There is nothing out there other than messy foliage and old, bent over trees with stubby, darkened trunks. The sky is barely visible behind the bushy branches, although it manages to shine through in a spotty pattern, bright gray patches of light illuminating the otherwise indistinguishable gravel path. There is a lazy, cold mist floating around, splashing at the bases of the trees like smoky waves of a silver sea; it glistens a little when light touches it, so it gives the illusion of something living, slithering about the dark, scary forest.
Leftover rain droplets trickle down the leaves, plastering them to each other until they become an unrecognizable green mass. There was a big storm not long ago, big enough that the rain poured through the branches and soaked up the ground, creating little streams that pushed pebbles out of the way and muddied the path. It seems like it’s going to rain again, judging by the thunders ringing in the distance, but at this point, Hal Kinsley doesn’t really care if it does.
He has been walking through the woods long enough that his boots, usually a washed out green shade, are completely covered in lumpy brown mud. They weigh now more than he is used to, and so after a while, he’s resorted to dragging his feet along the path, which incidentally makes for a slower pace. Maybe this is not due to the mud and the rain though; he is more exhausted with each day that passes. He takes breaks more often, rests for longer, and is less eager to continue on his way once he’s taken a bite and dozed off for a bit. It almost feels like the longer he is among those trees - and he doesn’t really know how long he’s been there - the less he cares about why he got there in the first place.
He had a donkey with him when he set foot in these woods, old Lucie Mae. She had been pulling from a two-wheeled crooked cart carrying ten bags of flour and four bear pelts that he had bought at the Spring market with some of the money he got for his wool and milk. Hal was too heavy to ride the cart now – he used to do it when he was a youngster a few years back – so he walked alongside it, holding onto Lucie Mae’s bridle, guiding her along the way.
He talked to her. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t respond, or even understand him; hearing his own voice helped endure the loneliness of the trek to and from the market. He would tell her about Mother and much he had wanted to leave her house despite her being sick and needing him to take care of things, about his plans to marry beautiful Hilda from a few towns over now that she had died. Lucie Mae’s ears shifted from time to time, as if she was nodding at him to continue, and that was all he required to keep up his good spirits.
At some point, though, Lucie Mae went missing. Hal does not exactly remember when or how; all he knows is that the donkey was right beside him one minute, and gone the next. He couldn’t pull the cart by himself, so he grabbed two pelts and a couple of sacks of flour, and took to the road. They became too heavy when it started raining, so he abandoned them under a tree and, wrapping the only pelt he felt strong enough to carry, he dragged himself further into the darkness of the unforgiving Hurrington Forest.
This is the first time Hal has ever dared to cross the tree line into these woods. Come every Spring, he walks the long way across the river to and from the market, a road that usually costs him about four and a half days. However, this time around he came upon the knowledge that beautiful Hilda from a few towns over had stayed home with her Mother instead of accompanying her Father to the market as she did every other year. He figured he could maybe come around and see her before heading home if he made good time, and thus had left a few days early after selling his produce for way less than he should have. He strapped Lucie Mae to the cart and decisively took the shortest, but most dangerous route home.
Hurrington Forest is big and cold. From the outside, it looks like a never-ending dome made out of luscious green leaves and mossy tree branches. It´s hard to see past the first line of trees – they are packed so close together that anything beyond them is but an outline, shadowy figures that stand tall and menacing. The trees themselves look like twisted bundles of wood and splinters. Their trunks, knotted and cracked, contort in impossible ways, as if they were fidgeting as they grew, trying to escape their damp prison. The forest is split in half by a winding gravel path that runs across like a shy, white serpent, hurriedly getting lost among the shrubs. Birds chirp nonstop somewhere in the darkness and yet, somehow, they don´t sound happy or cheerful, but gloomy and mysterious. As if they were singing about the traveler´s impending death. Glowing eyes blink in the dark, shining only for a second or two, disappearing so far that it is difficult to say whether they were really ever there in the first place.
There are stories about Hurrington Forest. It is difficult to tell whether they are true, as nobody has ever been able to prove that they happened. Some people venture inside, and are never heard from again – of course, there are still those that will come back unscathed, but who really wants to listen to uneventful, happy stories. As a result, market goers take the longer road around it, one that passes through three different villages before taking them to their final destination. Perhaps these stories are nothing but a clever strategy by the villagers to take advantage of the shopping frenzy. Perhaps they are true.
