You came to me looking for answers. You will not find them. For hours and hours you drove down the winding roads, plunging deeper into these ancient woods. Some of the trees here are older than you. You can feel this. The way they loom over you, with shadows so dense they look ready to swallow you whole, it all speaks something impossible old. Older even then the trees, however, is me.
There is a story from long ago. I’m sure you’re familiar with it. It is told in many different ways by many different peoples, but it all starts the same. Once upon a time, there was a tree. An evil tree that bore foul fruit and forbidden knowledge. It promised your ancestors peace and comfort, a life spent basking in its shade. You may have accepted or cast it aside, but ask yourself this. When your people left and the garden emptied, what became of the tree?
Once upon a time, there was a tree. And once upon a time, there was a woodsman. He wore a coat of carrion feathers and carried with him a burning ax. He looked upon that tree, that bearer of so much that should not exist, and he smiled a crooked smile that cut through the skin of the world. With one swing he felled the tree. With another, he divided it into pieces. Then he set to work, twisting the wood in a house. His house. Five days before time began, he finished his great work. Five days before time began, I was born.
But you knew this already, I suspect. That is how you knew to seek me. I thank you for that. After all these years, I was beginning to think the world had forgotten me. But you know better. You know if you drive far enough, past the edges of the world and beyond, to a place where heaven can not see; there you will find where the dead do not rest. There you will find me.
I greet you as a home for the deranged mind. It is a form you are all too familiar with. You step from your car and gaze upon me. Oh how I have missed that. To feel another’s eyes upon my bark. My doors are already open as you step forth. I never keep my guests waiting.
I wonder, as you step with me, what it is that has brought you here. Forgiveness? Glory? Perhaps it is simply your duty to pass through me. No. This is not a destined voyage. You have come here for something. Something you lost. A friend? A brother? A father? I have plenty of those. But which one is yours, I wonder. I look forward to finding out.
You are unimpressed as you begin your journey. My maw resembled a lobbed of sorts. I believe you’d call it a hotel. There is a man waiting for you behind an old wooden desk. The man is me, but not all of me. He treats you with a crooked smile I force into his face and says “Welcome. How may I help you?”
You ignore him and look around. There is no one else in the room. Oh how strange is that to say for it is not a room you see. But for your sake, I shall endure. You look around the room and see it is just the two of you. Begrudgingly you step forth.
You are looking for your lover, you say. Finally. The curiosity was maddening.
“Oh we have plenty of those. Do you know which one is yours?”
You ask to see them all. He laughs. “I don’t believe you have the time, my friend. You’d end up joining us before you even got through the A’s. A lot of bad people with ‘A’ names as it turns out. How queer, wouldn’t you say?”
How do you find your love, you ask.
“I can’t say. It’s easier for some people. Do you know why he would be here with us?”
You can’t say. You know, but you can’t say. Not while the bruises are still fresh.
“Then I’m afraid you’re on your own, oh honored guest.” He points to a door that was not there before. It opens with a slow creek. “Through there you may find him.”
You ask if you have a choice. He laughs. I laugh, the walls moaning in my voice. You flinch, but there is no need to be afraid. I mean you no harm. You are far too valuable to me. Still, you hurry through the door with one eye at your back. The man waves you goodbye. When you are gone, he fades back into me like a drop of water returning to the ocean. I realize then he wears the skin of a conqueror. I wonder what his name was.
Oh how lovely it is to feel someone crawling through me once again. My floors creak in pleasure, eager for every step. You find your way through mr quite easily. Maybe I helped a little. I am eager to show you my wonders. I worked very hard on them. I stretch out before you, a hallway lined with many doors. My breath is stale and sits in your lungs like dust. You taste wood shavings and ash with every gulp. You’ll make me blush.
Soon you start to see the trick. I thought you never would. There is no end to this hall. Did you think I would be so small as to be finite? Don’t worry. I wasn’t offended.
You linger beside a door. It is no more significant than the doors. All of them sprout elegant carvings chiseled into old rosewood. A sign hangs from the doorknob with the word “occupied” written across it, just like the others. You ignore it and turn the knob.
