Into the Woods

First published in Omens: An Anthology by Antimony and Elder Lace Press.

Juniper was missing. It wasn’t unlike her to sleep late after spending her nights wandering the forest behind their house, but she never missed breakfast. Aspen hated that her oldest sister went into the forest so much. Their mother had always told them to stay out of it, but no one else seemed to remember her or anything she said.

Aspen stared at the bowl of porridge steaming gently in the bowl in front of her. Hazel ate like she was in a race, shoving huge spoonfuls into her mouth before she’d swallowed all of the last bite. Willow was looking out the kitchen window toward the forest with a glassy, unfocused expression.

“Did she come back last night?” Aspen asked.

Willow’s gaze didn’t break as she replied. “Did who come back?”

“Juniper.”

Willow squinted and tilted her head as she turned to face Aspen. “Who?”

“Juniper,” Aspen repeated, frowning. “Our sister.”

“We don’t have a sister named Juniper,” Hazel said with food dripping out of her mouth. Willow wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Aspen looked back and forth between them. “Juniper. You know. About this tall,” she held her hand up to Juniper’s height. “Dark brown hair, blue eyes.”

Willow and Hazel looked at Aspen blankly. “Sweetheart,” Willow said with a sigh as she turned back to the window, “You need to eat something.”

Aspen never got along with Willow and Hazel as well as she did with Juniper, but they were never outright mean to her. She didn’t understand what kind of game they were playing. They would let her in on the joke eventually, she was sure, but until then, she was stuck with her frustration and worry.

“Willow, would you pass the sugar, please?” she grumbled. Willow didn’t so much as blink, seemingly transfixed by the forest outside the window. Aspen followed her gaze but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “What are you looking at outside?”

“Nothing.” Willow’s voice sounded suddenly distant. “Just thought I heard something.”

-

Aspen trudged up the stairs carrying a basket full of clean laundry. She hadn’t found any of Juniper’s clothes, and hoped that meant Juniper had packed before she left. She just wished her sister had said goodbye. Aspen was tired of losing people without goodbyes. Mother had vanished just as suddenly months before, and no one seemed to struggle with it but her. Willow and Hazel had ignored Aspen’s sorrow, but Juniper had been supportive.

“I know it’s hard to grow up without a mother,” Juniper had said, hugging her sister’s shoulders as she sniffled. “But you’ve got three big sisters who love you, and we’ll always take care of you.”

Aspen stopped on the stairs, gazing at the space on the top step where she and Juniper had sat. It seemed like there was a Juniper-shaped hole in the air everywhere she could remember her being. She shifted the laundry basket to balance on her hip and wiped away a tear with her free hand. Taking a deep breath, she continued up the stairs.

Hazel bounded down the hall, seemingly out of nowhere, and only just managed to curve herself around Aspen as she passed her on her way down the stairs. “Careful, Aspen!” she yelled over her shoulder as she ran.

Aspen shook her head, smiling to herself. Hazel up to her usual antics gave Aspen a comforting sense of normalcy; nothing could be too wrong if Hazel hadn’t lost her nerve. She stepped onto the landing, but stopped before continuing down the hall. Willow was standing at the window, holding the curtain back and staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the forest. Aspen’s brow furrowed.

“Willow?”

“Don’t you hear them?” Willow whispered, unblinking.

Aspen bit her lip. Telling herself this was all part of whatever stupid game Willow and Hazel were playing wasn’t calming her nerves. “Who?”

“The trees. They’re crying.”

The game was distinctly not funny any more. Deciding to ignore it, Aspen moved the laundry basket to free her hand again and took Willow’s hand in her own. “Come on, Willow, why don’t you help me fold the laundry?”

“They’re crying,” she repeated.

Aspen pulled at Willow’s hand, but she didn’t move. “I don’t hear anything. What if I start crying? Will you help me then?” She forced a small chuckle at her own joke.

Willow closed her mouth, but not with a smile. She turned her head slowly. There was something Aspen didn’t recognise in Willow’s eyes: a dark, sickly yellow light shining from far away, as if the black of her pupils stretched for miles. Two voices, one hers and one not, came from her mouth when she spoke. “You don’t cry like them.”

Aspen’s blood went cold. She bit her tongue sharply as she shivered. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but she was too afraid to close her eyes even for a second to blink them away. She let go of Willow’s hand and backed away, reaching behind her for the nearest door handle and quickly escaping into the room. She closed the door and pressed her back to it, dropping the basket as she slid to the floor. Her breath came in short gasps she tried to suppress as she listened. She didn’t know if she wanted to hear anything from outside the door or not.

There was complete silence; Aspen couldn’t even hear the normal sounds of the house creaking and settling, birds singing outside, or the clink of silverware as Hazel rummaged around in the kitchen. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been there, but it felt like hours before she summoned the courage to open the door enough to peek through. She hadn’t heard any footsteps, but Willow was gone.

