Estimated reading time — 32 minutes

The rain was torrential. There is an all-encompassing sensation when standing in the midst of such a storm. Your hearing is drowned by the onslaught. The water trails down your face, stifling your nose and blurring your vision. Your fingers clutch in your jacket, gripping damp fabric. Your chin naturally tilts downward to avoid it. All of your senses focused on the ground, to the tempestuous tapping of the wash. All of my senses were focused on the ground.

I was heading home. That’s what the road told me. I wasn’t sure from where I exited, but I was glad of it. My mind was adrift. Lost in the rain. The pavement curved and bent like a serpent, dragging me left and right, and left again. I shambled along the edge, between the black road and the lush, green grass. Soon, the path diverted. Left, left, and left again. Then I knew I was heading home.

I had walked this road many times before, but never blind. But I knew the way. And now, more than ever, I knew my way. I was enlightened, because magic was real. I had seen it. Magic, aether, witchcraft, enchantment. Something was real. But I couldn’t think about it. I had to get home. I couldn’t think in this.

My head tilted upwards. There was a color adrift in the sea of gray and green. Brown. Home. I quickened my pace, my feet clambering against the murky puddles in the path, my sneaker dipping once too far into a hole of reclaimed gravel. The cold in my foot jolted me awake, the water creeping into my sock and leaving an uncomfortable slosh with each step I took. I looked up again. Brown, and red.

I stood against the base of the steps. Pine logs, split in half by my own two hands. It filled me with great comfort, my ark against the flood. I climbed hastily, my left hand gripping the wooden rail tight as I saw how pale it had become. My drowned foot nearly slipped as I rushed to be under the awning. The relief was immediate, as the downpour lost its intensity the moment I breached under. The last bits of water dripped from my face, and I wiped my eyes with a slippery sleeve then breathed deep the humid air. Yes, I could breathe again. I looked upwards. Red.

Did I know this woman? My mind wandered. My window was broken, I noticed. Fractured through the middle with sharp, wet shards clinging against the wooden frame. A tinge of deep crimson clung to one of them. The same color as the sight below me. This woman. Did I know her? I couldn’t tell. She was split in half. Her face was unrecognizable, save for the black, damp hair clung to what remained of her skull. Where the rest of her head would be, void. Some monstrosity had cleaved her into two. Tendrils of muscle and sinew desperately reached from one side of the corpse to the other as if trying to reconnect, but they never met. Bits of unrecognizable flesh clung to her jacket like morbid ornaments. Her arms lay upturned on either side, her palms facing up. My eyes followed them. Deep red blood splatter littered the roof of my canopy, the force of her demise painting the planks I called my home. Her waist and lower half were intact, slumped against my cabin, legs placed together in a nightmarishly calm contrast to the rest of her body. For a brief moment, I contemplated checking her pulse. What was I thinking? I opened the door, and went inside.

So magic is real. And so are angels. What else?

______________

It had been seven months since I gave up on the world. It started as a hobby— a personal vent for the frustrations of a miserable, monotonous life. Self sufficiency. To stand alone among my wooden constructs and know that I have created something more important than I ever had before. I remember the relief I felt when submitting a data entry summary to my supervisor. Faint, fleeting, plastic. The comparison to the ecstasy of building something, for me, with my own two hands, was night and day. I never felt so human before, when sweat furrowed my brow with a hacksaw in my hand and an open box of nails splayed against the soft dirt.

I was trapped before, in an office, surrounded by cold bodies in a cold cement box where I could safely generate profit. My smiles flew across silent lips. My kind words on deaf ears. Here, amongst the smell of crisp pine needles and nectar, I had freed myself from those wretched creatures that had dared to call themselves alive. I was alive, and a gentle, warm rain had grazed itself across the horizon. It was morning. 7 AM.

My window was open. A long, white cord slinked through the opening and onto the counter-top against the wall of my shelter. I made my way over to it. The rain cast a light, metallic tapping against the portable solar battery I laid flat atop a pine stump through the window. My phone flickered to life as I tapped it. 43 percent. I wouldn’t get to watch much today. I had powerbanks prepared for this, but the rain had fallen so consistently this past week my preparation had failed. I couldn’t care less. My real anxiety would come when I started to run out of coffee, and the nightmare of briefly returning to civilization would fill a pit in my stomach once more. Two missed calls, I noticed.

Jona had perhaps the squarest face you’ve ever seen. He was a blocky man in general. His body was built like a fridge, and his straight shoulders lead to large, flabby arms that would hug you the moment he realized he could call you friend. His hair was a thin, dark red, that showed the similar signs of aging as his wrinkled eyes and the dimples in his fat face that would always be smiling. He really did look dumb, but he was always thinking. And I liked him. Jona was one of my only connections to the outside world, and the labor I occasionally performed for him provided the meager amount of money I needed to sustain my lifestyle. So I was happy to talk to him, and I called as soon a I saw.

“Jack?” His voice was littered with a southern drawl. And I could tell he was smiling.
“Hey big guy, what’s the word?”
“We missed ya for Thanksgiving. Sarah wanted to show you her drawings.”
“Sorry Jona, I got busy.”
“Got a girlfriend?” Now I smiled.
“Maybe next time I’m in town.”

