It was early morning. Thick clouds were looming in the sky. It was a powdery grey with no hint of sun, so thick and pregnant with rain that it blackened the edges of everything. The clouds hung overhead, drifting slowly in and out of the trees, their shadows were thrown on the ground, swaying across the ground. Fish from the river nibbled at the bank, sampling the cool air. The thick leaves of huge trees formed an almost impassable barrier between the forest and the town. The air was full of moisture as damp leaves soaked up water from the ground and released it again in a cool mist that clung to everything it touched and left behind a scent that smelled like rain and new beginnings.
I had been running for almost an hour. Water splashed from the puddles that my feet pounded against them, darkening my pants and splattering mud onto my tracksuit. My shoes dug into the dirt and grass, which crunched beneath me, my breathing was heavy, and my heart was pounding in my chest. The cool air was like a gift, sent by God himself as I was sweating profusely. This was not how I pictured myself getting ready for my wedding to the love of my life. The running was only meant to help me lose weight, and yet, I found myself falling behind my ideal fitness level. Just when I thought I could go no farther, I could run no longer, I found myself at the end of the Black Rain forest, which was still a mile from my home. I leaned over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire. The air smelled of green plants and animals and decomposed leaves. I breathed in deeply, feeling the weight of this morning pushing me along.
I checked my watch and got relieved that I had reached my goal and the 3 miles of running were done. I looked up at the sky. The clouds were darker and more threatening now. I did not care if I got soaking wet but at that point, I changed my mind and decided to cross the forest before it started raining. Catching a cold would not be a good idea before the wedding. I started walking towards the trees and turned onto a smaller dirt road that bordered the edge of the forest.
It was the same forest in which I had played as a child and watched birds build their nests and run around with my best friend Robert hiding from their parents. My aunt always complained about me wandering off into the woods and getting lost on occasion but by that time, he knew the forest very well. She told me that he was too old to be doing such things and I should be at home with her or out hunting with my uncle and cousins. I remembered watching the tall trees swallow my parents and sister when we ventured up past them to get the lumber I had stacked there earlier that week. Or, what gave me peasant memories were the picnics with my family. It was always me who was tasked with finding a nice meadow or clearing where we could settle down, set up the temporary table with chairs and have a nice meal.
I remember the sun, which was bright and warm and the grass smelled like my mother’s freshly-baked bread. The sandwiches, covered in plastic and smelling like my mother’s homemade soup, were a little taste of home, even if they were eaten far from it. I spent hours just sitting there, watching the dance of the creatures through the trees. All sorts of mammals socialized that day: foxes, badgers, otters, and a single raven perched in a tree while its companion spoke with another raven on the ground. Sometimes they stayed out even after dark, supposing the weather was warm enough. My father used to make fire and my brother, my parents, my uncle and aunt and their kids were all sitting around the fire, singing. The fire was bright and warm and it made the night feel cosy. The fire served as the centre of their camp circle and it was the place where we roasted marshmallows on sticks and sat around telling stories when it got cold. The fire sputtered and crackled, sending sparks of light into the night sky. The smoke spiralled above us up into the branches of the trees that made a canopy over their heads. I sometimes played with my cousin or caught lightning bugs with my brother.
My uncle sometimes told exciting campfire stories. Stories about the forest, which was believed to be haunted by the ghost of some children who had disappeared years ago and some locals could still hear their screams and voices. The ghosts’ voice was said to ring through the dead branches and whistle through the empty air, keening like a siren. Sometimes at night, their cries could be heard ringing through the hollows. But I myself had never experienced anything like that. I had never seen more than a shadow in the woods.
What I have seen, was something much more terrible. But before I tell you more about it, you need to understand what the place where I live is like.
Black Rain is an island not far from the western coast of British Columbia. It rains every day because of the wet climate. The community of this island is like a big family. Almost everyone knows everyone, and many people love and hate each other at the same time. But those who think fondly of each other are very close. Oscar Gray, an athlete who has won several of the running races organised on the island every year, donated one of his kidneys to Louis Barnes, a terminally ill boy. His act was in the papers for weeks and his heroism is still remembered today. Not everyone made such a sacrifice, but if someone broke down on the road, for example, you could be sure that the second or third car, if not the first, would stop to help. If you came for dinner, you left with a stomach full of Mrs Keagan’s apple pie. Or you were almost bound to meet Mayor James Harrison, who always had a wry sense of humour and smelled like pipe tobacco.
