Into the Deep Wood

Every day Val was given a longer and longer list of chores. She cooked, cleaned, and did strange and specific tasks that the Hag would delegate to her. She kept waiting for her escape, but the Hag seemed everywhere. She was nearby and watched Val day and night.

In the evenings, when they would sit down to dinner, although this was only when the Hag would deem Val deserved dinner, she would be given a chance to ask questions.

She had no questions.

The crazed old woman made no sense but now gave off a chaotic air of danger. When Val would not ask a question, the Hag would speak freely - in riddles and gibberish.

“Creep and crawl, creep and crawl, round and round they creep and crawl. Think that I don’t see them, but I see all. Creepies and spooks - hang their heads on hooks.”

She almost sang these words, the rumble in her throat resembling a giggle, and continued.

“But we got some other crawlies here, some crawlies that I have not smelled in a while.” Her nostrils flared and she lunged at the door, pausing then smelling the air again. She opened it, standing on the threshold staring at the forest, but did not say another word.

Val had been there for over a month. Each day rolled into another. Only chores and no one to speak to but the demented old woman. She slept hard, so exhausted from the day’s work that her mind had no place for restlessness.

Although the Hag watched her every movement, Val had managed to use whatever moments she could to sneak food into a folded cloth beneath her cot. She thought that once she had enough, she could take the lantern by the stove and run away into the night.

She had no fears of the wood spirits any longer, the Hag’s home seemed a fate worse than meeting them now. She would rather perish from them - free - than be enslaved here.

It was a night that must have neared the end of summer, at the height of it growing cold and mornings feeling crisp and breezy. Val had awoken, her head aching almost as much as her tired muscles. The stove had coals glowing as Hag had said that her old bones sensed the chill and creaked and cracked at it without the warmth indoors. Val looked up, and it seemed as if the ceiling was caving in. But then it wasn’t, was it? It seemed to pulse as if the wooden beams were expanding and contracting. Was her head spinning? Throbbing with pain?

She sat at the edge of the cot, rubbing her eyes and then looking up - the walls were pulsing too. As if they were breathing, they twisted and deflated so slightly that if she were not looking right at them, she might not notice. Strange, like the old woman was strange, everything around her. She rose and walked to the wall that seemed to be moving. Val laid a hand on the wooden logs - and immediately pulled it away. The wood was breathing. It was moving as if alive, but so subtly, she could have almost missed it.

Val nervously glanced at the cot where the Hag slept - just to find no one there.

Forgetting all about the wood, the house, her aching head and the sleep that had so abruptly ended, Val lunged for the bundle under her cot.

With hands shaking, she tied it tighter, put on her shoes, and did not bother to get dressed. She could have mere moments - or hours - she did not know. But this was the first the Hag had left her unsupervised, and this might be her only chance to make her escape.

She grabbed the lantern, lighting it from the coals of the stove. She would have no other opportunity to do so. The plans she’d made over the course of weeks felt all but forgotten.

Just get away with light and food—the clothes on your back. Just leave.

Val stumbled on rocks in the dark, running down the path. She was going so fast she nearly lost a shoe. She’d have to cross the bog, letting the creeping vines and reeds conceal her escape. She’d walked the paths many times; the Hag had her sweep them in her lunacy.

To sweep a dirt path - who could think up such a thing?

The ribbit of the frogs, groans of the trees, and splashes of the mystery fish seemed too peaceful for how hard her heart was beating. The ground was softer here, part dirt part peat. Her footsteps left visible prints as she ran.

Around the corner and through the blueberry shrubs, past the fallen logs and puddles of lily pads, she saw the edge of the Dark Wood ahead - they stood above the swamp on roots that had trapped dirt and mud among their tangles. They seemingly held themselves up by those bluffs.

Something pulled at her skirt. She leaned into her next step, trying to break free, but it just tangled more inside the cloth of the nightshirt. And then her wrist was caught inside a frigid bony hand.

“Flee, flee, you can’t be free!”

Her throat closed, her entire body filling with dread as the heat of escape so nearby turned to ash.

For nothing. It was all for nothing.

“What did you think, Little One?” the old woman did not let go of her arm, her grip strong and the force she held Val back even stronger. Val pulled, but to no avail. It was like the Hag’s arm was made of iron. “That I alone confined you here? That my humble dwelling’s walls had been your sentinels? Go on then, girl!”

The Hag let go, leaving Val’s arm in excruciating pain. Hesitant, Val took two steps forward, never taking her eyes off the Hag.

“You’d better watch what happens to my bits and bobs were they to cross the boundary of my Glade. You’d better let an apple lead your way, Little Bit.”

Val stood silently for a second, turning her eyes to the tree line. Her handkerchief was full of apples, the easiest food to stash away. Hesitantly, she took one out.

“Bits and bobs! Bits and bobs! Across the pond! Across the pond!”

Val held the apple in her hand, looking at it desperately. She did not know what the old woman wanted. She did not know what would happen to her were she to disobey.

She threw the apple toward the trees. It landed somewhere beyond the light of the lantern.

“Go see, girl.”

Val took a few steps forward, still listening for the Hag. Another two. She turned back and checked if she was following - the Hag stood still in the same spot she had appeared.

“Stop! That is the line.”

Val obeyed; the old woman’s commanding voice held a threat this time. She held her lantern up - in front of her in the dirt were the remains of a rotting, wormy apple.

