What the Forest Hides

(AN: Very minor, nongraphic gore)

Stay out of the woods, the elders would say. Stay out of the woods, for many a haunted and ancient thing dwells beneath the deep shadows where the sunlight never touches, in the groves where sound is swallowed up by heavy, cloying mist, where a man can disappear.

It was the unwritten rule that people of the town did not go beyond the border wall in the forest; a curious thing in and of itself was the wall. It was constructed of round, smooth stones that shimmered when the moon fell upon them at just the right angle and the right phase. It stood no more than three feet high, and it seemed without end. One could walk for miles in either direction and never find the end. Woe to the poor bastard dumb enough to cross the wall, for they say the mists would swallow him whole or some other manner of frightful thing.

And so it was for several generations, the stories and fears passed down from one child to the next. The forest loomed large and daunting, a warning to all those who dared to breach its borders. Day after day, year after year, generation after generation, it all stayed the same, ever looming over the small village, dark and silent, and foreboding. Even if one did leave the town, the forest remained, always lingering in the back of their mind, always haunting their dreams. No matter how far they ran or for how long, the forest was always there, always waiting, always a part of them. There was no escape from it.

Clara Blackwood had managed to get away from that town, vowing she would leave and never look back. But the forest never let her go, always lingering in the back of her mind, haunting her dreams and her art. She had become known for her dreary and mysterious paintings of the forest. Painting the forest was the one way to get it out, to make the memory of it real and yet not. It was the only way to get it out for a time, or she would scream from the sheer oppression of her own memories. But there were nights when the forest crept back in and robbed her of her sleep.

Tonight was one of those nights as she lay tangled in her sheets, her auburn hair spread across the pillows, the curls tousled by restless sleep. Blue eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling of her studio apartment, twisting shadows above her, created by a glass mobile that caught the dim light of her lamp. A hand pushed through her sweat-dampened curls, heaving a deep sigh of relief and weariness. She sat up slowly, body still somewhat tense from the latest dream. Her small orange cat, Misha, hopped onto the bed and rubbed against the curve of her hip, purring softly, which made her feel somewhat better.

The ringing of her phone startled her, and she groaned when she saw it was three in the morning. Who in Hell was calling her this time of night? She picked it up, holding it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Clara?” A man’s voice spoke on the other end, gravely and deep.

“Grandpa?” She knew from his tone that something had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“You need to come home, Clara. It’s… It’s the forest.”

Clara froze, her grip tightening on the phone, her whole body tensing. Images of the forest flashed through her mind, memories of childhood spent staring up at the dark trees from the very edge of the border. “...What about it?”

“It’s gone…” Her grandfather, usually a grave man by nature, sounded incredibly grave, and it froze her to the marrow of her bones.

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“It’s gone, Clara. It burned up in the night. But nobody heard a thing, nobody saw it, or even smelled the damn thing burning; it’s just gone. Ain’t nothing left but ash, burnt stumps, and a few blackened trees still clinging on.”

Clara’s mind reeled from the knowledge. Everyone she had known had always regarded the forest with some sort of strange, macabre reverence. But to hear that the thing that had haunted her and chased her in her dreams was burned down? It didn’t bring peace or relief, which some small part of her brain hoped it would; some childhood fear the forest once evoked. No, what she felt was worse; she felt the icy fingers of overwhelming dread slither down her back as her body internally rebelled, her stomach roiling with dizzying nausea. “It’s gone…?” Her voice was softer now as she clutched the phone in both hands, knuckles white from the force of her grip as she willed herself not to throw up.

“Burned?”

“Yes, and that’s not all… There’s something in the forest… beyond the wall. Oh god, I can’t even begin to explain it. You need to come home.”

Clara looked at the phone when it disconnected with a click, the dial tone buzzing faintly. A few hours later, she was on a flight home, her leg bouncing nervously as she stared out the window, her mind whirling with thoughts. What had they found beyond the wall that was so terrible that it defied explanation? Terrible enough that her grandfather summoned her home? He had been the one to encourage her to get out of their small town, to make something of herself. She chewed on the end of an auburn curl, a habit she had kicked when she was ten, but the stress of the situation, the nervousness, had her falling back on old comforting habits.

Her grandfather was waiting for her at the gate, and though she adored him, the sight of him did not ease her anxiety any. Robert Blackwood was a bear of a man, towering over most folk, with a thick bushy beard, dark eyes that practically disappeared under thick, heavy brows. He was often called an oak, sturdy and steadfast; nothing rattled the quiet man. But when she saw him, she didn’t recognize him.

It was like he had aged several years in a short span since the last time she had seen him a couple of years ago. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his dark hair was streaked with white. He seemed smaller, hunched, like he had shrunk. It unnerved her to no end. She approached him, and he pulled her into one of his tight, bear hugs, and he simply held her. He didn’t say anything, just held her tight like she’d disappear, and she detected a faint tremor in his body as she hugged him back in the middle of the gate area, ignoring the hustle and bustle around them. They stayed like that for several long moments before he let go and silently took her bag for her, and they walked out to his old, beat-up truck.

She climbed in and inhaled, the old familiar scent of hay and tobacco filled her lungs as she settled into the worn leather seats, the engine rumbled loudly, and the airport disappeared steadily in the rearview mirror. They didn’t speak as they drove. What could they possibly say?

“Do the trees still haunt you?” Robert suddenly spoke, startling her out of her reverie.

She exhaled slowly and nodded. “Yeah… Every night.”

“Does the painting help?”

