The Sinister Sawmill: A Lumberjack's Unseen Torment

The moon hung low and full, casting an eerie glow over the dense forest. The sound of the sawmill's rusted gears echoed through the night, a constant reminder of its forgotten past. In the town of Eldergrove, there was a legend whispered only in hushed tones: the Sinister Sawmill, a place where those who dared to enter would never return. But for young Timo, the son of a local carpenter, curiosity and necessity pushed him beyond the boundaries of caution.

Timo had been sent by his father to collect firewood, the air growing colder with the approach of winter. The sawmill stood at the edge of the forest, an old, ramshackle building that had been abandoned for years. The thought of the legend had never truly concerned him; he had grown up hearing tall tales and knew the power of a good scare. However, as he stepped closer, he felt an inexplicable shiver run down his spine.

The sawmill's door creaked open with a sound that seemed to come from a place beyond the living, and Timo stepped inside. The interior was dark and damp, the walls adorned with cobwebs and the stench of decay. He made his way through the dust-filled air, the sound of the gears still echoing softly.

As he approached the main room, the source of the sound became clearer. The old saw still worked, its blade churning through the air with a life of its own. Timo had never seen a saw in motion; the thought of the sharp blade slicing through flesh was enough to make him turn and run. But curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself drawn to it.

Suddenly, the saw's speed increased, and Timo's heart raced. He watched in horror as the blade began to spin wildly, the light of the moon reflecting off the sharp edge. In a moment of distraction, his foot caught on a loose board, and he stumbled forward, losing his grip on the saw's handle.

The saw's blade caught his arm, and he felt the searing pain of metal against flesh. He screamed, and the sound echoed through the empty sawmill. The blade continued to spin, relentless and unstoppable, until it finally came to a halt.

Timo's vision blurred with pain, and he fell to the ground, the saw still clutched in his hand. He tried to pull it away, but it was stuck. The blade had become part of him, a part he was desperate to shed.

As he struggled, he heard footsteps approaching. A shadow moved through the doorway, and a figure emerged. It was a man, his face obscured by the shadows, but Timo could feel his presence, heavy and sinister.

"Let go," the man's voice was a low rumble, filled with a sense of malevolence.

Timo tried to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat. The man approached, his eyes locked onto Timo's hand. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the saw's blade, and Timo's world seemed to spin out of control.

The man's touch sent a shock through Timo's arm, and the saw slipped from his grasp, the blade slicing into the floor. The man stepped closer, his eyes boring into Timo's.

"Welcome to your new home," the man's voice was cold, his words cutting through the pain like a knife.

Timo tried to fight back, to escape, but the man was too fast. He grabbed Timo by the collar, lifting him off the ground. Timo's feet dangled helplessly as the man moved him closer to the sawmill's edge.

"No!" Timo screamed, but it was too late. The man pushed him, and Timo fell backward, the ground rushing up to meet him. The air was thick with the scent of wood and the sound of the sawmill's gears. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him.

Timo tried to push himself up, but his arm was numb, the saw still embedded in his flesh. The man was standing over him, his face now fully visible. It was the face of his own father.

"No," Timo whispered, his voice breaking. "Please."

The man's laugh was a chilling sound, the sound of a soul lost to darkness. "You wanted to know the secret of the sawmill, Timo. Now you know."

The man reached down and grabbed Timo's hand, pulling the saw blade free. Blood gushed out, but Timo barely noticed. He looked into his father's eyes, the eyes of a man he had never truly known, and he felt a chill that spread from his heart to his toes.

The man smiled, a twisted expression of triumph. "Now you are one of us."

Timo's vision began to blur, the world around him a whirlwind of color and sound. The sawmill's gears stopped, and the darkness closed in, the man's voice a distant echo.

"You will never escape," the man's words were a curse, a final farewell to the world Timo had once known.

Timo's last thought was of the legend, the Sinister Sawmill, and the truth behind it. He had found the secret, but at what cost? His life, his soul, his very essence had been torn away, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.

The sawmill stood silent in the moonlight, its gears still turning, a testament to the darkness that lay within. And in the heart of Eldergrove, a legend was born, one that would live on for generations to come.