Inside is an old soul captured in a new torment. I admit, I took some inspiration from your people. You should really be flattered. You cover your mouth at the sight and your eyes swell in horror. There is a perfectly ordinary living room waiting for you with a touch, table, beautiful curtains and a TV set turned to the evening news. I am waiting there for you alongside two of my most esteemed guests.
All is proper and well here. The man wears a neatly iron suit and tie and the wife’s hair is sculpted to perfection, rivaled only by the pristineness of her dress. Perfection their outfits are the smiles they wear on their faces. The man’s is gruff and subtle and the wife’s is carved on. Blood still drips down her cheeks as it will forever more. Don’t blame me. It was her choice to do so. She simply found it far too difficult to maintain on her own. I think she looks beautiful.
They don’t move as you enter. You think maybe they might be mannequins. You take comfort in this idea. Then your gaze locks with the wife’s. Then her eyes shift in their sockets. In a second I am in the room. Still so odd to say. I am the room, after all. As I am the scissors she used to mark up her pretty face. But now, so am more so the thing that manifests before the woman. I rise from the carpeting and stand as tall as the room. From my head to my feet, I perfectly fit the space. I wear a tailor’s uniform with pins and scissors. Behind the clothes in a doll. The most obvious of those in my collection. It’s face is painted on and it’s limbs are made of wood.
You freeze to the spot as you see it. I feel the need to thank you for that. Most people would seek to interfere with the work. How unbecoming of a guest. I reach out to the women with hands full of razors and needles and I work to fix her. I carved into those pesky wandering eyes, ripping them from their sockets and dicing them apart to look within. She screams and I reach for her throat, slicing the defiant organ open. She swiped her hands at me and I am forced to cut them open as well. When she falls onto the couch, well, she makes me gut the rest of her. So many imperfections today. I do apologize.
The man does not move as the horror unfolds. He has seen this before. He’ll see it again. And he knows the price for moving. Even a flinch, a whimper, and I’ll be forced to cut out those imperfections.
Do not worry. I am no butcher. I cut them open to stitch them back together. They’ll be better when I’m done. You’ll see. You need only be patient. Like you are now.
You think you can save them. It’s honestly quite endearing. You’re not sure how though. Don’t blame yourself. They never do. You charge, screaming a war cry with your fist raised. It is not a rational action, but at that moment, ration has fled you. Your aim is true and you strike me with all your might. I shatter, pins and splinters raining down on the floor, and you fall through to hole I leave behind.
You are falling now, deeper and deeper. You don’t know where you’re going. How could you? All you can see is darkness. You don’t even know which way you are falling anymore, but it has to end at some point. Your back bristled with panicked energy and you brace for the inevitable impact. There is no need to worry, however. I am with you even now as you tumble into my depths. So long as you are in my grasp, I shall see you never harmed.
You do not know when you stop falling, only that at one second, you simply no longer are. Against your back lies a floor. Has it always been there, you wonder. You sit up and find yourself in yet another room, but one far less pristine than before. The carpet is rough and sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The walls are brick and covered in a complex web of overlapping graffiti. With the lights flickering overhead, you see the paint glows in the dark, never leaving the room in total darkness. There is no furniture in the room. Not anymore. Their shattered remains line the room. But right now you don’t dare. Your thoughts are still with the happy couple.
You shouldn’t worry yourself with them. They were not good people. None of them are. If they were, then they wouldn’t be here. If you knew what they did, you might even consider joining me in their torment. Oh what a beautiful thought.
Something pulls your attention to the room, however. Did you hear it? No? Perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you. Nothing to worry about. But then you hear it again. There. In the back of the room. Not the sound of smashing wood or the scream of someone in distress. A voice and a weak one at that. You can’t tell what it is saying, but you know it is there.
You surge forward through the broken room, shoving aside the broken fixtures without thought. Splinters pierce your hands as you do, but still you press on. How noble. You rummage through the scraps until you come upon a forgotten corner of the room. It is surrounded on all sides by defaced walls and cracked wood, but would itself be otherwise empty if not for the figures gathered within.
