Witch's Tallow

Untitled Part 1

We grow forests in our bones

so our memories can't find us.

I believe we hide and haunt ourselves.

—

Pavana पवन

***

Placed there by hands inhuman, the sunken forest dominated the valley. Birds would not fly over it, deer would not pass through it, and even local townspeople would not step under the lichen-heavy bows of trees that stretched into heaven like titans. The valley was not steep, only a divot in the larger expanse of countryside, but at the gates of the wood, it was as though a black hole lay at the center, tearing the valley floor down into oblivion. Standing at the edge was like looking over the rim of the Marina Trench; only, the sunken forest was even less explored.

There were few road signs leading up to the place where the forest began to stretch its roots underground. It was a place where nothing changed, a sort of American purgatory. Having been on the road for days already, Beth didn't take the absence of directions as a problem to be concerned with. She had already drunk several Dunkin' Donuts coffee boxes, which lay scattered in the back seat of her Grandfather's old Buick. The car did not play CD's, the radio was plagued by constant static, and there was nothing good on at 3 am anyway. She resorted to old cassette tapes to keep herself awake and alert as she wound through sparsely wooded plains.

No street lights hung over that highway, but Beth thought she could make out the road well enough without them. Though she must have taken a wrong turn somehow, because the tar spattered surface of the main road changed swiftly to bumpy dirt, leaving her startled. Was it legal to make a u-turn on a road like this? A deer leapt across the dusty path, its eyes gleaming in the glow of her headlights; Beth hit the brakes, careening to a stop, missing the creature by less than an inch as it bounded back off under a canopy of heavy leaves.

The cassette still playing, she slid out of the car, taking a few wobbly steps. This was it; the perfect place to disappear forever. She carefully lifted the backpack, the thing that cost her life still rolling around in the bottom, and slung it over one shoulder. There had to be a place she could bury this, and be done with it forever. Then what? Change her name and live in the wilderness for the rest of her life? She'd cross that bridge when she got to it.

The maw of the forest opened wide before her, and the longer she looked on, the clearer the path became; a sloping trail down through the foliage, bluebells and sleepy orchids dotting the striped grass on either side. Fireflies blinked silently in a halo about Beth's head as she moved away from the road and into a darkness that seemed awake and alive. It drew at her, pulling her clothes, lifting strands of mottled brown hair away from her shoulders. For a moment, she got the feeling she was walking into the mouth of a beast.

For the past week, Beth had been so shocked that living was like running in a dream. The forest doused her senses with holy water, bringing her out of a coma she hadn't been fully aware she was trapped in. The last time she was conscious had been in the minutes before her grandfather had come back to the house. The horror rising freshly in her mind, Beth frantically rubbed the palms of her hands against her thighs, but no part of the invisible stain would come away.

The flickering of a single flame filling her mind, she plowed onwards, lifting her legs clear of thick, knotted thorn bushes creeping along over plush blankets of moss. In the distance, a sound pulsed low through the trees, like a cathedral door falling closed. Beth turned on the path, but there was no more path; underneath her worn snow boots there were only tree roots and pine needles and an eerie light from somewhere she couldn't place. Where the path had sloped only minutes earlier, a monstrous boulder crouched between a sycamore and a copse of birch saplings, its fractured face riddled with indents. Gripping the straps of her pack, Beth made for the birch grove, tall brown grass brushing and catching her legs, leaving her jeans covered in seeds.