The storm of high-pitched bleeping starts to fade the further away they get, much to the relief of both Daniel's eardrums and his patience. He blows out a long breath and braces a hand on one of the spindly tree trunks as he doubles over, panting.

It's only after he's caught his breath that he comes to realization that the almost comical alarm of the camera crew has all but dissolved, and the surrounding woodland has settled into an uncomfortable, eerie silence. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

The bark under his hand is oddly smooth and pale.

Then it twitches.

Daniel's hand jumps away as he startles back, shaking his head.

"Oh god," he says, babbling, "oh god, oh god oh god - "

The tree unravels, a grotesque parody of a flower in bloom, and casts its gaze to the both of them with a bulbous pair of horrible milky eyes. A glistening strand of spittle slides down its mottled chin.

That is not a tree.