Forest of the Damned

by Lee Mountford

  Ken stirred the beans as they started to cook and the smell wafted over to Tony, causing his mouth to salivate.

  ‘Are we still on track, Ken?’ Roberta asked, rubbing her hands together and holding them out towards the fire.

  ‘In what regard?’

  ‘I mean, do you know roughly where we are? We don’t have a map, so we’re trusting you to get us all out of here.’

  ‘Yeah, I couldn’t find much info on this area, despite my best efforts,’ Ken acknowledged. ‘But I’m keeping track of our direction—we are heading due east—and taking notes on how long we’ve walked, as well as jotting down any noticeable landmarks.’

  Tony had already seen Ken stopping every so often, scribbling away in a small, pocket-sized notebook. This, he knew, was Ken’s way of tracking their progress.

  ‘Landmarks?’ James asked. ‘I see only trees. How can you tell them apart?’

  ‘Well, there is more to it than that. There are fallen trees, different-sized logs, creeks, large rocks, and more. If you know what to look for then there are more than enough noticeable features we can use to track progress. And by keeping notes on how long we are walking in any given direction, coupled with these landmarks, we shouldn’t have much trouble backtracking and getting out the same way we came in.’

  Tony had no idea if it was a sound plan or not, but he was putting his trust in Ken on the trip. They all were. And his answer seemed good enough to satisfy the others.

  ‘Well, keep walking and we’ll keep following, boss,’ James said with an exaggerated salute.

  ‘And what’s the plan for tonight?’ Tony asked. ‘A vigil, or should we set up some equipment to run while we’re all asleep?’

  ‘I’ll happily put that to a vote. What are everyone’s thoughts?’

  ‘We could set up some night-vision cameras,’ Roberta said. ‘We only have limited battery power, though, so it would be smart to set up only one. Maybe higher up in a tree to get a good view of the campsite.’

  ‘We could stand vigil until the early hours,’ James said, his enthusiasm still evident. ‘Maybe call it a night at about three in the morning? That’s always a good time for activity. Then run the cameras until we wake up.’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ Ken said. ‘But how is everyone feeling? We’ve hiked a lot today, and I’d wager it’s something we’re not all used to. Our bodies and minds are tired.’

  Tony definitely agreed with him. Though the hiking hadn’t exactly been strenuous, it had never-the-less been constant, and now that they had stopped to rest, Tony felt aches and pains spreading throughout his body.

  ‘How about we stay awake as long as we feel up to it?’ Tony suggested. ‘Call it a night when our bodies tell us to. After all, we have to do it all again tomorrow. This is going to be a long week.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Roberta chimed in. ‘We need to be sensible. Conserve our strength where we can. And sleep is going to be important for that.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ Ken said.

  ‘Very boring,’ James scoffed. ‘But I see your point.’

  ‘Sounds like we have our plan,’ Ken confirmed.

  They dished up the food for the evening and Tony took a taste from a generous portion that he’d lifted up on his fork. The food was basic, but tasted surprisingly good. His body ached for the nourishment and he greedily devoured everything from his tin container, even going so far as to lick the insides to make sure he had grabbed every last remaining grain of rice. As he set his container down and sucked in a mouthful of water, Tony saw that the others had inhaled their food just as quickly as he had.

  A silence descended over the group as they sat and enjoyed the feeling of quelled hunger. Roberta snuggled against James, and all eyes stared into the flickering fire. Darkness was creeping in, snuffing out the last of the sunlight that broke through from the branches above. It would be a good idea to use this last light to set up any equipment they planned to use that night, but they all—Tony included—seemed content to simply sit and enjoy the brief period of rest and relaxation. Tony sat cross-legged on the ground but felt pins-and-needles prickle in his thigh and calf muscles, so he straightened out and instead lay on his side, relying on his waterproof jacket and trousers to keep any ground dampness at bay.

  ‘Tell us about the history of the Black Forest again,’ Roberta said to Ken. ‘I remember what you’ve already told us, but I want to know more about how you came to find out about it. I still can’t believe you grew up around this area. You don’t have a Scottish accent at all.’

  Ken chuckled. ‘I moved down to England before I turned ten. My father followed the work, and in turn, the family followed him.’

  ‘And you haven’t been back here since?’

  Ken shook his head. ‘That’s right. To be honest, I never felt the need. I did most of my growing up away from here, so it’s pretty much a distant memory.’

  ‘So was Amaley your hometown?’ James asked.

  ‘No. I was from a place a little way from here, but we’d heard of Amaley, and the Black Forest. The local legend stretched out that far, at least. Of course, no one really believed much of it, but we knew that the forest was here. And I do remember the furor that swept the area when a couple went missing in those woods. I'd have been about six at the time, and it was all anyone seemed to talk about. That, and the old legend. Which makes sense, I suppose. That was the first time I heard it, from some friends at school, and after they told me I did some of my own research on the area and the stories that surrounded it. Some of it I got by way of books, but it was my uncle who told me the most, as he seemed pretty well versed. But after I moved away, I didn’t think about Amaley or the Black Forest much more, and I never had the chance to speak to my uncle again. It was only when we were looking for somewhere big to investigate that the Black Forest popped back into my head.’