His laugh was a booming one, and knowing him I could tell his free hand was clutching his stomach to accentuate it. “So what’s the word?” I asked, somewhat impatiently. So much time alone has made me weary using my voice, and Jona and his family were only a short exception.

“Chant-er-ells, Jack!”
“Chanterelles?”
“The mushrooms you brought last year, Claire had her roast ready for them! But Jack was too busy to show, huh.”
“Sorry, man…”

Jona scoffed dismissively. He knew how hard it was for me to come to anything, even if he liked to pretend.

“Don’t worry about it!” He boomed. “But the missus was really looking forward to them. And I told her, huh, that if we want old Jack and his chant-er-ells around, we gotta pay him for it, hah!” I heard the stomach slapping this time.

“So when you got some time, how about you saunter on down to that secret ‘ol spot of yours and fetch us a basket? Got a twenty with your name on it!”
“Just twenty?”
“Thirty?”
“Now that’s just fine, Jona.” I mimicked his drawl.

The cabin was tiny, much smaller than my Burbank studio, but ten times as spacious. The walls were hardly walls, not because of their shoddy construction, but because the outside was shared with no-one else. The dirt, the pines, the pollen and the cabin was my apartment. And what a beauty the cabin was! Several feet of walking space, a cast iron stove, sanded counters, and a lowered room I had rigged with a camp shower that fed to a rain-catcher on the roof. The same split logs I had used for my stairs made up a small bed frame, accompanied with a mattress Claire so generously demanded I take when I informed them I was sleeping in my jacket on top of wood. The dark red sheets I clung to every night matched well. I prided myself over my handiwork as I opened the small under-croft from a latch in the corner of the floor, pulling out a fresh jacket from one of my bags and making my way to the door.

I pulled it shut as I stepped outside. Even after seven months away, my hand still reached instinctively into my pocket to look for my keys for the door. But there was none. Home invaders were a rarity. I zipped my jacket up as I glanced towards the tree line. The rain was getting heavier— not that it bothered me.

The air was sharp and biting as I approached the edge, prickling the skin of my exposed wrists above my gloves. A wind was whistling through the pines, mournful yet comforting gusts breathing renewal against my cheeks. The trees were straight as I neared it, but in my peripheral seemed to curve and bend to stay in my sight. I placed my hand against black bark as I entered, the rough surface thick with moisture that slipped my palm and made me nearly trip as I stepped over a winding root.

Silvery ribbons of gray light pierced through the canopy as I followed a game-trail deep into the woods. The rays peaked through the leaves, landing upon mossy rocks and lighting them up like faintly glowing emeralds while soft strands of water pattered against them. Wet leaves squelched under my boots as I hopped and ducked over branches, boulders, and boughs. Gnarled roots twisted into the trail as I got deeper, reclaiming the dirt that had been trodden upon. After twenty minutes or so, I heard the familiar noise I was waiting for.

A throaty hum reverberated through the pines. I deviated from my path to chase it. The dead, brown leaves and dirt began to turn into a more lush green as I neared my prize. The mist was hanging low, curling around the ancient pines like ghostly hands as I made my way through them. Ducking over one more dripping branch I reached it. My stream. Perhaps hundreds of years ago some native or settler had called it theirs, but not anymore. I took comfort knowing I was the only living man to know her, and she rewarded me in kind.

There they were, laying against the mossy streamside, tiny bolts of yellow flame reaching for the sky. My prize. They stood out so vividly against the pale surroundings it was a wonder the hares haven’t eaten them all. The guilt of removing their beauty from this world filled my stomach as I kneeled down along the stream, but the thought of fresh coffee compelled me on.

I took my glove off, placing it in my jacket as I dipped my left hand into the stream. Ice, ice cold. I cupped my hand and drew it upwards, droplets of water splashing back into the stream as I put my lips to it and drank it down. It was abnormally refreshing. I wiped my hand along the sweater underneath my jacket, and put my glove back on. The chanterelles were ripe, and I stood back up to near one, before kneeling down again and gripping it between my gloved fingers. The moisture permeated them, and the squishiness made me toughen my grip as I went to wrench it out.

Snap. A twig broke. Fifty feet away, my ears told me. And a big one. The forest fell deathly quiet. My breathing went sharp and I went still as even the stream itself seemed to deafen from the sudden noise. No birds, no frogs, no water. Quiet. I glanced through the trees.

Snap. Thirty feet? Shadows lurched through the black pines. A droplet of water hit my face and clouded my eye, and for a moment the entire forest appeared as a crowd of thin, black figures stretching to the clouds. I wiped my face and stayed silent, like a deer looking for a hunter in the bush. Just trees. I don’t know how long I stood there in silence, but when I moved again the sound in the world resumed. I plucked the mushroom out remorselessly, barely moving off my knees as I went to the next, and the next, until my bag had enough that Jona wouldn’t look at me funny. Still, I noticed I was shivering. Unusual for this weather, but I brushed it off as a cold-snap.

Yes, definitely much colder. The air seemed to turn frosty as I stood up all the way, straightening my back with a stretch. The fog of my breath suddenly seemed more pronounced as I warmed my gloves with it. But the breeze from upstream brought something else. Honey, berries, and.. Something rotting. I tilted my head and looked up the river. Just pines. Bringing my bag to my front, I opened it and inspected the chanterelles. They smelled tart, earthy, maybe sweet, but certainly not rotting.

