Fandom One Shots

Only The Trees Can Hear

My love, don't go into my vale,

It is not I that you will hail.

A maiden came from darkened wood.

She stands where I myself once stood.

Brown, dried out leaves crunched under a pair of worn out Doc Martens. Kara Reyes shoved her hands farther into her pockets and hunched her shoulders up. She wasn't sure if she was trying to block out the cold or the voice she could swear she kept hearing.

With hair of starlight, eyes of coal.

Sweet maiden's face, a frozen soul.

Still, in her eyes a fire is lit.

Upon my throne, there she does sit.

Kara glanced over her shoulder again. No one there, just like all the other times she'd checked. But she kept hearing that voice. It was repeating a poem over and over, and frankly it was driving her a little mad. She walked a little faster.

Her smile is cruel, her eyes are sharp.

They lead right to her cold, dark heart.

So do not go into my vale.

It is not I that you will hail.

Kara puffed out a sigh of annoyance. If her phone weren't dead, she'd plug in her earbuds and blast something cheerful to drown out that sound. Whoever was doing this thought they were really funny or something, but she disagreed.

She cuts off all that are in need.

She makes them hurt, she makes them bleed.

The lonely, cold and saddened poor.

They get sent out the dark back door.

Suddenly, Kara felt a tugging on her backpack. She turned her head just in time to see Jonathan Boyd yank the zipper open and sprint away, laughing.

"Jonathan!" She screamed, whirling around to face him.

That was a mistake. Kara's homework flew everywhere. She frantically threw her backpack down and began to gather up the papers, stuffing them back into her worn and ripped binder.

"I clean the streets." Is what she'd say.

If you ask what is down that way.

But if you take that road by dare,

you'll find that death itself is there.

"Whoever's reciting that stupid poem better shut up before I find you!" Kara snapped as she picked up her backpack. The voice just kept reading, and she grumbled a few unsavory names under her breath before scanning the area to make sure she hadn't missed any papers.

A flash of white caught her eye as one of her assignments whirled around the corner of the path into Baxrose Forest, caught in a little eddy of wind.

Please do not go into my vale.

It is not I that you will hail.

The woman must be taken down.

For she has stolen a queen's crown.

Kara gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her backpack straps, marching resolutely into the forest to get her homework.

She walked in silence for several minutes. Every couple of feet she'd see a flash of her paper up ahead, but somehow it kept moving forward. The hair on the back of Kara's neck was beginning to stand up.

Strange magic seals her queenly kind.

But there's a chink that one must find.

Until she's gone, don't risk your life.

The vale with danger now is rife.

"Shut up! No one cares about your stupid little poem!"

Again, no response. Kara pulled her hat down tighter over her ears to block out the noise and the wind whistling past her.

Finally, she spotted her paper again. The wind had it pinned against the side of what looked like an old, decrepit gravestone that could have been out there in the forest for half a century or more. Kara ran forward and grabbed it, kneeling next to the grave so she could stuff it into her backpack again.

Could be a month, could be a year.

So do not go back home my dear.

You must not go into my vale.

Death is all that you will hail.

"I walked all the way out here for a blank sheet of notebook paper." She grumbled quietly. "Unbelievable."

As she stood up, she rested her hand on the top of the gravestone. A few of the vines that had overgrown it broke and fell aside, and Kara paused to look at the name curiously.

Her chest began to constrict and she stumbled away from it, rubbing her hand on her jeans as if she'd stuck it in something vile.

"Whose idea was this? Jonathan, is that you? This isn't funny!"

She looked at the tombstone again, praying she'd read it wrong.

~Kara Michelle Reyes~

2002 - 2018

I guess you didn't like

my poem, did you?

Only the trees could hear the scream that was cut off too quickly.

To this day, the story of the girl from Fosk Hill, the one swallowed by the forest, is one of the best known missing persons case since the 1900s. Her backpack was found next to an ancient gravestone that was completely blank, with no body buried beneath.

[A/N I've used this poem before, it's my poem Do Not Go and it's actually about an elf I put in a story at one point that I scrapped forever ago]