Black Forest

by Shane Lee

  He was feeling mostly fine until he saw Terra’s small rope bracelet lying broken on the path.

  Monty stopped and dropped the wheelbarrow. He knelt down and picked up the little trinket, something she had proudly made for herself a few months ago. He wasn’t surprised it broke—it was made of cheap twine and she rubbed at it constantly—but why was it here?

  “Are you out here?” he said to himself, and then he stood up straight, looking around. The weeds on either side rose up to shoulder-height and there was nothing else to see.

  “Terra!” he called. His voice carried away from him, absorbed in the tall grass. “Terra! Are you here?”

  Silence, save the wind in the grass and its lonely melody. Terra had this bracelet yesterday, Monty was certain of it. Which meant that sometime between last night and now, she had been out here and lost it.

  A pit started to form in his stomach, gnawing at his breakfast.

  Why would she be out here? She never goes out here. The compost stinks to the skies and she hates it. Hell, I only ever used to come out here to... Monty looked at the not-so-distant black trees. To sneak into the woods.

  “No way,” he said. He tucked the bracelet into his pocket. Terra was scared of the Dromm. Did she grow out of it overnight?

  Maybe she did, something told him. You did.

  He chewed his lip, then picked up the wheelbarrow again. The pit in his stomach remained.

  She’s lost in the woods.

  No, no, no. She’d never.

  She’s lost in the Dromm woods.

  Okay, say she was. They weren’t that big. They’d find her.

  Unless she hurt herself. Bad. Why else wouldn’t she be back?

  She’s lost, is all.

  Or something else got to her.

  Monty snorted to himself at that, dumping the weight of the barn’s mess onto the three-foot-tall pile of slop and stepping back from the stench. There was nothing in the Dromm besides squirrels and birds.

  “Stop talking to yourself,” he said to himself, and he snapped his fingers together, the sound cracking through the air.

  Stop doing that, Monty. The voices of his father and mother both rang in his head. But the snapping was a habit he’d never been able to break.

  Monty pulled the wheelbarrow away from the compost and rested his hand on a clean edge, thinking. If Terra was in the woods, he had to go and find her. But his mother would have a fit if she thought Terra was lost in the Dromm. And he wasn’t even sure Terra was.

  Monty glanced back toward the house. He could barely see the roof past the tall grass. His mother was expecting him back, probably wringing a rag in her hands—ever since his father had died, she spent a lot of time worrying when she wasn’t otherwise occupied. If she thought Terra was in the Dromm woods, she might just die right there.

  His father had always had a muted, indifferent attitude toward the black forest; his mother, on the other hand, was clear: she hated those woods and she didn’t want either of her kids going anywhere near them. Since father’s death, that hatred had grown into fear.

  If he brought all that up and Terra wasn’t even in there...

  Monty pushed away from the wheelbarrow and got moving, each step bringing the dark trees closer. Their leafless branches arched across the blue sky like black lightning. He would just get a closer look. Maybe Terra was here somewhere; maybe she didn’t get too far from her bracelet.

  The closer he got to the forest, the more the grass started to recede, like the roots of the Dromm were sucking all the life out of the surrounding land, until at last he was stepping on bare black dirt.

  Monty’s heart sped up a bit, feeling familiar tingles of the old excitement he used to have when approaching the forest as it stretched up and over his vision. It had been years; since taking over the farm, he hadn’t even had time to spare the place a thought.

  The tree trunks were thick and intimidating, but during the daytime, light penetrated into the forest; the canopy was simply crisscrossing, bare branches. He could see far in, though it was hard to tell anything apart when it was all the same color.

  Monty stopped just before the tree line, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together. What did he expect to find, really? A lost slipper; a strand of blonde hair? The woods were silent and empty, as they always were. Even the wind didn’t make a sound in the Dromm, as though the breeze were sucked into the bark and trapped.

