Hand in hand, you led me to the edge of that little woods, the one behind the school. We were young, just children, still believing in magic and fairies. Nevertheless, we still went in. You were so excited to prove that magic existed, that there were actual witches in those woods. Looking back on it, Tadpole must have been the one that told you about the rumor. Do you remember him? That square, blocky kid we used to run away from on the playground? We were always faster than him; well, you were. You would always piss him off, and I would be the one to get beaten to a pulp. It’s how it always went, didn’t it? You, always causing some kind of trouble, and little ol’ me, always picking up the bill.
He must have told you about the woods beyond the playground and the witches that dance within. I remember scoffing at it, even as a youth. I knew it was just a story to scare children. Adults understand how powerful a child’s imagination is and how terrifying the world can seem to them. You don’t want a kid to go somewhere? Tell them that something evil like an ogre lives there, a trick as old as time, a trick that never worked on you. So we went, Hand in hand, the two of us, into those woods together, unaware that we were not alone.
Your eyes were so wide, filled with passion and excitement. I’ve never seen someone so infatuated with life before, and I remember loving that about you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I didn’t care if it burned me or not; I just wanted to enjoy your light and the warmth that followed for as long as I could. We danced together between those trees, leaves crunching under our feet as fireflies flickered around like honey bees. As we danced about without a care in the world, he silently walked towards us, watching as we twirled. Your smile, how I remember it so clearly, how the sun barely shined through those dense trees, the leaves falling and pooling around us like snow. If only he let us enjoy that moment a little longer, how I would have given anything for that.
I heard the crack of twigs and turned to see a face covered by a thin, black, plastic bag just beyond the trees, staring back at me. Two holes were cut in the bag, letting the man’s dark eyes gaze at us, defiling our innocence. I should have told you right then and there, immediately, but for some reason, in my ignorant child’s mind, I thought if I just kept staring at him, refusing to look away, he would just stay right there, forever still. That was the first time I ever felt the burden of time ticking away. He slowly crept his finger to his concealed lips and pressed it against the bag, instructing me to stay silent. I didn’t do that. No, I remember screaming your name, turning to warn you, and seeing nothing but empty forest and flickering bugs. At that moment, in that single moment, when I turned away and heard the sound of leaves crunching under heavy boots, I knew what fear truly was.
I ran, god how I ran like an idiot. Deeper into the forest, tripping over roots and stumps, clawing my way through the dense underbrush, I kept screaming out your name. Louder and louder, as I ran as hard as possible, farther away from the masked man and deeper into the forest’s heart. Moving forward, I didn’t know if it was fear melding into reality, but I remember seeing the trees grow more twisted and vile. The bark started to turn a putrid black. Vines as thick as legs wrapping around the massive trees, their limbs waving through the wind like a snake slithering towards its prey. I pushed on, continuing to run as hard as I could, screaming your name, letting it tear at my throat and echo into the cold dark forest.
The farther into those woods I ran, the more footsteps followed me. Gradually, I could hear another set begin to sprint behind me, then another and another, until it sounded like a pack of dogs charging toward me as if I was meat. My legs started to give, and I was nowhere closer to finding where you were. The further I went, the less everything began to make sense. I should have been on the other side of the woods by now. There was no way it was this large, and you, where did you go? Did you leave? Or did they already capture you by then? As for me, this was about the time when my voice finally gave out. My throat, bleeding from the echoes of your name, and how my legs finally buckled underneath me.
As I fell, my head caught the side of a tree, letting the bark scrape against my skin like a belt sander, sending me collapsing down a hill. I remember the snap of my leg and how it sounded like someone cracking all ten fingers at once. Like the closing of a book, my leg bent forward in half, causing my knee to shatter like glass against a bat. I rolled down that hill, my blood staining the leaves under me as I fell. As I rolled out onto flat land, my body finally lost its momentum, letting me stare up at the trees above. Trying to focus my hazy eyes, I struggled to find the sun setting above me, its light concealed by the roof of the trees, looming down over me. I turned my head to see where I was at, to see if there was anything around me I could use to save us. What I found was worse, so much worse. Worse than anything my scared child mind could have imagined. Looking away, I cried up at the embers of the sun, crying your name, crying for God to save us. But like the sun, I don’t think he could reach us.