-

It was almost a relief that Willow joined them at dinner. However, her physical presence was only reassuring as far as that she had not disappeared. She clamped her hands firmly over her ears as she took dragging, laboured steps. When she sat down at the table, she brought her knees up to her face and rocked back and forth, humming in short bursts between shrieking gasps.

Hazel looked uneasily at Aspen before leaning over toward Willow and gingerly patting her head. A lump formed in Aspen’s throat. If Hazel was worried, this couldn’t be one of their games. Willow looked up at Hazel, and Aspen saw in a flash the same yellow light she had seen earlier before it disappeared just as quickly. Willow blinked a few times, as if waking up.

“They’re so loud,” she whispered.

Hazel grimaced. “I don’t hear anything. Please, eat some soup,” she said, pushing Willow’s bowl closer to her.

The three of them ate without speaking. The only sound Aspen could hear was Hazel slurping her soup. The complete silence that had settled earlier, blocking out all sounds of birds or insects outside, of the wind that should rustle the leaves, still seemed to surround them.

But Willow could clearly still hear something, even though she said nothing. She jerked up her head at sudden noises only she could hear, and stared out the window at the dark forest. Aspen clinked her spoon against her bowl and Willow jumped slightly, returning to her own soup without a word.

She had only half-finished when she let the spoon fall to the floor and once again pressed her hands to her ears, closing her eyes as she shook her head. “Can’t you hear it?” she sobbed, raising her voice too loud. “Can’t you hear them?”

Hazel stood up. “Willow, I think you need to get some rest—”

Willow interrupted her with a dual-voiced scream. She bolted from her chair, knocking into the table and sending her bowl shattering to the floor. She only removed her hands from her ears long enough to fling the front door open wide and she howled until she could replace them.

Neither Hazel nor Aspen followed her. They knew where she had gone.

-

Aspen awoke with cold, wet stains on her cheeks. She remembered seeing Mother, Juniper, and Willow in her dream, but she didn’t remember anything else about it. Supposing that was for the best, she pushed it from her thoughts and rolled out of bed.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Hazel yawned cheerily as Aspen entered the kitchen.

“Good morning.” The shards of Willow’s broken bowl and remnants of soup had been thoroughly cleaned up, Aspen assumed, by Hazel. She sighed and took her seat, glumly looking over at the empty chairs across the table.

Hazel put their bowls on the table and sat in her usual seat. She ate as sloppily as she always did. Aspen tried to act normally, too, but normal seemed out of reach.

“So,” Hazel said with porridge-filled cheeks, “What are you going to do today?”

Aspen shrugged. “I don’t feel like doing much of anything, really.”

“You could come help me gather hazelnuts.” She tapped her nose. “They’re ready, I can smell them.”

“They don’t smell like anything when they’re just nuts,” Aspen giggled.

“They do to me,” Hazel winked. “It’s my birthright.”

Aspen rolled her eyes. “I’ll pass, anyway. I don’t feel like going anywhere near the forest today.”

“Aw, you’d be safe with me!” She flexed one arm and patted her bicep.

A half-hearted smile pulled at the corner of Aspen’s mouth. It was so hard to tell with Hazel if she was putting on a brave face, the way she always did, or if she, too, had forgotten. She almost didn’t want to mention Willow. It might be easier if she didn’t find out what was happening. But she had to know. “It’s just...after Willow, you know.”

Hazel dropped her arms and blinked. “Willow?”

Aspen closed her eyes tight. “No,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Hazel said softly, moving to Aspen’s side and putting an arm around her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Shrugging Hazel’s arm off, Aspen ran over to the bin. The pieces of Willow’s bowl weren’t there. Looking back at Hazel, she saw genuine confusion in the blank look on her face.

“Aspen, what’s wrong?” asked Hazel.

Aspen sniffed. She wiped the tears off her cheek in a motion that was becoming so frequent she could swear her cheeks were growing sore from it. “Nothing. Just, can you promise me you won’t go to the woods today?”

Taken aback, Hazel laughed abruptly. “I guess,” she said, furrowing her brow.

Aspen walked over to her, hugged her tightly, and went back to her room.

She picked up a book and curled up in her bed. Her eyes moved over the words on the page but her mind processed none of it. She read over the same sentence countless times. Her eyelids drooped, and she fought to keep them open, but must have lost the fight. She awoke, unaware of how much time had passed, and heard footsteps downstairs.

Racing down the stairs, she missed a step and fell. She slid on her back down to the floor, wincing as she hit the bottom. She looked up to see Hazel standing in front of the open front door, and she screamed.

Hazel turned. The same hateful yellow light burned in her distant eyes.

“Don’t go,” Aspen pleaded, trying to pull herself up on the bannister. “You promised.”

The yellow light seemed to grow closer, though Hazel remained frozen still. The light began to take on a shape—an eye within Hazel’s eye. She spoke with the same dual voice with which Willow had spoken. “Not yet.”

