Forest of the Damned

by Lee Mountford

  But things had taken a dire turn: Ken’s friend of over five years was missing. Tony was not an irresponsible person, so there was no chance of it being some kind of immature prank. And he would not have wandered off to explore on his own without alerting the others—he just wasn’t that type of person. Add to that the state of his belongings, plus the marks they had found outside of the tent, and everything pointed towards one explanation—the worst had come to pass.

  Ken knew that there were dangers to spending a week in the woods, but he had always expected those dangers to be natural: bad weather, an injury picked up during the hike, or an illness.

  Even taking into account what they did as a group, and the things they investigated, Ken had never expected anything like this. None of their prior cases had been even remotely dangerous.

  Creepy, sure. But never dangerous.

  He called out to Tony again, hoping and praying that his friend would answer. Hell, even if he was stuck somewhere or hurt, if he’d answer then at least Ken would know where he was and could go help him. However, if Tony had truly vanished, then what would they all do?

  They couldn’t exactly just leave. That was what Roberta seemed to want, Ken knew, but that surely would be condemning Tony to death. If they left here without him, Ken was certain they would never see him again.

  ‘Tony!’ he called out yet again. It was futile. The only answer that came was the sound of a flock of birds that flew overhead, spooked at his outburst. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, but he was pushing hard and eventually started to feel a burning stitch develop in his sides. Ken was a fit man for his age, but moving at such a speed and over uneven terrain was hard work for him. He gave himself a moment and looked around.

  Ken knew he had been walking in pretty much a straight line, so finding his way back to camp shouldn’t be too difficult, but he wasn’t sure exactly how long he had been walking. He checked his watch and saw that it was still early morning. He couldn’t have been going for more than half an hour, but there was still no sign of his friend. Ken knew the sound of his calls would reverberate quite far in the forest, so if Tony was close enough to hear them, he was unable to reply.

  That was a troubling thought. But no more troubling than the notion that his friend was not able to hear Ken at all.

  Not wanting to stop for too long, he strode forward again. He knew his walking was aimless, with no trail or clues to follow—which in and of itself was a stupid move, as he now risked getting cut off from the others altogether. And then Ken suddenly realised just how isolated he was. What was stopping whoever—or whatever—had taken Tony from doing the same to him now? So bullheaded had he been that the thought that he was putting himself in danger had not occurred to him. Or, if it had, it clearly hadn’t registered hard enough.

  For a moment he contemplated going back, but if he did that, then he would be accepting Tony as lost forever. That thought pushed him on, harder this time—eyes forward, scanning the landscape ahead. More forest, just like he’d seen elsewhere, and nothing of note. Ken swept his eyes to the left, seeing only more of the same, then the right, and again there was just more of the… wait.

  It wasn’t more of the same. Ken stopped in his tracks.

  A few hundred metres off in the distance, a person watched him—totally motionless, as if frozen in time.

  Though time had certainly taken its toll on the decayed body of the stranger.

  Even at this distance, and with his heart in his mouth at the sudden and unexpected sight, Ken could make out some of the wretched details. The man’s hiking clothing was stained with mould—though much of it had been torn away, leaving rotted flesh with a green and blue tinge below. Bones protruded through the skin, and Ken could see that one leg, where the trouser material had decayed, was little more than a dirty-white legbone. The head and face of the man were harder to make out at this distance, but Ken was sure one of the eyes was missing, and the other glinted a dull yellow. Even more sickeningly, however, was the man’s stomach, which had been pulled open, allowing its stringy, rope-like intestines to hang down to the ground.

  Ken could feel his heartbeat increase, pounding in his chest as the realisation of what he was seeing hit home.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Ken uttered, unable to help himself. He continued to stare at the thing for a long time and, whatever it was, it didn’t move at all, yet was somehow able to stand upright on its own.

  It occurred to Ken to grab his camera and get this on film as evidence, but as soon as the thought entered his head, he immediately cursed himself, realising quickly that in his haste to run after Tony he had left the damn camera back at camp. He then felt an instant wave of guilt for thinking of the investigation—of getting evidence—when his friend was missing. What was of primary importance here? It shouldn’t have been worrying about gathering footage. After all, proving beyond all doubt that life after death existed was important to Ken, but was it more important than finding his friend?

  The fact that he couldn’t immediately answer the question honestly was troubling.

  As was the thing up ahead that continued to stand and stare. Its head moved, ever so slightly, rotating to give the one good eye a better view of Ken.

  It was a terrifying sight, to be sure. Had things not taken a more serious turn after they had all woken up that morning, this rotted man would have been an exciting—if unnerving—thing for them to witness. But now, given what had happened to Tony, the sight before Ken was a very ominous one indeed, and it filled him with dread.

  On top of that, Ken had no idea what to actually do next. Were they both just to remain like this, in an unmoving standoff?

  Running seemed an obvious option to him, and perhaps the one at the front of Ken’s mind. But then, would the strange man give chase? And, if he did, could Ken realistically hope to outrun it?

  The corpse—if that was the right word—looked frail, and about ready to fall to pieces. But that didn’t mean much, considering that—by rights—the man should not have been able to stand. Hell, he should not even exist.

