Fall 2021 | Occasus | Issue 11.2
The Boy and the Winter Wood
|
It was said that when winter descended upon the town and the world seemed to stop, the citizens of Tiveden began to make deals with the woods.
Lars could still recall curling up by the fire with Freyja, his best friend, as his mother regaled him with tales of children wandering out into the frozen wood, only to be eaten by the creatures that lurked within it. Or those which told of fathers desperate enough to trade their daughters in exchange for aid, and pond lilies gone red with blood from wanderers who dared to dip a toe into the bog. Lars, of course, had not believed the stories then, and most certainly did not believe them now. Or at least not until he heard about Freyja. The snow was still falling when Karina, Freyja’s youngest sister, had come banging down his door.
“Lars!” The tiny girl had screamed, cheeks flushed under her thick woolen hood. Lars narrowed his gaze, peering down at the girl, before ushering her into the house. At least a foot of her hem was coated in slush, and large clumps of snowflakes clung to her hair. She shivered furiously, and Lars couldn’t tell if she was going blue because of the cold or because she barely paused long enough to breathe before a new wave of words escaped her lips. “Lars, it’s—it’s, well she—she. I had to come get you, its—” “Karina…” he comforted before crouching down to pull back her snow-coated hood, revealing glistening red eyes, still fresh with tears. His stomach sunk. “Karina?” His tone grew concerned, “What is it?” The girl smeared her palms over her wet cheeks, choking out a silent sob. “Rina,” he consoled, opening his arms wide and she quickly clambered in. “Whatever happened, it's going to be okay.” Karina shook her head, curling into Lars until he could feel the chill in her bones leaching into him. After a long silence, she finally spoke. “It’s Freyja,” the words slipped out through her sobs and Lars’ expression went blank. He pulled back so he could look her in the face again, his eyes wide as every muscle in his body seemed to clench. “What about her, Rina?” His words were stiff. Karina pressed her lips into a hard line as the inner corner of her eyebrows angled upwards. “Freyja,” she said, taking a deep breath before her mouth dropped into a heavy frown. “She’s—she’s gone.” Lars went rigid, the blood in his veins turning to ice. “What do you mean ‘she’s gone’?” He asked tensely, trying, and failing, to keep his voice steady. “I—I went to go wake her this morning,” she took a deep rattling breath, “and she wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t in the house at all. She just—she just vanished.” Her tears continued to fall, and she didn't bother to brush them away. Her breath hitched. “And now mama is saying that it was the woods that took her and—and… She said to come ask you for help.” Lars’ mouth hung open for a brief second before he tightened his jaw. The last thing he needed to do was frighten Karina more. “I shouldn’t have gone to her room. Then no one would know she was gone,” she said, dropping her head. Lars gently lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. “Rina, listen. You’re going to go home and tell everyone not to worry, everything is going to be alright. This is not your fault. I’m going to handle it, okay?” The girl nodded hesitantly; the corners of her mouth bent downward. It took a moment before she gave in, settled her hood over her head, and headed back out into the blizzard. As soon as she shut the door Lars sat back against the wall, planted his face and his hands, and let out a breath. Freyja disappeared, he thought to himself. But that didn’t necessarily mean she had been taken by the wood… only that she was, well, gone. Karina had most likely misunderstood. Perhaps Freyja had just gotten lost in the forest. Amid the blizzard. Overnight. Alone. Lars squeezed his eyes shut, cringing. Freyja was gone, that much was certain. He nodded to himself, letting his head lull back onto his shoulders, the question rising: how could he live with himself if he didn’t go after her? He let out an exacerbated breath, already knowing the answer. So, without another thought, Lars grabbed his cloak and stalked out into the storm. In the shade of the towering trees, day turned to night. Shadows cast down by snow coated branches were black gashes that sliced across the white earth, and a sharp silence cut across the world leaving only the piercing whispers of the wind. Lars stumbled his way through the winding vacant pines, the chill setting into his limbs. This, he began to think as the icy wind slashed through his core and he uselessly tugged his cloak tighter around him, was by far the most idiotic thing he had ever done. With each step, he sunk deeper into the snow until it swallowed him up to his hips, and the frigid air constricted its tightly wrought grasp around his throat. At last, he thought, perhaps it is time to turn around.