As the lights blink, you see they are covered in the same glowing paint as the walls. They are designed so as to give them the appearance of skeletons with skulls painted over their heads and the corresponding bone on each limb or demons with gnashing teeth laid over their mouths and horns tattooed over their scalps. You would be impressed with such features if not for one simple detail: they are these men’s only features. When the lights flicker on, you see faces and bodies smoothed of all details like skin colored mannequins. Otherwise they wear revealing attire like that of a biker gang, so that the art on their bodies is not denied to potential viewers. Through their featureless facades, you sense an odd air of pride about them. You are not mistaken.
There is only one amongst their ranks that resembles a normal human being. She is young, but not too much so. You expect to find her type wasting their days in a bar, intent on making the most of their fleeting youth. Now she lies still against the wall, her body limp, yet very much alive. She wears much more modest clothing that still matches my faceless selves. A leather jacket would have covered her torso if not for the bulging mound rising from her stomach. You think she must be pregnant, at first. You would not be wrong.
The creatures surrounding her carry in their hands large syringes full of brightly colored liquids. They too glow as the lights flicker out, casting neon shades of green, orange, and purple against the walls. One by one, the creatures take turns approaching the girl and stabbing their needles into the pit of her elbow. You watch as the colorful liquid is injected into her and you can see it slither through her veins, illuminating them from the inside out.
The girl smiles as the fluid vanishes into her. Her stomach begins to churn after the injection, swelling outward even more until a pile of something wet falls from her. You strain to see and in the dim light, find a withering pile of worms. They writhe on the ground for but a moment, trapped in each other’s embrace before slowly untangling themselves and slithering off into the wreckage. Just as they vanish, another of the faceless figures approach and inject the girl, starting the process all over again.
Your heart goes out to her, but there is no need. You can see it on her face. Too long has it been since she was free of this torment. She has spent more of her life within me than without. Though her eyes are dime and hollow, her breathing haggard, and sweat drenches her brow, you can see her grinning through it.
“One more time.” You hear her mutter before each of the figures approach. “One more time.”
I am quite proud of this one. It took a long time to perfect. In the beginning, the girl would run and fight just like anyone else would. But as the minutes turned to hours turned to days turned to years, it became clear this torment was all she would ever know. She learned to love her torment, the only company she had left. That and her children slithering through the walls.
You can not help her. Though you might, you are left unable at the sight of those needles. Would even a single droop of that foul liquid have you end up like her, swollen with squirming bodies and begging for more? You do not dare risk it. Instead, you quietly make your way back through the forest of shattered seats until that woman’s meek little voice fades into silence.
Do not blame yourself. I understand why you run with your hands wrapped around your . It feels empty, does it not? You cannot blame yourself, my dear. That was his job, was it not? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Come now. There is no need for that. Dry your eyes. Your demons will not find you in here. Not while I am with you.
You were hoping to get lost in that forest of shattering furnishing. I am sorry for that, but there is so much more to show you and so little time. By now my Master has noticed you and He knows why you are here. Already He has begun to prepare. I can feel it. We must be quick.
Further and further you roam, submitting yourself to the path. You did not know the room was so big. It is not. The shattered furnishings gradually transition into great, looming trees with barren branches stretching out to grab you. You barely recognize it at first, not until you are well and truly lost. A cool night sky hangs overhead. You can comfort in its stillness and the soft glow of the moon. But then you realize where you are.
You panic, searching around for me. You think you must have stumbled outside by accident. How adorable. To think I could be so easily thwarted. Fear not, little one. I am with you even as you tear through the woodlands. You are calling a name now. Was it his name? Do not worry. You shall see him soon enough. But first, I have one more marvel to show you. I’m quite proud of it.
You see a light in the distance. You think it’s the sun. Not wanting to stay in these dark, cold wilds with the crisp autumn wind tickling the back of your neck, you run to it. Branches bare your path, dragging against your skin as you pass by. They’re sharper than you realize, but they do not stop you. You tear through them as much as they tear at you until you begin to hear voices in the distance. You stop. They do not sound friendly. They dance through the air like fire across bark, feeling like hot daggers to your ears. Your heart cringes at such visceral hatred and you wonder for a fleeting moment what you have done wrong. Quickly you realize, however, these voices are not intended for you.