But Black Rain (the town has the same name as the island itself) also has its dark little secrets that the visitor would never see. It is a town of many contrasts that hide these dark little secrets behind charming smiles and gentle voices. For example, no one really knows the kind and charming Mrs Keagan, who raises her grandchildren by locking them in a dark cellar for weeks. Mrs Carter owns the local sweet shop and regularly bakes cakes of sweet dough full of dried insects, which she then feeds to her neighbours without their knowledge. The Crimbles were a family living on the outskirts of town and raised chickens in small coops on their land. One day Mr Crimble murdered his wife and buried her under an old walnut tree, which then grew through her skull, forming an intricate root system that was shaped like a woman’s face. Or few people know Mr William, who regularly buried animals in his back garden and performed strange rituals.
But there are also open secrets, such as Martin Owens Jr. who is said to talk to extraterrestrials and some patrols have also seen UFOs over his house on more than one occasion. But it is also well known that Martin would smoke weed before watching space alien movies on the History Channel. There is Kim Nguyen, the receptionist at the clinic; she always has a cut on her finger and smiles with her eyes but never with her mouth. Betty, the Greek lady who owns the pastry shop—nobody had ever seen her smile, not even in photos from when she was younger. And Brad Fritz, whose wife left him for a man from Holland, and Diandra Beck, who almost stabbed Lisa Chapman through the heart with a serving fork at the local restaurant.
Allan Wilson could sit in his rocking chair for hours on end and stare out the window overlooking the street without batting an eye. But then there was Emma Perez, who used to spread her clothes at night while she sang loudly. And Carl Young was famous for going to Black Rain cemetery to talk to ghosts.
There were thousands of other little things Black Rain is hiding.
As in all small towns like this, news spread fast by word of mouth. It is just a comment or a whisper, accompanied by a suggestive wink or a pat on the back of the hand, and the human chain of news is set in motion. And it works much faster than anyone would guess. Gossip spreads like wildfire through the island and many people liked gossipping about couples as well, sometimes to great success. However, these couples are so close that they could survive the rumours and stories that emerge about them. The saga often disrupts the ties between friends, but there is also a growing sense of belonging and community at Black Rain. People are drawn into the group with the power of their friends and neighbours because they never know when they may need help or help from others.
So I was still looking at the huge trees that used to be my playground as a child. Even after I had my first major success in my career as an architect, I will secretly visit these woods, hoping that someday I will find the clearing where I spent my childhood summers. I was still looking down on the woodland clearing when the first raindrops fell on my face. I couldn’t help but smile – had I ever been that young? That carefree? I was standing under the trees of the forest, watching how tiny rivulets of water made their way through the carpet of leaves, forming translucent streams between tree stumps.
But as I was walking deeper into the forest, the first raindrops fell on the leaves. It seemed I would not make it home before the rain but I did not want to run anymore. I wiped off my forehead, leaving a line of a mixture of sweat and rainwater on my skin. I stopped took a short break to collect myself and drank some water from my bottle. I looked up, inhaled deeply and took a deep breath. The taste of fresh spring water was soothing and refreshing, the way water tasted when you first woke up in the morning.
Deep in the forest, the shade of the trees and the mild, steady breeze that roamed among the leaves was now getting rather chilly than pleased with the cold raindrops. The trees were swaying, their branches parting to reveal the dark sky. A few drops of water landed on my cheek and soaked into my hair. I brushed my hand over my eyes to keep them open and shook off the rain droplets from my skin.
After a while, all the signs of sweat and exhaustion were gone as I started to shiver, my breath coming out as white clouds in front of his face. I shook off the polo shirt that I had put on as I marched on toward home. I stepped into a puddle and water splashed all over my shoes but he didn’t care, just kept walking.
It was gloomy, the light from the sky stretched through the forest but they were not enough to fill in all the shadows. I tried to focus on walking straight but it was now pouring so heavily that I could no longer see where one tree ended and another began. I stumbled over a branch, which I had not seen. My feet found roots underneath them and I fell down but did not hurt myself because I landed on a thick pile of leaves that cushioned his fall. After standing up, I noticed something odd.
