Forest of the Damned

by Lee Mountford

  Ken then looked through the thin, withered legs of Mother Sibbett, and he saw that the crowd from outside were filtering inside. At the head of the mass of people, of course, was Roberta, who continued down the aisle and stood beside Mother, like the obedient pet that she was.

  ‘Why did she bring me here?’ Ken asked, pointing up to Mother Sibbett, looking at her grinning face and awful, wild eyes. Scanning down her body further, Ken could make out her sickeningly thin frame, and the cluster of tumour-like eyes that covered it. He also noted a thicket of coarse, black hair that covered the sex of the monster and ran up to her belly. The very sight of Mother Sibbett disgusted Ken.

  ‘To end it,’ Roberta answered him. ‘It’s time, Ken. Time to do what she wills of you. Give yourself over.’

  Ken tried to crab-walk backwards, but even this simple movement made his heart once again surge into overdrive, causing pain to spike with every beat. On top of that, he had only succeeded in moving maybe a foot before his head bounced off the soft, spongy stomach of the effigy behind. He looked up to see the bestial, dead face of the horned animal as it now angled its head to look down on him. The horizontal pupils that cut a black line through the dull yellow around them felt like they were staring into his very soul.

  Ken’s chest tightened, and his breathing became short and rasping. Regardless of the horrors around him, he knew that there was no way he was going to get out of this situation alive. Even if Mother Sibbett and her followers hadn’t been present, the condition of his heart coupled with the lack of medical assistance made it a certainty that he was going to die in these woods. And soon.

  Survival for him now was just not an option. But he had no time to dwell on that. The demons around him would not allow it. However, if he could not choose to save his own life, then perhaps he could instead decide how to end it.

  Ken looked past the grinning face of the goat that hovered over him, up to its pointed horns.

  Sharing the fate of Tony and James terrified him to an extent that threatened to loosen his bladder again. But, at the same time, willfully giving himself over to Mother Sibbett as Roberta had suggested would inevitably lead to something much worse.

  However, if he instead took his own life, perhaps he could spare himself torturous pain and eternal damnation.

  ‘And just how… do you expect me… to give myself to her?’ Ken asked, his words slow and laboured, a struggle to get out.

  ‘First,’ Roberta replied with a smile that showed her blackened teeth and gums, ‘You need to take on the blood of the Old One.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’

  Roberta nodded. ‘When we first arrived here. It fell from a tree, dropped by Mother’s will. The Great Blood flows through this forest, spreading the influence of Mother Sibbett and the Old One. Tony, too, was infected through the wound on his neck. As for James,’ Roberta let a smile sneak across her lips, ‘I was the one who made sure he was infected.’ She then pointed to the goat-headed thing behind Ken. ‘See that? It is our representation of the Old One.’

  Ken looked back, still appalled by the creation, but surprised that this was the thing they worshipped. Especially given the twenty-foot monster that stood above them, which was a much more terrifying sight.

  ‘That is the Old One?’

  Roberta laughed. ‘No. Only Mother has truly seen the Old One. But the rest of us are not strong enough to do so. Not yet. This is just our effigy, our fetish of it. But the blood still flows within that dead husk.’

  She then nodded towards the dripping breasts. Ken’s eyes widened in realisation.

  ‘No! No fucking way!’

  His former friend just laughed again, taking great glee at his sudden understanding. ‘Oh yes. You need the blood inside of you, Ken. So take it.’

  ‘That’s sick.’

  ‘It is,’ she said. ‘But that’s the point. You need to unburden yourself of the restraints of what you have been taught. There is no right or wrong here. There is only the way of things. Now… drink.’

  From above, Mother Sibbett bent at her knees, lowering her monstrous face down closer to him. Breath like rotting meat spilt over him as she waited for Ken—waited for him to willfully give himself over.

  Silence descended over the gathered village-folk. All eyes in the church now rested on Ken.