Something was off, though. The firelight of the mushrooms I had observed when plucking them from the stream never really seemed to dissipate. It was as if they were glowing from some luminescence under the darkness of my bag. As I gazed closer, it wasn’t that simple. They were pulsing, like heartbeats. My head drifted closer into the bag, until my entire vision were the mushrooms, glowing, beating, so faintly and subtly I wanted to draw even closer to understand whether what I was seeing was real or just an imagination.

Badum, badum, badum. The chanterelles pulsated.

Snap. A sound came across the stream. I dared not look behind me. I wasn’t a superstitious man, and living alone in the woods had taught me that the things that went bump in the night were usually just rabbits and possums. But something felt so, so different. My pack seemed to beat quicker against my chest as I withdrew my head. I had to leave. I didn’t know why, but I had to. I started walking, my feet trudging through the wet grass, seemingly not able to find the grip they once had on their way in. I slipped and stumbled against wet undergrowth as I gripped and pulled through wet boughs. Farther and farther away from my stream.

I quickened my pace. The rain was heavier now, sharp, like silver needles blurring my path and picking at my hood. A feeling of dread pierced me. The foliage was dense and unrecognizable as I prayed that the game-trail was behind every bush, every pine. Looking back, I don’t know why such a sudden fear overtook me from just the sound of snapping twigs. But the ice that gripped my heart at that moment compelled me to return to my cabin as quickly as possible.

Until I cleared the next layer of brush, I had no reason to be afraid. No trail, again, but rested on a low hanging branch perched a raven unlike any I had ever seen. The top of his head was tufted, like a black jagged crown atop his head, giving him a regal presence as he stared. But it was how he stared that was the most alarming. The creature had whites in his eyes, highlighting the murky brown that made me freeze. His pupils were rectangular. The beast just stood there, staring, head turned, looking at me straight in the eyes. The beating rain was incessant. I refused to blink under his gaze.

“What?” I asked, to the non-sentient creature.

He perched only 5 feet from me, and the tension between me and this thing cut the air like knives.

“What!?!” I shouted at it.

Those awful eyes turned to my right. I looked. Water pooled in puddles between the dark pines. Dead leaves floated in clusters. I looked back at the thing, and it was still gazing that way.

Snap. A twig broke from my left. My eyes instinctively darted to it. A shadow broke among the pines, a standing shadow that blended in with the rest, darting quickly between those that stood still. It moved soundlessly, leaving only a blur of mist in its wake. The hair on the back of my neck bristled and froze. Before I knew it, I was running, more like a shambling jog on the thicket. My boots clashed noisily against the puddles, spraying water that leaped all the way up to my knees as I covered my face with my right forearm, blinking constantly to try to free my vision. Branches clawed at my sleeves, and the smell of rotting fruit seemed to permeate through the forest. I spat rain.

After what seemed like an eternity of my desperate scrambling, I tripped. The soft grass that hit my face certainly didn’t feel that way. I laid there quietly, listening to the rain as my nose dug into mud. Finally, I looked up. A brown twisting serpent clung to the floor. The trail. Bitter adrenaline shot into my veins as I quickly rose to my feet. Mud littered my jacket and I saw it on my cheeks in my peripheral. I resumed the run, following the path quickly as the ground was easier to push myself through. It wasn’t long before I saw what felt like heaven itself. The trees broke, and the mist that swirled through the pines seemed to dissipate at its edge. I crashed through, and instantly the air was soft and open again. What the hell was I even running from? A bird?

The snaps had faded, but my heart was still pounding, and I tasted copper in my mouth. Putting my arm to my forehead once more I searched my surroundings. The cabin was there. But something else was as well. A car was parked on my path, nose facing the cabin, both tires dug into the grass that had been no more than a shod of gravel for walking. I didn’t even have a license. I approached cautiously.

There, arms crossed, was a woman leaning against my window. Her hair was black, her eyes hazel, and her lips were pouty. I stared. She stared back at me, just like that god damn bird. I walked in silence towards the rail, looking up at her until I neared the steps. Finally, she spoke.

“So this is what you do now?”

I looked down. My jacket was caked in mud. Strips of wet grass clung to my hair that stuck to my cheek. My nose was covered.

“I got lost.” I stammered.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and tightening her arms closer to her chest. I felt the disappointment in her as she looked me up and down.

“What are you even doing here?” She asked in a sigh. I sighed too.
“Do you want to come in?”

I climbed the steps in silence. I could feel her watching me. I wanted to tell her to leave, that she didn’t belong here, that her cropped jacket was stupid and impractical, but instead I pulled at the latch and opened the door. She took a peek inside, stood there for a few moments, and then went in. I went in after her.

The moment I latched the door, the sound of the rain fled, and the constant ringing of my ear finally leaving put me at peace. I leaned against the logs and breathed deep. I was so glad to be indoors and not being pelted by water I had completely forgotten the woman sauntering around my kitchen, picking up my one pot in her hand and inspecting the bottom of it, while her other traced along my counter-top. She took the few steps to the other wall, bending down and opening the stove-door with her long nails. I looked at her dismissively.