  He stepped along the border, looking past each trunk as it went by. Blackness, blackness, blackness. If she was in there, he wouldn’t find her by skirting around the outside, hoping to catch a glimpse. He’d have to go inside, and he would do it; he wasn’t afraid. But mother was waiting, and he couldn’t wander in the Dromm for a couple hours without going back to her.

  Monty sighed. He’d have to tell her that he was at least going to check the forest.

  “It’ll be fine,” he told himself. “Just tell her not to worry, you’ll be in and out...”

  But he knew that was a dream. Her daughter, lost in the cursed woods, and she decides to send her only other child after her? No.

  She’d go straight to town and call on the Judge. And then the people in town, the people who felt the same way his mother did about the forest—which was most of them—would have more reason to be wary of their family and those other families unlucky enough to be settled near the Dromm.

  Monty licked his lips. He yelled her name into the woods and they didn’t answer.

  When he went to turn away, he saw it. A dash of white, just barely peeking out from behind a vast tree, so stark in contrast to the forest around it that he had to blink twice to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks. How had he not seen it before?

  It was inside the forest, just a bit. Monty stepped cautiously toward the shape. His throat felt suddenly tight, like he’d just seen something nauseating. The dirt under his feet took on a wretched, decaying odor; a fresh grave with a fresh body. The light in the forest seemed to dim as he approached.

  Monty stopped; blinked. Turned to look at the sky, where the sun still hung, blinding. His vision wasn’t going dark, and there were no corpses under his feet. When he looked back at the forest, it looked normal. Smelled normal. And he could see clearly that the patch of white on the ground, emerging from behind the tree, was part of Terra’s nightgown, and her pale foot stuck out from it.

  Monty’s breath turned solid in his throat and he immediately bolted into the forest, stumbling over bent-up roots and fallen branches.

  “Terra!” Monty dropped to his knees in the dirt. It was her. She lied facedown, head turned away from him. Her nightgown had seemed white, but up close it was marked with smears and streaks of black. How long had she been wandering around in here? He barely noticed that her hands, her feet, everything else was clean except for her clothes.

  Everything slowed as he reached for her shoulder, placing his hand on her. She was warm, thank the heavens and above. But was she...

  “Terra.” He said it quieter, feeling the fear his mother must feel when one of her children isn’t where they’re supposed to be. “Terra.” Monty grabbed her a little harder, then pulled, rolling her over.

  Oh, saints, her eyes, they’re gone, what in the blazing—

  Gorge rose in his throat, hot and acidic. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed it down, and when he opened them again, she was normal. Her eyes were there, just closed. But he had seen empty, bloody sockets, he was sure of it...

  Her eyes opened suddenly, her startling blue irises peering out at him. Her face was perfectly clean.

  “Monty. Where are we?”

  Monty let his breath out in a great big rush, and Terra closed her eyes against the flow.

  “We’re in the Dromm, Terra. Lords of hell, what are you doing in here?”

  “Mom doesn’t want you saying that.” She sat up. “I’m gonna tell her.”

  “Well, then I’ll tell her you were in the forest.” Amazing, really, how quickly the situation wen
t from life-and-death to a sibling spat.

  “Oh, don’t, please,” Terra said, immediately forgetting her threat. She jumped up. “I don’t know how I got here Monty, I swear I don’t remember, I went to sleep and that’s all I remember you can’t tell mom—”

  “Hush up,” Monty said, not unkindly. Terra was scared; she was looking around at the trees, surrounded by the very thing whose horror stories had made her cry when she was younger. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Terra just nodded. There were tears in her eyes now. Monty stood and took her hand, walking them the short distance out of the woods.

  “It stinks in there,” Terra said once they were out.

  Monty didn’t smell anything anymore, but he didn’t feel like arguing. “We have to get you cleaned up. Mom’s wondering where you were, and if she knows you were in the Dromm, she’ll have a faint.”

  “Okay.” Terra knew how their mother was about the forest. “But I’m all dirty. She’s gonna know.” She plucked at her gown with her small fingers like she was trying to peel the stains off.

