Repeat To Me My Mother's Grief

Thick sprawling fog smothered her car as young Professor Evelyn Cripps drove onwards. In her rearview mirror, the fog drew together hiding any trace of her- ahead the fog was so dense even her fog lights couldn’t penetrate the wanton whiteness.

Evelyn nervously tucked a blonde curl behind her ear and glanced at the pile of papers that had, once, been neatly contained in a binder. As a child, she remembered being intrigued by tales of the supernatural, and this intrigue had continued as she grew older. Now she longed to discover the true inspirations for those stories. 

She had travelled the length of the country to the House of the Fox Sisters who had birthed spiritualism, and she’d dared to tread inside of an ancient fairy ring- she had danced with druids at Stonehenge, and she had searched the Glastonbury Tor for the entrance to the fairy realm.

This one was sure to be the prideful peak of her years of research. Something so simple as a tree- sat on a lonely isle, it was believed by the people that resided in the nearby village that it was this living timber that allowed them to live. The people, unloved by heaven and unwanted by hell were doomed to a life without end, their youth only maintained by regular tribute, or so the tales she had found had said. Nearby towns offered the village a wide berth, warning travellers of their own stories of the people that dwelled there, talk that had passed through generations. Sacrifices, they whispered, and unnatural creatures- perversions of nature. 

Moisture clung to the windows and seeped in through the cracks of the car. Even with the comfort of her air conditioning and heated seats, she could feel it sneaking in. The further she drove the more urgently she could feel the fog prizing apart what gaps it could find, determined to make its entry. 

Then came the creaking.

Evelyn snapped from her musings and sought to find its source. Her radio had packed up, sothe only sounds she’d been able to hear were that of her breathing and her thrumming pulse for so long.

At first, she hadn’t been able to make out the shadowy form that emerged from within the fog. Too tall to be a regular man, she had dismissed it initially as a small tree, and yet, as she neared, the features became unmistakable. Dark pits for eyes, and a long beard the twin of rotten bark. Fearsome to behold, he didn’t appear to be wearing any clothing, and his body was unlike any she had ever seen. Long, gnarly limbs, all severe jagged edges, and twisted flesh. Despite her speed, it took far longer to reach him than it should have, and longer still to leave him behind. To her terror, the figure grinned as she began to pass him. Grinned, Evelyn thought, or bared his teeth. As the fog consumed him, his feral gaze never left her.

Evelyn could still feel eyes on her- delighted eyes that relished the fear that tore through her as she continued to travel down the long winding road as fast as she dared. 

A howl, a long desperate noise so unexpected Evelyn fought to seize control of the now dangerously swerving vehicle. Such a noise was enough, almost, to stop Evelyn’s heart in her chest. Beasts weren’t made to make such noises, nothing in nature could cause such agony as to be found in that cry. 

Evelyn searched desperately, the car volleying from side to side as she sought to take in all that she could see.  

Only as the creature’s sounding began to cease did the fog start to recede. Blocks of grey became crooked buildings, and haunting orbs of dull amber became greasy lamplight.

The village was exceptionally small, Evelyn realised as she got out of her car. The road she was presently on, had she not brought her car to a stop when she had, would have led her straight into crashing waves.

Here the air felt thin and unfulfilling. Evelyn closed her eyes and leaned against the side of her car, hoping for a breath that would fill her lungs rather than offer her a mere whisper of satisfaction. That now familiar panic crept back into her chest. The distant sound of groaning wood joined her chaotic breathing.

“I thought I heard a car pull up.”

Evelyn paused in her hyperventilating to take in the portly woman that now spoke to her from a nearby doorway- her arms crossed over her chest, she surveyed Evelyn with a shrewd eye. 

Seeking to escape the woman’s penetrative gaze, Evelyn’s own gaze turned upwards towards the sign that jutted out above her. ‘The Ailing Horse Inn,’ she read before taking in the picture that accompanied it. A horse collapsed by the side of a road, its head reared back in a silent scream, beside it a man stood raging, whip in hand. 

“Gruesome isn’t it,” the woman mused dismissively, following Evelyn’s distracted eye, “no reflection on the inn itself though. Come inside, it’s not good to linger in the streets- I assume you’ll be wanting a room for the night?”

“Yes please.”

The woman turned on her heel and made to re-enter the inn. “Leave your bags at the door, I’ll have Robin take them to your room.”

The woman moved quickly, not waiting for Evelyn to catch up. She moved with the confidence of a woman playing chess, those around her moved according to how she desired them to, rather than the landlady navigating around her patrons.

Contrary to the weighty stillness outside, the inn was flush with activity. The jovial noises of drunken revelry filled Evelyn’s ears, and her eyes began to close with delight as her mouth salivated at the smell of the food. Evelyn couldn’t remember the last meal she ate, but she was certainly looking forward to her next one if it was to emerge from the inn’s kitchen.

Noises layered on top of noises- heavy laughter filled the air, men and women letting out great bellows of rapturous delight. 

“Sit here,” the landlady insisted, pointing out a chair to a table in the centre of the room. “I’ll bring you some food and drink,” she threw over her shoulder.

Before too long at all a bowl was placed on the table, and after that a plate, and after that yet another bowl. She ate wantonly, unwilling and unable to turn down the food placed in front of her. Tankards of the finest wine came next, each more wondrous than the last. She gorged without care or consideration on the food and drink that found its way to her.

The boisterous laughter of the inn grew and grew as the number of souls continued to swell. That humoured sound grew to become mocking as she was pulled from her seat. Tossed from patron to patron, she was danced and whirled, led into a jig, or a deep plunge, or a gentle rocking from side to side on unsteady feet. In time, she was unsure as to whether she was laughing or screaming, experiencing ecstasy or despair.