Finally, she made her way to my bed, sitting on the edge of it facing me and crossing her legs. I placed my pack on the ground next to the door. She looked up at me with a smile that would almost come off as polite if her eyes moved with it at all.

“So.. This is what you do now.”

I sighed again, walking past her towards the slump in the corner of my room. I turned on the camp shower and felt the cold rainwater hit my face once more. I wiped with both palms, wrenching the mud and grass off my face before forcibly pushing it off my jacket. It clumped together on the dirt floor of the hole. She didn’t say anything else, and I was the first to speak as I buried my face into a soft towel I had on the shelf next to me.

“Do you want coffee?”

She scoffed again. Annoying, I thought, so annoying. She looked around the room again, before looking at me puzzlingly.

“Is this about Mom?” She asked.

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the pot she scrutinized and turning on the camp shower again, filling it near the brim before shoving it into the stove, kneeling down and retrieving a lighter from the top of it to light the tinder I had already prepared. The fire brought warmth to the room that my sister could never hope to achieve.

“Mom didn’t even care about us.” I retorted.
“So then why do this?” She put her palms up and looked around to make a point.
“I like it here.” I stared at the fire.
“You don’t even have air-conditioning.”
“You’re so stupid.” I argued.

I stood up, facing her with the fire at my back as I took off my jacket and placed it on the ground next to the flames.

“Is that why you drove all the way out here? To make fun of me? How did you even find this place?”

She smiled and turned up her chin at me.

“Your card was used for a few months at that market down the road. All it took was a few questions before I found that fat guy. Is he your family now?”
“He’s a friend.”
“Oh I know, believe me. It took only about two minutes before he invited me to dinner.”

I didn’t respond, and that must’ve angered her. She snapped, clapping her hands together.

“Stop dodging my questions! What are you doing out here!? Playing survivor in the woods? What’s wrong with you!? First I hear you get a promotion to middle-management, and then next I hear you quit and then your phone is off and…”

I zoned out. She trailed on with countless questions about my absence. I wrapped my hand around the same towel as she pattered on and retrieved my pot of boiling water from the stove. I dripped it through my primitive filter and through the ground beans into two cups, then brought it to her as she was still talking. She didn’t react, so I placed it on the shelf next to my bed, and sat down in a crude chair next to the fire. She stopped talking as I finally responded.

“It wasn’t about mom. I hated my life. I was late every fucking morning because I couldn’t get out of bed. I was miserable. Didn’t you notice? Every single day. The same fucking thing. How do YOU live like that?”

She stared at me for a moment with those annoying hazel eyes, and shrugged.

“So this is the solution? Build a cute little cabin, make a fire, put a shower in it and what? Hang out with an old guy the rest of your life? Am I going to find you dead here one day?”
“Probably.”

She stood up, her fists clenched as her nails dug into her own skin. I saw the anger and feeling of betrayal in her eyes as I stared blankly. Steam rose from her lonely cup.

“Well go die then! See if I care!” She pointed at her chest. “I’m not the one who gave up, that’s what you did, you gave up! You had a few bad days and ran away. Does that remind you of anyone?!”

I knew she was speaking about our father, but I never knew him, and he certainly wasn’t anything like me. Even if she had any memories of him, she was only a few years older than me, so I doubted they meant anything. Why should I care if she thinks I’m like him?

“No, it doesn’t remind me of anyone.”
“YOU are an idiot, Jack.”

She pulled at the latch to my door. It didn’t open. I sighed, putting my palm over hers and pushing the latch sideways so it actually unhinged. She flinched as we touched, and I quickly pulled away once it was free. The door opened to a cool breeze flying inside. It was traded for her as she quickly made her way down my stairs. They looked rigid, more clumsily made than I remember, like a child playing with sticks as she made her way down. A wet black feather clung to the top step.

She didn’t turn as she walked to her car door, boots splattering the rain as it dampened her hair. Finally, she looked back, and I couldn’t tell if there were tears in her eyes or just rain. Her voice was ragged.

“I love you Jack, please take care of yourself.”
“I love you too, Rosa.”

The forest and I watched her leave.

______________

Several days passed before I would venture into those woods again. They no longer seemed as homely as they had once. The bright, shining rays of light that would bounce between the leaves now cackled in hues of dark gray that seemed to sharply cut from branch to branch. A harsh wind was blowing out of them at all times of the day, and at night it sent an ominous whistle that made me shiver as I relieved myself at the edge. And the rain. The rain never stopped. Every day I expected it to part. Every day I was disappointed. For the next few days, the only thing that broke the monotony was the return of that old dog.

I saw him first before the storm came, and never expected to see him again. Old, skinny, black and blind. He had droopy ears and a long dark snout with white bristles at the tip fitting for his age. One of his eyes was scarred, and the other white with cataracts. The dog walked with a limp, quite efficiently as one would expect someone who has had an injury for a while would. His ribs gauntly poked from his sides, and I could only wonder how such a poor decrepit thing managed to survive.

The first time, staring through my glass, I only watched him. He roamed across the grass, his nose sniffing at the ground, idly chasing some invisible scent. Like an ant following a false trail, he walked in circles, on and off the gravel until I grew tired of watching the scene and stood up. I opened the melted icebox underneath my counter, and retrieved some smoked hare wrapped in plastic. But when I turned to open the door, he was gone. I stepped outside to scan for him, and down the road I saw him paddling along, nose to the ground and sniffing away at the dirt as he limped down the path. That was the last time I had felt the warmth of the sun, while calling for him.

