The Forest

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Elliot Kraft

 

 

Adults never believe you when you tell the truth. Last week, when I was walking through the forest, I happened upon a family of owls discussing politics over their dinner. There was a mother and a father and a little baby owl all eating rabbit stew without the stew, or at least that’s how they explained it. Quite frankly, their food looked disgusting, but they made for good company. Or at least better company than my family.

When I told my mother about the owls that night, she glanced at me and said, “That’s nice, Lucy,” as if I wouldn’t realize that meant she thought I was lying. My father, on the other side of the dinner table, only told me to be careful in the forest.

They’re very dull people, my parents. They never want to go on adventures or talk about ghost stories with me. My dad always wants to be left alone. I don’t think he likes me very much. I’ve been told I’m a “piece of work,” and he always comes home from work grumpy. I don’t know what he does at work, and at this point, I’ve lost interest. All I know is that he wears a suit and shiny shoes that are entirely impractical for climbing over creeks.

My mother doesn’t really work, at least not like my father. She does a lot of talking on the phone, so she’s always asking me to be quiet. I don’t like being quiet. I like talking to people and animals and the ghosts that sometimes visit me. So whenever I’m not at school and my mother is on a phone call, I put on my good exploring shoes- the ones my mother says I can never wear inside the house- and I walk through the forest.

Today, exactly one week after meeting the owl family, I make my way down a new path in the forest. It is darker than the paths I usually travel. It had not rained the night before, but the moss and leaves under my shoes are slippery with dew. The path disappears in front of me, a fallen tree blocking my view.

I march up to the obstacle, which, I’ll admit, is significantly taller than me now that I’m standing in its shadow. When I reach for something to hold onto, the rough bark feels alive. The tree, which I had presumed dead, is warm and seems to hum with otherworldly energy. It is only then that I notice the silence. The sounds of birdsong and insects grew muffled the moment I made contact with the tree.

What the hell is this?

I have seen a good many things in my ten years, but never anything like this. Talking owls and butterfly faeries seem entirely mundane in comparison to the towering magical tree blocking my path. I reach out again, inexplicably drawn to the tree and its power, but I fail to find a hold to climb over it, and the path is surrounded by rough terrain that I didn’t plan for.

“Hey, Mr. Tree. Or Mrs. Tree. Supreme Tree?” I feel stupid. But I don’t know what else to do. “Umm, I don’t really know what to say to a magical tree in the middle of the forest. I guess… hi?”

“Hello Lucy.” I stumble back, heart racing in my chest. I didn’t hear the voice. I felt it, almost like the words were spoken directly into my thoughts.

“What in the—”

“World? No darling, I’m not of this world. I am Druantia. I am a goddess.”

“Oh. Should I bow or something?”

What do you say when you encounter a tree goddess in the forest? I haven’t learned divine etiquette yet in the fifth grade. Am I underdressed? I look down at my striped t-shirt, jean shorts, and mud-caked sneakers.

“Don’t worry about any of that darling. I only have one question for you. What do you seek beyond this barrier?”

“I was just exploring. I wasn’t really seeking anything.” The tree goddess didn’t respond. “I guess I’m just looking for company? I was bored, and I wanted to find something interesting, somebody who could care about me and believe me.”

“I understand. You are lost and you seek acceptance, not unlike the rest of your species. But I can see that your motives are pure,” the goddess pauses. “You may pass.”

All at once, the noise returns. All the birds in all the trees above me start to fly, singing in unison as the great tree groans. It slowly lifts off the ground, as if a giant is picking it up. I wait for the goddess’s voice to return, but the tree just hovers three feet above the forest floor, wordless in its thundering stillness. I step forward, crouching as I tiptoe under the tree. And what I couldn’t see past the great tree before, now stretches out before my eyes.

The path beyond is lined with the brightest green moss I’ve ever seen. I can no longer see the sky through the thick canopy of trees looming overhead, but I feel no need to turn on my flashlight. Lightning bugs flit around, racing through the trees and leaving trails of light in their wake. I can feel myself walking down the path, but I only notice the vibrant life surrounding me. Butterfly faeries swirl through the air, landing on patches of sapphire flowers and clover. A chipmunk waves at me as I walk by. I raise my hand in greeting but am too stunned to say anything.

Ahead of me, the path is darker, green moss turning brown as if it has been tread upon by animals over time. Behind me, I can see that my shoes have left darkening imprints in the moss. I almost feel guilty for interrupting the perfection of this landscape. But I cannot keep myself from continuing down the path. I can now see that I am walking into a clearing, but I cannot make anything out in the shadows.

I take a step, and a twig snaps under my foot. For the first time since I passed the tree goddess, I am scared. I do not know what lies ahead. I may be comfortable with owls and smaller animals, but I’ve never encountered a wolf or a magical raccoon with rabies. I take the flashlight out of my back pocket, knuckles turning white as I move to flip the switch on. As I take another step forward, the shape of a small building begins to come into view. I lift my flashlight. After a deep breath, I turn on the light.

“And who might you be, little girl?”

The raspy voice of an old woman speaks, sending a shiver up my spine. She sits, unnaturally still, in a wooden rocking chair just outside the front door of a small cottage. Her grey eyes pierce through me, as I stammer out a response.

“I’m Lucy. Lucille. The tree goddess let me through.”

“And now I’m telling you to leave.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why, but I cannot bring myself to turn away from this woman. She is withered and thin, but she holds herself with a strength that terrifies me.

“Why? I don’t even know your name.”

“And you don’t need to.”

“No, I don’t need to, but I want to. I told you my name. Why won’t you tell me yours?”

“Leave. And don’t ever come back. Forget you ever came to this place.”

“I can’t, no. Why would I—”

“Leave. NOW.”

Her voice is as icy as her eyes, chilling my bones. I turn back and run until my lungs are empty, and I am gasping for breath. The forest fades behind me. As I look back over my shoulder to see if anything has followed me, I promise myself that I will find out the old woman’s name.

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