by Mandi Lynn
“She said her parents don’t let her go out at night.”
A few minutes later the bell rings, so we’re forced to rush to class, everyone pushing to throw out their lunches at the same time.
The rest of the day is normal—Eliza isn’t in any of my other classes. When I get to my locker to collect my homework before I get on the bus, she is standing there. Eliza has the narrow, tall locker next to mine. I keep my eyes occupied, entering the combination, gathering homework; all to make sure there is no eye contact.
I know she is watching me, because I can’t hear her making any noise at all. I finish getting my books and leave for the bus, aware that Eliza is still soundlessly at her locker. I can feel her gaze on my back, as I leave the hallway, opening the double doors to the outside where a plethora of yellow school buses await.
I’m thankful for the fact that the bus isn’t crowded and manage to sit alone again, taking out my iPod to pass the time. One by one more students file in and take their seats. Quiet conversations start, but most people tune out the world with music and headphones. The bus rolls into motion, and I watch as the school fades in the distance. Tonight’s homework seems easy, so I take it out and start. I finish before my stop comes and spend the rest of the time looking out the window while listening to music.
My stop being one of the last, I step off the bus in silent motion. Crossing the threshold of the house, I see it’s abandoned—my parents must still be at work. With the free time alone, I know exactly what I want to do.
I’m completely ready to go outside—cell phone, coat, some snacks—but there is a nagging thought bothering me. What if the voices or the magnetic pull came back? What if it’s already starting, and that’s why it feels like I need to go into the forest? Why do I want to return? I can’t feel the pull, but for some reason, I do feel like I need to be there. No, I didn’t need to be there; I just want to go. I was able to fight the pulling force before; so why not now? I want to explore, and that’s all. Nothing more; so I go out into the forest.
I follow the same path I had just days before. Familiar trees and flowers pass by, and I know I’m going the right way. Birds chirp high above in the trees, but none of them are canaries. They are just plain brown birds. No stark yellow feathers in sight.
Moss lines rocks and the floor of the forest. Branches and foliage prevent sunlight from passing through, making the air cool. Here in the dense forest there’s no breeze. The air is still. Waterfalls crash in the distance, giving off a constant singing chorus. I try to spot my footsteps on the ground, but it’s all grass, leaves, and moss. There’s no dirt path to give me direction.
Eventually I stumble upon the location I had found a few days ago.
Everything looks the same. The broken tree still sits on the ground of the forest. I notice that it has begun to rot. When I push against the edge, the bark falls to the ground in a soft rustle. I survey the area, spinning in a slow circle. A line of trees makes a sudden barrier. The branches intermingle and leave only a small space for movement. I can’t see what’s past the trees.
I stand in the middle of it all, waiting…but for what?
I gaze into the barrier of trees again, but nothing becomes clear. There’s only thick vegetation. Turning around, I start walking farther into the forest. I can hear water flowing; not the usual quiet flow coming from the soft waterfall but more robust, loud—like that of an ocean.
I follow the sound, stepping over roots that stick out from the ground and find the source of the sound: a beautiful waterfall, taller than any I’ve ever seen, starting at the peak of a hill and cascading down. It isn’t just one but many small waterfalls; each one leading to the next, working together to make the soothing sounds of the ocean. It is too beautiful to just walk away without enjoying. Nearby I sit down on a large rock and memorize this wonderful piece of nature.
There are probably hundreds of magnificent things like this hidden in the forest, all of them waiting to be discovered by wandering hikers. I step up, wiping dirt from my jeans, continuing in my search. It doesn’t take much time to find more and more waterfalls, each one more beautiful than the next; all scattered and hidden within trees. I can’t help but bask in their glory, wishing I can save this moment somehow.
