Hunting Gypsies

It was raining hard when Ivan’s car crashed into a small pasture just before the forest. When he came to, the engine was still running and the radio was skipping around, playing a gibberish blend of song and static. His head throbbed and he felt with shaky hands an impressive gash on his forehead. With bloody fingers, Ivan unbuckled his seatbelt and felt around his body for any other injuries; his shoulder was sore and difficult to move, his ribs ached when he breathed deep, but thankfully both legs and feet seemed to have come out unscathed. The rain pounded down onto the roof of the car and thunder roared in the distance. He rubbed away the condensation that had built up on the windows, anxious to see what he had hit, but all he could see was an endless, muddy field. Steam rose from the hood of the car, and a thick, chemical brew spilled in through the vents and filled his lungs.

The fire started small at first, held at bay by the rain, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the sparks reached the oil, and then he’d be in real trouble. He had been on his way to a conference on botany, specifically about fungi, and he remembered his large duffle bag, extra pillows, blankets, and all the snacks and water for the six-hour ride that he had tossed in the backseat. Ivan grabbed for his overnight bag, a blanket, his phone, and water bottle. He remembered there was a flashlight in the glove compartment, something he always had there in the case he broke down at night. Ivan opened the compartment, grabbed the heavy flashlight, and closed the little door. He winced, realizing that there was probably no need, but he needed to move fast. Ivan slung the bag over his good shoulder, threw a blanket over his head, and pulled himself out of the car. His feet sunk into the slop as the rain pounded down upon him. The field went up to his calves, the thick, muddy water soaking into his boots. He moved through it, the slop oozing in and out with each step. Where could he go? He looked around at his current situation. The car was on fire and he needed to get away to safety before it exploded.

It was a weak “moo” that caught his attention. The cow lay under the front of the car, moving slowly, trying desperately to get up. Ivan stared into her dark brown eyes. He didn’t want to leave her like this, but he had nothing to help her out, nothing to save her with or even ease her pain. The fire shot out from the hood.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the cow, “I’m so sorry.”

Ivan ran. There was a patch of forest just ahead, and he might find shelter in there until the rain calmed. His boots sank in the thick mud slowing his run to a sloppy trot. Behind him, the flames grew. Black smoke mixed with the rain. Glass shattered and sprinkled into the grass. The scent of burning plastic and chemicals drifted in the intensifying wind, burning the inside of his nose, making him cough hard as he struggled to create distance. He was so close to the tree line where the forest floor was clear, where the thick carpet of light brown pine needles beckoned his quick remove from the sloppy mess of the field. The fire roared to life despite the rain. Ivan pulled his feet hard from the mud, desperate to quicken his pace. His shoulder screamed in response to the physical demands. The cow cried out as the fire reached the fuel line.

The force from the explosion pushed Ivan into the mud. Under the blanket, the rain tapped him as the world went black.

***

Ivan woke to find himself surrounded by trees. He pushed himself up with his good arm and wiped at his mud-encrusted face. Drops of rain flowed between the trees, lighter than it had been out in the field. He aimed his face to the drops in hopes to wash some of the mud from his eyes and nose. Everything hurt. Before he passed out, he was in the field. He was unsure how he got to this place, so he called out into the nothing.

“Is anyone here?” he said.

Pine trees swayed in a creaking response.

“Hello?”

A branch snapped in the distance. Ivan looked to see if anyone, or anything, was coming, but was only met with the darkness of more trees. He drew in a long breath, hoping to find a calm in his panic so he could think rationally. It was the only thing that he had on his side that could get him to safety. One thing he knew, there was a cow. He was in a field. This left him with the conclusion that a farm couldn’t be too far away, but he wasn’t sure which direction to go. He was completely lost. It was then that he realized he needed to take stock of his supplies. His head throbbed as he dug through his bag. He had four sets of clean clothes, one half-full 30oz water bottle, two packs of peanut butter crackers, three chocolate chip granola bars, a snack-sized bag of pretzels, a wet blanket, mud-soaked boots, at least one major injury, and incredibly soggy feet. Next, he needed to figure out exactly where he was. He looked around him. He was in a small clearing of the pines, surrounded by little white mushrooms with rust-colored caps.

“Cortinarius caperatus,” Ivan said, “little gypsies.” He had seen these mushrooms more times than he could imagine, but he had never seen them grown in a pattern like this. They surrounded him, like he was under siege, ready to attack if he attempted to flee. He giggled when he thought of how they were also called ‘hunting gypsies’, as if he was seeing this played out in front of his very own eyes. Ivan pulled up his pants to check each leg. Aside from the occasional freshly formed bruise, his legs were in good shape. If he had been dragged, there would be scratches from rocks or branches, but the bruises looked to be from the explosion more than anything.

He gathered his things and repacked his bag. Ivan stood and looked around, squinting his eyes as if it would help him figure out which direction he should go in. If his car was still on fire, he would be able to see the light through the trees, if not, he’d be able to smell the chemical blend of plastics, rubber, and fluids. But there was nothing. Only the smell of the pines, the decomposing carpet of needles below his feet, and the dried mud from his clothes. The rain had stopped completely now, small drops of water shook loose from the pines above, the only noise coming from the moving branches. Ivan felt as though he was in the middle of a conversation he was not invited to. Pines creaked one at a time, almost as if they were trying to decide what to do with him.