  There was no place for him to run, and even if there was, he didn’t have the strength to try.

  There was no way out.

  So he slowly brought himself up to his knees, using the effigy of The Old One as support for his weakened body. Ken’s face drew level to the awful breasts of the thing before him, and his left hand grabbed one of the sharp horns above to steady himself.

  And to prepare himself.

  Perhaps he did not have the energy to escape, but maybe he had strength enough for one last act. It would be a defiant one, but it would allow him to end things on his own terms.

  Ken’s hand squeezed around the horn. It felt strong and sturdy in his grip, which was what he’d hoped. Ken then moved his head closer to the long, purple nipple, hearing excited murmurs from the congregation behind him as he did.

  Good, let them get excited.

  All he was doing was keeping up a pretence.

  He looked to the line across the throat of the effigy, where beast met human. The two parts were held together by a simple stitch of thin and frail-looking thread. Though Ken’s energy felt almost depleted, he hoped he still had strength enough for what he had in mind.

  And so, with every ounce of energy he had, Ken spun his body, ripping at the goat head and letting out a weak roar as he did. Thankfully, he heard the stitching tear and felt the head give way and detach from the body, which flopped to the floor by his side. Ken let himself fall back into it, with the prize still in hand.

  A furious roar went up around the room, with Roberta letting out a screech of anger.

  Ken, acting quickly, had already rotated the head that he held in his hands so that one of the prongs was aimed directly at back him.

  The giant witch above him just watched, not even blinking as he stared back into her eyes, teeth clenched.

  ‘Fuck you, bitch,’ he said. Ken then closed his eyes and yanked the tip of the horn down to his exposed throat.

  39

  He’d braced for the pain, fully expecting the piercing of his trachea to be an explosion of agony. But he needed to bear it, as Ken planned on yanking the makeshift spear around as hard as he could in order to rip open the wound as much as possible. Then there would be no turning back. Lastly, of course, he would have to endure the act of actually dying. But he was ready for all of that.

  What he was not ready for, however, was what he actually felt… nothing. No stabbing pain, no tearing of the flesh, no puncturing of his throat. The sharp horn had not pierced his skin.

  When Ken opened his eyes, he saw precisely why.

  Large, claw-like fingers held the horned goat head between them, overpowering Ken, stopping him from completing his suicidal motion.

  The animal’s head was then quickly snatched from Ken’s grasp and thrown back into the gathered village-folk who had packed the church.

  ‘That was a mistake,’ Roberta said, her mouth curled up into a snarl.

  But Ken wasn’t sure that was true. Even if he had to suffer unimaginable pain, he felt it preferable to submitting to the madness.

  Though that mindset could change, of course.

  Ken moved backwards, climbing over the decapitated body of the effigy behind him. That in itself was a struggle, and his heart continued to beat frantically. He couldn’t escape, as there was nowhere to go. There was no secret door behind him that he could make use of. And even if there was, he didn’t have the strength to make use of it. Crawling away from the giant and her followers, like a bug on the ground, was pushing Ken to his absolute limit. Roberta walked towards him, though the witch above seemed satisfied to hold her ground.

  ‘There’s nowhere to go, Ken,’ she
said, quickly catching up to him. She then raised a filthy foot and drove it down onto Ken’s chest. An eruption of pain bloomed beneath her sole as it slammed into him and pinned him easily to the floor. ‘So this defiance is pointless.’

  ‘It’s… done,’ Ken said, wheezing. ‘I won’t… submit.’

  Roberta bared her teeth and lifted her foot, ready to stamp it down again. Ken tensed, waiting for the blow, but Roberta stopped. The rage on her face melted away, and she turned her head towards Mother Sibbett. Roberta held the giant’s gaze for a while, merely looking at the monster.

  What is she doing? Ken thought, still expecting her to drive her foot down once again.

  But instead, a smile crossed over Roberta’s face and, eventually, she turned back to Ken. ‘You’re right, Mother,’ she said.

