Post by Kwan on Jan 12, 2012 13:17:43 GMT -5
* * * Entry One * * *
A Violet by a Mossy Stone
[/center][/size]It’s been twelve years since I’ve set foot in The Fallen Wood. Oh, I pass that ten-mile tangle of trees and undergrowth that stretches between Boxborough and Carville everyday on my way to work. I turn the radio up as loud as I can and speed past the shadows that loom on the western side. But even with the engine gunning and the radio roaring, I can hear her screaming, yelling at me to look. So on this, our anniversary, I am going back to visit The Fallen and her.
Thick white lines of paint stain the road near the Fallen Wood, offering safe haven for a car to sit as its owner wanders through the trees. Except there are never any cars. No one wants or needs to visit the wood. The parking spaces are always shamelessly naked. I easily pull into one of the spots, wondering even now, why I am doing this. When I left the house for work this morning I had no intention of visiting her. I hadn’t in over a decade. Yet here I am, killing the engine and clambering out of the car. There is a stack of accounts resting sleepily in their folders on the passenger’s seat. I know that they should be given my attention in the comfort of my home office, but instead I take a step closer to her.
The wind is colder, sharper than it is in the city. My coat has yet to migrate from my cupboard to the car in preparation for the cooler seasons. I’m left to pull my jacket closer around my body, the thin layer of clothing barely offering the wind a moment of resistance. It would be another acceptable excuse to say that it is too cold to go trampling through the wood; that I should come back another day in hiking boots and a thick coat. Her voice, though, whispers incessantly in my ear now. She promises me so many things and I’ve always found it hard to resist.
Another car drives by and an elderly, weathered face glares at me with disapproval. Respectable people don’t venture into the Fallen Wood. Neither do the unrespectable. I don’t recognise the leathery skin though. Stories won’t spin their webs around my town; they won’t reach Mary’s ears. Watching the car disappear down the road, vanishing into the shadow that the trees weave, I take a deep breath and move one step closer to the wood. I know that once I’m inside the towering oaks, there’s no going back. I will become a slave to my own sub-conscious.
Again, I think about why I’m here. There’s no logical reason for it. Then again, she has never been that rational; that was always her strength. I tell myself that I don’t need to visit her anymore. I really don’t. I have Mary and the kids now. I have a job. I’m rising up through the ranks of my firm. The grandfatherly Mr Martin expects me to be a partner within the year. But here I am, at the very edge of the Fallen Woods. Maybe it’s my old school friend’s rise as a famous film director. Perhaps it was my mother’s trip to the ancient cities of Italy. It has to be something though. Maybe she could tell me; she has always been excellent at understanding the mire that is my head.
Locking the car with a push of a button, I take a final glance back at the empty road before stepping into the wood. Instantly I feel as if I’m shut out from the world. The wood swallows me whole. Some forests and woods work their magic slowly, trees becoming denser and denser with every step taken. The Fallen Wood is nothing like that. One moment you would be on the road or in a field and you could breathe in the clean, fresh air. The next second you would be surrounded by thick, gnarled trees that threaten to suffocate you. It was why I once loved this place. It is so unusual, so new, and so unique.
There’s a legend about the Fallen Wood that everyone knows. Once, when I was younger, I believed the story without question. It seemed so possible. The twisted shadow of war that spread across Europe had killed millions only a century ago. Afterwards, trees were planted in remembrance. A seed meant to symbolise one single bloated corpse. The trees became known as the Fallen and the wood became a living, breathing monument for those men that gave up their final breath to defend their country.
The legend is also the reason why the parking spaces upon the side of the road lie just as deserted as the wood themselves, becoming a monument to our fears. The wind whistles through the air, almost locked out by the thick leaves that stand guard at the top of the canopy. It whispers quietly, though, gently easing its way through the branches. In the darkness of the Fallen Wood, it sounds like the trees are speaking to each other. The dead having a final conversation, sharing war stories from a time that no one lives to remember. That is why no one ventures into the Fallen Wood.