One moment, it was not the rain that I could feel on my body. I sensed something else in the air, something sinister and eerie, hiding around me. A feeling of heavy stillness of the ominous sensation that something terrible had happened there. Or was it only my mind? I looked a few meters away to my right. I was not sure what I saw because it was covered with some bushes and the rainfall but the ground was disturbed and it seemed that there was something.
I started walking towards it slowly. As I was approaching it, for some unknown reason, my heartbeat was getting faster.
Black Rain was a small enough town for anyone to be on the lookout for anything suspicious, and if something terrible happened, someone had to see something. I just hoped I wasn’t the first one.
There was a point I was not sure that I should get closer. Because whatever it was, did not belong there. As I was trying to get closer to the undergrown and find my way among the sharp branches, I was careful not to slip on a wet rock. A few seconds later, when I went through the last group of bushes, I saw it. And that was the most terrible moment of my life. My heart was beating in my throat and the blood rushed inside my ears. I suddenly felt as if someone was watching me and he turned my head, but I could only see brambles and trees. Some voice urged me to go back but my curiosity was stronger than my instincts.
And then I saw her.
The girl was hanging from a branch of a tree. She was naked but so dirty with mud that her face and parts of her body were not visible. Her arms were tied behind her back and her legs were tied together. She was still, lifeless and motionless. I turned away quickly and took a few deep breaths and had to throw up. I didn’t want to look at her anymore.
The body was twisted and contorted. A human body but with the features of a wild animal, the girl was a young girl, she appeared to be 18 years old with long brown hair. She had a beautiful face but was so dirty and bruised, that she was beyond recognition. The girl’s naked body with its purple bruise, its blackened eye and its mouth open in a scream of terror.
But it was not only the sight of the girl which shocked me. The strange items around the murder seemed out of the place too: a mound with candles on it, a pile of sticks, some kind of pentagram symbol, and a bloody cross were placed around the hanging body.
‘Jesus Christ! ‘What a sadistic bastard would be capable of doing such a thing?’ - I told to myself.
The girl’s body was swaying ever so slightly in the breeze, her lengthy hair obscuring her face. I couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not, and I didn’t want to know. I turned away, but the image was burned into my mind and I started running back to town as fast as I could, not caring how much the sharp branches hurt my face anymore.
My first destination was the police and I told them what I had seen.
Roger Miller wasn’t a particularly intelligent person. There were more police officers in town but he was the only one I didn’t like. In front of his favourite place, the Seven Bears Pub, he smelled alcohol. He was wearing denim, a brown jacket and a baseball cap. His scruffy clothes and unshaven face gave the impression that he was a homeless, rather than the local constable. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and his clothes were wrinkled and covered in dirt. He looked like he had been sleeping in his clothes for days. His hair was greasy and stuck to his head in clumps. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol wafted from him in a cloud. The man stubbed his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with his boot.
When I told him what I had witnessed and it took ages until he found the car keys (he left them inside the pub). There was Freddie Tucker with him, a local guy who was actually a member of a weird community and they called themselves the Black Purgers. They were a bunch of folks, they went to the parks and forests all around town with flowers, they played music and all. And I had always known they were hiding something.
Anyway, Roger and Freddie were great friends and drinking buddies. Probably that was the reason why Freddie had never got caught when driving drunk or had never been charged with domestic violence because it was known he hit her sister a few times.
I begged Roger for bringing some more people with us and surprisingly he wasn’t against the idea. Probably because he was aware of his own cognitive limitations too.
Roger went back to the pub and came out with Keith Young, a local lumberjack.
‘Hey Keith, this young man says he has witnessed a witch hanging from a tree in the forest. Wanna feel like checking it out? But I think he is still on drugs so what probably will happen is that I will just arrest him.’ - he told him as we were approaching the jeep.
‘Sure!’ - he said and he jumped into the car. Roger cranked the engine and we were on the way to the forest.
On the way there, they were busy sharing gossip and idiotic jokes with each other that I totally ignored. However, I was happy that I was with three strong men because the murderer could still be lurking in the forest.
The image of the witch was burned in my memory and it was only the girl who I could think of.