  Ken realised there was some kind of communication taking place that he wasn’t party to.

  ‘What’s… going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Mother Sibbett has decided to give you another chance,’ she told him.

  ‘Fuck… you.’

  ‘You might change your mind when you hear what she has to say. Thing is, Mother Sibbett knows why you are here. She knows what it is you’re searching for more than anything else in the world. And she has the knowledge that you need to get the answers.’

  ‘What… do you… mean?’

  ‘You want to know what happens after we die? Well, she can answer that. She can show you what happened to Amy, Ken. She feels your guilt, your anguish, and it excites the Old One. It has been a long time since they’ve had someone so burdened with pain cross the threshold of the forest. So, if you agree, then you will get what you want. The Old One can make it happen. It can reunite you with Amy.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘No. It’s true.’

  ‘Amy is dead,’ Ken said through clenched teeth. ‘She has nothing to do with this place.’

  Roberta paused, looking again at Mother Sibbett as more unspoken words were seemingly shared. She turned back to Ken.

  ‘There is something you should know, Ken. Out there, in the world beyond the borders of the forest, things are different. Dead is dead. There is no afterlife outside of the influence of Old One, or those like it. So your Amy, dear Ken, is no more. Nothing. She doesn’t exist.’

  Ken tried to spit at Roberta in anger, but the effort was pathetic, and he did little more than send a trail of saliva down his own chin. The intent, however, was not lost on her.

  ‘Don’t get angry,’ Roberta said with a small giggle. ‘Hear me out. What I’m telling you is true. But the thing is, you are in a place outside of the restraints of your world. Death isn’t the end here—or, at least, it doesn’t have to be. Mother Sibbett and the Old One can offer you something. They can make it so that you can see your daughter again. You can live with her every day for eternity, seeing her smiling face. Every. Single. Day. Until the end of time.’

  ‘Lies,’ Ken responded, certain he was being deceived.

  ‘No,’ Roberta insisted.

  ‘But it won’t be real.’

  ‘That’s the thing. It will seem real to you. Because you won’t know any better. Your soul, or part of it, will think it’s all real. So, in essence, it will be. You won’t remember any of this: the forest, your dead friends, or this church. None of it. You will only know the reality that surrounds you.’

  ‘It’s a trick,’ Ken said, but the certainty was gone.

  What if it wasn’t a trick? If what they offered was a possibility, then even if it wasn’t the real Amy, wasn’t that existence preferable to the alternatives: eternal torment or eternal nothingness?

  How could he seriously choose one of those fates?

  And the thought that his daughter had stepped into the infinite void of the second option was enough to shatter his mind as much as it broke his heart.

  But what if he could forget all of that pain and anguish and guilt?

  Real or not, to carry on in ignorance, to be able to see his daughter again would indeed be heaven compared to the hell of this life since her death.

  ‘And what’s… in it for you?’ Ken asked. The pain in his chest was still agonising, but he needed to get the words out. He needed to know. ‘Why would you do that? Wouldn’t that stop you from getting what you want? My pain and suffering.’

  Roberta shook her head. ‘No, it wouldn’t. In fact, it would give Mother and the Old One exactly what they want. Let them take your pain away from you. I promise, they can make it real for you. And you will see your daughter, just as you remember her. And you will never know what happened here. We aren’t lying to you, Ken.’

  She then knelt down beside him and held up her wrist level with Ken’s head. With her other hand, she drew a sharp nail across her skin and veins, cutting away the flesh in one swipe. Black liquid bubbled free and flowed down her arm. Roberta then moved her wrist closer to him, and he understood what he was to do.

  ‘Drink,’ she told him. ‘And see Amy again.’