It’s a daunting place and after walking for what seems like years to him, after losing Lucie Mae, Hal is starting to see the error of his ways. He is tired, cold, wet, and afraid, and has gotten to the point where he almost doesn’t remember the circumstances that led him to come into Hurrington. Lonely, he has started to talk to himself, out loud, altering his voice so that he can maintain a conversation with an imaginary person. And it’s starting to sound believable.
“Stop dragging your feet”
“There is nothing I can do, I’m tired”
“Well, it’s getting on my nerves”
“I’ll stop, then” He veers off the path as he says this, heading towards the nearest tree.
“Do not stop, you have to keep moving”
“Leave me be, I want to sleep” He plops down on the ground, hitting the back of his head against the tree trunk in the process. He doesn’t care. He barely even feels it. He doesn’t feel anything aside from exhaustion right now.
“Get up, you lazy bastard. Get off your bum and keep walking”
“You want to keep walking? Well, then you go ahead and keep walking without-“
“Wait, I think I saw something” He squints, looking far beyond the nearest tree line. There, in the darkness. A glimmer. A figure swiftly moving towards them, coming in and out of sight, hopping over bushes and roots, disappearing behind the trunks as if it was but an illusion. Hal shifts his body so that he is facing the shadow, curious, but not nervous. He feels as though nothing can scare him anymore.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know”
“Is it an animal?”
“I don’t know. Now shut up, or it will hear you”
The figure approaches, or at least seems to, as Hal watches it, mesmerized. Soon, he has forgotten where he is or how he got there in the first place; he really is not even curious as to what it is he is looking at, but his eyes remain locked upon it, following its every move as if it had hypnotized him. It moves with delicate confidence, leaves and branches cracking under its feet as it goes. It’s like a song, like a dance, a spectacle of lights and shadows, of whispers and silences. The silver mist pools around its ankles, like a playful crystal lake on a stormy day.
After what seems like hours, the figure is close enough that he can recognize it. Or her, to be more exact. Her auburn hair, normally pulled up on a tight bun, flows lightly over her shoulders, brushing her rosy cheeks every time she turns her head. When the light touches it, it glows. Her skin, riddled with pale, brown freckles, shines like an apple, full and terse, stretched out over her perfectly smooth forehead. She is wearing a white dress and a brown apron, but she has no shoes on. Not stopping her irrevocable approach, she steps over roots and bushes like it´s nothing, pushing any dead branches or wandering rocks out of the way with the tip of her toes. Hal blinks. It´s beautiful Hilda, from a few towns over.
When she gets to him, she grins. Her blue eyes are almost transparent.
“Hal” she says. If he stopped to think about it, he would find it strange that she knew his name, since he doesn’t remember ever talking to her; but he is not really thinking right now. At least, not all of him is.
“How do you know his name?” He blushes, wanting to kick himself for being so bold. Hilda, however, only giggles.
“How could I not?” She reaches out, and her fingertips brush his chin. He doesn´t remember standing up, but now that he is, he notices that she is shorter than him, so she has to look up at him through her eyelashes. He sucks in a breath, taken with her beauty.
“I wanted to come see you” He says, his voice gruff and quiet.
“And you did” She says, her smile never faltering. “I always knew you would find your way to me. We must be together… and now that Mother is dead –”
“Shut up” Hal bites his tongue, and looks away, embarrassed. He feels Hilda’s hands creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks, tenderly cradling his face while her strangely white eyes draw his gaze back to her. “No, there is no need to be ashamed, dear. You did what you had to do. She was taking too long… And I was getting lonely…” She gives him a sheepish look, batting her long, see-through eyelashes. One of her hands drops down to her chest and suggestively pulls from the hem of her dress. Hal can hear his heart beating loudly in his ears. He has to make a conscious effort to not reach out and touch the exposed skin. He finds himself staring intently, so much so that he could count the freckles on her chest. “Come, dear. Let us be together, at last”
They take to walking, but this time, they aren´t following the gravel path. They are going deep into the woods, dodging the twisted trees, ducking when they come upon a low-hanging branch. It´s a hard trek for Hal, who can feel the stress on his almost worn out muscles, but Hilda knows exactly where she is going. The way she is moving makes it seem like she´s flying, her body passing through the trees as if they were nothing but figures of smoke. She´s pulling him along, her soft hand in his, carefully leading him in the darkness.
It´s funny how scary things stop being as terrifying when you´re not alone. Hal is not paying that close attention to his surroundings as they go, but he can´t help but notice the familiar outlines of the trees, the occasional ray of light brushing the leaves. Threatening before, now they look inviting somewhat, their shapely figures resembling those of… people. He could have sworn he saw a hollow trunk with a face on it.
