When you’re a kid, you can’t always see the bigger picture. Important things will happen all around you and you’ll pay them no mind, because you don’t care. Because you don’t know any better.
When you’re older, though, this changes. As you continue to experience life, you mark things down. Make mental notes. You store files that you pick through every now and then. You start to understand the context of your life. You discover your true feelings. You prioritize your memories. And in doing so, you realize that there are…moments. Important moments. Memories of things you saw and heard. Memories of things that happened to you. Things that changed you. Things that made you who you are. Even though you didn’t know it at the time. Even if you thought you’d blocked those things out of your mind forever.
Those moments? They’re where ghosts are born.
And I think it’s time I introduce you to my moment.
To my ghost.
…
It was an evening in October. My friend Pete and I were walking back to his house. We’d just left the grocery store, and our bags were stuffed with chips and pop and candy. It was Friday night, which meant that I was going to stay the night, and we were going to stay up late, and eat until our stomachs hurt, and read ghost stories in the dark.
I liked staying at Pete’s house. I stayed with him a lot back then. Pete’s family was strange, which interested me, and they were kind, which interested me even more. Their house was old and musty and it stood on the very edge of town, right on the border of The Blue Woods.
The Blue Woods is the name of the forest that surrounded our town for miles in every direction. Pete’s father liked to brag about the fact that his house lay next to the largest stretch of forest in the country.
“A place as big as that, it’s like the ocean,” he once told us at the dinner table. “You have to be careful under those trees, just like you have to be careful underwater. Things flail and drown out there. Things get dragged into dark places and get lost. People, too.”
When I look back on it, I know Pete’s dad was probably exaggerating things - scaring us away from danger, like grownups sometimes do. But he might as well have been telling the truth, because back then, I believed him. I believed every word. Because of Pete’s dad, I had a kind of fearful reverence for The Blue Woods.
This fearful reverence is why, on that October night, when we emerged from the grocery store and Pete looked from twilit sky to me and said “it’s getting dark, let’s take the shortcut”, I hesitated.
“Are - are you sure?” I stammered. I knew without a doubt which shortcut Pete was referring to. There was only one alternate route to his house:
The path that cut across the old park.
To give you an accurate idea of the old park, I should explain something else first: the grocery store near Pete’s house hadn’t always a grocery store. The building had originally been a private school, constructed in the 1920s. A decade later, when the school shut down, it sat abandoned on the edge of town for almost a decade, until eventually, someone had the brilliant idea to renovate the place and convert it into a grocery store.
So, the building was painted and updated. The old park behind the building, though, the plot of land that once had been a schoolyard, was overlooked. I assume that, in the mind of the property manager, it simply wasn’t worth the extra work. Sure, it was a large piece of land. But it was also old and overgrown and practically consumed by forest.
Better to leave it be.
Better to let it rot.
Unlike Pete, who was not easily phased by anything, I dreaded the plot of land behind the grocery store. I dreaded it because it dipped down into The Blue Woods, the place that scared me more than anything. I did not want to walk through The Blue Woods to get to Pete’s house.
Not even for five minutes.
Not even in the daylight.
“Let’s just walk along the road like usual,” I said, trying not to sound nervous. My hands were clammy around the plastic handles of my bag. “Your parents told us to go that way.”
“Well,” said Pete, grinning at me while he swung his bag back and forth, “unlike you, I don’t feel the need listen to my parents.”
I frowned. “That’s because your parents don’t whip you when you disobey.”
“Fair enough.”
For a few moments, we walked across the parking lot. Then Pete stopped and squinted at me.
“You’re afraid of cutting through the old park, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I just stared ahead and gripped the handles of my bag more tightly.
“Is it because of my dad? Is it because of that old story Cindy told us at the firepit last winter?”
I nodded sheepishly, relieved that Pete understood.
I’d been worried he would laugh at me. Instead, he rolled his eyes. “Those people are just trying to scare you. Cindy knows you peed yourself when we read Goosebumps that one summer.”
“I did not!” I cried out, shrill and indignant. “I spilled cream soda on my pants, remember?”
Pete grinned again. “Come on,” he said, jerking his head in the opposite direction of the road. “Let’s take the path across the old schoolyard. It’ll be an adventure. I won’t tell Cindy and I won’t tell Dad. I promise.”