But here, in the middle of this never-ending storm, he returned.

I was quicker this time. No need for my last hare if he left. The door opened with a loud creak, and there he was. Roaming in a circle outside of my cabin, and for a moment I smiled. Normalcy at last!

“Hey!” I called in as friendly of a tone as I could muster.

The hound’s body was soaked with water, dripping to the floor like udders from a cow. The only long fur he had was on his chin, matting his beard that looked as if he had just dunked it into a water bowl. I called again, but he made no attempt at responding. He continued to roam, one more circle, sniffing so close to the gravel I worried he had been inhaling rocks. So I just watched him, not like there was anything better to do with my phone dead. Finally, I grew frustrated. Was he deaf?

“Hey, come on!”

This time I patted my leg afterwards. His head immediately turned, and he began to nonchalantly began to limp towards the steps, not so much as sparing me a glance as his nose continued to smell the ground. I stepped outside, figuring I would have to carry him up the steps, but just as idly as he began to walk towards me he climbed them, barely putting any weight on the left paw that ailed him as he reached the top. The door was open, but he stopped at the window next to it, sniffing the plank under it with intention. I tilted my head as he did the same. And then he turned, and limped on inside.

Figuring he was not one much for conversation, I came through and latched the door shut after him. He quickly found his way to the stove, slinking his skinny torso between the legs of my chair, lying down with his tail and thigh next to the softly burning flames. He made no sigh that I expected from other dogs who found a comfortable spot, simply closing his eyes and going still. I retrieved one of the few remaining strips of hare I had left from before my last encounter in the woods. He didn’t react as I approached him, placing it at his nose. His eye opened, and I could see the clouds of white up close. Like a soft fog they obscured anything resembling a pupil, and I found myself overcome with pity at the thought of such a creature. How horrible it must be to lose your grip on vision and not even to know what was happening.

He sniffed once at the strip, and I grinned wide, happy to share with my new neighbor his first meal in what I assumed was a long time. Instead, he outstretched his left paw, touching the strip of jerky with calloused pads. His nails were dark and blunt, long and crooked. and there was some kind of crimson coming from between his pads. I knelt down and looked closer. Blood, old, but not very, coming from the middle of his paw. I looked at the others. His back legs looked fine, but I could not see his right, being folded against his chest. I reached out, and he did not react, so I gripped his skinny arm gently, and stretched it out. Blood, again. What the hell? A soft splatter of crimson stained the inner sides of his pad and matted the soft fur. I pushed on his paw gently to get a better look, and once again he did not react. There was some wound between them, and I couldn’t possibly tell what in the low light. So instead I got some antibacterial wipes out from my shelf, wiping both paws clean as his eyes closed and he remained motionless. After I was done, I waved the strip of jerky in front of his nose again, which he sniffed, opened his eyes, and closed them once more. He didn’t pant, didn’t whine, didn’t even breathe loud enough to hear over the crackling of the stove.

I spent a long while looking at him as I stripped and got into bed. Motionless, he slept, while I tossed and turned, assaulted by the breaking of wood lost to flames and the patter of the storm through my window that seemed to grow only louder the quieter it got. When sleep finally found me, it only made me feel worse. Vines, horns and eyes. Roots coiled around my throat, tasting of iron and spores. That’s all I dreamed of.

The beast didn’t make a noise until the next morning. Shuffling, rifling, I opened my eyes groggily. The canvas bag I left at the door. At first I was surprised. Why is that still there? Then I blinked again and adjusted my eyes. There he was, that beast, making the first noise I ever heard from his lips as he crunched away on my chanterelles. I exhaled through my nose, throwing my head back into the pillow and looking up at the clouds through my fogged window. There was a seeping cold flowing flatly through the small lift that opened it. It made me shiver and sent me up into a sitting position, as I watched the dog turn his snout left and right, brushing away the canvas to reach further into the bag. I sighed, happy he was finally eating, but that wouldn’t do for me. The woods called for me again, not out of malcontentious longing, but because of a pain in my stomach. What’s left of the hares were gone, and there may very well be several waiting for me on the snares I laced along the trail.

So the routine was set, the die was cast, and the time to overcome my fears of trees and moss had come. A fresh dip into my bags of clothing heralded my departure. Fresh jacket, fresh pants, fresh sweater, spoiled muddy boots. For now my old pair of sneakers will have to do. I checked my phone. Off, but charging at 2%. Hopeful. The moment I opened the door that gale hit me once again. A gust of wind nearly folded my wrist back as I struggled. And then, it turned gentle. Calming. Ambient cool wisps brushed against my cheek and blew strands of hair behind me as I stepped down my stairs. The beast was behind me. He lumbered down them as well, his nose to the ground as he resumed what I figured was his favorite activity. I wondered if he’ll go back to walking in circles, but for now I figured the freedom of choice was all I could afford him. So I didn’t look back as I left the door open, leaving him to his whims. Yet instead, he followed.

