Light tapping woke me. My vision cleared and I came face to face with something from my nightmares. I gasped and scuttled away, heart thumping in my chest, my back hitting the hard bark of the tree. My backpack tumbled to the dirt.
The thing--it was not human--peered at me from a crouched position, one bony hand on an equally bony knee. Thin shoulders hunched up by its ears. Big, round eyes followed me as the thing's head tilted to the right, confusion spreading across its weathered, thin face.
"Whatcha' doing here?"
Its voice was as frail as its appearance. Light wispy hair swayed in time with threadbare clothes caught in a soft breeze. It leaned forward, one hand coming to splay along the ground, the other resting on my backpack. It smiled, thin lips pulled back over dark yellowed teeth.
"You're new here, ain't ya?" It sniffed the air, eyes narrowing and skin wrinkling at the corners. "I haven't seen one of you here in forever."
"Try to eat me and I'll kill you," I said, cringing. My voice came out as insubstantial as the thing's hair.
It reared back, wrinkled skin scrunched up, and head shaking. "Why would Ol'Toady do that? Everyone knows the younglings are tough and sinewy."
"Because you're evil."
Every horror movie I'd ever seen played through my head in gruesome detail. Bodies shredded and terrified screams, ignored pleas for mercy. The characters that ran, always found the bad guys first, and the ones who got lost in the creepy woods never made it out.
"And I'm a monster hunter! I can kill you before you can blink!"
Fear fueled panic refused to surrender. For each breath I took, it fought back, and gained more ground. Tears prickled my eyes. I found a loose branch lying to the right of me, and grabbed it, holding it before me, a clear threat in my stance.
None of this made sense. Monsters weren't real, yet one sat before me. All the movies and comics had taught me that monsters were things not people. Despite this, I couldn't help thinking of Toady as a 'he' instead of an 'it'.
"Ya have no idea, do ya?"
His face softened, eyes lighting up, and one bony hand patted my arm. I jumped back, bringing the branch up higher in an attempt to defend myself.
"What are you talking about?"
"There, there, Little Friend," he said. "No need to fear Ol' Toady. I've got no use for eatin' you. I prefer my food thoroughly aged, and not human."
Toady settled on the forest floor, gangly legs crossed, knees jutting out, and knobby head resting on prominent knuckles, my backpack in his lap.
"How can Ol'Toady be of assistance?"
I swallowed and tried to calm down the way Sheryl had tried to teach me. I'd hated the yoga lessons before we'd even started and had spent most of the time daydreaming. This part, however, was simple. I started counting slowly backwards from ten to one in my head, taking a breath with every third number.
Breathe in, ten, nine eight, breathe out, seven, six, five.
"Where...where am I?"
"You're in the Dead Woods," Toady said.
"I don't understand." The branch in my hands drooped ever so slightly.
"This is a place for the dead, and the not so dead." Toady tilted his head, face scrunching in thought, skin wrinkled like old, crumpled paper.
"It's been so long since we've gotten one like you here. Was starting to think there were no more of ya' left."
"People have been here before?"
"People yes," Toady said, "but not Live Ones like you."
"What does that mean?" I sniffed and wiped my nose.
"Nothing, at the moment," Toady said. "You're still quite young."
"How do I get out of here?" I asked.
Toady thought for a minute, looking over the area before coming to a decision.
"Ya' follow the trail," Toady said, pointing. It was nothing more than trees, dense underbrush, and the occasional fallen log.
"And where do I find the trail?" My shoulders slumped and my breath hitched. Toady paused and looked at me, a frown pulling his nearly invisible lips downward.
"Now this is very strange." He leaned forward, nose inches from mine. "Ya' can't see it, can ya'?" he asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Raising one hand, gnarled fingers ghosted over my cheek. I flinched and he brought them up, rubbing his fingertips together.
"You're awful leaky for a monster hunter, ain't ya'?"
I wiped at the tears and scowled at Toady.
"How am I supposed to find anything in this freakish place? It should be midmorning, but it's dark. None of these trees belong in this area. Stop talking in riddles and show me how to get out of the woods."
Toady's face split into a broad grin so wide wrinkles gathered around the edge of his mouth and lined up along his cheeks.
"Oh! Well, I can help ya' there. It would be an honor." Toady nodded with the enthusiasm of an ugly bobble headed toy.
"Come on, I'll be showin' ya' the way, Little Friend."
He stood, towering over me like the trees of the forest. He snatched up my backpack again before taking my hand, skin like old paper left out in the sun too long. The branch clattered to the ground behind me.
He started walking, dragging me along, long strides eating up forest floor. He was strong too. No matter how hard I tugged, Toady did not notice. His fast pace and firm grip forced me to jog along beside him.
We barreled through trees and thick shrubbery. Our footsteps left clean marks in the moss-covered floor, Toady's wide and sure, mine scattered drag marks.
A moon, big, bright, and closer than I had ever seen, shone white light down through the canopy, giving the Dead Woods an unearthly glow.
We stopped at came to a fork in the path. One path headed right, disappearing into a nearly black section of the woods. It wound its way around trees and rocks, but always turning back towards the right no matter how twisted it became. The other turned left, then banked back towards where I'd been resting. It was wide, smooth, and easy to follow. Toady let go of my hand and bowed with a wide sweep of spindly arms.