  Then the standoff was broken and the stranger moved, turning slowly and shambling off into the depths of the forest, lurching like the decomposed zombie it resembled. Perhaps that’s exactly what it was.

  And then Ken understood what he had to do.

  It was a stupid, insane, irresponsible, and fucking dangerous play—a course of action Ken would admonish anyone else for taking in the same circumstance. But he did it anyway because, somehow, Ken felt he knew the creature’s intention—it wanted him to follow it.

  Ken had no idea why, or what it wanted to show him. But he truly felt that it could lead him to Tony.

  Or maybe his own death.

  Still, if it led to confirmation of what he so desperately needed to know—about death and the afterlife—would death be such a bad thing?

  Perhaps it would lead to the reunion that he craved above all else.

  Due to its slow and deliberate pace, it was easy to keep up with the shuffling thing ahead. In fact, given the speed at which Ken had been moving, the journey could be considered leisurely. However, he was careful not to get too close. He followed for maybe ten minutes—noting a length of intestine dragging on the ground behind the thing as it shuffled forward. The walking corpse, surprisingly, didn’t make a single sound the whole time it moved. Eventually, it disappeared from sight when it stepped behind a thick tree and did not appear again from the other side.

  Ken paused.

  Perhaps it was a trap. Was the decaying stranger now waiting behind that tree for him, ready to pounce and devour Ken’s flesh when he got closer? Ken decided to use caution and slowly arced around the tree, putting plenty of room between himself and the trunk, so that he could eventually see behind it without being too close.

  And he saw nothing on the other side.

  His rotting guide had apparently finished leading Ken on this merry dance. However, Ken could see nothing to show for the trek. Th
e only thing Ken could see was more trees, more grass, more muck, and more mud.

  The same scenery he had seen everywhere else in the forest. The only thing perhaps out of the ordinary was a sharp decline that seemed to start not far past the tree, the land beyond dropping down out of sight.

  Or, he thought, perhaps there was something to the tree itself. Maybe it had stopped here for a reason.

  Carefully, Ken approached the thick trunk, leaves and twigs crunching beneath him as he walked, which were the only sounds in the area. Everything seemed too quiet at that moment, and the hairs on the back of Ken’s arms stood on end.

  What the hell are you doing?

  Closing in, Ken noticed a black stain on the bark of the tree trunk, spreading out in tendrils like a disease. And, up above, he heard a definite creak.

  Ken tilted his head up farther, and then he saw it, swaying above him.

  Neck stuck in a noose, a body swayed gently back and forth in the light wind.

  It took Ken no time at all to realise that it was the same corpse he had just been following. The body rotated as it dangled, letting Ken see its rotten and skeletal face more clearly. There was no yellow glint to the remaining eye this time, and its mouth hung open, flesh rotted away and leaving the bone and teeth exposed. Intestines hung down from the open stomach, almost brushing Ken’s head, and the insides of the open flesh were black and purple.

  Ken immediately took a step back.

  His first thought, after getting over the initial shock, was that this corpse could have been one of the original inhabitants of the lost village—the place they had been searching for. But, if that had been the case, then given the hundreds of years that had passed, this body should have now been little more than a pile of bones on the ground. Its clothes were entirely out of time and place.

  This thing above him, Ken understood, was a little more recent.

  He took a closer look at what remained of its clothing, and what should have been immediately obvious to him suddenly registered—this was one of the missing hikers. And Ken had been led to it by the very spirit that used to inhabit it.

  He had to wonder what horrible limbo this poor soul was now living in, and suddenly the idea of dying there in the forest did not seem so welcoming; notions of a reunion with his loved one were now seemingly an impossibility, given the purgatory that could await him here.

  And what of Tony? Was this the eternity he would now live out?

  A renewed sense of urgency took hold of Ken. Feeling like time was running out, he knew that he had to find his friend, and quickly. But he still had no way of doing so.

  He looked out ahead, to the drop in the ground. Was the old, hanging body really all the spirit had wanted to show Ken? Or was there something else here?

  He paced forward, reaching the edge of the slope, and looked down its expanse. Upon seeing what lay below, he gasped.

  Instantly, Ken knew he should go back for the others right away, despite time being against him. There was indeed a chance Tony was here, but Ken felt ill-prepared to search what he was seeing all on his own.

  Because it seemed the shambling corpse had indeed wanted to show him one other thing.

  Ken had found the lost village.

  16

  Roberta was not holding up well.

  All that she had experienced on the trip was now getting to her, and the disappearance of Tony was just the latest in a line of events that chipped away at her resolve. Thankfully, James now seemed more understanding of her position of wanting to leave, and finally saw reason enough for them to get the hell out of there once Ken had returned.

  If only they had all listened to her sooner. She genuinely thought it was now too late.

  Though the initial encounters they had witnessed had certainly been creepy, Roberta wasn’t sure why they had scared her so much. Sure, whenever things happened in an investigation she was always prone to freaking out a little, but she still loved the process regardless. But here in this forest, things had been different. The fear seemed to peak right out of the gate and shake her to her core, affecting Roberta far more than it had the others, it seemed. But things had progressed, and her reservations about this place were proven correct.