Aspen didn’t see Hazel move, but somehow, she was gone, and the door slowly creaked shut in her wake.

-

Sunlight spilled through the window and onto Aspen’s face. She squinted, rolling over on the floor. She didn’t remember going to sleep, but she remembered that they were all in her dream again. Her back ached from lying on the hard floor all night and she groaned as she stood up and shuffled toward the kitchen.

Juniper never managed to make porridge quite like Mother. Aspen was the only one who remembered Mother’s porridge, so she tried to instruct Juniper the best she could. It was always a lost cause, however. She didn’t know what it was about Mother’s porridge that was different—only that it was.

With her bowl in her hand, she turned around toward the table. It used to feel so crowded, the five of them around the table: eating, laughing, playing. Now the table seemed impossibly large. She sidled all the way around it to sit in her chair.

She remembered Willow sewing the cushion for her chair. Hazel had teased her mercilessly all the while. “The rest of us don’t get princess cushions for our precious behinds,” she pouted. Willow smiled, shaking her head. “You’re just jealous you aren’t the baby any more,” she said, and the rest of them had laughed.

Her untouched porridge grew cold in the bowl in front of her. She pushed it away with a weary sigh. Without realising what she was doing, she glanced out the window toward the forest.

The forest was different.

Aspen could never have said what kind of trees grew in the forest, but she knew they weren’t the kind she was looking at now. Before they had been thick-trunked and full of large leaves that grew bright green in the summer. The woods outside the window now, however, were thin with white bark and orange leaves, and—eyes.

The trees had eyes. Hundreds of large, black, unblinking eyes, staring back at her as she looked out the window at them. She gasped and turned away, but she could still feel their gaze, as if they could penetrate the walls of the house. Standing up so fast she knocked her chair over behind her, she left the kitchen and ran to the furthest corner of the house from the woods, pressing her back flat against the wall in her mother’s bedroom. Still she felt the trees watching her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. “No,” she said aloud. She moved away from the wall and placed a hand on her chest to calm her pounding heart. “No.”

She tried to go about her day without thinking about the constant feeling of being watched. She dusted and swept, rearranged bookshelves and cabinets, and kept finding herself staring out the window in the upstairs hall with no memory of having moved there. In a last desperate attempt, she locked herself in Juniper’s empty room, shoving the key under the door and closing herself in the closet, only to blink and find herself once again at the window, key in hand.

Night fell, and still Aspen could feel the eyes on her. Her eyes were dry and sore from crying, and every muscle in her body ached. Every breath she took was a rattling shudder.

Something in the air shifted, and she looked to the front door. The trees were still watching, but it felt as if one of them had broken loose. It grew closer. Aspen didn’t know how she knew, but she did. The front door opened.

She couldn’t see anyone there, but she knew there was something. It drew her to it like a magnet she couldn’t resist. It pulled her out, barefoot in the cold night air, and she walked with it into the forest.

The trees’ eyes were no longer frozen. They blinked, and followed her as she walked deeper and deeper into the woods. Cold darkness surrounded her but she couldn’t shiver any more than she could stop herself from walking. Dry leaves crunched beneath her bare feet and twigs scraped at her arms while the invisible presence next to her pushed her down the path.

In the distance, Aspen could see that yellow light she had seen in her sisters’ eyes. It was still far away and obscured by trees, but it grew closer with every step she took. Its shape seemed to change constantly. Sometimes it was one figure, then it was two, then one again, then—

Four.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Hazel’s voice echoed.

The amorphous figures became clear as Aspen approached. Her mother and sisters beckoned, holding their arms open wide as they reached for her, all of them glowing yellow.

“Join us,” Willow whispered.

Aspen ran ahead of the invisible thing at her side into the moonlit clearing. The figures hovered above her, just out of her reach. With each step she took forward, they moved further back, drawing her further into the circle.

“Come home, Aspen,” Juniper said, holding her hand out.

She looked up at Juniper, who smiled with solid black eyes. She caught movement in her peripheral vision, and her other sisters seemed to be melting into another shape. She started to turn her head, but then she heard her mother’s voice.

“My baby girl,” she said, with both her own voice and another, deeper voice. “At last, we’ve found you.”

Aspen turned the other way toward the voices. Mother was losing her shape, growing larger and towering over her. Tears filled Aspen’s eyes as she reached up.

The glowing shapes merged into one large yellow eye that filled the clearing, blocking out the moon in the sky above it. Aspen whirled around but the trees had closed the path behind her, their tightly packed trunks covered in eyes that followed her as she ran, desperately looking for an exit. She tripped on a protruding root and fell on her stomach. When she rolled over and looked up, the enormous eye was inches from her face.

It spoke with all its voices at once: Mother’s, Juniper’s, Willow’s, Hazel’s, and the deep, gravelly voice that somehow seemed to be coming both from within it and within Aspen.

“Welcome home.”

Aspen tried to scream, but the eye closed the distance between them, until all she could see or feel or think was yellow.