  ‘So how come you couldn’t find much about it online?’ James asked. Tony already knew the answer, but listened intently anyway.

  ‘Can’t say for sure,’ Ken responded. ‘I managed to find little bits about the various disappearances, but that’s all I could really uncover. There was the odd mention of a local legend, but no detail. However, I don’t think it’s that unusual, to be honest. There are thousands upon thousands of legends and pieces of folklore throughout the country, and not many get much in the way of publicity—and why should they?’

  ‘Well, a lot of people have gone missing over the years,’ Roberta said.

  ‘But that’s true of a lot of places,’ Ken said. ‘So, for whatever reason, the story of the Black Forest never really travelled much past its place of origin.’

  ‘I’m thankful for that,’ James said. ‘We can be the ones to uncover it. And, in the process, we can hit our audience with something new. The whole thing is perfect.’

  ‘And your uncle was the one who told you the story?’ Roberta asked Ken. ‘About Mother Sibbett, the lost village, and even how the forest got its name?’

  ‘Pretty much. Though it was backed up by what I heard from others when I lived here as well, especially in the aftermath of the disappearances.’

  ‘What was the first part of the story?’ James asked. ‘Go back as far as you can.’ Before letting Ken answer, James clicked his fingers and shouted, ‘Wait!’ He was then up and moved over to his tent, ducking inside, only to come out with his camera. ‘I know you aren’t big on this kind of stuff, Ken, but this is a perfect way to get the story out to the audience. When we upload all of this, they are going to want to know the backstory. And this is a good way to deliver it.’ Ken made as if to speak, but James held up a finger. ‘Before you say no, just think about it. We could write it all out and add a document to the show notes, sure, but video is our medium. And scary is our wheelhouse. What better way to get over the story of the Black Forest than by an honest-to-God campfire?’

  ‘If you would have let me finish,’ Ken said, smirking, ‘I was about to say I agree with you.’

  James raised his
eyebrows. ‘Holy shit, really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘That’s awesome.’ James flipped open the viewfinder. ‘Now, we will need to get as close to you and the fire as possible for light, and also have to make sure the sound is okay. But the picture doesn’t need to be perfect. If it’s a little dark, that just adds to the ambience.’

  Ken assumed his position while Tony and Roberta stood behind James, peering through his viewfinder. While the picture was dark, James was right—the flickering fire did create a creepy campfire effect. Tony had to give it to James, he had an eye for this kind of thing.

  ‘Ready?’ Ken asked.

  James nodded. ‘In your own time.’

  Ken coughed, then began. ‘We are told the town that was set up within these woods was done so some time in the sixteen-hundreds. Starting a settlement in a forest was not exactly the norm, so it’s not clear why the people of this village chose to have their homes here. Of course, this unnamed village is not on any official record, so its existence has endured through folklore alone throughout the years. In fact, only last night we stayed at a place called Amaley, where a patron at the bar we were drinking at was all too aware of the lost village and the story that surrounds it. He even warned us off coming here, telling us it wasn’t safe. Ominous words, indeed.’

  Ken actually winked at the camera at this point, and Tony couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His friend was displaying a hint of something Tony had never seen before: charisma. Perhaps James was finally getting through to him.

  Ken went on, ‘The story goes that the town flourished at first, the townsfolk making use of their immediate surroundings by constructing timber homes set into the large clearing they made. They traded with other local towns, including Amaley, for years, until things started to get weird. Stories began to spread to the nearby settlements of the strange things taking place in the village. Traders reported odd behaviour from its inhabitants. At first, the people became curt, then rude, and eventually aggressive. Formerly kind and generous people had changed. And, according to some, their appearance did as well, as the village-folk started to exhibit sunken eyes, gaunt flesh, and even teeth and eyes that didn’t seem human—though whether this has just been embellished over the years is unknown. Then, a young man of no more than eighteen years of age turned up in Amaley. Weak, wounded, and close to death, he told tales of what was happening back in the village. A woman there, Mother Sibbett, had risen to prominence. She had convinced everyone in the town that their place was not to worship God, but something greater. Something more… real. The rudimentary church was transformed and used for rituals and acts that were definitely against God, in an attempt to insult and enrage him. There was sacrifice, blood-letting, and horrible sexual acts against man, woman, and beast. The young lad said the village collectively succumbed to a madness that had taken hold, and many of the village-folk were already dead, killed in an orgy of violence, orchestrated by the new elder. Fearing what was happening, the people of the surrounding towns agreed to cut the village off and never go back there. For over six years, they kept to their word and no one set foot in that forest, despite hearing strange and unexplainable things in the night emanating from the wooded area and carrying for miles around.

  ‘And then, after hearing nothing from the village during all those years, a decision was reached. Search parties from the towns planned to venture into the forest to see what had become of their neighbours. Two parties were put together, one from Amaley and one from another local town, one that no longer exists today: Brumeer. The two parties then set out into the forest.