  However, there was something else that worried her, too. Roberta seemed to be at odds with herself, unable to form a consistent internal consensus on what she should do. It was almost like there was another voice inside of her, another presence, messing with her thoughts and draining her will, constantly battling her.

  Roberta wasn’t sure when she’d first noticed it—perhaps after hearing the wailing voice for the first time—but it had only grown in intensity over the last day. And now, when things were at their quietest, it felt like a war was raging inside her head, one that her own psyche seemed to be losing.

  ‘Here,’ James said to Roberta, standing above her as she lay on the ground outside of her tent. She looked up and saw that he was offering her a flask of water. ‘Drink something.’

  At the mere mention of it, her body craved the water on offer. Her throat felt as dry as sandpaper and the thought of the liquid cooling her gullet was a welcome one. Even so, her first instinct, for reasons she couldn’t explain, was to reject the offer. She didn’t want to accept anything from him.

  Roberta had to catch herself, knowing how thirsty she actually was, and begrudgingly accepted.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, not meaning it, and took the flask before pulling in long mouthfuls. The water was slightly warm, but still refreshing.

  ‘Ken should be back soon,’ James said, though his tone sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than state a fact.

  ‘If he isn’t dead already,’ Roberta stated, coldly.

  ‘He isn’t. I know he isn’t. We just need to be patient.’

  ‘What we need is to get out of here. Ken didn’t listen and ran off—’

  ‘He went after Tony,’ James interrupted.

  ‘He doesn’t know where Tony is!’ Roberta snapped. ‘None of us do. So he ran off without knowing where to look. It’s his own fault. That doesn’t mean we need to stay here and share the same fate.’

  ‘We need to give him more time. He’s only been gone a little over an hour. And besides, can you honestly say you could find your way out of here without him? Because I’m pretty sure I couldn’t.’

  ‘It can’t be that hard,’ Roberta argued. ‘We just go back that way.’ She pointed back behind the tents. ‘It was pretty much a straight line, wasn’t it?’

  James shrugged. ‘I don’t know. And even if it was, we wouldn’t get out of here before dark, so we would need to camp again. We aren’t getting clear of the forest anytime soon, anyway, and we’ve been pretty reliant on Ken so far. We need to wait.’

  ‘It was a mistake relying on him so much,’ Roberta said.

  ‘Perhaps. But it is what it is. So can we just wait a little longer before we decide to leave our friends behind?’

  Roberta was silent for a moment, before finally uttering the words she had been trying to hold in, ‘They aren’t my friends.’

  She could see from James’ expression that her remark had shocked him. Part of her revelled in that. But at the same time, part of her felt eternally ashamed, as it simply wasn’t true.

  So why had she said it?

  Roberta’s thoughts ran back to the phrase in Italian that she had spoken the previous day, the one that had exited her mouth before she’d had a chance to even consider it. The one about an overwhelming madness.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  She expected James to say something back to her, to admonish her—which she actually wanted—but instead he shook his head and walked away. He squatted near the rudimentary firepit they had used last night and tried to get it going again. There was no real point to that, as it wasn’t very cold at the moment, but perhaps it gave him something to do.

  The two of them stayed like that for a long while, in total silence, each in their own space. J
ames successfully got the fire going and Roberta just looked on, wrestling with feelings of both spite and embarrassment.

  Their standoff was only broken when James quickly lifted his head, like a dog on alert. Roberta looked up, in the same direction, and saw it too: a figure ambling towards them from between the trees. It was still quite a distance away, but Roberta felt another chill, uncertain of who—or what—it was. It took her a moment to recognise the walk.

  It was Ken.

  He waved over to them.

  Roberta stood up, actually happy to see him after being so sure something had happened. Now, hopefully, they could get out of this place.

  But then she noted that Ken was alone, and there was no sign of Tony at all.

  Even so, Roberta hoped that maybe now they could all concentrate on getting the hell out of the Black Forest, back to civilisation, and let someone else search for their missing colleague. Someone more qualified, who actually knew what they were doing.

  James called over to Ken as the older man continued his approach. ‘No sign of Tony, then?’

  Roberta could see a shake of his head before Ken replied. He seemed out of breath. ‘Not yet. But I did find something.’

  Roberta stood and moved next to James, and they waited for Ken to join them. When he did, she could see a sheen of sweat on his brow as he breathed heavily.

  ‘Did something happen?’ James asked. ‘Have you been running?’

  Ken nodded his head. ‘A bit. I got back here as quickly as I could.’

  ‘So what is it?’ Roberta asked. ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Well,’ Ken started. ‘If you can believe it, I found the body of one of the missing hikers.’

  Roberta let out a gasp. James, instead, verbalised his shock. ‘Jesus Christ! Where?’

  Ken pointed back behind himself. ‘Out there, a ways from here. The body was hanging from a tree. It was decayed quite badly and… well… not in a good state, let’s just say. But I don’t think his death was suicide.’