  Monty nibbled on the tip of his tongue for a moment, and then snapped his fingers, making Terra wince. “I’ve got an idea.”

  In one hand, Monty held Terra’s balled-up nightgown, splattered with all matter of contents from the compost pile. It smelled like death itself had visited and forgotten to take his dirty clothes back with him.

  In the other, he held Terra’s hand, gripped tight as he marched her nakedness up to the house. Their mother was already hurrying down the steps, looking more than slightly frantic.

  “Terra! Where were you?” The anger in her voice barely masked her relief.

  “I...I...” Terra screwed up her face, frowning.

  Monty let out a theatric sigh. “She was out hiding by the compost, mother. She wanted to scare me, probably make me tip the wheelbarrow. But when she tried to jump out at me, she just fell right in.” He let a grin sweep across his face.

  Terra just nodded, still holding his hand.

  “Then she cried about how her nightgown stank—”

  “I didn’t cry!”

  “—and she took it off. It’s bad. I’m going to put it in the wash.” He let go of Terra’s hand so that she could run inside.

  “I can smell it from here.” Delila’s stern visage softened. “Thank you, Monty. I was worried...I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Guilt flashed through him, but he knew the lie was for the best. “She won’t be doing it again, probably. One taste of the pile was enough for her.”

  She gave a little shake of her head. “I’m going to make sure she gets clean. Don’t bother washing that thing, it’s ruined. And she’s too big for it.”

  Monty just nodded, and once his mother had turned away to go inside, he tossed the nightgown into the waste bucket and went over to the well to wash the stuff off his hands.

  The less his mother knew about what had happened, the better.

  3

  Two of their chickens were dead.

  Monty stood by the coop. He nudged one of the dead chickens with his boot, turning it over, its legs flopping with it. Somehow a pair of them had died and rolled out of the wooden coop and into the grass.

  “Did you kill each other?” Monty sighed. They only had eight chickens; to lose two of them at the same time was bad. Especially when they weren’t old or unwell, at least not that he had noticed. He would have to tell mother, and she had enough to worry about already.

  It had been three days since he had found Terra in the forest, and the time before the winter was the busiest for the farm. The final fall harvest had to be done. Terra, who normally helped with that, had been practically useless lately. She was distracted and not interested in the work at all; every chance she got to slip away, she took it.

  The first time she disappeared, Monty was worried she was running off to the Dromm again for some reason, but that hadn’t been the case. She was just in her room, lying about. The next time, she was in the barn; then, hiding by the coop. Like she wanted to do anything except help.

  Monty grabbed the pair of fowls by their feet and carried them back to the house in one hand, holding them far away from his body. They smelled terrible, like

  (corpses?)

  they’d been dead far longer than just overnight. He whispered a silent prayer to the saints that this wasn’t some sickness that would spread through the whole coop. They could, perhaps, afford two chickens. If all eight died, they’d be without eggs all winter. Monty walked silently, doing the math in his head.

  His mother and father both had taught him a good deal of the business side of the farm, and he felt he had a good grasp on it. His father would talk about getting big enough to sell it to a wealthy landowner in town and move into the seat of a politician—a constable, perhaps, or chairman of the merchant or farming commerce collection. It was always a joke with his father, but the more Monty learned about it, the more he was intrigued by the idea. Selling the farm was a lot to think about, but in a position where you could actually make decisions, try to make things better—

  Ugh. The chickens really reeked. Monty doubted that they would even be able to eat them; no way would he put this meat anywhere near his bowl. When he reached the front steps, he set them on the ground outside to avoid bringing the stench in.

  “Mom,” he called, stepping inside. She wasn’t in the kitchen; he walked around the rough-hewn wooden table. “We lost a couple—”

  He tripped over something, stumbled, and smacked into the wall, just narrowly missing breaking through the thin door of the pantry.

