the car.

"I don't know," Mark replied, with very open eyes of astonishment and fear. "But we can't stay here."

The lights approached, their blinding intensity. John threw the car twisting the car steering wheel with all his rabid energy energy, his heart hammering against the interior of his ribs. The tires turned, grabbing the grain pray of the black asphalt, and staggered back. The swarm continued, the lights now a threat kaleidoscope, wrapping the car in a cocoon of sound and color.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the rearview mirror, a silhouette against the blinding lights. He was a child, standing in the middle of the road, stirring his arms as if he ordered them to stop. John hit his foot on the brake again, the car stopped.

"What is that now?" Mark's voice was an almost drowned snoring.

John did not respond. He was too busy looking at the child, who now ran towards them, his laugh perforated the cacophony of the swarm. As he approached, the lights separated, revealing a small and dirty face with eyes that shone with an unnatural light.

The boy stopped next to the car, his breath evaporated densely in the cold air of the night. He smiled at them, revealing a mouth full of sharp and pointed teeth. The buzz became stronger, the lights that prescribe over time with the laughter of the creature. John's hand trembled while reaching the door lock, clicking on his place.

The boy touched the window, leaving a fatty spot on the window of the car window. He spoke, his tall and sweet voice, but with a tone that was clearly malevolent. "You're lost, right?"

John did not respond, his fixed eyes on the smiling face of the creature.

"You should stay," he continued. "The road is long and alone, and we don't have many visitors."

The lights became brighter, pressing against the windows, trying to make their way. John's instincts shouted him to flee, but his body was frozen by fear. Mark reached the gearshift lever, his hand trembling as he launched the car.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured.

The child's smile opened, the light of his eyes throwing a horrible shine on his face. "You can try," he sang. "But the road has other plans for you."

With a roar, the engine accelerated. John attacked the accelerator pedal and the car struck forward, the swarm of light pursued them. The child's laugh became weaker, swallowed by the grunt of the engine and the pneumatic squeak. John's eyes were glued to the road that ran in front of the car like a rampant animal, looking for any escape signal, its white knuckles on the steering wheel.

The road was reduced, the trees approached and all moved away at the same speed, their branches scratched the car making clear scratches on the doors and on the roof. The lights persecuted them, a relentless color and sound wave that filled John with a primary terror that he had not felt since he was a child. They had to escape, they had to find an exit from this nightmare.

But while they ran through the dark, the lights approached, buzzing it increasingly strong. It was as if the fabric of the night had come alive to hunt them, and John could not shake the feeling that they were being driven, led to something indescribable that remained out of sight. The swarm was winning, the pressure of his search for a palpable force that pushed the car.

And then, without prior notice, the path fork. John did not have time to think, there is no time to choose from. He shook the wheel wheel, and the car deviated, the tires folded while taking the left path. The swarm separated, some followed them, others were left behind.

For a moment, he felt as if they had surpassed their persecutors. But as they advanced along the new path, the buzz became stronger again, the lights reappeared in the side mirrors, the child's laughter resonated through the trees.

His escape was only temporary.

The Wanderers of the Grimm brothers and their enigmatic trips

In the quiet city of Himmelsheim, where the cobbled streets were full of picturesque houses that had seen better days, there was a peculiar man called Gustav. Gustav was known for his stories and wild imagination, often giving away people of the town with stories of their adventures in distant lands that still did not exist in any known map. His eyes, a penetrating tone of blue, sparkled with pranks while talking, and his beard, which extended almost to the waist, was as rebellious as the yarns he turned. Despite the whispers behind them, Gustav's stories had a way of captivating the hearts of adults, who saw a hero in him instead of the Oddball village.

Gustav's favorite place was the Town called Square, where he sat in a wooden bench painted in the air, carved with the initials of generations of lovers and that they would share their exploits. He spoke of imaginary treasures hidden in the deep thing of the earth, of mythical creatures that wandered through the forests and a world beyond the horizon where dreams were born and where they were buried deceased nightmares. His voice was a soft direction, a comforting sound that filled the town of the town with amazement, drowning the distant sounds of the blacksmith's hammer and the bustle of the market. The adults gathered around them, with very open eyes with childish emotion, eager to escape the monotony of their lives of adult forced, even if only for a brief moment.

One day, when Gustav told his encounter with the legendary Phoenix leaving the ashes, a stranger approached. The man was tall and gangling, with a dusty hat on his eyes, throwing shadows on a face engraved with lines that spoke of a hard life. He wore a leather wallet on a shoulder, which dyed with an unusual rhythm as he moved, and his boots were used for years of travel for his own dreams. The people of the town watched him with a mixture of curiosity and caution, since the strangers were few and distant in Himmelsheim.

The adults, mutated by the newcomer, continued attentive to every word of Gustav. But as the stranger approached, Gustav's story became calmer, his eyes moved to man from under his hairy eyebrows. The stranger's gaze was intense, and Gustav felt as if he was studied, as if the man could see the very tissue of his soul. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dried up and clarified it before continuing his story. However, the magic of his words seemed to have vanished against the presence of the newcomer. The adults, feeling the change of energy, were worried.

The stranger finally spoke, his voice contrasts serious with Gustav's rich narration tones. "Your stories," he said, "remind me of my own trips. I have seen wonders that would make even your wildest imaginations look like innocent swans." Gustav felt a defense poke in his chest, but the tone of the man was not challenged; He was almost melancholic, as if he were talking about a lost friend a long time ago. "Maybe," Gustav began with caution, "Would you like to share one of these wonders with us?"

The man paused, considering, before nodding. He pulled a small wooden flute from his wallet and began touching a disturbing melody. The notes danced in the air, weaving their own history, and the adults bowed closer, fascinated by sound. Gustav felt that his own spirit of narration stirred within him, anxious to match the ability of the stranger. The melody became stronger, and with it, the images in the minds of adults became more vivid. They saw vast deserts, imposing mountains and the brightness of gold in the burning hug of the sun. They heard the whispers of the ancient forests and the roar of the distant oceans.

When the music reached its crescendo, a burst of wind swept the square, carrying with them the aroma of exotic spices and the distant calls of birds unknown with three eyes. The adults gasped when the air became thick with a bright light, and for a moment, it seemed that the very tissue of reality was falling apart as fine dust out of their eyes. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the music stopped and the light dissipated. The stranger looked at Gustav, a knowledge smile playing on his lips. "Those are the lands of the vagrants of Grimm," he said. "Where I come from."

Gustav's curiosity woke up, asked: "What are Grimm's vagrants?" The stranger leaned down, his eyes shone. "Ah," he said, "that, my friend, is a story for another day to do." With that, he bowed his hat and disappeared in the multitude of the market, leaving Gustav and adults to reflect on the mysteries he had brought with him. The whispers of the townspeople became stronger, but Gustav's heart accelerated with emotion. He had always known that there was more in the world than the narrow streets of Himmelsheim, and now he had evidence. He promised to obtain more information about this enigmatic figure and the wonders of Grimm's wanderers.