After a few minutes, Roger turned to the left, onto a dirty, narrow road. On both sides of the road, there were huge pine trees as if guarding the forest. A few minutes later, the car came to a halt and we all got out as we had to walk from them.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet. My shoes made squelching sounds as I walked. The air was cold and damp and smelled of pine. There was a sense of foreboding in the air as if the forest was warning us to turn back. I wasn’t sure the others had the same feeling though but they weren’t the type to back down from a challenge. Countless night fights in the pub taught them how to be tough.
‘So, which way, young man?’ - Roger asked me and I pointed in the direction I believed was the right way to the crime scene.
We all followed Roger into the forest, stepping over roots and around trees.
The ground was uneven and we had to concentrate to keep from tripping. As we were going into the deepness of the forest, a cold chill of dread ran through me like an electric current because I was sure the people with me had no idea what they were going to face.
We all crept through the undergrowth, the sharp branches snagging our clothes and scratching them. The leaves were so thick that it was difficult to see more than a few feet in front of us. The ground was squishy beneath our boots, and the air was damp and smelled of blood and fresh mud. I could hear the sound of something moving through the brush, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I had the feeling that we were being watched. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was sweating despite the cold. I could hear the others breathing around me, and I was sure they were all thinking the same thing: what was waiting for them?
‘So Freddie, you are also a member of the Black Purgers, right? What are you doing, if that’s not a secret?‘ - I just wanted to have a small talk, to break that depressing silence but instead, the most stupid thing left my mouth.’
‘Oh you know, just cleaning the area from negative energies. We have some rituals to summon good spirits and forces to put them in the right state of mind. We light candles, stand in circles and chase away any negative energy or entities that might be lurking. Once the area is purified, we begin to chant, filling the air with positive energy. Staff like this.’ - he said.
Then I thought for a moment and replayed the same things in my head. Purifying the area from negative energies…
There was something in his eyes I didn’t like. He had thought at the back of his head, I was sure.
‘Do you believe in witches?’ - I blurted it out.
‘The fuck are you talking about?! No such things as witches.’
But I knew he was lying.
Could he? Could he know about it? Could he have been the murderer? Was there the killer with me? It seemed his community hid dark dark secrets. I started to shiver more but I didn’t have more time to think about it because I realised we reached the crime scene. I could recognise it from the shape of the trees and bushes.
The only problem was that the area was empty without any traces of disturbed ground and the tree itself was completely untouched, without any signs of a dead body hanging from the tree.
I stopped.
‘So? This is it?’ - Roger asked.
No words could leave my mouth. I looked around. No religious items, not a drop of blood, nothing would tell that the place was a horrible scene of a murder.
‘What the fuck has just happened?’ - I said out loud.
I started to feel embarrassed but only until the point when I looked at Freddie. His expression was shocked and his face was as pale as a dead body. His face told me everything.
I didn’t know what was scarier: the fact that I was standing next to the murderer or that the body disappeared with all those religious items around it. Because I could tell you, man, he himself didn’t know what the hell had just happened, just like me. We both expected the same scene as me.
Then I felt the presence of something behind me. I turned around and noticed a girl standing there. She had long black hair, her face was white and blood was running down from her eyes. Other than that, she was beautiful.
And then it came to me: she was the girl from the tree. And none of the men around me saw her. Only me. She was staring at the tree which she had been hanging from.
I didn’t want to know what would happen next but my legs told me to run away as fast as I could and they didn’t have to tell me twice. The trees passed by in a blur and seemed to fly by faster and faster as if they were being sucked into the centre of a tornado. They moved in a hypnotic circle around me and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. My legs pumped harder than they ever had before, harder than when I ran against Ryan Field or when I tried out for the track team my junior year or even when my football coach had screamed at me for not being fast enough to catch the quarterback’s long pass. My heart thundered in my ears, just like the skies in the distance, which sounded like the prelude to an apocalypse.
They have been reported as missing people ever since and I have never told anyone I was the last person who saw them. No bodies have ever been found.
Later the girl turned out to be Hannah Howe, a local teenager who went missing. She was believed to be a witch by some locals because she was interested in witchcraft. Well, they weren’t far from the truth. When I checked her Facebook photo, I immediately recognised her and I knew it was her.
What I don’t want to know is what happened to the three men but I am sure, Freddie Tucker is still burning in hell. When I approach the forest, I still hear his screams.