That’s when it happens: the eager need and pull to go into the forest. It begs me to turn around and follow its path. It’s harder to fight this time. I try to lock my muscles, but I find myself wandering in the direction I came from. It seems as if, each time it comes, it’s stronger, and I’m weaker. I gaze in the direction I’m being pulled and find the thick barrier of trees again. My feet follow unfamiliar commands, as the sounds of the waterfalls fade away. In front of me the trees act as a fence, stopping anyone with their dense and closely grown branches. The area I’m in is open and sunny, but in the trees—if you look between the branches—there is just darkness.
It starts to get dark, not just in the trees, but all around me. I look up to see where the sunlight has gone. Branches overhang, but farther up is an odd mist that is blocking out the last of the sun. It’s purple and thick, high above the trees, descending toward me.
The closer the mist gets, the more powerful the pull becomes. It grows painful if I resist, and as I try to stay in one spot, it feels as if I’m being ripped apart in multiple directions; one part of my soul stretching me backward toward my house for survival, the other part pulling me up toward the mist and forward to the trees. What had once been a mental battle now feels very much like a physical conflict, as my muscles lock and eyes shut, tears rolling down my face. There is no stopping whatever is coming. I can only brace myself for this unknown danger.
I’m afraid, for what may lie ahead of me, for what may follow after I encounter this force. I don’t know where I am, how I got here. Only that nothing is in my power anymore. It feels as if I’m counting down the last moments of my life.
I can imagine a lasso emerging from the trees, wrapping around me, as I’m drawn closer. It’s a hopeless cause, but I pull my arms away from my body; they catch as if bound. With my eyes still closed, I feel my lips quiver, tears running streams down my cheeks. My neck grows heated, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. It’s as if my imaginary lasso has moved from my waist to my throat, as it suffocates me. Trying to gasp for breath, my body panics, until I have enough control over myself to dismiss the pull. I’m free for a moment, but the force of the pull comes back tenfold—but I can breathe.
Feeling exposed, I open my eyes and see another mist. Orange and more translucent, this one hovers above the ground, a distance away.
“Emma, don’t go any closer to the trees.” It’s the familiar voice—the one from my dream. It sounds like it’s coming from the direction of the orange mist, but I can’t be sure.
The pull is getting worse; it feels like I’m going to collapse if I don’t surrender. Whatever force that overcomes me now seems content on ripping me apart. I gasp for breath, and my heart races as the purple mist draws closer while the orange one fades, like food dye being dropped into a cup of clear water—dispersing until it’s invisible to the naked eye.
“Emma, trust me, you can’t go into those trees.” I trust the voice, but I can’t control my body anymore.
I inch forward.
The closer I move to the trees, the faster the purple mist descends, filling me with a more excruciating level of pain that is almost unbearable. My voice wants to cry out for help, but I can’t. It’s like going down a steep roller coaster—sometimes you can’t scream. The purple mist is only a few inches above my head now, waiting for me to slip and lose this battle. Out of nowhere there is a slight breeze. I look over to the orange mist; it is no longer there, but the purple mist is still getting closer.
Without warning my phone rings in my pocket. A harsh wind pushes me to the ground, and I lose my breath. I panic, thinking it’s over—that I lost. But relief washes through me when I look up to see that the mist disappeared. It left, just as quick as it came, leaving me awestruck on
the forest floor.
My phone is still ringing. I let it continue to call out, my breath catching in my throat, allowing sobs to form and tears to spill. The phone sings out, tempting me to pick it up. I know it’s my mom. I can barely breathe and know talking is not an option. I can’t get my cell phone out of my pocket to text my mom either—my hands are shaking.
Slowly I get up and regain my balance, wanting to leave, before the pull comes back. I stand there for a minute, trying to relocate my feet. I start to walk away, but when panic kicks in, I run away from the forest. Clumsily navigating through the forest, I trip over rocks and fallen branches, scared the pull will find me again—I don’t want to give the mist any chance to regain its control over me. Breaking through the last of the trees, I stumble into my yard and go into the house through the back door.
My heart screams inside my chest. I rush inside and lock the door behind me. It’s probably a useless effort, but I do so anyway. I go window to window, closing every opening to the outside I can find. Then it occurs to me. My mom isn’t home. Why did she call to check on me?