Ivan held his arm up, feeling the direction of the wind on his hand, and pointed along its path. Whatever direction this was, it didn’t matter, he’d walk until he reached the edge of the forest. He walked to the mushroom edge, considering the little caps for a moment. They were edible and he was unsure of how long he’d be on this journey, so it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to gather some while they were available to him. He reached down to a rather large cap and plucked it from the ground. The world spun around him as the pines disappeared. A scream came from deep in the forest, coming closer and closer the faster he spun. Ivan was falling as darkness enclosed around him, and the red, angry eyes were the last thing he saw before he hit the ground.

***

There was a lack of breeze in the dark. An airless, soundless place. Ivan shook. His hands were bound, the restraints dug into his skin, warning him to find calm in the panic. Resorting to a hated practice of rhythmic breathing his mother had taught him as a child, something that would help him manage his anxiety in social settings like shopping malls and middle school. He had no other choice but to force his body to relax in this moment. The bindings were tight. Like they were vines or roots from some sort of plant, but he couldn’t quite identify which it was. He breathed for seven seconds, held his breath for five, then released for ten. It was just a mushroom. And it was one of the gypsies, there was no way that one of those would have had this sort of effect on a full-grown man. They weren’t poisonous or harmful in any way.

He started a second round of breathing. The bindings pinched as his lungs expanded. His feet were bound in the same way. He wiggled his toes and sat up straight. This was the worst place he had ever found himself. Even though he wasn’t the most excited for the conference, he wished he was making the dreaded small talk with his colleagues at the conference. Ivan even missed the stupid botanist puns that his boss, Sam Winkle, would throw around. The more Sam drank, the more the puns recycled, which usually left him cringing and making excuses to run to the bathroom just to escape the pit of shame that grew in his chest. It was easy to be embarrassed for his boss, but he wished to feel that embarrassment over the terror of this. Ivan opened his eyes to see if his bag was anywhere near him, but all he could see was the darkness looking back.

He called out, “hello?” The echo was long, bouncing around in the black. There was a rustle in the distance. A shiver ran up and down his spine. Bodies moved in the place his echo rested, pushing up from the hard ground, and the soft sound of a vibrating whisper, almost like an army of bumblebees, drifted toward him. He could see their eyes, tiny and red, glowing and growing nearer. He struggled with the binding.

“What the fuck?” He yelled. The binding dug deep into his wrists. Warm blood dripped on his hand, beading off the ends of his fingers. Instincts took over and he struggled harder. The sound was closer, the eyes floated in the darkness, unblinking. Ivan screamed out in frustration.

“Please, I’m sorry about the mushroom. I didn’t know. I’m sorry about the cow. I don’t know what happened or how I got there, the rain was so heavy. I’m sorry! Please, please don’t hurt me.”

The eyes stopped moving closer. They floated in the vibration and turned. A larger set of eyes moved in from behind them all. This one was much bigger than the rest and Ivan could hear the soft footsteps as it got closer. A short burst of sharp metal against leather cut through the vibration. The eyes moved right up into his face, the tip of the creature’s nose brushed against his. He could smell dirt, mushrooms, flowers and pine. Its hot breath caressed his skin as it reached around to his hands. The cold metal slipped between his wrists and with a quick jerk, his hands were free. Ivan scooted back and reached for his feet. He franticly ran his fingers over the binding, trying to find the knot that was holding it all in place. The creature grabbed his leg and slipped the metal between his ankles. Ivan was free. Almost.

“Thank you,” he said, “thank you for letting me go.”

“I didn’t do anything of the sort,” the creature responded.

“You, but you untied me,” he said. He was shaking, his breath came and went in short spurts.

“I’m giving you a head start. That’s what your kind call it, yeah?” The creature’s voice was light and feminine. If he wasn’t tied up and in the dark, it would have made Ivan turn to see what she looked like, but here he was grateful for the darkness.

“Why a head start? Who am I running from?” He said. His flashlight clicked on. Her pale face was beautiful. She had flawless skin, a tiny nose, full lips and long, brown hair. Still, in the light, her eyes were red. She stared deep into his, exploring his features in response. Ivan couldn’t help but smile.

“You’ll be running from them,” she said. She pointed the light behind her. The army of tiny eyes shared her complexion, but they were so much smaller than she was. Some wore little dresses, while others wore tiny shirts and shorts. Their hair was wild, in all the natural hair colors that he had seen in his own world. Despite their size and the red eyes, Ivan would have thought they were humans. Well, if it weren’t also for the large, brilliant wings they each had. Each set was different. Some had intricate patterns while others had large blocks of color. The colors were beautiful, bright, and radiant. It was almost as if they had been taken from a florist’s cooler. Ivan wanted to study them. Even with the pit in his stomach, even with knowing that they were smiling with tiny, sharp teeth, their fingers outstretched, ready to tear into him, he wanted to know more about what they were and what they did. They looked like little flowers floating in the darkness.

“Are you ready?” She asked.

“Ready for what? They’re going to do what to me? What is this? Who are you?”

“Legend calls me, Irodeasa. They call me, Queen. And you,” she said with a smile, “you can call me, Death.”

The army behind her buzzed with excitement as Ivan stumbled to his feet.