  A voice screamed in the back of his mind, telling him to resist. It was the same voice that had warned him earlier when he’d seen the apparition of Amy in the forest. But the promise of what could be was powerful, just as it had been when he had seen Amy. Ken now had a similar choice to make, in a way, and it was one he had gotten wrong before. Back then, he should have just turned away from the sight of her, knowing it wasn’t real, and run. And now, somewhere in his consciousness, he knew the things he was being promised likely came with a price. Or they were outright lies.

  So the choice should have been obvious.

  But, that was the thing with unresolved grief and guilt—it could override common sense and logic, as Ken was all too aware. So deep was his river of pain that he would do whatever it took to get out and stop from drowning. However small the chance, the offer before Ken could potentially give him everything he’d ever wanted since the day his daughter died.

  Absolution.

  And if it was a trick, then perhaps he would get what he really deserved.

  But if not… well, the promise of that was too strong of a pull.

  Tears rolled down Ken’s cheeks, and he clamped his mouth over the proffered wrist. He sucked, gobbling down mouthfuls of the foul, sour-tasting blood.

  ‘Good,’ Roberta said with a large, sinister smile. ‘Good.’

  40

  Ken wasn’t sure how much of the so-called ‘Great Blood’ now sloshed around in his belly. It was enough to make him feel nauseous, certainly, but he didn’t know how much more he could stomach. Thankfully, Roberta eventually withdrew her wrist, drawing to a close the grotesque feeding.

  ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘You’ve made the right decision.’

  ‘Were you telling the truth?’ Ken asked, braced for an answer he did not want, but one he fully expected. ‘About seeing Amy again?’

  Roberta paused before replying, but only for a moment. However, it was long enough to feel like an eternity to Ken. ‘No,’ she eventually said. ‘You will see her. Every day. Like we promised. And you will have no memory of any of this. But…’

  She trailed off, smiling.

  ‘But what?’ Ken asked, knowing that something was coming to sour the deal. He’d been so fucking stupid.

  ‘Well, the blood is inside of you now, Ken. The blood of the Old One. So when you die, your soul will live on in a state desired by the one we serve. That is where you will see Amy again, in an existence forged by its will. However, that will only happen in death. So there is the small matter of ending your life to take care of.’ She chuckled. Excited murmurs grew from those present inside of this hellish church.

  Ken understood now. This was the trade-off. This was where these demonic creatures would take their payment.

  And so it was.

  Ken was mutilated and torn asunder.

  First, the giant form of Mother Sibbett reached a gnarled and clawed hand down towards him, driving the nail of one huge finger through his shoulder. He screamed, but that was
just the start—only a way to keep him in place.

  Led by Roberta, the village-folk inside of the church all descended onto him as their Mother watched on from above. Scores of hands grasped at Ken and bodies piled on top of him. The sodomy was both painful and humiliating, but it was only a way to ease him into the coming torture.

  He was abused and defiled, and the skin was torn off his writhing body. The grasping hands that fought over him became more violent: entrails and intestines were pulled free and gorged on by the demons that were killing him.

  Ken was unable to scream anymore—with no jaw or vocal cords—as he endured unimaginable agony.

  It was Roberta he saw last before death claimed him. She lowered her disgusting head over him and smiled. It was a sweet smile, at least, as much as her ruined face would allow, and she waved.

  The price of eternal happiness had indeed been high. The pain was excruciating and almost beyond comprehension. And the humiliation at how his body was being used was perhaps even worse.

  But as much as it felt like the slow death would never end, Ken knew—somewhere in the back of his mind—that it would.

  And it finally did.

  His light slowly extinguished, and he could focus only on Roberta as his vision faded to black.

  It was over now. He could look forward to continuing on in blissful ignorance with the person he loved most in this world. The price, he knew, had been worth it.

  A thought entered Ken’s mind before it ceased its function: did Tony and James have to submit the same way? Or did they suffer this kind of end regardless?

  He couldn’t think it through any further, however, as his brain activity ceased. The words spoken to him by Roberta went unheard.

  ‘Go now, Ken,’ she had said. ‘Go see your little girl.’