Besides, there was no way Freyja could possibly be out deep in the forest by herself. There were no tracks beside his own, there was no food or drink, and if Lars was this cold now, how could Freyja have possibly lasted out here, in harsher conditions, overnight? Ready to turn back, Lars gazed out once more and gaped. Curled up alone on the bank of a frosted pond was Freyja, her cornsilk hair stuck in matted sopping clumps to her sickly green-hued skin. Lars cursed. He lurched forward, propelling himself across the snow as far as possible. She was there. She was alive. And if Lars could have felt the muscles in his face, he might have been tempted to smile. “Freyja!” Lars shouted when he was finally within earshot. I found her. I did it. At the sound of his voice, Freyja turned toward him, her lips pressed into a hard line as slow tears leaked down her sunken face. “Freyja!” Lars called again, inviting her towards him, but she remained firmly planted on the ground. A mask of confusion fell over his face as he continued calling to no avail. It was only when he reached the water that he came to understand. Locked around her ankle was a thick lead chain that trailed out over the frozen pond only to drop down a large cavity in the ice and into the turbid water below. Lars froze, his stomach constricting. Any last bit of adrenaline he had been riding drowned in his realization. He gulped. “Freyja?” He asked barely above a whisper and the girl shook her head in response, her wide eyes cast downward. Lars sputtered. “Freyja… What happened?” He gazed at her, close enough now to see exactly what state she was in. Bright red scratches burned across her throat, deep indigo trails swam under the surface of her flesh as if someone had injected the bog water into her tissue, and her lips seemed to be coated in a viscous ink that seeped through her stained teeth. “Freyja…” Lars exhaled, reaching a handout, but she shuddered away. “It does not matter,” she croaked. “I’m sorry you wasted your time, but there's nothing you can do.” She choked out a soft sob, and Lars wrapped his arms around her damp, slick body. She trembled against his chest, clutching onto him like a rock in the middle of the sea. “Reyja,” he soothed, “You would have to be insane to think I would leave you out here.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes. “I promised Rina I would bring her sister back, and I don’t intend to break my word. Besides,” he said casting his gaze down at the shackle, “I did not come all the way out here, only to go back empty-handed.” He wiped away the tears that speckled the tops of her cheeks. “Okay?” He asked, but Freyja only shook her head again before letting it bow against his chest. A heavy silence fell over them as they sat still as the dead, listening to the wind as it rattled the branches overhead. At long last, Freyja released a breath. “Lars… we cannot always keep our promises.” Her words were muffled, barely above a whisper. Lars rested his chin lightly against her head. “What do you mean?” he murmured, refusing to let her out of his embrace. “You cannot help me,” she said, lifting her head. She let out a breath. “Lars, I am the bait.” Lars narrowed his eyes, brows low. “Bait?” She nodded; lips pursed. “They’re in the pond, waiting for you—for anyone to come by and help me,” she paused, lowering her voice, “Lars… they’d swallow you whole before you even had a chance to pick the chain’s lock.” Lars sighed. “Reyja, there’s nothing in the water to eat me. That pond is so putrid there's probably not even any fish left to nibble at your toes.” Freyja pushed herself away. “Then who do you think chained me up?” She said, gaze unrecognizably sharp. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. The chain was there, it was real and heavy, there was no denying that. The irritation on her neck was not a trick of the light, nor her hollow frame. But none of that necessarily meant there were creatures under the ice. Freyja was probably remembering wrong. Admittedly, if he looked as bad as she did, he wouldn't be thinking straight either. If anything, this was only proof of how much she needed his help. She would feel better once she was safe and warm in her bed. So, instead of giving her the time to talk him down, Lars shed his cloak and plunged down the chasm, into the water below. As soon as Lars had sunk beneath the surface, he knew he’d made a grave mistake.
The water ripped the breath out of his lungs, spiking his heart until all he could feel was the blood pulsing in his veins. Immediately he lurched back up only to be met with a wall of ice. He pounded his fist against it, but it refused to crack. He cussed to himself. Something, there has to be something I can do. I did not come all this way just to drown at the last second. His eyes shot open, racking to focus on something, anything, just to suppress the black that began flooding his vision, and then, he saw her. Freyja’s skin had deepened in colour, a dark gray teal to match her hair which swirled around the gaping slashes on the sides of her neck, as Stygian marbling etched over her corpse. But it was her eyes that caught his gaze. They were solid glowing amber orbs, their light cutting through the water so harsh Lars thought he might go blind. He needed to move, needed to get to the surface, but his body seemed paralyzed. I can still fix this, he thought staring at the creature before him. She isn’t one of them, she can't be one of them. They don’t even exist! The prospect of fleeing drowned in the thoughts that inundated his mind, and so, as the mass that had once been his friend unhinged its jaw to swallow him whole, all he could do was watch. Later they would tell tales of the boy who had ventured into the trees. How the creatures had lured him into the dark abyss, and how, if you were brave enough to face the forest and find the bog yourself, you might just come across the boy, still there, floating amongst the red water lilies. But watch out! Don’t get too close. The forest is always waiting for its next visitor, ready to strike a deal.
It never waits long. |
Rachel Oseida was previously published in the "It Calls from the Forest: Volume 2" horror anthology and enjoys writing stories wrapped in folklore. Rachel is in first year but her passion for writing was solidified during her high school creative writing classes.
