Lost in the Never Woods

by Aiden Thomas

  “It’s his job to ease their suffering, to help them become unafraid so they can pass on.”

  Her breath became sharp and frantic. Wendy shook her head. “Peter, what is it talking about?” she asked.

  But the look on Peter’s face …

  This was just a nightmare. She wanted it to stop. She wanted to wake up in her bed and for this not to be real. She thrashed against the tendrils as they gripped her tighter.

  “Wendy—” Peter voice was pleading and weak.

  “No, don’t,” she said feebly, shaking her head. Wendy tugged, and the tendrils stretched taut as she tried to stand, tried to run away. They purred and flooded over her skin, excited and hungry. As Wendy struggled to her feet, they tightened around her torso and clawed toward her neck.

  “You have to understand—” Peter pressed.

  “Don’t.” Wendy’s stomach gave a nauseated twist. No. No no no.

  “I—” A black gag twisted around his mouth, silencing Peter with a choke. He fought against his restraints with renewed vigor. His back arched and the muscles in his arms strained. His eyes sparked, frantic and rimmed with red.

  “Allow me to help explain,” the shadow said. “After all, I’ve been completely honest with you since we’ve met,” it pointed out with a lift of its eyebrows. “Peter guides the souls of dead children to the afterlife. When they’ve died in a particularly horrible way”—the shadow made an exaggerated cringe—“he takes them to Neverland.” It was talking so plainly, so simply. Loss fell on her like a heavy weight, threatening to pull her to the floor. “It’s like a sort of limbo, really. Where dead kids go and come to terms with what happened to them, and then they can cross over.”

  The shadow leaned forward, catching Wendy’s chin in its icy grip. It inhaled deeply and its eyelids fluttered, savoring the fear as it poured from her. It spoke slowly and deliberately, savoring each word as it hit her. “Which is exactly what he did with your brothers. When he saw you next to their bodies, begging him to let you go with your brothers, he caved in. But live girls don’t belong in Neverland, Wendy,” it said.

  “Your brothers have been stuck in Neverland ever since, unable to move on, too worried about you.” It released her chin and gave her a gentle pat on the cheek. “So, here we find ourselves. Peter, without his magic, and you, without your brothers as they spend the rest of eternity stuck between this world and the next.” It steepled its fingers together and looked back and forth between the two, simply beside itself with glee.

  No, this wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be true. Peter wouldn’t lie to her. He’d told her they were trapped, that he and Wendy only needed to defeat the shadow and they would be released. Her eyes searched out Peter’s for answers. “Is it true, Peter?” she asked. Her voice broke. Her vision blurred. “Are my brothers dead?”

  The shadow snapped its fingers and the gag around Peter’s mouth disappeared. He gulped down air. He could barely meet her gaze. His face was racked with guilt, his eyes glassy. It was impossible to tell where the pain in his voice came from. “I’m so sorry, Wendy.”

  The words hit her like a final blow, knocking her to her knees. She couldn’t stand, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. The ache in her chest was catastrophic, like being ripped in half. The hole gaped, and all of her grief spilled forth with uncontrollable force. The shadows swelled over her bowed shoulders. “How could you?”

  “You have to understand, I needed your help to save those kids—to protect them,” he pleaded, the words tumbling from his lips. “You were the only one who could help me, you—”

  With another snap of its fingers, the shadow returned the gag to Peter’s mouth. “And there you have it,” it announced triumphantly.

  Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

  They’re dead.

  The words repeated themselves in her head, over and over. The shadows cascaded around her like a blanket of oil. She could feel them reaching up her neck. “The missing children?” Wendy managed to choke out the question through her grief. Were they all dead, too?

  “Oh, no,” the shadow said dismissively as it examined its long fingernails. “They’re still alive, but not for long.” That terrible smile cut across its face. “Now that I have what I want, with no Peter to stand in my way, there’s no need for them anymore.” It sighed wistfully. “It will be delicious,” it purred. “While your suffering is also quite delectable,” the shadow’s voice whispered in her ear, “I’m afraid Peter and I have some other matters to attend to. Good-bye, Wendy Darling.”

