Into the Deep Wood

The sun was high yet produced no heat. The deep snowdrifts lined the road; the only signs of it having ever been there at all.

There was no sign of people here, not since the last snowfall. Maybe not the one before that, either.

The Insipid Flatlands were cruel and lifeless, offering no shelter or breaks from the strong winds. The trees that grew here did not grow tall and often bent close to the ground as if looking for relief from the forces of ever-changing weather.

Two men walked slowly, their faces hidden by leather masks - providing only a single slot that faced downward and allowed for only the next step to be visible ahead. These beeswax-cured face shields ran around their heads and tied around their shoulders to counter the wind. The outer layers of their clothing were tanned with oil and smoke, unthreatened by becoming wet on the inside from sweat. Their snow boots, bound with straps to wood, were stuffed with straw and fur.

The brothers made this trip every year, sometimes twice if benefactors allowed and health did not fail.

They did not speak as they walked and would not hear each other if they did. Nor did they need maps or markers to reach their destinations. A compass held by one of the brothers was all that guided them through the Insipid Flatlands. They’d check it occasionally, the snow-white plains threatening to lead them astray.

It was near. On a clear day, they would see the dark strip across the horizon. They would reach their destination before nightfall and camp there for the night.

Eagerness for a longer night's rest before the next leg of their journey increased their speed. They made good time, and the dark line on the horizon grew thicker and thicker.

The sun was low when they had stopped - in front of them, the monolith-like trees of the Deep Wood blocking out the remaining light.

Val woke up in a haze. Her mother stood over her, holding up her snow boots. They dripped dirty snowmelt onto Val’s blanket.

“What is this, Valeria? What have you done to my shoes? I found them frozen outside, and now I can’t go out and feed the chickens.”

“I’m sorry…” Val did not have words to explain. She had completely forgotten about them. “I just…”

“What happened to yours? Why is one in the mudroom? Why do you not take care of your things?” Her mother's eyes fell on Val’s hands, bandaged, spots of blood dried between them and on her wrist. “Valeria! What have you done?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find my second shoe - I fell and scratched my hands.” She panicked, lying as best she could. “I hurried to bandage them and forgot the boots…”

She could not tell her mother that she’d snuck out… that she… oh gods, Ura.

“Get out of bed. It’s nearly noon. What’s wrong with you?” Her mother threw up her hands.

The house felt extra hot, and she was sweating under the blankets.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry. I will go feed the chickens.”

Her grandmother was at the table cutting potatoes to bake into pies. She turned to where Val was pulling on a wool sweater. “Lazy girl, look at you sleeping in so long. You had the longest night of the year for rest and still took half the day! Come on, get up. You look a mess.”

She shoved a broom in Val’s bandaged hands. “Your mother tells me you’d mangled yourself outside. Here, do the light work since you can’t carry the bag of chicken feed. Your old, frail grandmother will do it for you. I hope my back does not break and my knees do not give out.”

Val did not say anything in her defense.

“Watch the pies.” Her grandmother slid the metal pan into the stove and shut the iron door, and soon, a gust of cold air was all that remained of her in the room.

Val swept, the broom feeling extra heavy. As did her eyes, her hands, her body. She’d pushed the dirt around and into the pan. Why was it still so hot in there?

Collapsing on the wooden bench, her head and body ached. Before she knew it, her chin dropped, and she dozed off, sitting up against the wall.

Her grandmother woke her up, crying out in horror as she pulled the stove door open to reveal the burnt, useless pies. It must have been a long time since she’d fallen asleep. She left the pies on the brick, raising her arm to hit Val with a wooden spoon, but as she stepped closer, her expression changed. She grabbed the girl’s face between her hands.

“You’re burning up!”

Val felt her vision swim. She looked at her grandmother with half-open eyes and felt the cold hands on her face, which felt like a welcome relief.

When her mother entered the room, their words slurred together as she felt their hands lifting her. She dropped onto the large metal chest in the corner of the room, blankets and pillows laid atop it. The rest was unknown to Val as she slipped into a pained sleep.

Between delirious tossing, aches, and the image of her bloody hands swimming in her mind - the last few days of her life were feeling like a feverish dream. Her memories swirled and pooled and blended one into another. Ura, the forest, the stag. She lost those details fast.

On the fifth day, Val opened her eyes to the sun shining through the windows, outlining the lazy dust particles floating in the air. She was so thirsty. The floor felt cold on her bare feet. The cold was an unpleasant sensation this time - the fever was gone. She stumbled to the table and drank right from the mouth of the kettle.

