October 16, 2024

The House in the Woods
​by Linda Sparks

​

Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.


The long lingering fingers of trees droop down lazily, as though they do not see me watching them, as if I do not know them. I tremble just a little at their touch, their fondling, velvety seeking.  Perhaps they do not believe that I am real. 
       Moving swiftly now, enduring the clawlike scratches of sharp twigged tendrils as they touch me, I focus upon my goal. I know where I must go and nothing shall deter me. 
       There are tales of unseen places and there are wishes unspoken in each of us as we move through this existence.  I am a believer of tales and I glory in the magic of such things and now I am compelled to follow this path despite its obvious hindrances. 
       Breathlessly, I slip forward, ignoring the protest of dead and dying leaves beneath my feet and the slithering creature that observes me and then sleekly escapes the dark path. Does it rush ahead to alert that I am coming?  That there is an intruder in the woods?  One with purpose and passion? Or does it sense a darker intent with my approach? 
       As I draw closer, the scent endows the air with indefinable odors, yet I taste the touch of mold and things long dead, and the promise of something alluring and beautiful.  Rather than repel me, this malodorous scent compels me forward. 
       Moving quickly now, I slip through the forest into a clearing, barely discernible.  If I close my eyes, will it disappear?  This place of magic that shrouds itself in forest and enchantment? 
       My heart is thudding brutally and my body is burning to twist and run away. I have never forgotten the scent of danger. It is deeply entwined within my DNA. 
       It is waiting there.  Watching. Patiently. I understand that it might well wait for all eternity as time is meaningless to those who are not comprised and perhaps even cursed by mortality. 
       In my mind, I hear the laughter of children as they pluck candy and other sweets from the famed witch’s house, an enticement for her young prey. I detect only the irresistible allure that drives me forward. This is not a dragon’s cave. Certainly, I have nothing to fear as I am not a hapless child, yet there is a coldness within my chest that shivers through my body and radiates into my limbs and excruciatingly into the tips of my fingernails. 
       If I look away just for a moment, the house disappears and shrinks back into the trees, yet I refuse to abandon this quest and I shall not close my eyes and stumble into a trap. It must be my over-wrought imagination as this house, no matter how strangely manifested, cannot possibly know that I am approaching.  Or does it possess a natural defense against any and all intruders who find their way into these woods? 
       Is there no sense of self-preservation within me? Do I seek that indefinable monster that may well devour me? Is it that inquisitive desire that allegedly killed the cat that now drives me forward relentlessly? 
       The aging, rotting door screams in protest as I shove it open and I enter into the suffocating darkness.  The reek of evil is nearly overwhelming but I persist. Not for the first time, I begin to hold a concern that I may be dream-walking as so often occurs with me as I have awakened in the past and found myself naked, standing under the moon, bewildered as to how I had arrived there. I cannot tolerate the feeling of not being in control of my body and my mind, especially while I am vulnerable and sleeping. 
       The corpses of forest creatures litter the room, half-gnawed, awaiting the return of the killer. I step lightly over them, despite the fresh gore.  I attempt to avoid the taint of this carnage.  It has nothing to do with me. Something has hungered and it has fed upon the foolish that were ensnared within its trap. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I would react in the same manner if I found a dismembered and decomposing human corpse half-eaten in this place.  I shrug away the thought. I cannot be distracted. 
       I am driven to see and to understand.  It is a simple thing.  We must all face our fears and, ultimately, our own demise. 
      The thought arrives unbidden and I cannot cast it aside, for death is queen here in this place of darkness, waiting quietly here in the forest for its prey. Have I become prey?  And why would I, with above average intelligence and sentience, choose to come here and walk amongst remnants of animals?  Was that haunting call in the night the voice that has brought me to this place? To what purpose? 
      I cast my eyes downward, feeling utterly chilled, fully expecting to find myself nude as has occurred before.  It seems there is nothing that can be done. When I fall into the domain of slumber, I am giving myself over to another’s control.
      Is that what is happening here?  Have I been compelled to stumble through the forest in the blackest of night, with not even a whisper of a moon, just to see what lies ahead at the end of this path?  Do we always want to know where that road or trail might lead us?  Why are we not content to ignore the challenge and move on and keep our soul intact within our fallible flesh? 
      All the monsters are here. I am certain of it.  I try to close my eyes tightly against that inevitable reveal but it is useless. I have opened a door to this which I fear cannot be drawn closed and most certainly not locked against the things that await me.  
      I jerk, opening my eyes wide, as I hear the creak of a board in this place of bitter wood and weeping sorrow.  There is no escape. And I am not alone. 
       A streak of blinding light nearly causes me to clamp my eyelids tightly against it again but my thundering heart and foolish bravery will not allow me to cede defeat. I have come here to find answers. I have searched for the knowledge and it now lies before me and it presents a danger beyond my wildest fears. 
      They called me evil. They said I was wicked and that I should die by the fire or the crush of stones upon my chest.  The hatred that blazed in their eyes and their frothing mouths did not alarm me as it should have done.  Rather, it confirmed my own belief that humans are far more wicked than the demons they insist they are pursuing.   
      When their dogs began dying and the milk of their cows turned as sour as rhubarb upon the tongue, I watched and listened to their whining.  None dared to blame God. Or Mother Nature. Or even the Old Man Himself, Nick, in reality the one known as Satan?  They tried not to say his name as though even thinking of him would conjure him into a reality that might well end their pitiful lives. (How could they, with their limited imagination, believe that the Dark Angel would squander his time and talent upon beings such as them?)
