The Wood

Then suddenly without expectation it happened. The large yellow teeth clenched around my calf. The warmth of my blood trickled slowly, in thick little rivers, forming pools as it dripped from my ankle. It had come, as I knew it would. As I lay helpless, too terrorized with fear to move, I watch, waiting praying for a miracle, a release from the pain. I think back to how it all started. The darkness of The Wood, how mysteriously it had come.

I’d heard the story. Momma always said it was only a legend. But it was the fear, utter paranoia, in her story, in her voice and movements , which made me believe otherwise.

Papa would tell us on hot steamy nights, by the campfire, about The Wood. How the trees held a dark secret of sin. About the Woodsman, with his axe, would strike down anyone who set foot inside The Wood after sunset. And the cries. So late into the night. Of the children. The babies! That’s what Papa used to say. But Momma only became agitated, and worked at fixin sup’ with even greater speed and more carelessness. She was worried. I could tell. The deep lines from her worry seemed to darken, sadden. As if she knew a truth! But dared not express it.

Papa would sit me on his lap, picking me up and holding me, effortlessly. “Tsura, my girl, you are the light of my dawn. How can your eyes be so like the violets that grow in The Wood? Your hair like the blackest night? Surely, I have been blessed.” He would look down to me and smile so broad. Then he would begin. He would sing the song his father sang to him when he was a child. The invocation brought happiness to all who heard it around the fire. The chant would always end with the death of the Woodsman. Well, until…

The Woodsman was the one held responsible when children disappeared. Especially, when seven children went missing over by Willow Brook Pond. Over by The Wood. Villagers and farmers searched all day until near sunset. They wouldn’t go into the vast Wood past sunset. Most were afraid to go in during daylight, but those that did found only a child’s ball. And a doll. The doll belonged to my baby sister, Emilia. She was one of the seven that went missing. Now, Papa doesn’t tell the story, nor does he talk much. He only cries and drinks his whiskey.When the Wood begins.

When The Wood begins, letting sounds of the children out into the moist, night cooled air, Papa puts his own worn hands over his ears. And cries. Poor Emilia. My little blonde Emilia. In her pink and ivory-colored party dress. My poor Emilia, I think. She is only six! I miss how things were. She must come back to me! Others try to forget but I won’t, Emilia!

The farmers near Willow Brook village fenced the whole wood in. And posted signs all around it. To protect the children we still have. Now with the perimeters fenced, we hope we won’t lose anymore. Except now, I’m in The Wood. After dark. I look up and see him. The Woodsman. Then, I remember…

The search for Emilia, in The Wood. I went without telling Momma or Papa. I needed to know. A search for truth, as well, as Emilia. But I did not expect the darkness to come so quickly. I began in midday, climbing over the fence, into the Wicked Wood. It is so frightening and vast. I almost turn back.

As I entered, past Anchor Oak, A creeping feeling came over my heart, reaching from the pit of my stomach. The same creeping you get when you get caught stealing an apple from a neighbor’s tree. Or when you take a test in Old Marm’s schoolhouse. Or listen to Papa, late into the night, tell about the Wood. The trees so tall, you begin to lose sight of the sky and the sense of the world being round. The leaves so deep green in color, like a shroud over The Wood. Little by little, the further in I go, the sky disappears behind the branches and leaves of The Wood.
Flowers, like Bloodroot, grow amongst the Wicked Trees, moss deep and rich in color, growing, thriving on the rocks. I notice the blossoms of the bloodroot slowly begin to close, a sign that darkness, sunset has also entered The Wood. I turn to leave with Achilles speed. I had lost track of the time. But which way? The Wood is quite large. If I take the wrong route I will only end up deeper, in the Land of the Woodsman. Fear grabs me by the hand. He always does when I least need him.