A shallow pit sat in the center of the clearing, with bodies of children all piled together like a mass of garbage, waiting to be burned. Their bones were bent and twisted like my leg. Laying down in the leaves, I wondered a horrible thought, did someone do that to them before or after they died? That would probably have been the last thought that ever raced through my mind. Not of you, and not of our family, but how painful my death would be, and how soon I would be just another body filling that shallow pit. It’s kind of pitiful thinking back on how fast I accepted death. That is until I saw you, hiding in that pile of bodies, and how you placed your finger to your lips, just like he did, instructing me to be quiet.
Silent and motionless, I watched the figures staring back at me through the trees from the top of the hill. They wore crowns made of twigs and thorns, smiling, their teeth bleeding a sickening emerald red. They danced up on that hill as centipedes and salamanders crawled over me. I tried to get away, but all I could do was crawl through the mud. With my hands, I clawed my way to you, trying to join the pit of bodies, trying to join you. I was just a boy, ignorant and innocent, but I knew the rumor was true: there were witches in these woods.
Their laughter began to rise, surrounding me as I crawled towards the pit with tears in my eyes, my nails splintering and bleeding in the mud, but I was determined to be with you, just one last time. Like a moth to a flame, I was crawling to my death. Soon I wasn’t surrounded by just laughter but by a troop of dancing witches gathering around the pile. I could see them getting closer to you, snickering and laughing as they twirled about, dancing just as you did. Unable to scream and unable to flee, I watched in silence as they spun around the children’s bodies, dipping their muddy hands into the pile and covering their faces with brains and blood. Underneath the children, you still lay there, staring back at me. I saw the fear in your eyes, too scared to move and too scared to speak. I don’t know what was worse, having the choice to run or not having the option at all. I don’t blame you for not moving. There was no way you could have known what was next. They began to sing, and the bodies started to burn.
I cried, but no sound came out, like a dog that couldn’t bark; what good was I? They continued to sing and dance along with the flames, their voices growing with the fire. You tried to run, but it was too late; the fire grew too fast. Before you could free one of your arms, it was already up in flames, a torch reaching out to me, crying out my name, begging me to go home. I focused on your screams, trying to drown out the sickening laughter. I could see the bodies twitch and move; I didn’t know if they were alive. I hope they weren’t. You probably knew the answer. I wonder if you felt their breath on your neck when you hid under them? If you knew those children were alive, just barely enough to sense the flames scorching their skin. It wasn’t long until the entire pit began to scream and convulse like a choir of agony; it only fueled the witch’s singing.
I was nearly towards the pit at this point. Like a rat with no way out, I wanted to jump, to be with you one last time. I crawled, my fingers bleeding where my nails used to be. I was nearly there, so close I could reach out to your charred hand to let the flames spread to me. That’s when I felt a hand on my good leg and how something began to drag me back. Unable to kick, I was prey, and there was nothing more I could do than pray. As I was being pulled up the hill, I saw the pile for the last time and how, just before I was dragged out of sight, I could see the charred bodies begin to rise.
After I was out of sight, the person dragging me picked me up over their shoulder, and I could see it was the man with the plastic bag over his head. He carried me out of those woods, never stopping for a second until we were clear of those twisted trees. Placing me on the school field, he sat beside me and took off his mask. His face was new to me, someone I had never met before. He told me how the ones who made the school knew about the forest and how they continued anyways.
He called an ambulance for me before leaving. I spent the next month in a hospital room, being questioned by everyone who entered. They never found your body or any other body for that matter. No matter how often I told the police what happened, they were only interested in the man with the black plastic bag. I remember them trying to convince me that it was him who did everything, that the witches were just my mind trying to rationalize everything. They eventually put a warrant out for his arrest, and he soon became a legend in the town, the plastic bag killer they called him. That’s all everyone cared about, not the pit or your missing body, but some fake killer the adults made up to convince themselves that there was no such thing as witches, but I know the truth; we both do. I think killers are what adults use to convince themselves that evil things like witches don’t exist, a trick as old as time, a trick that doesn’t work on me.
My sister, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I’m just so sorry I couldn’t save you, and I’m sorry that I’m the only one who knows what really happened, but that’s about to change. I hope this is good enough, Cassie. I hope you can rest after this. I love you, dear sister, and don’t you worry; you won’t be alone too much longer. There’s just one more thing I have to do after this. I’m returning to those woods, and I will burn it all to the ground.