The Wicked Woods

Chapter Three

"Right. I've heard that before, actually. You're, uh... my neighbour, I assume?"

She ignores my question. "You and your sister are back."

"Yes."

Another slow nod. "Interesting. Why?"

What's it to her? She seems... angry, somehow. Upset at my presence. Well, I have just as much right to be here as she does. My sister and I are the official owners of this house, no matter how much I hate it.

"We're her to renovate and sell it," I say as curtly as possible.

The woman snorts. "Good luck with that. Murder houses rarely sell."

How does she-

"Excuse me?"

She crosses her arms. The rows and rows of dangling bracelets she wears clink together like crystal wine glasses. I half expect a toast to the happy couple.

"I know what happened," she says, almost smugly. "To your parents."

I don't respond.

"You really shouldn't be here."

I cross my arms as well. "And why is that?"

Her eyes travel towards the woods. "Things... come from the trees sometimes. Not fit for city girls. You should leave, you know."

Anger flares. Who is this woman to tell me what to do, where to go? We've never met before, or at least, not that I know of. Perhaps I saw her once as a child. Probably not long enough to leave a significant impression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say coldly.

"Which is why you should leave."

"I don't think so."

She shrugs her bony shoulders. "Your choice."

"You're right, it is," I say angrily. "Who do you think you are? We've never even met before!"

Another shrug.

"And what do you mean with 'things come from the trees'? Are there wolves here or something? Foxes?"

Her gaze meets mine again and my body goes a bit colder. She unnerves me. Why, oh why could we not just have normal neighbours?

"Did you know," she says slowly, "that if you fall asleep under a fruit tree, they will come and claim you?"

"What?"

She nods at the apple tree on the hill above us. "I'd cut that down if I were you. Doesn't bear any proper fruit, anyway."

I step as close as I can without being attacked by the thorn bushes. "Listen, you're going to have to start making sense. I'm in no mood for riddles."

"Just stay away from the trees."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically, "for this sagely advise. Anything else you'd like to vague up for me?"
To my surprise, she smiles. "No. That's it."

"Great." I grab what's left of my sandwich. "I'll go eat my lunch somewhere else. Somewhere without crazy people."

She doesn't seem fazed. "My name's Isla."

"Okay."

"And yours is?"

I scoff. "None of your business."

Still fuming, I turn around and march back up the hill towards our house. Isla yells something, but I can't understand what, and I'm too proud to go back and ask. When I turn around on the porch and look down she's still there, staring straight at me, her hands buried in the pockets of her murky apron.