“It does. Makes me money, so guess there’s some good out of it.” She heaved a sigh and nestled back into the seat, tugging the oversized flannel she wore closer around her as if it would ward off the chill she felt, but it was no physical chill. The action brought her comfort, even if it was empty comfort.

They drove deep into the mountains, so deep that one would never know that there was a town there. Everything looked the same: the old general store with the flickering sign, the windmill that creaked whenever the wind blew, even the slightest breeze. But the people were different, huddled in groups, whispering, the scent of fear and uncertainty just as thick and acrid as the scent of the burnt forest behind the town. The forest leading up to the town had been untouched, but the trees leading deeper towards the mountains… they were gone. It… It made no sense, and it felt jarring to see what remained of them.

“Folks have been talking about bringing in people, government people. FBI most likely.” Robert’s voice interrupted her dazed stare.

“The FBI? Is it that bad?” There was another unspoken rule of the town: no outsiders. Folks took care of business in their own way, their own justice. To bring in the FBI of all things…

Robert grunted as he waited for her to tug on her hiking boots. He led the way through the barren path, keeping a watchful eye on his granddaughter as she trailed behind him.

Clara shivered as she tugged her flannel close again. It felt so… wrong, walking right up to the border wall. The fire had clearly stopped at the wall itself, and not a single ember had drifted over the border to threaten the town. It was unnatural. She hesitated as Robert swung one leg over and then the other, looking at her expectantly. She sighed and accepted his hand to help her over. She pulled out her camera and took pictures of the wall, stunned when not a single stone was scorched despite the fire having clearly made it all the way to the border. She held the pictures, shaking them as they kept walking. Now and then, she’d stop and take photos. She was going to keep her own record before the FBI, if they ever came at all, shut down and cordoned everything off. They hiked for what felt like an hour before she smelled something horrid. It was a mix of putrefaction and raw, deep earth. It made her gag as she covered her nose with her sleeve. She had smelled dead animals before, but this was so much worse. It was like the stench of hundreds of years built up into a stomach-turning odor that made her eyes water.

She staggered after Robert, who seemed unbothered by the smell as he stared up at something that shouldn’t exist. She lifted her gaze and froze. In front of them was a… she could only call it a castle or a compound, something… Something she didn’t truly have the words for.

She lifted her camera and took pictures before following Robert closer, the smell unbearable. She stopped by his side as they stared at it. “Is… Is that… bone?” Her voice was tight, her lungs constricting as dawning horror washed over her. Instead of being made of wood or smooth stone like she thought originally, it was bone, but wrong. She could see individual bones and skulls making up windows and gates, but the walls themselves… it was smooth bone, like someone had fused bones into utter smoothness and shaped it into the ruins in front of them. What truly made her sick were the bones that still had flesh attached, unharmed by fire. But the clinging flesh told her all she needed to know; they were fresh.

“Who…?”

“The Thompson boys. Jackie and Nathan. Went missing just a few days before the fire.”

She lost control of her stomach and vomited, the sting of bile the only thing that felt real. She accepted the water her grandfather offered her and rinsed out her mouth. “How is this possible? Some of the bones… They’re old… very old. Some look like they’ve been here hundreds of years yet show no sign of degradation. The walls… They’re bones too, but it’s like something fused the bones and shaped the walls like cement. I… I don’t think there’d be any way to tell who was who from the walls. Why is this here? How is this here? Who did it?”

“I don’t know, but it’s trouble to be sure. My advice is to leave it alone and wait for help. That’s all we can do. But whatever did this? It ain’t natural and you steer clear of it, you hear?”

Clara nodded, but she sensed that by crossing the border wall, they had announced their presence to whatever ancient thing resided deep in the woods and perhaps the mountains themselves. Whatever was there, it was watching them now, it knew them, it knew her, her very soul.

It started with the animals. The birds from the part of the forest leading up to the town grew silent, and then the animals disappeared. People would wake up in the morning and find tracks through the village leading up to the bone ruins until nothing was left. Then… something came down from the ruins, odd tracks that defied logic, and no one could agree on what they looked like. Then people began to go missing in the night, their footprints leading to the woods and disappearing once they reached the wall. Strange, unearthly howls echoed through the night. They couldn’t leave anymore. Anyone who tried never came back; they were trapped.

Clara stood by the window of her grandfather’s home, surrounded by reminders of her childhood, but they brought no comfort now; it was a prison. A prison wrapped in the guise of home and tainted with fear. It didn’t matter how many locks someone had; they’d be gone by morning. They never found out who or what started the fire, but something had awakened in the woods… and it was angry. It was coming for them, now.

She winced as the unearthly howling began, and she slowly drew the curtains and turned away from the window. It was hunting again, and another would soon join the bones. She never should have come back. With every person it took, the woods grew back day by day. She had tried to run, she had tried to flee, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never escape the forest, and now, it held her captive.

Day by day, she lived her life in routine, avoided looking at the forest, tried to ignore the scent of death that settled over the town in a haze, and didn’t cry anymore when someone went missing. What was the point anymore? No reception, no way out, they were on their own. She spent her nights lying awake, listening to the howls and wondering who was going to be lost that night and when it would come for her.

Don’t go in the forest, for many an ancient and hungry thing lived there. To those who went beyond the border, they never came back. The forest had burned, and now it was coming for them. Don’t drive into the mountains if you see an old dirt road. Drive on and drive fast, don’t look back. There is nothing now, a town that had been forgotten by the world, a cursed town that lived in fear of the woods. There is nothing, just a town that was damned. They had woken it up, and it was hungry.