  She couldn’t move, but she didn’t need to look up to know that Peter and his shadow were gone. Wendy lay curled up on her side. The feel of the rough carpet against her cheek told her the shadows had vanished with them. She remained on the floor and wept, heavy sobs shaking her body. Her fingers dug into the carpet, trying to ground herself while everything around her spun out of control.

  Her brothers were gone. John and Michael were dead. She would never see them again. There was no hope for their return. And she had seen their bodies. She had been next to them when Peter found them.

  What had happened? Why couldn’t she remember?

  Tears spilled across the bridge of her nose, trickling across her cheek.

  A part of her must have always known, even if it was her subconscious. Whenever she got close to the truth, a part of her always pulled away. Was that what her mother had meant? She didn’t remember because her mind had made her forget? Her body was trying to protect her by hiding the memory away?

  She couldn’t keep hiding.

  With a shaky hand, Wendy gripped the acorn around her neck, pressing it into her palm. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  She needed to remember.

  Wendy was in a different place and time. She was in the woods, but surrounded by a haze. She was running through the trees, searching.

  “John, Michael!” Wendy could hear the words of her younger self from her own mouth. “Where are you?”

  “Over here!” John answered back.

  Branches slapped lightly against her palms as she pushed them out of the way. Up ahead, she should hear her brothers’ voices. She entered a clearing to find John and Michael, exactly as she remembered them. They chased each other around the base of the old, pale tree, which was still gnarled and gaunt as it loomed over her brothers.

  Nana, their old St. Bernard, loped around them in circles, her tail swishing, her jowls flopping with thick drool.

  Fear rose in Wendy’s chest at the sight of the tree, but the forms of Michael and John laughed and ran. Snow crunched under their shoes.

  John raised his arms over his head and let out a strange animalistic sound, lumbering back and forth as he stomped after Michael and Nana. In return, Michael bared his teeth. “I’m not afraid of yooou!” he howled, and Nana joined in.

  John began to laugh but then resumed his howling.

  He chased Michael around the tree again, Nana fast on his heels.

  “Don’t leave me behind like that!” Wendy huffed. Nana greeted her with a slobbery, warm lick on her palm. “I couldn’t keep up!” Wendy reached down and scratched Nana behind her large, velvety ear. She looked back over her shoulder. “We should head back. I don’t know—”

  A bang rang out through the trees.

  Wendy jumped. Nana recoiled. Michael’s small hands clamped over his ears.

  John collapsed.

  There was a moment of stillness as the echoes of the shot faded.

  “John?” Michael stepped toward where John’s body lay in a heap.

  Nana whined at Wendy’s side.

  “Wait—” Wendy said, but before she could finish, another bang rang out.

  Michael dropped to the ground.

  Twelve-year-old Wendy didn’t move. Her chest heaved, her breath ragged. Nana whined more urgently, on the verge of a yelp.

  Wendy stared at her brothers. “John?” She stepped closer. “Michael?” Neither boy moved or spoke.

  Jo
hn lay on his back, his legs bent at odd angles. Michael was curled up on his side.

  Their eyes stared, open but unseeing.

  “Stop playing, you guys. This isn’t funny,” Wendy said as she crept closer to them.

  Crouched low, Nana inched ahead, snuffling at the ground. Her paws crunched in the snow. She nosed Michael’s limp arm.

  Red blossomed on the chest of his shirt.

  It spilled from John’s neck, pooling and melting through the snow.

  A sob caught in Wendy’s throat.

  Nana crooned, nudging and butting John and Michael, circling and crying. Red caught in her creamy fur.

  Wendy stood there, frozen on the spot. Standing in the snow, staring at her fallen brothers, her entire body began to quake.

  The sound of feet stomping through the woods made Wendy jump, shaking her from her trance. She looked around frantically before running behind a set of trees standing closely together. She crawled under the large shrubs at their base.

  Nana ran frantically back and forth between John and Michael, her tail tucked between her legs.

