As police officers, we have stories that could instill fear into even the most hardened of listeners. I do have many to tell but I shall tell of one I fear I will never tell again, for the slight thought of it makes me want to string myself up on the nearest ceiling fixture.
Falmouth Forest; a ghastly place full of terrible stories of tragedy, loss, and sadness. A forest of awesome size and dark as the depths of the deepest oceans, a visit would be your last no matter your skills or strength. The officers in the force aptly named it. The forest of the missing.
A standard night of patrolling proceeded me then, taking down suspects, and dealing with the odd civil dispute or antisocial behavior. A night that let me power through the shift without thought or feeling, shielding my mind from the torment of the death of my daughter.
It was 4 years since she had overdosed and the emotions still felt as raw as the day of the tragedy. That night marked the anniversary and emotions were palpably elevated. Like a cruel twist of fate, my shield was broken as the call I feared the most blasted my radio.
January 14th 2001
“Calling all available units this is dispatch, an accident has been reported at Falmouth Lane, no more details have been provided, and the scene needs attending as a priority, over.”
Of fucking course, I thought. Units 2 and 3 are currently dealing with a traffic incident and I was the closest to the scene, normally I would be far away from the forest but the mindless driving had me in a trance, and I had no choice but to take the task.
“Dispatch, this is unit 6, en-route to the scene, over”
“10-4, over”
An accident at this time was very strange, what type of insanity would cause someone to enter the forest after nightfall? Questions filled my head with concern and intrigue but could only be answered one way, flicking on my lights and squeezing the acceleration sent me head first towards the forest.
The lane was hard to find, tucked behind thick bushes and trees to cover its meager entrance. I was expecting a road but was disappointed to find it was nothing more than a dirt track. Putting it into first and turning on my fog lights, I turned slowly onto the lane.
Immediately I was hit with bumps and scrapes as the tree branches smacked against my windows and the potholes tested the suspension of my old cruiser car. It was a long drive through winding turns and the thickest sheet of fog I had ever seen, nothing but white hindering my vision, until I saw them, red lights peering at me from a distance in the hazy fog.
As I drew closer to the beaming red lights I realized it was a car and the brake lights had been engaged. Something felt unusual, and as the smog unraveled and retreated the closer I got, the car’s current disposition grew in return.
My hunch was correct as the car was mangled against a thick tree trunk, the front was wrapped around its girth in a metal mess with steam hissing from its smashed hood. If the passenger is alive it would be by a miracle, I thought. I reached for my radio ready to report my current findings to find it utterly useless to my despondence, the line was dead. Nothing but static returned.
I must be out of range, I thought. Some fear seeped into my bloodstream as the feeling of being completely cut off filled my headspace. That was at least a 15-minute drive from the main road and the crash victim, if they are alive, won’t be for long if I don’t start searching. It’s not recommended to attend a scene without active contact but after the death, my need to fix and make right fueled my everyday steps.
Grabbing my utility belt I climbed out of the cruiser into the cold winter night. The swirling fog was still surrounding me, suffocating my vision in every direction. Switching on my torch helped, though in a somewhat limited capacity. I started with the tire tracks, as a violent use of the brakes had left behind some deep ones.
The tracks had no fade from surface to deep markings but instead transitioned instantly meaning the brakes were engaged with serious force, normally seen in an emergency brake situation. I had seen it many times in the past, deers would run into the roads with reckless abandon causing adept drivers to slam on the brakes and swerve. Could that be what happened here? Possibly.
Moving over to the car it was clear that it hit the tree with immense speed, who would be delusional enough to drive down this sorry excuse for a road this fast? Climbing into the car allowed me to inspect the interior closer when a smell like no other stunned my nose, smothering it in the stench of rotting meat and festering decay. I wretched and gagged enough to make the bile in my stomach leap into my mouth, with grit and a swallow I steadied myself. The napkin I now held to my nose helped but did not abate the foul stench.
The investigation of the interior was fruitful, providing me with telling clues. Things I noted were the abundance of religious paraphernalia scattered throughout the car, a rosary necklace, a bible in the side pocket, and various other crosses decorated the interior. One that made me chuckle was a bumper sticker on the back with the text “Jesus is my airbag”, morbid considering the situation but very ironic nonetheless.
