by Tobias Wade
“It was probably some crazy old lady that hung them up.” Kenny was trying to convince himself more than me. “She lost her daughter in an accident or something, and then she moved out to the woods to live alone, and then—”
“Kenny.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
I pointed through the trees to our right.
“No. No way. Is that—”
Four bodies were hanging from a tree a few meters away, surrounded by dolls. But these bodies were real. They swayed gently in the breeze.
“Are they…?”
“I think so.”
Twigs were shoved into their empty eye sockets. One body was wearing a suit, another gaudy leggings. One was missing a leg entirely, and the other had a tattoo covering most of one arm. What on earth were they doing out here? Who were they?
“We need to tell the others. We gotta get out of here.”
“I’ll see if I can get them down or something first. You get the others.” Kenny was climbing the tree before I could protest. There was no time to waste. I ran.
I reached camp and explained to the others what we had seen.
“You saw dead bodies hanging from a tree?” Frank asked.
“And a forest of dolls?” Shay confirmed.
“You could think of better excuses than that if you just wanted some alone time. Where is Kenny, anyway? Was it that good, huh?” Ellie poked a few more sticks into the fire.
They didn’t believe me. I grabbed Ellie’s hand and dragged her to her feet.
“Hey, what are you—”
“Come on.”
Shay ran to catch up with us, Frank hot on her heels. The rain falling through the trees covered the forest in a mist that made it difficult to see where we were going.
Suddenly Ellie screamed and brushed furiously at her face.
“What was that? What was that?”
It was one of the dolls.
“We’re close. It’s just over there. Hey, Kenny! Are you there? I brought the others!”
Ellie grabbed my arm like her life depended on it. We moved through the trees, stepping around and then through the mud. Nobody said a word. The forest was silent but for the sound of rain on the leaves. I couldn’t hear any signs of Kenny.
I stopped. My heart began pounding furiously in my chest.
“Oh my god.” Shay covered her mouth in surprise. Ellie gripped my arm even tighter. Frank moved towards the bodies and poked the guy in the suit with a stick. He swung back and forth in the rain, hitting the lady in the leggings and the guy with the tattoo.
“Jesus, they’re dead all right.”
“Hey, are you okay?” Shay was looking at me, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“T-there’s more of them,” I stammered.
“What?”
“There’s more…”
There were several new bodies, swaying in the rain. I looked up higher and gasped.
Kenny swung from the branches high above us, twigs shoved into his bleeding eyes.
Blair Daniels
Don't Stop on Route 33
There’s a stretch of Route 33 that goes over Shenandoah Mountain. It’s one of the most beautiful roads in the country—some parts cling to the side of the mountain, with gorgeous view of the valley below. Others snake through deep, lush forest, scattered with deer and all kinds of wildlife.
But, if you ever see a car broken down on the side of it—
Don’t you dare stop.
Connor and I first saw it on the way to his parents’ house one evening. A silver Accord, parked askew in the grass. The flashers were on, blinking in the blue dusk. And stuck in the back window was a piece of paper, scrawled with the words HELP! BROKE DOWN.
But Connor didn’t slow down.
“Police patrol the area all the time,” he said, swerving around it. “They’ll be just fine.”
I scoffed. “Oh, no, I know what this is about.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “Getting to your parents on time is more important than helping out someone who’s stranded on the side of the road. That’s it, isn’t it?!”
“No. As I just said, Vee—if they actually need help, they’ll flag down an officer.”
“Why are you being so terrible?! They broke down! They need our help!”
“If they really broke down, Vee,” he said, yanking the steering wheel, “why did they just pull out behind us?”
I turned to the mirror.
No—Two white lights, swinging onto the road.
Thud.
I was thrown back in my seat, as Connor put the pedal to the floor. We flew through the darkness; branches scraped at the car, and the wind howled.
“I knew we should’ve waited ‘til morning,” he muttered under his breath.
“Connor, what—”
“Bad people hang ‘round here at night.” His voice was barely audible over the roar of the car. “Dad’s always talking about ‘em, but I never believed him. Thought they were tall tales, you know, to scare me into not taking this road. It’s a dangerous road, with the curves and all.”
“Bad people? What do you mean?” The headlights disappeared behind a bend. “Like cults? Or serial killers? Or—”
“Maybe both,” he said. “Just know all the victims are found the same way: in the middle of the woods, completely naked, with slashes across their throats.”
I shuddered, and my mind began to race. What if they catch up with us? What if they get us? What if—
But then I saw it.
A narrow road, splitting off from the right side of the highway, climbing up into the forest.
I glanced in the mirror. The headlights hadn’t reappeared yet.
“Turn, there!” I said. “And then cut the lights. They’ll pass us right up.”
Connor hesitated. “I don’t even know where that goes,” he said. “Didn’t even think there was an exit for another twenty miles, at least.”
“Just turn!”
He jerked the steering wheel. The seatbelt cut into my chest, as we veered off, braked to a stop.
And then waited for the Accord to pass. Two, five, then ten minutes.