  A man in a bright red plaid flannel jacket stumbled into the clearing. He wore a fur-lined hunter’s hat. A rifle was slung over his back. His back was to Wendy, but she could see a beer bottle gripped in his hand.

  Nana placed herself square between the man and John and Michael. Sweet Nana, usually so gentle and doting, bared her teeth and growled.

  “Nana?” the man asked. His voice was familiar, confused. “’ Ey, get outta here,” he slurred, kicking up snow at Nana. Nana flinched but refused to move. With snapping jaws, she began to bark fiercely.

  “HEY!” the man shouted this time. He stuck his beer bottle in the snow and removed the rifle from his shoulder.

  Terror locked up every muscle in Wendy’s body.

  But he aimed it into the sky and shot off another round. The shell spun through the air and fell to the snow.

  Nana recoiled and bolted out of the clearing.

  “Dumb dog,” the man grumbled, hitching the gun back onto his shoulder as Nana ran away. “Gonna get yourself shot runnin’ ’round like that.” With a large hand, he swiped the hat off his head.

  Cold shock crashed over Wendy, robbing her of breath.

  Mr. Davies wiped the sweat from his brow on the sleeve of his red plaid flannel. “What’ve we got,” he mumbled to himself as he walked up to the old tree.

  He stopped suddenly. John’s and Michael’s bodies lay slumped on the ground before him.

  Mr. Davies fell to his knees. “No! No, no, no!” His voice was much clearer now, pitched with horror. He shook John and Michael, but they didn’t stir. He muttered to himself as he looked around wildly.

  Wendy hunkered lower in her hiding spot, stuffing her hands against her mouth to stifle herself.

  Mr. Davies struggled to his feet and, tripping over himself, ran back in the direction he had come from.

  When the footsteps faded, Wendy crawled out from her hiding spot and rushed to her brothers. “John, Michael!” She collapsed beside them and shook them as hard as she could. “Wake up!” she pleaded. “Please, wake up!” Wendy doubled over. Her body shook with violent sobs. The cold, hard ground pressed painfully into her knees.

  Wendy had never felt so powerless. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she thought she might vomit from the sheer horror of reliving her younger self weeping over the bodies of her dead brothers. She felt the urge to run away, to pull back and refuse to let herself see the rest, but there was more noise in the underbrush.

  Peter descended through the trees, swiftly flying down to land a few feet from where Wendy cowered. It was the same version of Peter that she’d seen in her memories of Neverland. A young boy with wild auburn hair, dressed in clothes made of thick leaves.

  He saw Wendy crying over the bodies of her brothers and froze. “Wendy?” he said.

  Wendy looked up, tears streaming down her face. Recognition struck her in her heart, desperation quick on its heels. “Peter, help, please help!” she begged through sobs.

  Peter slowly moved to Wendy’s side, his eyes wide and bright. He looked at John and Michael. Gently, he shook his head. “Wendy, I’m so sorry…”

  “Please, help them, Peter!” she cried.

  “I can’t, Wendy. I have to take them with me,” he said, his expression pained.

  Wendy sobbed harder. Her voice cracked. “No, you can’t! You can’t take John and Michael away!”

  The sound of approaching footsteps made her and Peter look up again.

  Wendy began to panic. “He’s coming back! Please don’t leave me here alone. You have to take me with you! Please, Peter!”

  Wendy saw the mournful look on Peter’s face. He took her hand, and everything plunged into blackness.

  Grief was sharp and all-consuming. Wendy lay curled on her side. The image of her brothers lying in the snow, red pooling on white, burned through her mind. They had fallen at the base of the tree. That was why her subconscious kept reminding her, making her hands draw it with such urgency. It was trying to make her remember, and Wendy saw now why she’d fought so hard against it. She had been hiding from it, but she couldn’t escape being haunted, and now she feared she never would.

  Her brothers had been killed, and it was all her fault.