I take my phone. There is one missed call; the ID is my mom’s phone number.
I scan all the rooms, waiting to find that maybe I glanced right over my mom in my rush to close all the windows. She’s not here. When I glance at the clock, it’s too early for her to be home anyway—she’s still at work. I shut myself in the bathroom and take a shower, begging for the hot water to calm me. Nothing seems to help, as my hands continue to tremble, the hot steam running through my system like a sauna.
While in the shower, I put the radio on loud, daring my subconscious to make up feigned noises. I let the room swallow me, the beat of the music blocking out any sound, the steam disabling me from seeing anything farther than two feet away. I panic again, the steam seeming eerily similar to the mist in the forest. Turning the knob on the shower, the water turns ice-cold, until I finally just shut it off. Stepping out of the shower, I dry off, wrapping a towel around my vulnerable body. I sit on the floor for a long time, just trying to breathe normally again. Eventually my heart slows, and I’m able to close my eyes without fear of the mist causing me to open them in a panic.
Dressed, I go downstairs to the kitchen and make myself a bowl of cereal, not sure if my stomach can handle anything else. I eat quickly and drink a glass of hot milk, hoping that it will soothe me. While cleaning up the kitchen, my mom walks in, back from her work at a research station somewhere in the White Mountain National Forest. As soon as she reaches the kitchen counter, she dumps her handful of papers. With a sigh she attempts to organize it into a quick pile.
“How was your first day of school?” she asks, putting down her bag next to the papers.
“Um…fine,” I mumble.
“Any potential friends?” She takes out her phone from her bag, checking the messages before plugging it in to be charged for the night.
“Well, there was a girl named Sadie who showed me around.”
“That’s good. Was she nice?” My mom goes to the refrigerator, taking out ingredients to make her own dinner, eyeing my empty bowl of cereal out of the corner of her eye.
“Yeah, she was nice.” My mind flutters to today’s earlier events. “Did you call me today after school?”
“No…why?” she asks, looking at me, closing the fridge door.
“Oh…I thought I heard my phone ring,” I tell her shrugging.
I make my way to the hall, feeling my eyes grow heavy and thoughts becoming blurred and unfocused, sleep calling me. “I think I’m going to go to bed now. Night.” I start toward my room.
“Good night, Emma!” my mom yells up the stairs. I can hear the microwave turn on as she makes a late dinner for herself.
I fall into my bed and pull the sheets over my head. I lay like that all night, curled in a ball. I don’t dare think about the beach, afraid of another dream, so I grab my iPod to listen to music.
I concentrate on the lyrics, trying to find the meaning behind them. I do this until the battery dies. I don’t feel like getting up to plug it into the charger, so instead I give in and fall asleep.
_________________
I’m still in my bed, when the orange mist comes through the window. I’m not scared like I was in the forest. I find comfort in the orange mist—there is never a pull that accompanies it. Lying dazed in my bed, I hear the voice.
“Emma, you must never go back into the forest.” The familiar voice is stern.
“Why?” I ask, half asleep.
“I can’t tell you. I hope I’ll never have to.”
Chapter 4
Papers
Do you feel it? The sense of being watched? I do.
_________________
I wake up shaking, not sure if it was a dream or real life. In the moment of the dream, I couldn’t bring myself to be afraid of the orange mist, but now in the dawn, I find myself clutching the sheets of my bed. It had felt so real.
“Emma, get up. You’re going to be late for school!” my mom calls me down to eat.
I get out of bed and go downstairs to find my mom getting ready to leave, bag in hand.
“Where are you going?” I ask, rubbing my eyes awake.
“I have to leave for work, and you have to get ready for school, or you’ll be late. Your dad was going to give you a ride, if you woke up early, but he had to leave already.”
“Late?” I ask confused.
“It’s six thirty. Your bus will be here in fifteen minutes. Now go get ready!” My mom says, pointing toward my bedroom, as she walks out the door, so she also isn’t late.