But they never came.
“Did we lose them?”
“Must have,” he said. “Let’s go.” The car rumbled to life. He turned sharply towards the trees, then backed up—
A shadow caught in the headlights.
Silver metal and glass.
The Accord.
Lights off, still and silent, parked right behind us.
I screamed. Connor cursed under his breath. We swerved back onto the road, heading deeper into the forest. “If this is a dead end, then—”
Thunk!
We went flying. Dirt and trees and sky all whirled together. I shut my eyes, screaming, clinging to the door.
We hit the tree with a loud crunch.
“Veronica!”
“I’m fine,” I groaned. “Just hit my head, but—”
Crunch!
I whipped around.
Crunch!
The Accord was ramming into us, over and over.
“Get out!” Connor yelled.
I swung the door open, and tumbled out of the car. We stumbled through the forest, back in the direction of 33. Branches clawed at my arms; rocks bit into my feet. Tears were running down my face, and it took everything in me to silence my sobs. “I can’t do this,” I heaved. “I can’t—”
Slam.
I whipped around. Someone was stepping out of the Accord—a tall, pale figure with wild hair, illuminated in the flickering light of our dying headlights.
“Where is it?!” Connor huffed. “Where’s 33?! We didn’t drive that far away. Where the hell is it?!”
But he was right.
There were only branches, dirt, darkness.
Route 33 was gone.
It was as if the for
est had swallowed us up, and severed us completely from the outside world. Behind us, the figure advanced, the sharp crunch of footsteps echoing off the trees.
“I’m so sorry,” Connor said, his voice faltering.
But then I saw it. A light—smeared and blurry through my tears, shining through the trees like a beacon of hope.
We stumbled towards it. The trees got sparser; the underbrush grew thicker. Patches of blue sky peeked through the branches.
“Oh, thank God!” I gasped.
It was a flashlight.
And beyond it—
The uniform of a police officer.
Unfortunately, by the time we led the officer back to our car, the silver Accord was gone.
But, fortunately, Route 33 didn’t actually disappear. We must’ve just gotten disoriented in the darkness. She told us it’s very common for people to get lost in these woods, even during the daytime.
After filing various paperwork, she safely drove us to my in-laws’ house. The four of us had a great dinner, too much dessert, and lots of laughs. “Want to take a walk?” I asked Connor, after things had settled down. “I think I need to walk off all that ice cream.”
“Sure,” he said, taking my hand.
We took a short walk around the block. It was fully dark, now, and the stars twinkled high above. A cool breeze came in from the west, fluttering through my hair.
And in the moonlight, something glinted across the street.
“Connor! Look!” I grabbed his arm.
“No—”
Parked on the street was a dented, silver Accord.
The Wall in Grandpa’s Backyard
“Never go over the wall.” My grandpa sat in the rocking chair, massaging his bad ankle through mud-stained jeans. “This isn’t the safest area of Florida. Especially at night.”
“Okay.”
“Also, be careful with that. You could take your eye out.”
See, that’s why my nine-year-old self didn’t take him seriously. He was always warning me about various “dangerous” things. Don’t swim in the deep end of the pool; you could drown. Don’t run so fast; you could trip and break your neck.
So when—one night—I heard a voice on the other side of the wall, I wasn’t scared.
I had been playing alone in the backyard, sitting in the grass between the orange trees, when I heard it. A woman’s voice, low and soft, echoing over the concrete wall at the end of the backyard.
“Hello?”
Being the curious kid I was, I immediately ran over to it. I wouldn’t climb over—even though I didn’t believe Grandpa, I didn’t want to make him mad—but there was no harm in taking a peek, right?
I stepped up on the old stone fountain, reached for the top of the wall, and hoisted myself up. And then I peered down.
Underneath the intertwining oak branches and Spanish moss was only darkness. I squinted, trying to make sense of the shadows flitting across the dirt floor. Maybe I had imagined it—
“Hello?”
The voice rang out in the darkness, up through the trees.
“Hello!” I called back.
I heard a rustling sound, and the soft thump of footsteps. “Who’s there?”
“Amanda,” I called down.
“I’m Elizabeth.” The shadows shifted, but I still couldn’t quite make out the figure below. “And I need your help, Amanda.”
“Sure! I can help!”
“I’m thirsty,” she said. The wind picked up, and the branches swayed, scattering the shadows below. “So very thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water!” I said, without second thought.
“Oh, that would be so wonderful, Amanda.”
I jumped down, scampered inside, and fished a bottle of water from the fridge. Grandpa didn’t even notice; he was watching some boring World War II movie on TV, rubbing his bad ankle all the while.
I stepped back up onto the fountain. “I got you some water,” I called. “Do you want me to throw it down?”
“Oh, well... it might hit me. Maybe you can come down and give it to me?”
I paused. The warm Florida air blew over my face, and there was a strange smell: sour, like when Dad’s meat freezer in the basement broke a few years ago. “I can’t. I’m not supposed to go over the wall.”
I was met with awkward silence.