  She was their older sister. She had known they weren’t supposed to go off into the woods on their own. If she had said something, if she had made them turn back sooner, none of this would’ve happened. They would still be alive. She was supposed to take care of them and protect them, but she’d failed. And failing meant losing her brothers and, even worse, destroying her family. If it weren’t for her, they’d still be whole.

  And now? Not if, but when they found out, they would truly see it was Wendy’s fault.

  For years, they’d been left not knowing, all because Wendy couldn’t face the truth. Had she really been lying to herself this whole time?

  Wendy curled up tight. She buried her face in her knees and her fingers in her hair. Her sobs wracked her body, primal and uncontrollable.

  She thought of Mr. Davies, drunk and stumbling on John and Michael in his bright red jacket.

  Mr. Davies. She could hardly believe it. He’d shot John and Michael. He’d killed them, and all this time, he’d never confessed. It made her sick, thinking of how kind he had been to her growing up—checking in on her, tipping her extra when she watched his sons in order to save up for college. Had he been trying to make up for what he did?

  Anger smoldered between Wendy’s ribs. He was her father’s friend. Mr. Davies had allowed her and her parents to suffer. Their mourning had dragged on for five years. He’d not only robbed them of John and Michael, but he’d kept them from knowing the truth and finding closure. It had torn her family apart.

  She wasn’t the only one who John and Michael had been ripped away from. Her parents had suffered, too, and still did. Wendy hadn’t just lost her brothers. She’d lost the soothing touch of her mother rubbing her back when she was sad. She’d lost her father, firm but gentle, talking her through her worries and nightmares. Now, her mother and father were just ghosts of their previous selves. The Darling home had lost its light and laughter. Wendy’s childhood had ended the day she and her brothers went into the woods.

  And now, four more families would suffer the way hers had. Four more families would mourn the loss of their children without any answers or explanation. Five more children would be lost, taken and kept by the shadow, terrified and fed off of to give it strength.

  Two of them were Mr. Davies’s own sons. Wendy wanted to be glad for it—to be comforted that he would be forced to go through what he’d put her family through—but she couldn’t manage it. Matthew and Joel were good boys. They didn’t deserve to be locked in a nightmare for the rest of their lives for something their father did. As mad as she was, as furious and vengeful as she felt toward Mr. Davies, she couldn’t bring herself to wish the suffering she and her parents had gone
through on anyone, not even her worst enemy. She knew all of the missing children, and she knew their families.

  She couldn’t stand by and let more families suffer. She wouldn’t.

  Wendy refused to give up on them, and she refused to give up on Peter.

  She pushed herself to a sitting position, hiccups bucking her chest as she dragged her hand across her eyes.

  Peter had lied to her, but he was trying to save the lost children in Neverland. It was an even more important job than Wendy had realized. What was it like, to see the suffering of children? To be there to guide the souls of children who’d met such horrific ends? To try to coax them from their fear, to bring them happiness so they could pass through to the other side? Peter was trying to take care of them as best he could. Wendy had just gotten in the way.

  No wonder everything on the island had begun to fall apart. Wendy had been the only living girl in Neverland.

  And Peter had developed feelings for her.

  Wendy’s stomach fluttered and she pressed her fingertips to her lips. The memory of the look on Peter’s face, so scared and anxious as he leaned in close, flooded warmth through her entire body. She thought of his shining eyes. The way they squinted when his smile claimed his face, wide and unabashed. Wendy thought of his gentleness with Alex, his playfulness with Cassidy, and his steady, unwavering gaze when he talked to Wendy.

  She needed to make everything right. She needed to stop the shadow and rescue the children. She needed to save Peter. Without him, the lost kids in Neverland would stay lost. Her brothers would never be able to move on.

  Wendy was terrified, but she wouldn’t give up. She would not fail John and Michael this time. Struggling to her feet, she stumbled into the bathroom. The sewing kit sat on the edge of the tub where she’d left it when she’d mended her jeans a few days ago. She snatched it up and stuffed it into her pocket.

  A deep, steadying breath filled her lungs. She squeezed the acorn around her neck tight in her fist.

  No matter what it took, Wendy would put an end to this nightmare. She would fight.