  “Ouch!” It was Terra. She had been lying under the table, staring up at the underside, and Monty had tripped over her leg.

  His shoulder throbbed. He crouched down, gritting his teeth. “What are you doing under there?” he hissed. “I could’ve broken my arm!”

  “Leave me alone,” Terra said. She yanked her legs back in, curling up under the table. “I’m busy.”

  “Busy with what?” Monty stood back up, not really expecting an answer. He needed to find their mother.

  “Shhh,” Terra insisted.

  Monty bit back a retort, rubbing his shoulder and moving back into the hallway. If she wanted to be weird, she could at least do it out of the way.

  His mother was in her bedroom, which doubled as an office for the farm, in that there was a desk about two feet from the bed. She sat there now, the curtain drawn, going over a few sheets of cheap, yellowed paper.

  “Mom.” Monty stopped in the doorway, and she turned in the chair to look at him. “Some chickens died. Can you take a look?”

  She stood up without a word; she handled crises, large and small, in mostly stoic fashion.

  “I left them by the steps,” Monty said, turning. Terra wasn’t in the kitchen to trip him up this time. He went outside ahead of his mother, and the two of them circled around the chickens.

  “Hm.” His mother knelt down and grabbed one of the dead birds’ wings.

  “Careful, they really smell,” Monty said, as though his mother couldn’t tell.

  She dropped the wing and touched the breast, and when she did, the whole chicken collapsed in on itself like it was an empty eggshell. Startled, his mother jumped to her feet, taking a step back. The smell of death and decay rose up stronger, and a black fluid leaked from the flattened carcass.

  “Oh my...goodness...” Delila covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve. The two of them stepped away from the mess.

  “What—what happened?” Monty asked her. He couldn’t look away from the empty chicken, deflated like a canvas sack.

  His mother shook her head. “I don’t know. The other chickens, they’re all right? You checked?”

  Monty’s mind drifted to finding Terra in the woods, the vision he’d had. Terra with no eyes.

  “Monty. Did you check the other ones?”

  “Oh.” He snapped his fingers, absently. “Yes. They’re all fine. It’s just these two.”r />
  “Well, that’s good.” She slowly lowered her arm from her mouth, then placed her hands on her hips. “Get these far away from the house. And wash up after so you don’t catch something.”

  He grimaced at the thought of carrying these things anymore, but he knew better than to argue.

  “We’ll have to replace them,” she continued. “As soon as possible. People are going to be buying up chickens left and right before winter. There might not be any left. We’ll go into town today.”

  “I still have to harvest today,” Monty said. The field was half-stripped, but that left a lot more to go.

  “We have time.” His mother took one last glance at the chickens. “Go on, get those out of here. I was going to make chicken tonight, but I’ll cook up some beans instead.” She looked away from the mess and headed inside, adding, “We’ll have to go to town now to get back before sunset. I’ll get the wagon ready.”

  Monty took the chickens back behind the farm as quickly and gently as he could, but it didn’t stop the second one from caving in and assailing him with a blast of rotting stench. It caught him mid-breath, and he couldn’t stop himself; he dropped the chickens to the ground—squelch—and heaved into the tall grass, emptying his lunch.

  “Saints and gods,” he croaked, spittle dripping from his lips while he wobbled on his hands and knees. “Pray I never see this again.”

  Getting off the farm and being a town official of some kind had never sounded better. Once he caught his breath, he ripped a clutch of the grass from the ground and wiped his mouth with it, dropping it back into the thicket. He made it the rest of the way to the compost pile without succumbing again, tossing the birds in the grass near it and backing away. The haze of the pile was almost pleasant in comparison, but the fresh air of the farm beat them both.

  Monty usually hated to wash up—he was just going to get dirty again, and probably soon—but this time he did it with fervor, soaping up to his elbows to make sure it was all off of him.

  His mother came from the barn with the wagon. Terra was lying down in the thin bed of straw there, staring up at the sky with her hands behind her head.