She stared at it, the notion of understanding still too absurd. Val took the handkerchief and yet another apple out. She threw it only a couple of feet away. Its juicy flesh sank into a shriveled, brown mess as it hit the ground. The meat had melted off the core and slowly seeped into the dirt.

“Fly! And I will use your wings for toothpicks, Little Sparrow. What’s mine stays mine, inside my meadow.” The toothless smile that Val had grown to despise crept across the wrinkly face. The old woman turned and walked back toward the hut.

Val stood on that spot, longingly looking at the tree line. She reached a hand forward, expecting to touch something - a barrier - a wall of magic. But her hand slipped through the air, the boundary only marked by the Hag’s words.

The next night, the Hag had cooked again; the rye bread inside the stove smelled like Val’s mother’s making. The porridge reminded her of winter when the morning met them with frost on all the windows.

Val was not allowed to eat that night. She was banished to sit on the floor in the corner of the room while the Hag ate hungrily, the porridge running down her chin. Bits of buckwheat in the corners of her mouth, she smacked her gums loudly. Her mouth still full of food, she would take a bite of bread - bits of drool and milk dripping onto the table. Val stared ahead at the fire in the stove. The sounds of the old woman’s guttural swallowing brought bile to her throat.

When she was done, there was no crumb left or a drop of porridge. Val had to scrub the dishes, the Hag curling up like a lazy cat on her cot.

“I must go to the well, change the water out, Grandmother.” She said. The Hag’s blessing came in a wheezy breath.

Once outside, Val listened for any movement inside the hut, then ran behind it to the vegetable garden. She fell on her knees and filled her mouth with whatever was in reach - tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries. She filled her pockets with pea pods and gooseberries, looking behind her periodically for any signs of being watched.

At the well, she drank until she felt sick, then sat back on the overturned metal washtub. She thought of where she was just a couple of months ago - in her home, with her mother and grandmother.

She was the kind of girl who didn't disobey, who did not speak out of turn. Her penance for disobedience and leaving her mother's house was paid first by her neighbors and then by the concession of her life. She’d traded it for stew and bread. For a cot to sleep on. And she did not even get that. How could she have known?

How was she to ever guess the bog witch was to imprison her here in her hut, in her grassy meadow? She did not understand what forces acted in this place; she’d never heard about the likes of it. She did not know why the old woman wished to keep her here - surely not so she could cook and clean. Not so that she could hang the dried herbs outside the home. Not for the sweeping of these wild, dusty dirt paths, which held no reason or meaning but to punish her for waking up.

Val started crying desperately, her entire body shaking. She drew her hands up to her face, pressing her fists against her temples, elbows tucked between her knees and doubled over. Despairing and anguished, for a moment, she considered walking right into the thick waters of the mire and allowing it to take her.

“Valyyyaaaa”

Her tears dried up in an instant, paralyzed by the whisper of her name coming from the trees. It had been so long since the horrific night that she had left the village; she’d almost forgotten the dread she felt with them calling her name in the dark.

She jumped up and ran, leaving the washtub in the grass. She’d been so hungry, thirsty, eager to escape the hut - she hadn’t brought a lantern when she’d gone down to the well.

Running into the doorway, she met the short, hunched figure standing sternly in her way.

“Deceiving girl leaves washtub at the bottom of the hill.” She recited, jumping on Val and seizing clutches of her hair. Val screamed in pain as she was pulled down to a stoop and then outside. The Hag dragged her down the hill and only released her past the well - facing the forest on her knees.

Val breathed hard, frozen on the cusp of the woods.

Something moved. Her eyes shot to the side. In her peripheral, something else shifted, and she jerked her head. All around, the trees reached for her. Where she saw branches, they would suddenly separate from the tree and reveal that they were not branches but limbs.

The Hag’s face floated down next to hers, and when Val tried to turn away, she grabbed her by the back of the head - forcing her to look forward.

“Bump and play, bump and play. Til they smell a little stray.” She cooed.

They crawled toward her; she could see them. Their knees bent backward, and some of their arms grew on one side. Some had three, some none. Some looked as if their long torso bent backward over their creeping legs. She could not see their eyes and realized it was because they had none. All blind, where their sockets would be just smooth, taut skin. They all whispered with a collection of distorted voices. Some like cattle, some like people - words that made no sense and seemed to be randomly picked out of other people’s mouths.

She shut her eyes as tight as she could, her breathing sporadic and hard.

But nothing happened.

She waited, the Hag's hand forcefully holding her head upright.

And still, nothing.

Her eyes flew open; she saw them all lined up as if on a cliff’s edge. They were not crossing the threshold of the meadow.

She smelled the putrid breath of the Hag as the old woman's lips parted in another smile.

“Creepy crawly chorts smelled the lying girl. Creepy crawly chorts came to see the girl. Ha! They cannot see, you see.” She cackled and let go of Val’s head, releasing the girl to fall forward on the ground.

Val felt the Hag’s hard wooden spoon strike the back of her head, then her legs, arms, and back. Val cried out. This scared the chorts, as they went scattering back into the trees and roots - blending into the forest and its shadows.

When the Hag was done, she turned and hobbled back to the hilltop. Val lay in the grass, her body bruising already. Her skin was red and swollen where the spoon made contact. She slowly got up, focusing on anything but the pain - she heard the wind rustling the trees and whisper.

She felt the dirt beneath her feet. She felt where the tears had burned her face, which now stung.

At that moment, she felt like the night would never give way to sunrise again.