That is, no one except from me; a single brave soul that can stand with the dead as an equal. It was a dare that started this all. I was sent to spend a night amongst the Fallen. I was headstrong, I didn’t hesitate. I had no idea that I was about to be ensnared by her. She was like nothing I had ever known. I returned often to the wood, and to her. I spent hours until my friends were replaced by respectable adults, bearing down upon me with allusions of right and proper. They won. I stopped coming to her. I found a job as an accountant; numbers can never distract me like words can. I married Mary, beautiful and kind, Mary. I haven’t seen her in twelve long years.
Yet I remember exactly how to find her. I pass trees that I almost know as well as my own family. There’s the thick, towering giant who lumbers over all; a general that remains commanding even as a memory. Another minute of walking and I see the brothers appearing in front of me; their branches tangle around each other and their roots spread out far across the forest ground, occasionally breaking the surface. It is not far now. My heart begins to thunder and I feel my hands shake inside my jacket’s pockets. It isn’t far.
My memory doesn’t fail me and soon I come across the old ruin. I still don’t know what it is. We spent hours discussing it many years ago. Sometimes it was the old castle of the Thane of Glamis, a bloody spot all that we needed to confirm our proof. At other moments it was a Viking ruin where great warriors sung tales of their adventures. It didn’t matter. All it was now was her home and sitting upon one of the overturned stones, my mouth suddenly dry, she waits.
She is as decadent as ever. Her luscious black hair pools around her naked shoulder, a thin flowery dress her only modesty. Unable to stop myself, I rub at my own skin. It seems old and ravaged by time. I can feel the creases and lines that hid upon the ship of stress that frequently docked at me. Her face shows nothing of the time that has been since I’ve seen her last. It is smooth, pale and perfect as ever. Her teeth that appear as she smiles are white as the sheets of paper that we spent so much time around. I wonder if she knows where they now lie.
“Hello,” she says.
“Hi,” I cough, pushing the words between my lips.
She leans forward, her hair falling off her shoulder and her dress hanging down, giving me the perfect opportunity to be tempted by her body. I look away. “Ah, come on. Don’t you like looking? I struggled to keep you away before you left me here. Why has it’s taken you so long.”
“I don’t know,” I say. Moss climbs at the few bricks that hold resolutely together to make a small wall. Centuries and still they stand strong. I don’t have their perseverance or self-control.
“I do,” she purrs, and I hear feet pattering across the leaf-covered ground. “You grew up.”
‘You apparently didn’t.”
“That’s more like the boy I know, snappy and sexy,” she whispers in my ear. Goosebumps erupt across my body. I hadn’t realised how close she was. “We could make you young again, if you’d like to try.”
I shiver at the solitary breath against my ear. I’m slipping. The monotony of office work is too much for me and she offers me something more. I want to take it. I want to stay with her in the Fallen Wood forever. There are many more stories to be told about the Fallen and myths to be crafted from the building blocks of the ancient ruin. My hand is itching to reach out and grab her, to press her against me. I struggle to remember Mary and the children; there smiling faces staring up at me, devoid of the disappointment that they should be experiencing.
“They hurt me you know,” she says, dropping down onto the mossy wall. “Your children, I have to painfully watch every night as you put them to bed.”
“You’d rather I was here with you?”
She looks up at me with that gorgeous smile, a pink tongue slipping between her ruby red lips. “No. I’d rather I was there with you. I see you reading them bedtime stories to them and I think it’s such a waste. You can come up with better.”
“No, I can’t,” I say. “I’m too tired. Making sure that a transnational merger goes through without a hitch is exhaustive work.”
“Then why are you here?” she asks, and I can see the eyes of crystal blue sink to a red, burning for several seconds before they return back to the hue of a beautiful ocean. “Why do you come to the only place where I can really tempt you? I thought I saw a ghost in the ruins here. She was so young, her clothing frilly and Victorian. What do you think happened to her?”
“Ghosts don’t exist.”
“I do,” she grins at me, leaning back. Her body is on display yet somehow it is no longer appealing. It’s too young for my middle-aged mind. It’s too perfect for a man with his fair share of metaphorical warts.
“No, no, you don’t. You don’t even have a name; you’ve never had a name.”