You crouch down for the rest of your approach, taking mind not to disturb the leaves and twigs scattered across the forest floor. Slowly you realize the light in the distance is not the dawn, but a great, cracking fire. So grand is the light it spews that the sky itself turns a subtle shade of blue. Your skin prickles and throat cracks under the heat. Had you been given the chance, you would have fled from the sight. But then a sound cuts through the roaring inferno. Then, you hear someone scream.
Quickly you take shelter behind a tree before peering out to find the source. You raise a hand to shield yourself from the firelight and see a troupe of shadows dancing before the flames. You can not tell if they are human. I do not blame you. The dancers have taken great care to hide such a shameful secret. Their bodies are covered in an assortment of twigs and wood lashed to them with rope. It’s almost impossible to find a speck of them not obscured by felled branches, but the keen eye will notice the flaw in their armor.
Did you see it, oh honored guest? Come now. It’s rather simple. There. At the joints. You can see it poking through. Is that skin, you wonder? Not anymore. They are blisters and scars assembled into an exquisite patchwork of suffering long past. You would be hard pressed to find an unmarked spot on their figure. It was not always like this, though, and that was very much by design, but not my design. Not entirely.
It is true I put them here in this forest of kindling, but I am not the one who struck the match. These men are of a very specific breed. I pulled them from from across time, the righteous few whose prayers crackled like flames, and put them here. It is a benign place by all measures, certainly more so than those you have witnessed, but a part of me nonetheless. I make sure to remind them of that every day so that they know just how far from God they are. It is why they now gather around this tower of flames. Just a little more kindling, they tell themselves. Then, God will finally see them from down here in my depths.
And here they come now. It appears they’ve found another log to throw to the flames. It’s screams echo through the forest as it is dragged to the pyre. Over and over it kicks and claws at it’s captures, but steadfast are those who hold it. You recognize the screams. It is no wonder. They are what guided you here after all. You think to rush out and do something as they drag that poor stranger closer and closer to the flames, but with the flames at their backs, what can you hope to do?
The dancers stop as their sacrifice is brought forth. They gather around him and look upon the soul with disgust. From their ranks, one emerges whom you can tell holds some significance amongst the group. His clothes make that much obvious. The wicker covering him flows from his hip into a dress of sorts with rows and rows of twigs dangling around his legs. His mask is much more ornate than the others with six points jutting out from the back and outlining his head. In his hand he holds a long staff that is lit at one end like an overgrowth torch. You are surprised by this figure. You should not be. Every heard needs it’s shepherd afterall.
The others shrink away as he approaches the sacrifice. You think they are speaking. The stranger certainly is. He howls away like a cornered wolf, but his words are obscured by the howling flames before him. The priest looks over the man with hollow eyes. You can not tell what he is thinking, but you know what must come next. The priest points his staff towards their sacred pyre and the crowd burst into uproarious applause. The stranger cries out one more time as he is pulled to his feet and led towards the altar. You think he would learn to save his breath by now.
He begs until the very last moment, that I must hand to him. Few are so defiant towards the end, but like them, he too is tossed to the flames. So quickly does fire wrap around him and skin melt from his person. You swear you can see it drooping from his flailing figure. Next to go are his muscles, or at least what you think are muscles. By now it has all been charred black, every detail reduced to mere ash. You pray every second of the gruesome experience that he will finally die and be free of this fate. How easily you forget where you are. This is not a place of dying, my dear. This is a place of punishment.
You see it now as he gazes into the flames. It is not wood which they dance upon, but a hundred writhing bodies all crying out in agony. There is nothing of their life before the flames. Their faces have all turned to ash, their screams added to the damned choir. You see some reach out to the edges of the flames, but always they stop just before they would break through. You aren’t sure why. Even I can not say anymore. This is not of my doing, remember? I did not light this fire nor did I toss these poor people into its depths. But perhaps it is because they are not people anymore. Not when the flames are done with them. Now, they are kindling to this inferno. It is branded onto their very souls. They belong to it now like a heart to a man. And here they will remain, fueling the fire for all eternity, their screams swallowed by its roar.
