[Chr24] Stalking in the woods

Stalking in the Woods

Styx

The task was simple really, go to the closest local woodland and obtain the top most part of a fir tree so that your cheery brethren can adorn it with cheap sparkle and artificial lights. It’s not your cup of tea (apart from the lights- MOTH LOVE LAMP) exactly but seeing as you have spare time and a set of weight bearing wings you were of course the most obvious choice.

So naturally you find yourself on the outskirts of the town, where the warm hues and smells of festive spices begin to submits to the cooler hues of a brisk winter night where the wind burns your lungs like menthol and the dim light at the forests edge plays havoc with your senses.

The darkness does not necessarily dissuade you from your task, the lack of warmth whilst uncomfortable, once again doesn’t provide a worthy adversary.

No. It is not these things causing you pause.

Instead as you look forward, the stories told of this woodland, this forest of the fallen fall like pages of a book in your memory, like the dying leaves from their trees, a weary foreshadowing.

The forest of the fallen, as it’s name suggests has had its fair share of gruesome ends and obscenities too foul to recall; the creatures that abide evolve twisted as the gnarled roots of the ancient trees within. A darkness cloaks both the souls and humour of the inhabitants.

The juxtaposition of feeling on the knife edge of the forest, the definition of festive to your left and the inverse to your right, balanced scales with you in the middle. For now.

You recall the joyous expression of your close ones and dig deep. The drive to complete your mission reinstated.

The first crunch of your paw onto the crackling dead leaves and slush of part frozen fauna and you feel the pull of the forest, a dragging toward the void.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Faith:

“Ooohhhhhhh” purrs the lissom lighter sister, “Do you her that sister mine?”

Ritual:

“Indeed dearest one,” a weighted pause for emphasis,” a stranger enters our domain”

The corrupted sisters slinker  toward the scent of the intruder. Their movements serpentine and silent, paws adept with meaningful footing. Practically silent, effortlessly deadly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Antennae’s twitch faintly as the crisp leaves crunch beneath clawed paws. So far the prominent noises are the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears, the whistle of wind through the thicket and the punctuated calls of resident beasts unknown to you.

The cinnamon and cider smell of home is replaced by dank, soil stained musk lessen only by the cold nibbling your nose and threatening your extremities.

“Whhyyyyyyyyyyyy helllloooooooo there little one. Are you lost? What pray brings a young innocent such as yourselves to these desolate parts?”

The drawling lazy voice is unexpected, yous limbs leave the ground with fright.

You are not accustomed to making unnecessary sound yet the yelp has left your throat before you register it.

Scrabbling to regain your composure you steal yourself toward the source of the question, eyes throwing daggers, stance defensive and claws poised.

The owner of the disinterested voice observes you with muted amusement.

He could be described as beautiful were it not for his environment and shit eating grin adding the the sinister persona. His fur is a visual cacophony of green shades ranging from the deepest teal to the zestiest lime and all that lies between. His apple green eyes stare at you like a statue.

There is no doubt about it, this one is a few cans short of a six pack.

“Who asks? I have my mission, I don’t need to interrupt your evening nor you mine, I must pass”

He hmmmms and rolls over onto his back observing you upside down, lolling from his position in the nearest oaks embrace.

“Now little one, it is you whom have entered this forest and with a mission now less, how ominous,” he pauses, his long tail swishing behind his head in a contortionistic manner- his unsettling demeanour magnified.

“And what pray does this little butterfly need in the forest of the fallen?”

You bristle, your hackles raised and fur standing on end. You do not take kindly to his description of you nor to his prying.

He hasn’t immediately attacked you however which is contrary to the myths you’ve heard. And then your memory stirs like a cat in the mid morning sun- this creature, it bares resemblance to the main trickster of the children’s story, Fallen Facade. You recall this creature is meant to be a fan of jokes and riddles. A truthful and flattering approach as you recall is the best way not to end up as Facades feast.

“In truth sir, I’ve been tasked with finding our clan a Christmas tree, a festive fir if you will”

His head lulls to the side, still upside down. He goes boneless and slips to the ground (from no small height) landing with surreal grace to all fours.

Stalking toward you he loops your being, taking in your form and changing the tempo of your heart.

“Wellllllllll little one, these trees are all very much worthy of such a grand task but they too are somewhat sacred to the area. It will require an exchange I’m certain…….”

He is sudden as a clap of thunder, up close and personal, invading your vision and space,

“I WONDER what a little thing like you can offer”

He tickles your antennae, brushing a sharp claw along the sensitive appendage.

You are steadfast in your stance, you hold his gaze and try to ensure no visible indications that your knees have locked out to prevent your legs turning to jello. You are a child of warmth and light, this is quite possibly the most frightening and out of your depth situation you’ve been in yet in your short years.

“How about a riddle? With a warm up joke?”

His eyes narrow slightly. Bingo! He’s intrigued.

“You think that worthy of one of these ancient sentinels?”

“You tell me”

His shit eating grin grows, it’s hard to tell if you’re about to be lunch or if he finds your resilience endearing.

“You are unusual, very well.”

He slumps to a casual lying position on the muddy snow in front of you, as if impermeable to the elements.

Your brain races, this joke needs to land to make way for a riddle most devious. Pointless dad commentaries that claim to pass for humour paint your minds inner walls, each worse than the last.

Wait. What is your goal? You need that tree. Huzah!

“Why don’t fir trees get the blues?”

Facade stars blankly at you. Is he listening? Is he going to respond? Are you the mouse cornered.

What feels like a century passes and he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Well, because they’re evergreen!”

Sitting slightly back on your haunches you add jazz hands for effect.

And.

And…..

And……….

There’s a rumble, a roll like thunder across the land to your ears alongside your thrashing heart.

Wait, no, he’s laughing. He’s genuinely belly deep laughing.

What. The. Fuck.

Bringing himself to a more composed state.

“Oh kid you are too cute, that was genuinely the funniest thing I’ve heard in an age”

You can believe it, this place, the forest looks how depression feels.

“You’ve got me excited for the riddle……”

He is cut off as a soft snort is heard.

Freezing you glance nervously around searching for the source of the sound, but nothing can be seen.

Two lithe, large, looming figures catch your eye from across the clearing.

A prickling shivering sensation runs down your spine, you’re aiming to entertain one threat when two more seem to have entered the field.

Your fears are confirmed by your “comedic partners” reaction. He is stood, head lowered, teeth bared in a feral snarl, ready to pounce, ready to fight.

“Now my sister, which do you fancy?”

The lighter of the two speaks.

“I’ve got long outstanding business with the larger one, he’s mine”

She threatens with a venomous hiss.

Great. You’re about to loose your life all for the love of a bloody Christmas tree- your fur for a fir

To be continued………🌲🌲🌲