She is staring now, her eyes slightly wider. Her breasts are heaving a little quicker as her face pales ever so slightly. “Why would I need a name? You can give me one if you want, though, I know how much you hate that job. What about Lucy? I think that would work.”
“I came here to say goodbye,” the words tumbling free from my mouth without thinking. Now that I’ve said it, it feels right. That’s why I came into the Fallen Woods today: to say goodbye. I don’t deserve her perfection anymore. Or maybe she doesn’t deserve me; always tempting me away from my life of mild successes. It doesn’t matter; either way I shall no longer hear her screaming from me as I drive to work each morning. I won’t feel that incessant tugging as I travel pass the wood at night. Those six simple words have lifted the burden clean off my shoulders.
“What?” she asks, her voice higher. I can hear her breathing now, no longer sensual but fast and panicking.
“Goodbye,” I say, smiling at her. I take one final glance around the ruins, remembering distant stories and adventures and I laugh. It’s been fun, but a dream is a dream. I’ve let it weigh down on me too much. I walk several steps back and already I can see the brotherly trees in front of me, beckoning me back to the car. The Fallen understand better than anyone that life should be lived, not told.
When I look back one final time, she is gone.
* * * Entry Two * * *
It’s been twelve years since I set foot in The Fallen Wood. Oh, I pass that ten-mile tangle of trees and undergrowth that stretches between Boxborough and Carville everyday on my way to work. I turn the radio up as loud as I can and speed past the shadows that loom on the Western side. But even with the engine gunning and the radio roaring, I can hear her screaming, yelling at me to look. So on this, our anniversary, I am going back to visit The Fallen and her.
The forest hasn’t changed much since I last set foot in The Fallen Wood. Sure, I’ve changed, but the woods never do. I told the boss what I was going to do, and, in what I’m sure was pity, gave me his hunting rifle. He said I’d need it. The boss man had always been nice to me, especially after what happened. He seemed to already know what I was going to do before I asked him. Sure, the rifle was always behind him on the wall, but he never really had ammo with him. Today he did.
I stopped the car halfway through the wood, the screams getting louder as I approached. It was unnerving, hearing it without the radio attempting to block it out. This time I was going to look for her. I won’t run away this time. As soon as I headed off the road, the screams began to peter out. The Fallen Wood was expecting me. As I headed deeper and deeper into the woods, I began to hear the local creatures. They wouldn’t attack me, not until I had my meeting with The Fallen. Their howls taunted me as I headed deeper and deeper into the depths of these accursed woods.
They say that the woods had been cursed hundreds of years ago by the last witch in these parts, but I know better. My family has lived in Boxborough since before the times the words English or Roman had even existed. My father always told me that the woods had always been the way it was, forbidden and haunted. That was why it had frightened me when the police came. They said that he’d just walked into the woods one day with his hunting rifle and never came out. At least, that’s what the evidence said. They found his car by the road, parked. It was empty, but the engine was still running. My mother said that the rifle had been missing for days when he’d disappeared, but we both knew better. He’d gone into the woods, and to this day I didn’t understand why.
It was today when it had hit me. When I was a child, maybe two, three years old, a man came to the house that looked nothing like any man I’d seen before or since. He was a man the color of pitch and was covered in white tattoos from head to toe. I had a sister then. She had just turned 16 the day before when the man arrived. The man talked with my father for several hours before he left. The whole time he was there, my mother held me close, out of what seemed like fear. I didn’t know then what happened, but now it makes a lot more sense. My father told me that my sister had gone off to boarding school, and that she’d be back after Christmas, but even then I felt something was fishy. She never came home. It’s now clear as day to me what happened. The Fallen took her into the woods, it must have. The man must have been some sort of messenger, someone sent to tell my father the “good” news.
Now I had two reasons to confront this monster. I was almost to the center of The Fallen Wood when twelve men in robes stopped me. After I stopped, they began to encircle me, like a pack of coyotes. Their footsteps were silent, as if they had no feet at all as they flowed across the ground. Once I was completely encircled, the one directly to my front began to speak, “We were wondering when you’d come back Jason. The Fallen has wanted to speak with you for a long, long time”.
“Bullshit,” I said, gritting my teeth, “One of you robed men would have come to my house, demanding my dog or something”.
