Up ahead, a solid figure caught my eye; I stopped dead, looking through the foggy air, past the straight columns of tree trunks. “Mike?” I called cautiously.
Whatever it was stopped moving. I focused on it, squinting.
“Hey!” I called again, cupping my hands around my mouth; my voice echoed all around me. “Mike? Is that you…ou…ou?”
The soles of my feet ached where twigs entered the delicate flesh between my toes and under the bridge of my foot, but I didn't care. I walked carelessly, fast and anxious, stopping when I neared the tree where I’d seen the person—or thought I saw a person.
“Hello?” I said, then spun in a couple of circles, looked up the hill and down, but found nothing. No one.
This time, my tone held a little caution. “Mike, are you out there?”
I waited longer to hear a voice, but only the crass caw of a crow answered. Behind me, the bird sat on a wiry branch, his weight making it bend a little, his call still sounding in my ears. We stared each other down for a few breaths, my heart pounding in my chest, each steady thump like a deliberate bang on a drum. Then, he cawed again and flew off, his silky wings beating the foggy air, until he ducked past a branch and was gone.
I made the prompt decision then that yelling out, screaming through the forest that I was alone, might perhaps be a bad idea. There was no knowing what was out here. No knowing if the stories were true—if maybe I’d find hundreds of vampires who’d been trapped in here at dawn and were starving—hunting their next meal. And if that eerie-looking crow was anything to go by, it was naïve of me to think I was alone.
Maybe the person I saw was Mike, but I was so not going to call out to him again.
A heavy stillness crawled down around me then, bringing night closer and closer, and I felt the tight fist of panic unfurl in my gut. The silent hope I’d had of finding Mike out here—possibly performing his Sacrificial Rights—just became locked behind an iron door. This was all up to me, alone, and all I could do was walk—one way or another, I had to move, and just hope I was headed in the right direction—hope it would lead me to the border by sunrise—any border, even if it wasn't the one lining the Throne Room.
I lifted my leg a little and rolled my foot to look at the damage; twigs and pebbles stuck out from my skin, finding pockets of softness to hide in. I swiped my hand down them, wincing as a few dragged themselves from the bloodied clasp of my flesh, then dropped my foot back down on its side, so I wasn’t standing on the cuts, and started walking again.
The further I walked, the deeper I must have headed into the forest. Sunset followed me, sitting in the sky like a timeless wrap. Night should have closed in, should have taken hold of this walk by now, but it seemed as though I’d been dropped off in an empty world that knew no time. I had no watch, but my body-clock was still active, and I knew enough time had passed to bring morning—but hadn't presented a way out of this vast landscape. Suddenly, the idea that this was an enchanted forest seemed a little less ridiculous.
The branches around my feet had shrivelled away from thick and bold to skinny and scrawny, the shrubs and grasses making way for cages of dead twigs. Each tree I passed screeched at me, creaking as if my presence made their roots ache.
I sunk my neck into tight shoulders and tucked my elbows closer to my ribs. It felt darker. Every step took me deeper and deeper into the forest, down a hill that never looked like a hill until I glanced behind me. When I looked up from my feet, night seemed to own the path ahead, but I never seemed to reach it, either.
One thing was for sure, though; at any minute, that sun could disappear and this would all get a lot worse. The sheer vastness of the trees and the waning warmth of day made me feel very small and very out in the open.
All around me, the cold turned from a brush against my cheeks and ears to a lake of chill, lapping the tops of my thighs and knees. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, licking away a few strings of dried skin, then pressed them together to keep the moisture there. But only two breaths later, the dryness returned, travelling down my throat, stopping in my belly where I was sure my stomach had eaten itself. But that was the least of my worries. In fact, there were too many terrible things to think about or be afraid of.
In my mind, I went off on a little wander, taking myself through the past, through hopes for the future, and came upon a memory of Mike and I as children—playing hide and seek in the bushes back home. It was almost as if it came alive then—as if my hands showed youth, my feet, even the baby soft hair falling over my shoulder. I let myself imagine it—let myself see this as a place where children played.
“Ready or not,” I said, so quiet my bare feet made more sound over the dry leaves. “Here I come.”
The imaginary version of Mike laughed, running behind a tree. I saw him—saw which one he hid behind. He was so silly. He always made it too easy.
“I saw you, Mike,” I said, smiling for real as I came upon the tree. “I always see yo—” But he was gone. I looked over my shoulder and saw the little boy, hair of gold, run behind another tree, laughing.
My sneaking feet balanced over the bark and twigs carefully; I had to be quiet if I was going to surprise him. But a twig snapped, its crack echoing all around me like an artificial sound.
I stopped dead and looked down at my feet; there was no twig there—not under my foot, anyway.
“Found you!” the little boy said, stopping just in front of me. He was small, wearing black shorts and a stripy shirt, his face dirty, his cheeks plump, but it wasn’t Mike.
“Who are you?” I said.
He looked behind him, then took off in a run, giggling.
I ran after him, pushing wiry branches aside as they struck my cheeks, my brow, my forearms, and as I flew into the clearing where the little boy went, stopped dead. It was empty. No one was there. I could see all the way up the slope, all the way to the darkest part of the forest on all sides, but there was no child.
“Where did you go?” I called.
He didn't answer.
The fog closed in around me, fingering my legs, my arms and shoulders until it blotted out the trees and even the ground just below my feet. That furl of panic returned. I exhaled into the air, feeling my breath brush back on my own lips. “Hello?” I said, pushing my arms out to my sides slowly to make sure I hadn't fallen into a small hole or woken up buried in a coffin. As I reached into the empty space, a small hand appeared around my wrist.
I gasped, yanking back, falling to the ground with my arm raised to protect my face.