I found my pace shortening as I neared the trees. They looked taller, demanding, rugged. The boughs and branches that would softly curve downward to envelop the floor now looked like twisting arms suffocating the light from the ground. And the ground was dead– devoid, drowning. The grim wind that greeted me when I opened my door was pouring out of it like a floodgate, and every few minutes seem to recall and inhale that warm breeze coming from out of its grasp back in. I glanced behind me as I stood at the treeline. Five feet from me, the beast had stopped. And he was looking. That cloudy eye stared me down like a blizzard on the horizon. I froze, trying to stay calm. How did he know how tall I was? To look me directly in the eye, I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. My tongue caught in my throat as I swallowed a half-smile. “You’re not coming then?”

The beast turned, putting his head low until his nose touched the grass. He sniffed his way back to the gravel, tracing circles as I disappeared into the pines. Despite the canopy, the storm felt harsher here. Droplets of water seemed to coagulate into deeper prospects that dripped slimily from the tips of boughs, hitting the ground with heavy thuds that drowned out the noise of the woods. Every step was wet, soggy, and required my full conscious in order to pull through to the next. A droplet splayed my cheek as I cleared a line of brush, finding my trail at last as I began to follow it down through the mist.

The packed dirt in front of me was a thin array of mud, winding as it drooped into a steep incline before flattening out, while armies of pines dangled over, covering the sky with sharp green needles that stabbed and prodded, all vying for the dominance of sunlight. They fell against my shoulders as I sidestepped my way down, the mud creasing my sneakers and making me wobble with each step. I didn’t find my first snare. Two bushy roots loomed low over the trail, making a perfect tunnel for which I laced my string. But it wasn’t there. I stepped over it and continued my muddy march. As I walked along, I heard the hum of the stream.

It came as a slight whisper, tickling the back of my ears. But as I made my way to the next snare, I found the hum of the wash increasing louder and louder the further I got through the trail. Being in a hungry daze and so close to my second snare, I gritted my teeth and walked on, following the path that seemed to directly lead to the torrent. As the reverberation of the river increased, I found it difficult to hear any sounds of the forest, as the storm surged. But there as I cleared the next pine stood my snare. And on it, a gift from the forest.

A hare dangled listlessly in the wind from the top of a root, its neck cracked and head drooping palely against the snare. I approached the forest’s gallows cautiously. Yellow powder crusted the thing’s lips, oozing like sap, and its ears scraped the black bark of the roots as it teetered back and forth. The thing’s fat bottom nearly touched the ground hanging there, with its white feet turned a sickly gray having stewed in a murky puddle below the trap. Its eyes were wide open in a haze of grey and brown, no pupil visible. Beggars can’t be choosers. I unceremoniously stripped my knife from my belt and cut the creature loose, stuffing it in my canvas bag with little thought other than relief that my luck wasn’t all bad. As I rested the bag against my chest, I felt the carcass against my heart, and both seemed to beat in tune.

But the ringing in my ears was nauseating, and I pressed on to the next snare. The hum of the river made the trail seem to vibrate, playing tricks on my eyes as I began to see it in two renditions. The vibrations made my feet numb, and the icy wind carried it up to my legs as I walked made of jello further and further down the path. Water fell all around me. My mind told me to leave while I was ahead, but a gnawing thought in the back of my mind convinced me that the ringing would only be worse should I head back. Yes, the stream was back where I came, and I was doing well to continue away from it.

Firelight bloomed in the distance. I recognized it as I would any other day. My ears were stifled but my eyes could see the burning rays of light through the shadows of the pines. I walked towards it, and the trail straightened into a simple path that seemed to overtake the roots that had previously dominated it. I treaded on, and the light broke through more and more trees until confusion overtook me. I saw the chanterelles. They burned in daylight. The grass I saw through the canopy gleamed like shining topaz, and glistening rays of light ignited the canopy in beautiful rays of gold. The storm had broken ahead, and I nearly broke into a run as I realized it. The hum grew sharper, and the pines parted like a curtain. The forest seemed to separate into a perfect circle, and a glowing pond of grass and white flowers bloomed under its radiance. The mushrooms formed all around the treeline, as if holding back the tides of pine and root that encompassed everything else.

And there, on a broken log in the back end of the clearing, was magic itself.

Cloven hooves dug into the grass, and muscled pink legs rose above it. Its waist was covered in dark brown fur with a belt of odd hide fastened across. The chest was bare, but its shoulders folded into the same dark hair. A bull’s tail swung back and forth in the sunlight. And atop its shoulder, a goat’s head. Two horns dug into its skull, riding to the sky as the grey bone burned like ivory in the light. The creature’s pupils were perfect rectangles, separated by its long snout and flashing in amber. My body froze as it stared at me. It crossed its hooves, fleshy hands gripping the dark brown calves. I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat, and the thing’s head tilted. It waited for me, not moving, hardly breathing.

“What are you..?”

The creature grinned, a set of perfectly square teeth bore all across its maw. Light green tinted in stains along the tips. No fangs, no front, just perfect white squares.

“I am an angel.”

The voice was like honey, deep and floral. A breeze blew as it spoke, and the smell from the stream permeated back into my mind while the wind carried it. The sun bristled at my nose, while rays of light burned away the downpour. It was as if I just removed a large coat, the feeling of freedom was intoxicating. I felt I could run a marathon as I took a step closer.