The man’s face, still hidden, spoke once more, “We see you’ve come prepared with more insults then, Mr. Jackson. It’s a pity we have no time for this. Come, The Fallen has been awaiting your second visit for a long time”.
Tensing, the men began to walk in unison towards the center of the forest, forcing me to follow behind. After a few minutes we reached the center of The Fallen Wood, where a formerly great oak tree’s stump held a large etched circle. It was then that the screams resumed, but louder than I had ever heard it. I was almost forced to my knees in pain, when it once more stopped, as suddenly as before. I adjusted myself accordingly, noting that all twelve of the robed figures were now gone, as if they had never been there in the first place.
I SEE YOU HAVE RETURNED, JASON. HOW WAS YOUR TREK THROUGH MY WOODS, WAS IT PLEASANT? The forest spoke, my head feeling the words pounding into my head, I WAS WONDERING HOW LONG YOU COULD STAY AWAY FROM ME, GIVEN ALL OF THE ENTICEMENTS I HAD BEEN THROWING YOUR WAY.
“Enticements, you mean like all of the fucking screaming!?” I yelled, rage filling my veins, “You took my sister, you took my father, then you have the BALLS to take my wife!? What more can you take from me, you eldritch asshole?!”
I CAN STILL TAKE MUCH, JASON. BUT THAT WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT BY ENTICEMENTS. THAT GUN YOU HAVE BELONGED TO YOUR FATHER, JASON. ARE YOU HAPPY MR. PETERSON GAVE IT TO YOU? THEN AGAIN, I WAS THE ONE TO GIVE IT TO MR. PETERSON IN THE FIRST PLACE, JASON. The trees shook as each syllable left its imprint in my mind. Mr. Peterson worked for The Fallen the whole time? Not possible. He wasn’t even from this part of the country, he was from Northumbia.
THAT DOES NOT MATTER JASON, it spoke, the words further pounding themselves through my skull, I SOLD IT TO HIM IN THE GUISE OF ONE OF MY SERVANTS. NONETHELESS, I WELCOME YOU BACK TO MY WOODS. I TRUST YOU WILL ENJOY YOUR STAY, JASON.
Not wanting the conversation to end without information, I screamed, “Where is my wife! Tell me now!”
A loud laugh reverberated through the woods after my proclamation, HER? SHE IS HERE. DO YOU WANT TO SEE HER SO BADLY, MR. JACKSON? YOU MIGHT WISH YOU HADN’T. THEN AGAIN, SHE PROBABLY WISHED YOU WOULD NEVER COME BACK TO SAVE HER, SO I GUESS NEITHER OF YOU CAN TRULY COMPLAIN ABOUT IT.
As the forest shook with the voice of The Fallen, I could see several figures appearing from behind the trees, carrying something large. It was the robed men from before, but this time, they were lifting a large stone object. Once it got close enough, I realized it was a sarcophagus, like the kind that used to be found in tombs in ancient Egypt. As soon as the large group of cultists got the large stone coffin in front of the large stump that marked the center of the forest, they turned around and left, heading back into the forest they arose from.
JASON, OPEN IT. SHE IS HERE, RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT HER.
It was then that I remembered something that I had been repressing for all those years. I hadn’t escaped the forest all those years ago. I wouldn’t have stood a chance, with all of the creatures that resided here hungering for the blood of the outsider. I had been let go in an exchange.
Jason…
I jumped back as I heard a soft voice enter my head. It was soothing, a voice I had not heard in a decade. Isabel… She had to be here. I looked toward the sarcophagus, its stone carved with a precision not seen in even modern architecture. I walked towards it, sure that within would be what I was looking for.
YOU KNOW THE RULES JASON, A LIFE FOR A LIFE. THE ONLY REASON YOUR FATHER NEVER RETURNED WAS BECAUSE HE WAS GREEDY. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO JASON, FIX YOUR MISTAKE.