“Hello?”
“Please, I’m so thirsty,” the voice said, again.
I looked at the rough concrete. Maybe I could pull myself up a bit, reach down, and hand her the bottle of water? I swung a leg up over the wall, and with a grunt, pulled myself into a sitting position.
Slowly, I leaned down, and reached my hand through the canopy of branches.
But nothing took the bottle of water.
“Hello?”
Silence. Not even a footstep, or a rustle, from the underbrush below.
“Hel—”
Something yanked my ankle.
Hard.
I jerked forward. The water fell to the ground with a sickening splat. My hands flew out, gripping the edge of the wall—
Ch-ch-ch-ch.
A chittering sound, almost insect-like, emanated from the underbrush. Large, dark figures emerged from the shadows, swarming towards me in jerky motions. I screamed, holding on to the wall for dear life, but my fingers were slipping—
“Amanda!”
Two rough, strong hands grabbed my shoulders. In one motion, they yanked me back over the wall.
“What did I tell you?” Grandpa shouted. “Never go over the wall!”
“But there was a woman,” I said, through sobs, “and she said—”
“No buts!” He dragged me back inside, and sat me down on the couch. “No matter what you heard—what you think you heard…” He propped my leg up on the ottoman. An angry red mark had appeared—the imprint of four long fingers and a thumb.
Fingers so long, they wrapped around the entire circumference of my ankle, and then some.
“Grandpa, what were those things?”
He didn’t reply.
Instead, he slowly rolled up his pant leg.
There was a white, shining scar—
Of long fingers wrapped around his ankle.
Patterns in the Bark
Have you ever seen a bunny in the clouds? Or a face on the moon? Or a creepy grin in that dried-up splatter of tomato sauce on the kitchen floor?
That’s pareidolia.
Our brain sees faces in random patterns. Call it evolution, insanity, or whatever you like—but it’s an instinct ingrained in all of us, from the very day we were born.
And that’s exactly what happened when I found myself staring at a birch tree, waiting for Jake to finish up his lunch.
“Jake! Look!” I said, pointing to one of the black marks on the white trunk. “Doesn’t that look just like an eye?”
“Not really.”
“What? It’s totally an eye! There’s the pupil, and the eyelid—”
“Looks more like a bird to me,” he said, through a mouthful of tuna. “Or a bat. The wings, the round little body. Those points could even be fangs!” He grinned. “Maybe it’s a vampire bat.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s totally not a vampire bat.”
See, that’s the thing about pareidolia. Everyone sees something different; it’s like a Rorschach test. While you see a cute kitty on your morning toast, your boyfriend sees the perfect likeness of Alice Cooper.
“I’m done,” Jake said, crunching up the paper bag and throwing it in his backpack. “Let’s go.”
We continued to hike up the hill. The birch trees surrounded us, the pale trunks contrasting sharply with the yellow leaves of autumn. And the black eyes etched into the bark seemed to multiply, the deeper into the forest we got.
“Shouldn’t we be heading back?” I asked, as I applied more bug spray. “It’s nearly four—the sun’s going to set soon.”
/> “Aw, come on, don’t be a party pooper. Just a little further.” He took out the pamphlet, and fluttered it in my face. “I want to see this kickass waterfall.”
But it took at least thirty minutes for us to find the waterfall. And when we did, we were both disappointed; the recent dry spell had reduced it to little more than a trickle. “It was worth it,” Jake said, trying to convince himself more than me. “Totally worth it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Teresa?”
“Really beautiful,” I replied, rolling my eyes behind his back.
After a tedious five minutes of taking photos, we finally turned around. My legs ached, and I scratched wildly at a bump on my arm; but at least we would be back soon. As we stumbled down the hill, the eyes seemed to watch our every move.
“Woah, wait a second,” he said, stopping dead on the trail.
I groaned. “Jake, come on. We need to get home.” It was nearly five-thirty, now, and the forest darkened with every passing minute.
“Look at that tree.”
I looked up, and squinted in the shadows. Among the sea of white and black and orange, nothing looked amiss. “What are you talking about?” I said, glancing from tree to tree. “I don’t see any—”
No.
There, a few feet off the trail, was a pure-white birch tree. All the black markings were gone: no eyes, no birds, no bats.
“Maybe it’s like, an albino birch tree or something?” I said, ignoring the chill down my spine.
“Then how come we didn’t see it on the way up?”
“I mean—I was looking at the ground most of the time. I didn’t want to trip. There are so many rocks, and—”
My eyes flicked back to the trees, and I faltered.
Now several of the birch trees were white.
“Jake?”
We both gasped.
Before our eyes, the black markings wriggled and twitched. They scuttled down the trunks, across the forest floor.
Towards us.
“No, no, no,” Jake whispered.
A low chittering burst through the darkness. The crunch of leaves, the snap of twigs, and a sickening clicking sound.
“Run!” I screamed.
But I already felt the prick of their legs on my ankles. The touch of their smooth, round bodies; the itch of their long antennae swishing against my calves.