“You don’t look like an angel.”
“I haven’t bathed.”

That smile again. I was so lost by the sudden vanishing of rain I had little conscience left to even process what I was looking at. I wiped my face and looked again. The angel’s side-facing eyes strained to look directly at me, with white chalk-like bags underneath each wrinkling as it seemed to squint. I struggled for questions, even words. My mind was a cacophony of fear and wonder as I pondered such an impossible creature. But the gnawing in the back of my head assured me that there was no other cause for this creature besides divine providence. I took a step forward.

“Why are you here?”
“I live here.”
“Why have I not seen you before?”
“I did not want to be seen.”

Tears formed in my eyes. I shuddered in the light like a bug exposed to a torch.

“You are not real.”
“Feel my heart, and know.”

I was standing next to the angel. My arm unfolded, and my glove was off, trembling as I reached for it. A tremor went through my hand as I felt its heat. My palm was on his chest.

Badum. Badum. Badum. Our hearts beat in sync. A tear fell from the pit of my eye.

“Why now?”

I removed my hand, but the beating of the celestial still quaked.

“I pitied you, human. I saved your life.”
“Why?”
“The beast of the woods hunted you as you picked my fruit. The fault was mine.”

The beast of the woods. The shadows in the pines. The raven. That creature stalked from tree to tree, chasing me as I fled in horror. I left that day in a suit of mud and stupor. But the raven. The angel’s slit pupils regarded me warmly.

“The raven?”
“Mine own.”
“And the beast?”
“Mine enemy.”

I mumbled nothing. An exasperation of denial and confusion as I stood next to it. The angel smiled knowingly. The stream, the trail, the mushrooms and the forest. None were mine. All were the estate of the angel. I stood in his temple, and I felt small and insignificant in his altar. My bag twitched.

“What do you want from me?”
“I want to help you.”
“What will you do?”
“I can return the one you love.”

I took a step back. The angel’s eyes followed. My eyes darted across the blue sky, and I stopped to watch a billowing white cloud float far above the storm. I looked down, and the angel awaited his answer.

“I have not lost anyone I love.”

Unblinking, the angel resounded a deep whisper.

“I’m afraid you have.”
“Who?”
“I did not see.”
“Then how do you know?”
“The beast took them.”

I tilted my head, and the angel did the same. He looked at me grimly, like a man would look at a dying animal. Pity. His pity filled me with dread. What had I lost? Although I was looking down on him, it was as if he stood 20 feet tall when I stared.

“I haven’t lost anyone.”

His countenance darkened. His eyes lowered and he roughly exhaled through his snout. The angel’s lips vibrated.

“Then go home, Jack. And I will see you again.”

I stepped backwards. And another. My feet were moving on their own. My hand raised to feel the angel’s heart again, but he was too far. I began to hear the rain. I turned my feet sideways to stop, but they straightened and my hips began to turn. The pines were ahead of me. The storm was pounding. I looked back, and it was all gone. My imagination. Definitely not. I began to run. My heart and my mind were shattered. The hum of the far away river and the beating of the angel’s heart still reverberated through my brain. I felt no pain in my body as I ran through the forest, dashing from tree to tree down the path like a wild beast. I loved nothing.

______________

The corpse regarded me lifelessly. She was split in half. The seams of a small black jacket twisted unnaturally into a tangle of bright red flesh that dripped onto the wet wood. Shiny red teeth clumped with brain-matter atop her shoulders. Who was she? My mind was blistered. A pounding migraine roared in my skull. I stepped inside. The room was cool, and empty. For the first time in hours, it was quiet. The pestering storm halted at the door’s latch, and only the shriek of the chair accosted my ears as I sat down. I sat there for some time, listening to nothing. I stared at wood. Where was he? I looked behind me. The dog was gone, and I closed my eyes.

My thoughts drifted away. Vines, horns and slit eyes. Roots coiled around my throat. And I awoke in a gasp. I fell forward, hitting my chin on flat logs as my eyes drifted to the door. I laid there for some time, thinking of all I had experienced. I could not recall which was real and which was a dream. I pictured the beast, and the angel, and dead hare still on my back. I shuddered as my nail scratched at the wood. The door was red underneath.

Rosa.

I ran outside in a panic. The door clattered loudly behind me as I threw it open. There she was. Her legs calmly laid flat towards the railing. The rest of her was in two pieces.

I collapsed. Tears began to stream from my face, and my cheeks burned. My palm was covered in her blood. I placed my hand on her leg, and looked for anything resembling the person I had spent the entirety of my life with. Black hair, pale skin. So much blood. I sobbed.

“I love you, Rosa.” My words were a whimper. “I love you.” I wiped my face with her blood on my fingers. My only family member in the world reduced to a viscous liquid. The rain pounded on the wooden canopy. And all I could do was sit there. There was nothing to hold. My palm clawed childishly at her pants as I wept. My other smashed the floor as hard as I could, my nails biting into my palm as I struck the ground over and over and bawled. I remembered the words from before.

“I can return the one you love.”

The words formed in my head so vividly that I raised my eyes and my mouth went wide. The entirety of my vision was blood. A red vignette enclosed my eyes. I looked behind me.