I shuddered as he mentioned what I had done to get into this situation in the first place. I had finally had enough of wondering what happened to my father. I gathered up some of my hunting gear, and headed into the forest, sure that whatever lay within would stand no match to modern technology. I was wrong. Within a few minutes, the monsters had begun to overtake me, their claws ripping into my flesh. It seemed like an eternity later when I had woken up on the stump, being told to leave by the same voice that was now goading me into sacrificing myself for my wife’s freedom.
Jason… don’t. He wants you Jason, he wants you...
SHUT UP!
GAH! P-PLEASE, JASON RUN! HE NEEDS YOUR BLOOD TO LIVE!
INSOLENT WENCH, THINE ANCESTORS SUPPED UPON MINE TEET FOR OVER A MILLENIA, AND THIS IS HOW THINE GRATITUDE SHOWS ITSELF? I HAST MADE THOU IMMORTAL LIKE MINE OWN BROOD AND THINE REPAYMENT OF MY GRACIOUSNESS IS REBLLION? DOES THY MIND FORSAKETH REASON? WITHOUT MY BLOOD, THOU WOULDST NOT HAVE EVEN LIVED PAST REARING! THY MOTHER’S SACRIFICE IS IN VAIN IF THOU ART FOOLISH ENOUGH TO PLAN TO THWART MY DESIGNS! MY CHILDREN, TAKE THE CHILD OF THE JACKS AND BRING HIM UPON MINE ALTAR!
Not wanting to give the fallen what I wanted, I turned and ran. Isabel didn’t want me to die in vain just to save her. She had given herself so I could live a life worth living. I had squandered all of the gifts she had given me, and had wasted the time she had gifted me. Knowing that the men that had brought me to the circle were now chasing me, I shot behind me blindly, not knowing if my bullets hit the target. It wouldn’t matter much anyways. My memories of this place tell me that bullets only slow them down. Killing them is much harder than that.
As I was reticent to take any more chances, I grabbed something out of my pocket, and threw it behind me. The gun and ammo were not the only things I had brought. A couple of old grenades from my grandfather’s collection were one of the other things that I had taken with me. I could hear a squeal of pain as the grenade exploded, with an audible explosion drowning out any cries that might have come out afterwards. I threw a few for good measure and prepared myself with the hardest part. The Wyrgwolves. Out of the forest all around me, several of them poured out, with my body being their target for their next meal.
It was a good thing that I had stopped by the hunting store before arriving back here, as I pulled out my next item. A dog whistle. This was no ordinary dog whistle though, this was a high-powered one. This whistle was used in hunting, and nothing else, at least until today. Today the whistle would be used to save my ass. I blew on the whistle as hard as I could and the Wyrgwolves began to trip over each other as they tried to stop. The whistle worked its magic as I kept intermittingly blowing on it as I continued to run. There were other creatures in this forest that I was afraid of, but those were currently deeper in the forest, guarding some kind of mystical treasure. They weren’t allowed to leave, apparently.
That was what I thought at least, until one of them threw my car at me. That sort of confirmed to me that not only was I almost out of the forest, but also that The Fallen was getting desperate. Was I really that important to him? Either way, I dodged my formerly semi-used car as I ducked behind a tree at the last second, saving me from impact. I plotted a new path as I darted to the road, and unlatched my other gun. Now, I had only got this recently, and didn’t know how to use it very well, but I gave it a shot. As soon as I reached the road, I pointed it into the sky, and unloaded it into the air as fast as I could. The flare shot brightly above the woods before exploding into an array of light, guiding anyone who could assist to me.
That, officers, is what happened. Now, I know you guys told me not to go into the woods again, especially after what happened, but I had to. You know I had to. You know what happened to me in there. Why haven’t you ever told the central government about this? You know what is in there. I know they’d carpet bomb it, but it would be necessary. In the end, was it worth it you ask? No. It wasn’t. However, I had to try. This forest has taken everything from me. It will keep beckoning until I die. I will not be going back though. You have my guarantee. The only way I am ever coming back is with the support of the people of Carville and Boxborough. Maybe not now, maybe not in a decade, maybe not even in my life time, but one day we will take the forest. Not because we want to, not because we’re told to, but because if we don’t, it’ll kill us all. The Fall is coming officers, and if we blink, it’ll be here. When that happens, will you be ready? I hope you will.