The other clue, and the most notable was that the airbags had been engaged, and rightfully so. It appears the airbags deployed, saving them, then they must have dispatched from the car as the driver’s door was open. It was what was on the floor outside the door that bothered me so, blood, crimson, and glistening covered the floor outside. It was not a pleasant sight, a crimson handprint smeared the outer door window and a trail of red created a vivid trail towards the forest.
As I was about to leave the car interior, something peculiar moved in my vision, the source was the rearview mirror. As I studied the mirror, I saw what looked to be a figure dressed in a strange black outfit. A white collar piece surrounded the neck and a cross necklace rested upon it. It was clear to me that this was a nun, the position had the head leaning against the window with a large splatter of dark blood against it. As I looked closer at the face it chilled my body for it was a face perforated with morbid decay, and the lips which were stationary began to curl up into to god-awful grin, showing its rotten clenched teeth. I spun around immediately, expecting to be confronted by the disgusting thing, but what I saw was an empty seat.
I looked between the mirror and the back seat but nothing returned. My mind must be throwing tricks at me, this place is enough to drive any man mad, I must control myself. I breathed deeply and knew my next destination was bound for the forest, the blood tracks were fresh so there might still be time. With torch in hand and gun at my waist, I ventured into the depths of the forest, unprepared yet driven by the compelling thought of saving a life.
Bloody handprints smeared some of the tree trunks and crimson drops had been scattered through the leaves on the undergrowth; the person had been badly hurt. As I continued my descent the trees began to thicken, the forest grew darker, and the fog continued to suffocate my surroundings, hindering what little vision I had. The torch was my beacon; without it, darkness would completely cover me. To my grievance, the trail abruptly went cold. I did a 360 but no trail returned to me. I stood for a time, confused, and began to drink in my surroundings. The forest was unusually still, with no animals or birds to chirp just the wind that shook and chilled in its wake.
In the deathly silence, the sound of an odd creaking and groaning was highlighted to me, but the location of the sound was unknown. It hit me that the sound was not at my level, but rather eerily above me, fear gripped me at that moment and I dared not look until something wet dripped onto my face. My hand instinctively reached up to wipe away the strange wet liquid, and upon doing so, I found my pale hand was covered in a grossly dark red stain, the stain of blood.
I pivoted my head upright and my mind went slightly mad at the sight, of the bloody body of a person levitating above me; upheld by rope on a branch in the depths of the nearby tree. A noose constricted around the neck to paint a truly horrific sight, was this the driver of the car?
I moved back to get a closer look at the person but they had been draped in a black cloth, the head and body both covered. My hand was shaking uncontrollably as the forest began to seemingly get louder, my ears rang and whispers surrounding me caused me to swing frantically around looking for the source. The horror only grew as I noticed more and more bodies hanging from branches, never in my lifetime had I seen so much death in one place.
I was ready to turn tail and run, every fiber of my being screamed at me to do so. When the sound of maddening cackling laughter echoed throughout the forest sending birds above me howling and fluttering frantically out of the forest treetops. I was then again stunned to move, my hand now shaking immensely with my body soon to follow. I still felt I had not found the victim and that laughter, though disturbingly demonic, still had a human aspect to it. I began to run deeper into the forest, now most likely lost and very much alone, Though I am cop to my core and I could not let another person die in my care. My daughter’s limp body crossed my mind in a drug den cesspit. No, I will never let that happen again.
I paused outside the scene of the noise, peering around a nearby trunk that I now hid behind. I did not know what I expected to see but this was not on my list. The scene was in a clearing of the trees on a patch of open grass. Three naked old crones stood around a pyre, each holding flaming torches. All dancing frantically under the light of a waning moon as part of some pagan deity ritual.
The victim was atop the pyre, struggling and gagged by rope. Their black nun’s dress was strikingly similar to the one I saw in the car. It had to be the same person. It all happened so soon but the three dancing crones stopped dancing and they all began to hum in chorus, the one closest to the wooden tower began to lower her torch, the flames licking the wood. My body moved reactively, I had no plan but I knew I must act.