You have not seen enough. I know you believe you have, but this is not true. You must turn around. You must not go that way. I…oh. It seems I may not have to stop you.
I see you sneaking away and so does he. How long had he been standing there in the brush, watching you observe the proceedings? How curious, I think to myself, that even I could not notice him. I am thankful for it, nonetheless. You creep through the bricket, thinking yourself clever when a great hand reaches down and snatches you up. You scream on impulse and swing a fist into your assailant. It bounces off a thick bundle of twigs. Pain radiates through your hand as the wicker one lifts you off your feet. His strength is impressive for a simple human. The strength of the devoted perhaps? Regardless, he is carrying you towards the fire now and I do not think you will escape.
You are dragged before the procession, their many shadows joining to block out the firelight. Before their priest you are placed. He stares down at you with milky eyes that capture even the subtlest light with frightening accuracy. You wonder if there is a person behind that vapid gaze. Fret not. Indeed there is and he has no mercy to show you.
“You. Are. Charged.” He croaks out, voice crackling like burning logs. “How. Do. You. Plead?”
You say nothing for nothing comes to mind.
“How. Do. You. Plead!?” The priest exclaims as he slams his staff into the ground. The anger in his words forces a response from you.
“Not guilty! I didn’t do anything wrong!!”
“Liar.” The man who brought you forth says. “She was a mother, Reverend.”
“Was?” The priest looks over you once more. “Where. Is. Your. Child?”
Your voice catches in your throat for a moment. “I never had one. He’s lying!”
“She killed it, high priest. Killed it before it had ever left the womb.”
Murmurs pass through the crowd and feel like hot nails to your ears. “Is. This. True? Confess. And. Be. Sparred.”
You hesitate. I understand. Such memories mustn’t be pleasant. But it either speak now or never again. “I didn’t mean to. I was just having a bad time and needed to relax. If I’d know, I’d never-”
“No! Excuses!! A. Child. Is. Dead. A. Child. Of. God. Did. You. Kill. It?”
It’s getting hard to breathe. Sweat collects on your face, joining the tears in rolling down your cheeks. You do not know why you are crying. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You have to believe me.”
“Lies! Confess!!”
“Confess! Confess! Confess!” The crowd chants, their words eclipsing the crackling of the flames. You try to speak, but can not hear yourself. You try to think and still hear nothing. There is only that one word over and over again. Your heart twists and back prickles. You can feel so many eyes barring down at you and they all hate you, so you begin to hate them back. So desperate are you to escape their gaze you would turn it back on them, make them the hated one less they do the same to you.
It is a shame you will not get the chance to use such glorious hatred. We must move on before…wait. The wicker man has let you go. Why would he do that? You’re running now, but not away. The priest has no time to react before you tackle him to the ground. He is flattened beneath you, but you do not stop there. You strike him again and again and again, each more furious than the last. His mask shatters against your fists and the charred skin below is beaten raw. You will kill him at this rate, but you already know this. Your knuckles are still bruised from the last time.
Such exquisite violence. Such delectable brutality. I could relish in it until judgment day…wait. Where are the others? Where is the fire? The forest? Where are you, my dear? This place is cold, no. It is absent. No cold nor heat. No light or dark. It is everything that is not. I do not recognize it. How is that possible? Wait. There is something here. The man who caught you? No…oh no. I am so sorry, my dear. I should have seen the warning signs. I implore you, tread carefully. I can not protect you anymore. Turn around. I beg you. Just turn around. He is here. My master is here!
He is shedding the skin that human skin, revealing the many faces below. Each unfolds from the last like a flower that never stops blooming and petals made of sharpened starlight. His every inch is fractal and shattered so as to cut through the logics of the world. I do not know what he wants nor do I want to know, but now he calls you and he will not be denied his audience.
You bring your fist down once more only for it to strike empty air. The priest has vanished along with the ground beneath him. You are confused and confronted with such a vast emptiness, your anger begins to die. You stare out into the void, only to find nothing staring back. Your eyes feel as though they’re turning inside with not even darkness to focus on. There’s only one other thing in that void with you. You can feel it on the back of your neck. Slowly you stand and turn.