“Good morning,” the landlady intoned, letting herself into Evelyn’s room. “Well,” she corrected, mostly to herself, “not so much good morning as it is a good afternoon, you must have been tired.”

Evelyn watched baffled as the landlady opened the wardrobe and pulled out a white dress that she hadn’t packed.

“Oh yes,” the landlady mumbled, as she laid the shapeless gown at the end of Evelyn’s bed. “Best be up, the crossway waits for no one, not even you.”

Evelyn paused.

“How do you know I’m going over to the isle?”

The woman let out a short bark of barbed laughter. As quickly as she had entered the room, the landlady left it, leaving the sickly sweet scent of lilies in her wake. 

Standing there in her room, Evelyn’s stomach remained distended from the feast the night before- the taste of souring wine lingered on her lips. She grabbed the dress that had been placed at the end of her bed and was surprised by the softness of it. She would wear it, she decided, not because the landlady had chosen it for her, but because of how luxurious the fabric felt.

“Here you go,” the landlady smiled, handing her a perfect scarlet apple as she waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Evelyn took it gratefully and found herself biting into it despite her lack of hunger.

“When you go to the isle, don’t stray from the path,” the landlady warned as Evelyn moved to the door, “Should you deviate from it you’ll discover that the mire doesn’t look dangerous until you find yourself stuck in it, with the tide rapidly rolling in. You will not find another soul here willing to risk their own to save yours. The tree is well worth the journey though.”

“Why?” Evelyn found herself asking, “What about it calls for such devotion from its cultivators? Surely a tree is a tree is a tree. Beautiful no doubt but no more mystical than a shrub or stone.”

The landlady’s eyes flashed.

“Round here we do not speak so dismissively. It was the old belief, many centuries ago, that the people who resided here were once so cruel that even death wanted no part of them. Left here to rot,” the landlady growled, “in the shadow of the tree, they created their own haven. A place where their skin would no longer hang from their living bones, where they could meet the sun and not wince from its light. There was a price to be paid, but the price was worth meeting.”

“What price?” Evelyn ignored the sounds of creaking around her.

“You won’t believe until you see, and you will not see unless you go… so go,” she whispered, nudging Evelyn quickly out of the door.

Coming to a slow halt halfway across the crossway and feeling eyes on her, Evelyn turned to see what must have been the entire town watching her cross. A sea of its own, full of people with rictus grins, she quickened her pace.

At the edge of the isle, Evelyn’s steps faltered, and she stilled on the crossway unsure if she’d be able to make herself move again. Looking back, she saw several villagers begin stepping forward, and the idea of them catching her was enough to spur Evelyn to action. She didn’t walk, didn’t even run, she near flew to the unwitting shelter of the fog. 

At once,  her breath was stolen away. The fog was heavy with suspended raindrops. The moisture clung to the fabric of her dress causing it to stick uncomfortably to her flesh. Her movements became sluggish as she fought her clothing as well as the fog. Once more she could scarcely breathe, each merciful inhalation proved thick yet hollow.

The very moment she fell to her knees and gave up, the fog… dissipated. She breathed freely, no longer feeling as though she were drowning.

She looked up.

The tree was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Whether it was one tree or two seemed impossible to tell, maybe it was one that had become two, or two that had merged into one. First to draw Evelyn’s attention were the heavy boughs- laden with the greenest of leaves, in the centre of them grew a single, perfect, blood-red apple.

Then there were the blackened branches, thick, gnarly, grotesque branches that burrowed into the green, smothering the trunk from which the lush branches sprouted. She could hear the ominous sound of creaking as those pitch limbs tightened with each passing second, squeezing away that joyous life.

Evelyn’s eyes turned downwards and widened in terror. There instead of roots, lay bones. Human bones. The landlady’s words rang through her mind. Talk of a price to be paid. She thought about those hungry smiles that had encouraged her speedy crossing to the isle. The food from the feast sat heavy in her stomach, and the juice of the apple burned her lips. She was a pig surrendered to slaughter, fattened so that there was more of her to give, sweetened so there was joy to be had in her flavour. The feast had not been for her to savour.

Evelyn noticed arms and fingers made of wood stretching towards her from the trunk as she prayed for her dread-induced paralysis to end. Next, those deep, colourless eyes took form, the beard… the teeth.

She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes didn’t blink and the air that refused to nourish her burned her retinas, branding the image before her into them. She trembled violently, her limbs spasming as sweat wept from her pores.

Wood creaked, and before Evelyn could think to run she felt barky fingers pulling her into the darkness of the bone roots. Her skin tore as she was tugged through the earth and then pulled upwards. Her arms were flung out to the sides and then strapped in place by wood vines. Unable to move enough to take more than a murmur of air she couldn’t scream, or call, or beg, or pray. She could only watch through a crack in the tree bark as the villagers rolled in with the frothing fog. Witnesses to her slow torture, they grinned as the tree fed on her. 

Twigs gored through her fingertips and ripped into her veins and arteries. 

Bones calcified, hair disintegrated, limbs cracked. Eternity alone passed in an hour, infinity stretched out ahead. She felt everything as her body was slowly shredded. 

In time, fungus replaced her mould-ridden eyes and she was no longer able to see that fog, or the figures watching within. She felt them though, felt the way they gluttoned themselves on her. Days, weeks, months, years became inconsequential as she rotted in place. Alive yet decaying, forever on the cusp of death, and yet never allowed to fall into its painless embrace. 

The very last thing that sweet Eve ever knew was the sound of that perfect red apple falling out of the tree, into that pile of bones at her feet.