I begin to run. I begin to panic. Urgency and fear each pull me by the hand, dragging me at times, ever onward. The trees become darker, the leaves more and more like a blanket of morbid fear. Terror. The bloodroots I know longer see nor can I even see the ground. Sunset has fallen. It is dark. Empty and frightening. Soon I will be dead. Only my cries will linger on, out of The Wood.

But Wait!

I see a clearing, through the darkness, in the distance. And a campfire! The villagers! They’ve made a campfire for me to find the edge of The Wood. Oh Blessed Mary! I run towards the light, the heat, and the warmth of family, only seconds away!

But this is not to be. It is not the edge of The Wood I come upon but, merely a hollow in The Wood. But hollow it is not. What a sight I see! A bonfire, great and huge. And cats! Cats, I say! Dancing on their hinders, paw in paw, around the great fire, forming a circle! Oh! Blessed Be! It cannot be! As they dance, they cry and whine out a tune of pure wonderment. Not quite a tune, but more like…

Cries in the night.

The howling of cats.

They danced and screeched back and forth, first clockwise then counter. Like little elves! Their clothes, almost human like. Blue jumpers, silk shirts, and a…

Pink and ivory party dress.

No! This cannot be! My little Emilia! Sorrow of Sorrows! Horror of Horrors! Not my poor little Emilia! I can only collapse to the ground. My heart grieves.

Coincidentally, all the cats cry out with fits of laughter and fall to the ground, over one another, breaking the circle, laughing still more. Jugs are passed around and they all take long gulps of purple-red liquid. “Wine! Whine!”they chant.

When a jug is emptied, it is tossed over the shoulder, usually breaking as it hits the ground, or another cat. When this happens, they all fall over in fits of laughter. They are all obviously drunk.

I fall back, against a nearby tree, mesmerized. Tears flow freely, as I see Emilia, a child drinking, in the form of a cat.

The cats pass large platters of fruits and layers and layers of meats and cheeses. Even at nine, I am shocked by the whole scene, the decadence of it all! If a platter falls, the cats rage again with laughter.

I see a very large tent over to one side of the clearing, and occasionally, a pair sometimes even a threesome, goes inside. Each time, The curtains are drawn and great howling screeches begin.

Then I notice, from out of the tent comes a large wolf! Very solemn. Very stern looking. He is a guard. He takes wood from a pile and throws it upon the fire. The fire hisses and burns ever brighter, sending burning cinders up into the air. They remind me of fairies dancing ever higher above the fire.

Instead of returning inside, he stands, still on his hind legs, with a large axe near his side. He scans the clearing, and I crunch down still further down out of sight, by the tree. Casually, he lifts his nose to the light breeze that has come up, and blows past him. The leaves whisper to him, ever so softly. They whisper, lightly, delicately a secret. The secret of my hidden scent. Without hesitation, his head turns and his eyes look directly to me, through me. His eyes pierce mine and I cannot move. I am frozen, in fear of being seen.

I whisper my own little secret beneath my held breath. “Please, Oh Heavenly Father, do not let him see me. Protect me so I can save my little Emilia. Protect me so I can get home safe.”
The guard removes his armored belt and bronzed helmet. Ever so gracefully, he drops to all fours, jumps the woodpile, and continues running to me. After me!
In terror I run! Away from Emilia. Away from the campfire. Tears still burning down my face. If only I had a weapon. After what seems like true and utter anguish from running, I look back. The wolf no longer follows me. I no longer see him. Exhausted, I hide behind one of the many, many oaks.

Then suddenly without expectation it happened. The large yellow teeth clenched around my calf. The warmth of my blood trickled slowly, in thick little rivers, forming pools as it dripped from my ankle. It had come as I knew it would. As I lay helpless, too terrorized with fear to move, I watch, waiting praying for a miracle, a release from the pain. The large beast, fur matted with burrs, with caked on blood from previous killings, looks into my eyes. His large paw swings high into the air, his claws extended now, reaching outward. Like lightning, he will bring his claws to come down through me, my neck…

(To be continued)