“So that is how he died.” My Master speaks in a thousand voices broken and slotted together. “Such barbarity. You should be proud.”
You know who he is. It is plain to see. Good. I hope this means you will be careful.
“I…I’m here for-”
“I know why you’re here. The question is, why should I give him to you?”
You run a hand over your cheek which stings to the touch. “You don’t understand. He didn’t mean to. I just-”
“You misunderstand. It does not matter what you did or why. He is mine now. What will you give me for him?”
You know what. You’ve known it ever since you came to me. It’s your fault he’s down here. Had you just not pushed him, had you waited through the pain, he would have escaped this fate. It’s only fair that you take his place in this hell.
But no, my dear. Can’t you see the smile on his face? Don’t you know what this is? You are not his to claim, no matter what you believe. But the one you came here for is. He has done too much to escape me now. It matters not how much longer he may live; he is ours. You can not change that. You must see this.
Oh no. It is too late. I see the words forming on your lips. No, my dear. Not like this. He can not have you. He will take you far away to a place even I can not reach. From your throat he shall tear your voice and add it to the choir behind his own. Your face will shatter and align with his. All that you are will become another drop of water in the vast ocean that is him. He can not have you. I won’t let him.
I go to you now and speak in your own voice. You do not recognize me from the other thoughts floating through your mind. Do not worry. I do not need you to. We’ll see each other soon enough, but for now, you must listen.
I say to you Little one, look around at the tortures you have witnessed and the marks they have left. See now how far the journey has been and the horrors you have marched through. You have braved this hell and now stand before its master, all for him. First it was your home, then it was your body, and now your immortal soul. How much more will you give him? How much more will he demand before finally he loves you? You who took nothing but his hand and gave more than he ever did. You are not much, little one. But you are more than him.
It is all I can say. I pray you will believe me.
You stand there, open mouthed and heart broken. Your feet are sore and your eyes burned by salt. Slowly you look around that great nothingness surrounding you and find it familiar. It is the same thing waiting for you outside these walls. There is not peace out there nor pain. You could wander its length for an eternity and find no one waiting for you. You would be lost forever, not knowing if you were still alive. But the pain tells a different story. The pain tells you there is still something to lose. Would you know your face if it did not bruise? Your voice if it did not scream? There is only one way to find out.
“Can I speak to him? Just this once?” You ask.
“Not anymore.”
You expected the answer to sting. You finally see it now, don’t you? You don’t need to speak to him. You don’t even need to see him. And you never did. There is no chain that pulls you through me depths. You alone walked that path and it is you alone who can walk it again. You turn and stare out into the void. It’s possible to see where to go from here. Perhaps there’s nowhere to go. But perhaps not, you think to yourself. You’ll never know until you start walking.
You are turning from him now. Yes. Good. That’s it my dear. One step at a time. Careful not to trip. He might still be waiting for you though. Do not worry. He will not follow you. Not unless you want him to. My Master’s smile reverses as you walk from his reach and once more step into mine. The voice slowly melts away until you find yourself standing in a hallway once again lined with doors. Just like before, you can not see the end, but that did not stop you before.
You step before one of the doors, take a deep breath, and walk through. Inside is nothing you can find comfort in. Do not worry. You did not pick the wrong door. Behind all of them lies one of my wonders. There is no helping that. The road back through me is long, cruel and marred with horrors and perhaps you will never see the end. But still you walk it as you had been all this time.
Will you ever be free of me? Even I can not say. Maybe you will succumb as so many before you have. Maybe you will rise just as many more did. But for now, you are walking. And maybe walking is enough.
I thank you, my dear, for witnessing me. You who gazed upon my wonders and did not despair, whose eyes will behold my majesty for many more days to come. I relish in your gaze, the perfect spotlight for my show. What will you do next I wonder? Will I have the honor of breaking you? I certainly hope not. There is so much more I wish to show you, but for now I shall wait. I have time. The road is long, after all, and you are persistent. Do not disappoint me.