I run up the steps two at a time to get to my room. After getting dressed into the first thing I can find, I then make sure all my books are in my backpack, before I rush down the stairs. Once I reach the landing of the stairs, I look out the window, and see my mom’s car pull out and round the corner to her work. Venturing through the kitchen, I find waffles in the freezer and pop them in the toaster. My hand fumbles through the cabinet for maple syrup, but there is none to be found. I rest my head against the wooden door of the cabinet, trying to think of a way to serve the waffles without syrup. Then, going back to the freezer, I remember how my grandma had put fruit on my French toast when I was younger—it should work with waffles too.
I take a bag of frozen raspberries, blackberries, and strawberries from the freezer, open the bag and put two cups of the combined fruit into the microwave to defrost. They finish in seconds, and I drizzle the heated fruit over the golden waffles. Perfect. I finish quickly, putting the plate in the sink, before I head out the door.
The bus comes to a stop when I reach the end of my driveway. And there she is. Eliza is on my bus, staring at me again with those scared green eyes. Her face turns from what looks like fear to relief, looking me over from head to toe. I walk past her seat and continue into the rear of the bus to put some distance between us. Eliza doesn’t look back at me, so I pretend she isn’t there. I stare out the window and memorize the landscape. The sky opens up to a blue glow as the sun begins to rise.
Once we get to school, I wait for Eliza to leave first, before I get off the bus myself. She’s far ahead of me by the time Sadie greets me near the entrance of the school again. I’m able to guide myself to all my classes today, and when history comes along, Eliza is staring at me again but only for brief moments of time, as if she wants to be secretive about it, less obvious than the day before.
Lunch also seems to be just the same as the day before. Sadie and I sit together, as we talk and pick at our lunches, trying to decide if the food is edible or not—I make a mental note to pack my lunch in the future.
“My mom’s in New York right now on a business trip, so it’s just me and my dad,” Sadie says, pushing the school’s steamed vegetables to the side, as she takes out a small packaged cupcake. “He said it was all right if you wanted to come over or something.” She splits the cupcake in two, offering me the other half.
I want to go over to
her house—it would be nice to have someone from school I can talk to—but I can’t go. There are so many things I can’t explain that are happening. A pull that seems to haunt me, taking control of my body against my will; then there’s the mist that accompanies it. I want to understand it, so I won’t have to fear that it will come back, if it comes back.
“I don’t think I can,” I tell her, taking the cupcake half she offers. “We have a lot to unpack. My mom and dad still have a room filled with boxes.”
“Okay, maybe another time,” she says, not letting the information trouble her. We both smile as we bite down into the cupcake in unison, tasting the sweet frosting and chocolate-flavored cake. Sadie’s eyes grow large as she stops chewing.
“What?” I ask, brushing off any cupcake remains from my hands.
She swallows before she speaks. “Eliza is coming over here,” she whispers back.
I look behind me to where Sadie’s eyes are focused. Eliza is heading toward our table, her dark red hair unmistakable in the sea of the student body. She stops just for a moment at our table, locking gazes with me before she smiles. Looking at Sadie quickly, she pushes a few sheets of paper in front of me before walking away from our table.
“Well, that was weird,” Sadie comments, raising her eyebrows, as she looks at me. “What do the papers say?”
My gaze goes to the neon pink sticky note pasted on the front:
Please fill out and return to office.
Scanning the papers, I see multiple questions and a spot to fill in my student ID and other important information the office may need to identify me.
“I think it’s forms that new students fill out,” I tell Sadie, looking on the back of the sheets to see if there are more questions on the reverse side—there aren’t.
“May I see?” she asks, glancing at the papers.
I hand them to her, and she looks at each for a minute, reading all the questions.
“Yeah, it’s just new student info. I didn’t know they still did that.” Sadie returns the papers. She turns her attention back to her lunch, pushing the steamed vegetables around on the plastic tray, not willing to eat the food but content to play with it.