"Ya' just take this path," Toady said, nodding toward the dark, twisty one. "Stay on it, and it'll take ya' right to the center of the Dead Woods. That's where the Mayor's city is, and after it, the Archives. That's where ya' want to go."
"What are the Archives?"
His look turned serious and he crouched down so that we were eye to eye. The tops of his knees nearly level with the top of his head.
"It's a place for ones like you, filled with wondrous things not found in the world of the living. I think ya' would like it there."
I glanced at the two paths then back at my shoes. Mud caked the sides and smeared over the toe. My laces remained tied, despite the leaves and tiny twigs planted in between.
"Can it really help me get home?"
"Yes. Ya'll find one of the doors to your world there, but remember, it's dangerous for a Live One in these parts. Be careful of the Mayor's city, and don't get caught. Watch out for the Mayor too, and those like him. They are like me, but not. They like to eat Live Ones."
"Thank you."
Toady's warning circled my thoughts, and wriggled into my brain like the maggots on that dead bird. I could sneak around. I was good at going unnoticed. Everyone had stopped paying attention to me after dad had died.
Toady smiled, handed me the backpack.
"Till we meet again, Little Friend."
He bounded off down the other path, leaving me standing under the bright moon. I took a deep breath, tugged on the backpack, and started down the other path.
The soft, silvery glow from the moon blinked out with a swoosh of rustling leaves. Cold burrowed under my skin like worms.
The old path was gone.
Dark, twisted forest spread out behind me. The path Toady had taken swallowed up by the dark shadows and tangled branches.
I opened the backpack, pulling out a small flashlight. Light cut through the shadows, highlighting limp leaves, snarled roots, and packed mud.
Thick brush covered the sides of the path. Large rocks hid under moss or roots. Dense bushes formed a wall that blocked the light.
My breath misted with each exhale and I pulled the hood of the jacket up, and tucked my fingers into the sleeves. It helped some, blocking the wind from my ears and my cheeks warmed.
The forest tracked my every move, a steady presence in the background, like the hum electricity before a storm.
Lead twisted my stomach, and tears threatened to fall. I settled down at a curve in the path, raised and covered in soft moss, and tucked against the wall. I didn't know how big this place was, and my feet hurt.
I placed my backpack on my lap, and dug out a granola bar. I ate it quickly, shoving the wrapper back in the bag. After a few sips of water, I put the bottle away and closed the bag.
I hugged it to my chest, and a yawn slipped free. Grit filled my eyes and I shuddered as another yawn escaped. I laid my head down on the rough canvas and went to sleep.
I woke up, wiping the water from my eyes.
Soft rain filtered through the canopy, dousing the land and creating a soggy mess of my clothes. The forest sagged beneath the water, moss and leaves pulling branched down into the mud.
My legs wobbled and, the ground refused to let me gain purchase. A layer of mud hid the blue of my backpack. I shook it, and brown slimy blobs plopped down to the path.
"Damn it."
My shoulders sagged and I rubbed at my face, the curse unfamiliar and clunky. It didn't carry the same weight as when my parents swore. Then it was forbidden, harsh, a danger I wasn't supposed to know existed. The reality was they were just words, and they tumbled forth, weak and drowning in mud.
"Shit."
More tears stung my eyes, and fell down my cheeks. I scraped them off, scratching at skin.
"Damn it." I took a deep breath, and released it on a scream. "Shit."
The words stumbled out again, the dream of home tugged along with them. They echoed in the rain, bouncing off trees and rocks, reaching the sky. The only reply the soft pat-pat-pat of rain.
I waited, ears straining, my breathing leaving puffs of mist stuttering in the night. I swallowed down the waiting scream, leaving an ache in my chest were home used to be.
The night before I ran Mom had ordered takeout. The white containers sat on the counter, food filled to the brim. Her voice rang in my ears, Sheryl laughing as Mom cleaned up the sauce she'd spilled.
I locked the thoughts away. Memories weren't going to get me out of the Dead Woods. I checked my watch. I had slept for four hours and night still ruled the land. The Dead Woods had banned the natural order of the living world.
A plan formed and I set my watch for one-hour intervals. When it beeped, I'd stop and rest for ten minutes before starting again.
Rain settled into a steady downpour. Mud slowed my pace, slipping, sliding, and squelching with each step.
Six hours in, I came to another fork in the road. One part went straight ahead, while the other part took a sharp left.
The two paths, one right way, and one wrong, offered no clue. If I took the wrong one, the forest would swallow me up.
The Dead Woods watched and waited to see what would happen.
Heart climbing into my throat, I headed down the path leading straight ahead. I walked forward, past the other road and to the base of a large tree. I looked over my shoulder. Knees weak, breath shaky, I sat down at the base of the tree.
I leaned over; head between my knees, eyes clenched shut. Breathe in, ten, nine, eight, breathe out, seven, six, five. I repeated the mantra until my body steadied and the world stopped spinning.
The old path was still there, winding over the land, scuff marks from my shoes still visible in the mud. I had chosen the right path.