Perhaps Hurrington Forest is not such a horrible place after all.
They get to a clearing and Hilda stops abruptly. When she turns, there is a playful smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes. She has such beautiful eyes, white and bright, not a speck of color in sight to stain their purity. She giggles, and her laugh echoes in the woods.
“Your eyes… they are…”
“Striking” He is quick to interrupt himself. He knows he would have definitely said something stupid and angered her. He has worked so hard to get here… so hard to get her.
She smiles a devilish smile, so alluring that he can´t resist stepping towards her, his arms outstretched so he can wrap them around her waist. Embracing her, he feels as if his skin went up in flames; all his senses are consumed by her and his knees buckle. She has to hold him tight to prevent him from falling. He blinks, confused. “What is happening…?”
“This is your prize, my dear; your prize for all your efforts. Take it. It’s yours” She says, ominously, and angles her head so that her lips are lined up with his. Hal looks down – he doesn´t tower over her, but he still has to crook her neck to reach her, and from this height he can see the curve of her neck, the inviting roundness of her breasts. He feels something stir inside him, nudging him anxiously to make the move. Even his other self is quiet.
He kisses her. At first, he thinks it is all he had ever dreamed and more: her lips, soft and plump, move against his with ease in a delicious dance that starts off slow, and picks up the pace soon after. She arches her back and melts into him, and it feels as though his hands on her waist are slowly sinking in a cushion made of wool and flesh. Hungry for her, Hal breathes in her scent, and runs his fingers through her auburn hair. Oh, he has wanted to do that for so long… Her hands slide up his chest and grab handfuls of his hair. He lets out a contented sigh, and kisses her more forcefully.
But then something in the air changes. He suddenly feels cold despite having someone pressed against him; he can feel shivers running down his spine, the heat leaving his body with every breath of air. The atmosphere feels heavier somehow, which makes him think that the storm that seemed to be getting closer to them before had finally arrived. Uneasy, Hal opens his eyes and breaks away from Hilda, on the lookout for a dry spot in the clearing, or maybe a big tree they can use for shelter from the rain.
But there is no rain. There is no clearing. There is nothing but trees around them. He frowns, confused. “What…?”
“You have been very naughty, haven’t you, Hal?”
When he looks down, Hilda doesn’t really look like Hilda anymore. At least not like Hilda from a few towns over. Her face is longer, thinner, bonier. Her eye sockets seem to be deeper and darker, and so her eyes, her furiously white eyes, glow like a full moon in a starless night. Her smooth freckled skin is stretched thin behind her ears and is almost translucent despite the now bigger brown patches. She is grinning at him, and this time, the sight terrifies him.
He recoils, letting out a yelp, but his back meets a tree just a couple of inches behind him. He palms the trunk behind him, desperately looking for a bend, a corner, a weapon, an exit, but founds nothing. Fear creeps in, slowly, as he watches in horror how the now unrecognizable Hilda monster moves towards him – her body transforming as she goes. Her arms have acquired a porous, rough texture, and they look browner than before; they grow unremittingly, longer and thinner, and Hal can see them rapidly approaching him as she has them stretched in his direction. That sinister smile she had on her face has gotten bigger too, so much so that it seems to split her face in half – a slithering tongue writhed about in between her lips, lashing out like an eel out on a hunt.
“Why are you frightened, Hal? Didn’t you want to be with me? Didn’t you kill Mother just so we could be together?” her voice sounds deep and raspy. “Come get your prize”
After a mere couple of seconds, she envelops him, and her embrace is not tender and warm this time. Her long arms wrap around him – not just once or twice, not, they climb up his body like a snake, rough and moldy – and squeeze, so tight that he can soon feel them tearing his skin. Her tongue lurches out of her gaping mouth and finds its way into his, a stolen kiss that inevitably seals his fate.
She is squeezing too hard, and he can no longer feel any of his limbs. The pain on his torso though, is excruciating. He will feel every second of it, even after he has finished his transformation. He is screaming, of course, calling for mercy, calling for his dead Mother, for his forgotten God, but that doesn’t matter. By the time someone ventures in the woods again, there would be nothing more than trees. Grotesque, contorted trees with faces on their trunks that look like they want to escape from their sinister, natural prison. Hal will be nothing but a memory, a myth, a tale to scare the children into going into the Hurrington Forest.
Not long after, no one will really know for certain if he ever existed. Perhaps he was never a real person. Perhaps his story is just a story.
Perhaps it’s true.