He spoke so sincerely that I caved in, against my better judgement. I used to beat myself up for that, but now, looking back, I get it. I do. Just like any other kid, I wanted to impress my friend. I said yes because I wanted Pete to like me. What I didn’t understand was that Pete already liked me - that Pete was already my best friend - that Pete, no matter how long ago and how far away he is now, was and will always be one of the finest friends I’ve ever had.
“Alright, alright,” I said, smiling despite myself when I saw Pete’s face light up at my words. “Let’s get this over with.”
We spun around and headed back across the parking lot. When we reached the grocery store, we turned and walked along the north wall, which led around to the back of the building. As we got further from the store entrance, our surroundings got darker. The parking lot seemed worlds away. Skeletal bushes crowded in against us on our right. The night air whispered worriedly between their branches.
“See?” Pete hissed ahead of me. “It’s kind of creepy back here, right?”
“Don’t say that, Pete,” I groaned.
Pete laughed.
I tried not to raise my eyes to the dark fringe on the immediate horizon - the line of trees that made up the beginning of The Blue Woods. Cindy’s story from last year’s firepit came crawling back to me. It inched into the edges of my consciousness until my palms were slippery with sweat as I fumbled at my grocery bag.
“The old school practiced old magic. The teachers went into The Blue Woods to perform spells with their students. They woke up what lives in there. And one by one, they all disappeared.”
“What lives in there, Cindy?”
“Only the ghosts know.”
It wasn’t the contents of Cindy’s story that had scared me so much as the way she’d told it. She’d been so casual. So flippant. As if this was a story everyone in town should know by heart. As if what happened in The Blue Woods was a fact, a part of our town’s history, and not an old wives’ tale.
“Hey - you okay? You look kind of nauseous or something.”
Up ahead of me, Pete had stopped. He was turned around to face me, studying my face with a concerned expression.
“I’m - I’m fine,” I said, wishing I wasn’t such a coward. “It’s just a tummy-ache.”
Pete walked beside me after that, which calmed me down a tad. I don’t know if he believed my excuse or not. All I know is that he was kind, and that he didn’t like to witness his friends suffering if he could help it. I remember and love that part of him best.
Together, we walked into a sea of deepening darkness. The Blue Woods shifted as we walked, until they were towering over us. Glaring down at us.
What lives in there, Cindy?
Inky blackness spread across the sky and pooled inside the old park. It was much colder than I’d imagined it would be. I think it was much colder than Pete imagined it would be, too, because when I looked over at him, he was shivering.
“Do you want my jacket, Pete?” I said, stopping to take it off.
Pete didn’t protest. He didn’t even answer me. He just took the jacket. I remember this, because it was first event in the whole evening that really worried me. Pete wasn’t the type to accept charity from his friends; he wanted things to be fair. It was highly unusual for him to take anything larger than a pebble from me.
We continued in silence, shivering. The dark abyss that was The Blue Woods drew closer every second.
What lives in there, Cindy?
Only the ghosts know.
“Pete,” I whispered, shivering violently, “when do we turn? How far is your house from here?”
“Shut up,” snapped Pete. He was suddenly standing upright, stiff and rigid, staring off into the trees. “Do you hear that?”
“Pete, don’t play aroun-“
“Shh,” Pete snapped again, gesturing at me to be silent. Pete never snapped - especially not twice in a row. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“The chanting. They’re chanting. Can you hear them?”
Frustrated, I set my bag down on the ground. “Peter, let’s keep going,” I groaned. “Come on. It’s dark, and I’m tired.”
Ordinarily, Pete hated it when I used his full name…now, he did not seem to care. He just kept standing there - a statue, half-outstretched and motionless. Waiting.
Listening.
I strained my ears. Chanting? I couldn’t hear chanting. I could barely hear the wind. To me, the woods were eerily quiet. As if they too, were waiting.
As if they too, were listening.
“Can you wait here?” Pete asked finally, in an odd, quiet voice.
“What?” I asked, not convinced I’d heard him right.
No answer.
My heart was pounding like a wild thing. Something felt very wrong. Perhaps it was the strangely soft voice Pete had spoken with just now…perhaps it was the feeling that the trees were eavesdropping on us.
“Pete?” I said loudly. “What are you looking at?”
A horrible pause.