  ‘The group from Amaley was gone for over a day, then returned to say they had found the village, or what remained of it. The place was abandoned. There were some human remains, but not enough to explain the disappearance of all those people. And what’s more, the houses and structures were now black and decayed, like a sickness that had spread out from the church, the only stone building in the settlement. The blackness even travelled to the trees, pushing out for almost a mile in every direction. And that is how, supposedly, this forest got its name. The search party from Brumeer, however, was never heard from again.

  ‘There are stories of many, many disappearances from the local towns over the years since—people going into those woods and never coming out again—but in more recent times, exploration of the Black Forest has shown no signs that a village ever existed. That might be understandable, given most of the structures were timber and could have, theoretically, rotted away, but the stories say the church was stone. And, unless it was specifically demolished, there should still be some sort of sign of its existence. And who knows, maybe this week we will find it.’

  Ken then smiled. It was a rather theatrical, sinister grin. Then he looked to James.

  ‘You done?’ James asked.

  ‘Yeah. I think that’s enough.’

  James nodded and shut the camera off. ‘I was going to suggest talking about some of the disappearances, but I agree, that monologue was probably long enough on its own. We can pick up the other stuff later. Nice work.’

  ‘Thanks. Think I’m starting to get the hang of it. So, what say we get some equipment set up and start our vigil? See if we can’t get anything else on camera?’

  Tony couldn’t help but smile as well. The experience from earlier had actually gotten to Ken, and in a really positive way. He was not the type of man to be easily convinced, and always focused on making sure any evidence they presented could hold up to the highest of scrutiny. Ken wanted, or needed, to be able to prove the things they investigated.

  Now, perhaps Ken thought he’d struck the motherload.

  It was certainly a nice change in the normally serious and gruff man, and Tony hoped the trip could continue its early success.

  ‘I think we are going to get something tonight,’ James said. ‘I can feel it.’

  7

  Roberta had to admit that she hoped James’ certainty the group would experience something during the vigil turned out to be misplaced.

  She’d experienced enough for the time being and she was happy to let her exhaustion take over so she could sleep. Being terrified at things undead roaming outside of her tent was not something Roberta wanted.

  Perhaps signing up for the trip had been a mistake.

  Between them, the group had set up two cameras. The first was tied to the trunk of a tree, as high up as they dared fasten it, and gave a nice aerial shot of the campsite. The other was mounted on a tripod and faced out into the dark woods. Both had night-vision capability and, like most of the toys they had with them, were small and lightweight. Cumbersome equipment was not something they could afford to bring on an investigation like this, where an extended period of hiking was going to take place.

  After a few hours of them thinking every little noise from the depths of the forest was something of significance, the group soon got used to the nocturnal sounds that turned out to be commonplace. As the cold grew deeper, boredom set in. The initial intensity of their concentration dropped along with the temperature, though Roberta kept casting glances around the camp, unable to shake the feeling they were being watched. It was probably just in her own head, and truth be told a certain paranoia had started to creep in ever since she’d entered the forest—since she thought she’d heard her own name whispered behind her—but she could see nothing out there in the dark.

  The group began talking, hoping to fill the stretch of boredom and inactivity.

  Roberta asked a little more about Ken’s past, as he had always seemed like a private person. Other than anything company related, Roberta knew little about the man she worked with. He had a knack of avoiding questions, however, and put that skill to good use again.

  ‘What about you, Roberta?’ he asked. ‘Italian roots, I’m guessing?’

  Roberta nodded. ‘My parents are Italian, and came over to England when I was three.’

  ‘That explains why you don’t have an accent,’ Ken said.
<
br />   ‘Do you speak any Italian?’ Tony asked.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ James said, smiling. ‘Show them what you can do.’

  Roberta chuckled, then took a breath. She spoke, taking on a natural Italian accent that she knew surprised both Ken and Tony. ‘Sento che la follia é travolgente e non so cosa fare.’ She was met with blank stares.

  ‘I have no idea what you just said,’ Tony replied.

  Roberta laughed again, but there was a nervous twinge to it. As requested, she had given them a sentence in Italian, but was glad none of them had actually understood it.

  The words she’d spoken had just come out, though she couldn’t understand why, and that unnerved her.

  ‘So?’ James pressed. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Learn to speak Italian and then you’ll know,’ she responded with a smirk, completely avoiding an answer.

  ‘Tease,’ James said.

  ‘That I am. I’m also tired.’ That wasn’t a lie, but she was still confused at why she’d spoken that particular phrase to them. For now, however, Roberta just wanted to go back to her tent, away from these oppressive trees, and get some sleep. ‘Sorry to cut the watch short,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to turn in. The rest of you feel free to stay up and wake me if you need to.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s going to be necessary,’ Ken said, checking his watch. ‘It’s approaching one in the morning. I think it might be a good idea if we all get some rest. We can leave the cameras running until they run out of juice, then see if we picked anything up when we review the footage. We’ve had a good day today, so let’s get recharged and ready for tomorrow.’

  Roberta was pleased to hear that, as it meant she didn’t have to go back into the tent alone, though she expected James to argue and push for extending the vigil.