For those who like the darker side, you'll enjoy this one.

Tavin rushed along the dirt road until he reached the felled tree.  The image of his father's lifeless body beneath the heavy trunk left him cold.  He leaned against it for a moment and wiped a tear from his cheek.  It was as if the tree had purposely killed Brody.  Tavin glanced at the grove.  Maybe Hell was just inside, and the devil wanted his father out of the way.  But why today?  Why not later on?  Tavin shook his head.  "Only one way to know for sure."

In halting steps he approached the grove, but kept his distance as he walked slowly around the copse of trees. The giants stood at least twenty feet high with huge branches that reached toward the ground like massive, feathered arms.  Each leaf was as large as a man's hand, but the trees never shed them — even in the rainy season when the rest of the vegetation withered and died. 

Around the massive trunks grew heavy brush.  It covered everything ten feet from the ground.  The outside edges contained cruel thorns.  Steven had touched one of those thorns and then acted as if he'd been poisoned.  It took three months for him to recover.  Tavin was glad now that they hadn't entered the grove as they'd planned to.  Others had crawled through the opening, and they were never seen again.  Steven still bore a horrendous scar on his arm.

Tavin circled the grove several times, each time coming closer, trying to gather the courage to enter.  When he was within arm's reach of the brush, it moved and rippled toward him, the heavy thorns shooting out, as if trying to poke him like they had Steven.  Tavin reached into his pocket and held the key, terrified of getting any closer to the deadly brush, but as he came to the tunnel leading inside, the shrubbery halted its attempts. 

At last, the fading sunlight drove him forward.  He crouched and made his way through the tunnel.  After about ten feet, the inside opened up into a clearing large enough to hold three wagons.  Nestled in the southern wall of bushes sat a door made of metal, the same color bronze as the shaft of the key.  The top third was rounded with vertical bars the size of sapling tree trunk, enough to fill a grown man's hand.  Beneath them were vertical slabs of metal with horizontal slabs laid over the top, reminding Tavin of the doors of the commune.  A large brass ring hung exactly in the middle.  The door stood as high as the heavy foliage of brush and was as wide as a man. 

Smoke billowed from the open space between the bars.  The smell of sulfur swirled around Tavin and he covered his nose with his sleeve.  He could hear crackling like the bonfires celebrating the end of the harvest season.  Flickering light danced across the inside of the grove, casting shadows as if living demons from Hell decorated the walls.

Tavin inched forward.  His heart throbbed in his temples and his hands shook.  His father died with this as his last concern, but Tavin was afraid of what he would find.  Everything Brody had said so far was true.  There was a gate here, and it seemed to be covering the burning fires of Hell.  Behind this gate were the Hounds — Hounds of Hell.

Scratching sounded from inside and Tavin knew it was time.  Taking the key from his pocket, he turned it over in his hand.  A promise had been made by his ancestors, and now he must fulfill their vow.   His father had taught him that a vow must never be broken, so he inserted the key into the lock.  Baying shattered the night, silencing the few birds twittering in the bare trees at the last streaks of daylight.  Two turns to the right, and the bolt slid into the door.  He grasped the two-foot-wide, bronze ring and stepped back, pulling the metal door open.  Steam and heat rivaling the blacksmith's forge rushed out, along with the hounds.  

The evil obsidian beasts stood waist-high on legs the size of a full-grown horse's.  Their paws were as big as Tavin's face, and sported eight-inch talons that tore at the ground as they circled the grove.  Short, folded ears topped their round, broad heads.  The huge jaws hung open revealing two rows of razor sharp teeth, and their heavily muscled bodies rivaled any of the island's ponies.  Their eyes burned bright-red in the darkness of the grove.  They circled him.

Tavin inched backward, every inch of him screaming the warnings about the wild dogs and the way they'd tear you apart of you ever saw them.  Everything else was forgotten except the monsters before him.  He glanced toward the tunnel leading into the grove, gauging if he could reach it, but the hounds blocked the way.  Inching away, Tavin gasped when the hounds matched his every step.  He took a step to the right and they stepped left, still blocking his only exit.  Heat seared his back as he bumped against the door. 

He'd forgotten about the doorway, but the burn against his back reminded him that the opening to Hell stood right behind him.  These massive beasts had just left there.  What else, what worse could be waiting behind.  Tavin glanced behind him.

A black shape took form within the flames — tall, hooded, and reaching for Tavin with a boney hand.  Tavin took a step back, the hounds forgotten.   His chest tightened and his heart slammed into his throat.  The boney hand descended, and Tavin slammed the door just before it reached his face.  He whipped the key into the lock, turned it and hit the ground, expecting certain death, but nothing happened.  When he looked up, the hand was gone.  Shuffling to his left reminded him of the hounds, and now he was on the ground and at their mercy.