      They even screamed profanities when the cats did not die along with the other animals, insisting that felines were the chosen companions of Satan’s Bride and were, therefore, exempt from the killing disease or curse that was being inflicted upon the hapless canines. How would they know such things if they could not even bear to say his name?
      I observed the sleek strolling cats who now reigned amongst domesticated animals, although we are all aware a feline cannot be tamed, not even by the rule of magic. There was a preponderance of black cats which seemed to drive the populace absolutely mad.  It was the Devil’s work. He who could not be named was messing with genetics and assuring that black cats dominated the scene. It seemed no one recalled how the ancient Egyptians worship Bastet and honored her for the protection she provided against diseases and other injuries.
      Attempts were made to murder the felines. Still, I watched in silence, stifling my laughter.  These damned fools could not even control the animal population of which they believed themselves to be their masters. (My laughter was an honest reaction to the idea that they were not only trying to herd and capture felines, but they intended to massacre these wily creatures just because they were afraid of the potential darkness of the black cat and that she/he might be a familiar to one who served the Dark Master. 
      When the cattle and sheep began to die in agony, the entire temperature and mood of the community altered.  A true icicle of fear reigned over the townspeople. They began to distrust their servants, their mate and, eventually, even their children were plunked into the water for the drowning test. 
      I remember the pitiful wails of the children.
      “Mother help me, please!”  And mothers turned away lest they, too, might be besmirched by the taint of suspicion. Elderly women were tortured and paraded nude before the judges.  Their own sons did not dare to defend them. 
      Yes, this house had seen it all and it had endured.  I sniffed slightly at first, ultimately daring to breathe in the scent and the memories that inhabited these walls.  There was a sense of safety, as the house had undoubtedly been protected by enchantment and it had protected those who might be accused and huntedt.  That power no longer held here.
      I dared to breathe deeply again, understanding the danger. There are some things that we should never know even if we ask the questions.
      I felt the cries of the children again and the heat of the flames, totally shocked that they had dared to burn innocent young ones.  Truly, the curse of this travesty would find them and kill them in horrifying ways.  I was certain of it. The evil would return to them threefold. 
      And now I knew exactly why I had been haunted by my dreams of terrible flames and hideous homicides of so many innocents here and this house had been a refuge where some had survived the fury and the monsters who sought to destroy them.
      They quoted their black book.
      “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”
      Yet, in that same book, King Saul consulted the Witch of Endor despite that taboo and the great risk to the witch. The King might have easily accepted her words and then had her put to death.  And what of Jezebel, the Queen of Israel, who was murdered because they wished to steal her kingdom? They always played the sorceress card whenever they wanted to steal or murder.  And I understood that even today, these murders continue to occur when they use every trick and rule at their disposal to murder powerful women. 
      Is this why I am here?  Is this why I have been called by my dreams?  I understood that bitter and tragic times were coming and I had been compelled to come to this place in the woods for a reason.
      With shaking hands, I saw the outline of a book, begrimed by dirt and years of idleness. It was nearly obscured by the shadows of time but I could not escape its validity and I could not ignore its importance. 
      I knew this book had been waiting for me.  My fingers reached into my pocket as I felt the small key that had been given to me by my grandmother so many years ago and she had urged me to keep it safe and that I would know the time when it would be needed.
      Hands shaking, I moved to the book and inserted the key into the lock.  A flurry of dust forced me to cough briefly as I gently opened the book, revealing heavy script carefully crafted in a beautiful flowing message. No matter the language or the code, if that was its design, I immediately understood.  This book had been waiting for me. I was the code-breaker and I was the designated keeper of these secrets which would now unfold before me and my purpose would be revealed at last. 
      Above where the book had rested, there was an object that was draped in dark linens, already ragged and worn by the ravages of time.  I knew when I cast aside these cloths and revealed the hidden thing beneath it, my life would alter forever.  
      The path had led me to my destiny just as my dreams had brought me here as well. 
      I realized I had no need to cast aside the cloth but I spoke the words from the page and the ragged materials disappeared as though they had never hidden anything. 
      A young woman looked back at me from a mirror.  Her face glowed, her eyes were veiled in ancient wisdom and mystery, and I understood that image was my grandmother, my great grandmother and many who had gone before me in our line and some had paid the blood price for that heritage, yet always assuring that the knowledge would be intact and kept for the next daughter. 
      We were the Keepers of Magic.
      With a wave of my hand, the house restored itself, the dead rodents came to life and scurried away, the congealed blood evaporated, and I saw only that face in the mirror, that progeny of a powerful bloodline of magicians and witches.
      I had come home at last.

                                                                  💀💀💀

 Linda Sparks has been published in multiple anthologies and podcasts including  Kaidankai, Ravens Quoth Press, Lothlorien, Spillwords, Sweetycat Press, (she was awarded the Emerald Prize for her poem "Dancing Girl"), and she loves writing dark, Poe poetry and short stories. She has 28 published books as she writes Horror, Fantasy, Science Fiction and mystery. She served as Editor for Valkyrie Magazine as well. She lives with her family in Florida.

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