“I think I have to go now,” Pete said softly. He took a step towards the forest.
“No!” I shouted. “Pete, I don’t like this. We should go home.”
“They’re asking me to go,” Pete murmured. Stiffly, he got on to all fours and began to crawl through the thorn-bushes, towards the trees, into The Blue Woods.
“Pete!” I screamed. “Come back! Don’t go!”
I forgot about my fear. I forgot about everything. And I lunged after him. He must have heard me coming up behind him, because he started crawling faster. As I gained on him, I could hear that he was cackling…or crying…I couldn’t tell which. I could also see that the bushes and the brambles were ripping at his face, and that he didn’t seem to care. He just kept making horrible, inhuman noises, and scrambling towards The Blue Woods like a frenzied animal, and slamming his face into the sharp parts of the underbrush.
“Come back!” I screamed. The thought of being left alone in this cold, pitch-black hell caused a warm anger to surge inside me. I ran with all my might, leaping over sharp branches, tearing my pants, tearing the thin arms of my long-sleeve shirt. My whole body was stinging, but I didn’t care. I had to get to Pete. I had to help him. I had to stop him from going into the woods.
My lungs began to hurt; I didn’t care. I was almost on top of him.
“Aha!” I shouted as I grabbed his shoulders. I jumped up, pushing all my weight against him, and he crumpled under me, still flailing. Panting, I pinned him down until he stopped.
When I finally eased back, I saw Pete’s face - at least, I saw what used to be Pete’s face. The branches had done nasty work. Lots of blood. Dramatic swelling. Missing skin. One of his eyes were gone.
“Pete,” I said, hot tears springing into my eyes, “what happened?”
Pete clutched at his face. He started sobbing and giggling and rubbing his wet, red hands together, working the blood into his skin like lotion. Then he choked, and more blood gurgled from his mouth. A string of bubbling sounds came out along with it. Like words.
I leaned in, desperate. “What is it?”
“Go. Home.” Pete croaked against my ear. Something warm and wet spattered the side of my face. “Go…home. Use. The road. Not…safe. Here.”
I got off him then. He seemed to have settled down, and I thought he might be able to see reason.
“Come on, stand up,” I said, trembling. “I’ll take you home.”
Pete fell back against the ground. He began to laugh again. Or cry. I still couldn’t tell. I watched him curl into a ball and hide his face behind his arms.
“The chanting,” he kept tittering, as if it was the punchline to some hilarious joke. “The chanting.”
“Alright, Pete,” I said, struggling to sound soothing, “just stay calm. It’s alright. I’m here with you. We’re in the old park by the woods behind the grocery store. Your Mom and Dad are going to come looking for us. Everything is going to be okay.”
Sometimes I still catch myself hoping that he believed me. Even if it was just for a moment. Hope doesn’t always make sense, but it’s comforting. I like to think I comforted my friend a little.
What happened next is almost too easy to explain. I stood over Pete until he stopped convulsing. Then I turned around to get a better sense of where we were, of which direction home was in.
When I turned back to Pete, there was no Pete. Only the silence. Only the dark forest before me. Only a red splotch on the ground where he had been.
The silence of the trees was gentler in that emptiness. As if they were no longer glaring down down at me, but smiling.
Serene.
Satisfied.
…
Back then, I was sure it was The Blue Woods. It was The Blue Woods that took him. It was The Blue Woods that lured him in. It was The Blue Woods that caused him to step outside of his consciousness and into madness. God, I used to lie awake at night in fear, so sure those trees were going to possess me next.
These days? I’m older, and I’m wiser. What I once saw as fact is fiction now, at best. Sometimes I think I almost understand what really happened to Pete. Especially when I sit in my office at my desk, and I look out at the other glassy buildings rising all around me, like a lonely forest. Often, during those times, I hear chanting, and I see infinite darkness.
Over the years I’ve realized that darkness comes for all of us. It wasn’t just a monster from my childhood nightmares. It dwells in many places beyond The Blue Woods. Darkness is part of growing up. Part of the bigger picture. It’s very real. It took Pete, all those years ago. One day - soon, I think - it will take me. No, darkness is part of this reality, and it doesn’t terrify me anymore.
What terrifies me now is what awaits me in the darkness…what awaited Pete.
What only the ghosts know.