He sat in the mud, in the pathway I had walked so many times before. His knees were pointed outwards, and his two hooves fit into each other like puzzle pieces. His palms were resting upwards on his lap. Water matted his fur and darkened his skin, and his horns dripped thick tears that pounded against the ground. The angel returned, but the rain persisted.

I shambled down the steps, stumbling and tripping as I approached it. Salt from my eyes filled with the taste of fungus swelling my tongue. I lurched towards the angel like a wretched, pained animal heeling to its master. The angel grinned as he looked up at me.

“I am sorry, Jack.” His mouth contorted into a frown. “The fault is mine.”

My lips furrowed and I let out a pathetic mumble. I fell to my knees. The angel’s eyes regarded me merely a few feet apart. My bloody palm gripped mud and dirt tightly as I trembled.

“Can you bring her back?”
“I can.”
“How?”

I stared for some time at the angel, and then blinked. The pines vanished. The world seemed to collapse around me. The mud and dirt and grass all drowned. I turned back, but my cabin had vanished into a sea of grey water. All around me an endless abyss of shallow ocean, with no horizon in sight. The sky was a matte gray. The water shimmered in clouded gray light. I saw my reflection as I looked down. Bloody, filthy, wretched. The dead hare lay next to me. It twitched and blinked. I saw the reflection of the angel as well. Its toothy smile shimmered in a single ray of moonlight that struck the sea. I looked up at him again, and he was the entire world. Rain pattered his horns.

“You need only sign.”

The rain stopped around us. Puddles rippled softly into the sea and curled around my knees. I stared down at my visage again and sobbed. All was quiet, and the angel looked at his as well. The silence was so deafening I felt as if the entire world had ended, and I would simply vanish like the rest. But then the water moved again. It rose from the sea, rising upward into droplets as if the very storm had reversed itself. I watched in awe as bits of the gray torrent floated all the way into the sky, dissipating into the clouds. A pool of droplets began to congeal in front of me. Rising above the ocean, it formed a ball that swirled between us. And then it flattened. Flattened like paper as it unfurled and took color.

A sickly white hue of thin paper floated in front of my knees. Archaic, foreign black symbols stippled its flesh. My index finger began to bleed. I raised it to my eyes and saw a thin pinprick of dark crimson blood dripping into the sea. I glanced at the angel, who regarded me with a wide smile. A long black line pinned the end of the scroll.

“Only I can save her.”

My hand trembled. Only HE can save her. I was a powerless insect. The angel of the woods, come to free me from the beast. My tears of anguish began to form into tears of joy. I thought of Rosa. Her laugh, her smile, the way she pushed at my chest when she was mad at me. I remembered her heartbeat from my childhood as we slept together. Badum, badum, badum. I would give anything to see her again. I would give my heart and my soul just to see her laugh. I brought her here, to the woods, and to the beast. And I would have to atone for the sins. The angel would cleanse me.

I pointed my finger forward. The blood formed a small pool below me, and I reached for the scroll. A small tint of blood splashed the bottom of the paper, and its corner shriveled in response. The blood stopped as I reached to place my print.

And then my ears started to ring. A flash burned my retina, and all of reality seemed to blink in a blitz of light and sound. I felt something hit my chest. Pieces of rock or metal, shredded against my jacket and through my chest as I fell onto my back into the water. I coughed and weezed and rolled to my side as my bleeding hand gripped my stomach. My right hand bit into the ground, and for some reason, I felt dirt.

I opened my eyes, and there was pines. Pines and mud, my face burrowed in it. I gasped humid air as I tried desperately to take sense of my surroundings, and fell back onto my back.

There, standing over me, a dark silhouette loomed, eyes wide and mouth agape in a contortion of pure horror. I wiped my eyes with the back of hand and tried to make sense of the figure.

“Rosa?” I whimpered.

The figure stared down at me. No, much too big to be Rosa. It knelt down, and all I could see was a scared, worried face. I had seen that face before.

Something metal and cold was laid at my chest. Two large, fleshy arms reached under me, lifting me up into the sky. I laid limp against them. There was warmth, in my chest, then hot pain. Two massive bulky shoulders supported my dead weight. I looked up. I saw perhaps the squarest jaw I’ve ever seen.

“I’m so sorry, Jack I-“ His burly voice caught in his throat. “I didn’t know you was behind him I-I-I didn’t know!” Jona said in a worried drawl.

“W-what the hell was that!?” A shotgun rested between my legs as he carried me. The old man was jogging down the path, his words drifting away as I dreamed. I dreamed of a boat, of clouds and of shores. The rain pattered lightly against my face as I stared up at the clouds. It was soft, calm, and a warm breeze tickled my skin and combed my hair. I opened my eyes truly for the first time in ages. The trees glowed brightly in the autumn haze. The sky was a foggy blue that covered the road in a plethora of pale colors. I smiled softly and looked up at Jona.

“Hang in there, buddy, we’ll be there soon.” I drifted my head downward and looked forward.

A lone beast plotted the road ahead of us. An old, blind dog, nose to the pavement, limping briskly through the warm fall rain. His nose sniffed at the ground.

“You’re lucky he found me, boy! He came to my door scratching and gnawing and hollering and the moment I went outside he went right on up the road! I closed the door and he did it again! Can you believe it?”

I smiled. Good boy. So angels were real. And they were old dogs and old men.

Credit: kingbooxd