The neighbors stopped by periodically as she recovered her strength. They’d stay at the threshold and ask about her. They’d bring hot food and pickled vegetables from their cellars. They wished her well and asked when they could watch the sparrows and chickadees play in the brush together.

The one person that never came by was Ura.

Spring had come. It emerged first in the puddles filling the wheel tracks on the road. The birds that left for the winter could be seen playing among the branches, extra noisy in the morning hours - making sure to alert everyone of their return.

One by one, Val’s friends would turn of age, and the courting season would fully bloom. Boys, men now, would bring bunches of wildflowers to the girls. Little snowdrop flowers, white and elegant, hanging like wedding bells, would appear in the windows of the homes.

Val would see Ura briefly, but he would turn and walk the other way. Even if they nearly bumped into each other, he would never look her in the eye and act as a stranger would.

She held vague memories of why he was acting this way, but they were unattainably murky in her mind.

Had she said something wrong? Done something wrong?

She wanted to ask him. She was disappointed that the only boy interested in her had suddenly gone cold.

Val lay awake, wrapping herself tightly in the thin blankets. She looked up at the plastered ceiling and imagined pictures in its uneven texture. It cracked in places as the house settled and crumbled where the temperatures changed too much.

She shivered. It was an especially cold night after weeks of a pleasant season creeping toward warmer weather. Her family was asleep, her grandmother snoring loudly, only muffled by the shawl she had wrapped around her head.

Val walked to the window; it was far too cold for it to remain open. Its latches had been high, and she had to set her knee on the windowsill to reach. As she did, past her reflection in the glass, she saw a figure in the yard.

A dog. A large one. But it was impossible to see clearly as if the moon was hidden by the clouds.

It did not move or raise its head, and its legs looked placed in too wide a stance.

Val’s hand rested on the latch; unmoving, she kept her eyes on it. The longer she looked, the more unnatural the dog’s position was. It was as if it was hurt. Was it lost?

She did not recognize it by its size. Many families in the village had large dogs, some she’d known half her life and played with in the yard. She knew their bark, their walk and their excited stomps.

There was something wrong with the back legs. They just did not look right.

She felt a chill creep into her, originating in her gut and quickly flooding her entire body. Every part of her screamed to shut the window and close the curtains.

Every part of her tensed as she kept staring at the shape in the yard. Dark, indistinguishable, it was almost like…

It was a man.

Val saw the bent legs, the arms stretched too far in front of it, and the head drawn up as if looking directly toward the house. From the narrow hips protruded sharp hip bones. She could make out the shape so clearly now.

It twitched.

With desperate hands, she pushed the windowpane hard and latched it. She nearly fell back, hitting her elbow on the wooden table. A metal mug got knocked off as the tabletop vibrated from the force of her body. It hit the ground loudly as she came down with a thump.

Bodies stirred, her mother’s head appearing out of the alcove.

“What was that?”

Val did not speak, her eyes locked on the window.

“Valeria, everything okay? What was that?” It was her grandmother's voice.

“There is a man outside!” Val swallowed, her voice intense but hushed.

Her mother’s small frame quickly appeared by Val as if she was ready to fend off whoever was outside in nothing but her sleeping gown.

“Where?”

Val looked again, trying to make out the shadows of the bushes and the fence posts. He was gone.

“He was right there, by the well…” She’d pointed, less confident now.

“There’s no one there.” Her mother insisted, but she still slipped on her boots and threw her winter coat over her long cotton shirt. She walked out into the mud room, lighting a lantern and taking it outside. Val watched her through the window as her mother strolled through the yard and to the fence, stopping by the gate and rattling it to see if it was left open. Not that it mattered; the fence was only chest high, and anyone of height could hop it easily enough.

The man in the yard was a rumor that spread quickly as Val desperately wanted to know if anyone else had seen him.

A stranger in the village? Some older people rolled their eyes and said the young were making things up for attention.

Since that night, Val had trouble sleeping. She kept imagining scratching at the windows and door, but when she approached them, she would only see tree branches scraping against the glass. Twice now, she’d woken up with her heart beating fast, a few beads of sweat on her forehead.

As she lay awake, her mind drifted back to her nightmares. She could not quite tell what, but there was a feeling of dread that felt familiar - one that now hung in the air above her bed.