The slight movement caused the branch under my foot to snap in two sending a beacon of sound into the clearing. I looked down at the branch and then immediately back at the scene, panic filled my body as the three crones disappeared. The only thing I saw was the sheer terror in the eyes of the lady on the pyre, blood seeping down her face with the two maddened irises looking right at me. My ears still rang from the sight earlier but another whisper cut through the ringing and said this.
“Looks like another has come to join us, sleep well, you’ll see us again soon.”
It was a guttural voice filled with malice and excitement, writing this has caused my body to quake, it was the voice of madness personified. Before I knew it, a body jumped on my back, a bony arm wrapped around my neck, with the other covering my mouth with a ragged, dirty cloth, my vision began to fade. The last thing I felt was a disgusting wet, rough appendage scrape against my cheek with a voice that added after.
“He’s a sweet one… will be… proud…”, the voice croaked at me as it faded.
My vision and mind at that point had been swallowed into the black abyss, in the blackness a faint light drifted towards me. The first thing I heard was footsteps, each step echoed in the blackness as if you were to walk in an empty cathedral, and then I saw her.
“Daddy, is that you?”
The voice was just how I remembered it, and out of the darkness there she stood, my daughter. Before I knew it she ran up to me and hugged me and I hugged back as her hot tears pressed into my jacket. As I write this now my tears have stained the page, I couldn’t even now describe the emotions that racked my body but the fear, the madness, and the panic evaporated into nothing. I went to speak but nothing came out, my voice was gone.
“Dad, you shouldn’t be here, no… no. This isn’t right. Your time is not done. Please, you must return… she needs you,” her voice echoed, growing faint as if carried away by an unseen breeze. Before I knew it, my hug squeezed into emptiness. The last thing I heard was;
“Dad, I forgive you, you must let me go, one day…” the voice faded out to nothing and the end of the sentence will be lost until I see her again, most likely in death.
Before hearing this I was lost, I felt like it was my fault, that I should have done something, and that she had turned to using more drugs after the terrible fight we had when she said she hated me. Though I realize now it was the drugs that had gripped her so. The reality was that she was lost from the start and nothing I could do would change that.
My vision began to return out of the darkness and I was filled with anger and sadness that I could not see my daughter again. What happened next was over in a flash, my actions almost felt like they were not my own, it was like I was a man possessed. A crone was leaning over me ready to tie me down the tree.
She shrieked “Sisters he’s waking up, too early, too early!”, frantic panic filled the voice.
I grabbed the pistol at my waist and moved it to her head, with a squeeze of the trigger her brains, blood, and bone smothered me and the floor. She fell limp as her body went cold with death. A grief-filled scream perforated my body but I climbed to my feet, fueled and numb with anger, and pain. Violence was the only thing I wanted.
The next crone charged at me with a knife, it was close but as she went to strike the blow I dodged left and smashed her skull with the butt off my gun. There was an audible crunch and her body too fell to the ground, with me putting a bullet in her back for good measure. The last crone threw a torch still fueled by fire and tossed it into the pyre, she was gone in the blink of an eye, running into the darkness of the forest. I did not attempt to chase or discharge my gun, my legs charged towards the now burning structure.
I picked up the knife from the body of the crone, by the time I reached the pyre it was a flaming mess, time was running short. I climbed the pieces of wood still untouched by flame and scurried up with reckless abandonment.
My skin was singed by flames though I felt no pain, after several serious burns I had reached the woman her face was limp and dark, I thought her dead but realized she must have fallen unconscious from the horror and blood loss. I deftly un-shackled her binds and her body fell limp onto my shoulder.
I am no strong man by modern standards but I felt I was possessed by another worldly deity and at that moment I felt like the strongest man alive. The strength gave me the ability to carry her down the pyre on my shoulder, it was very close as the fire was burning all around us but one small section at the back had not fully been engulfed in flames. With no time to waste, I took the route making it successfully down.
I began to disassociate at this point, everything rushed in a blur, trees dashed past me, darkness surrounded me, and my legs rushed through the underbrush. I know not how but we had made it out onto the dirt track, red and blue lights were everywhere so much so that I shielded my eyes with my free arm. My legs and body, strong as I had ever felt before suddenly had the energy sucked out of them, and before I knew it I was on the ground, as once again my vision faded to black.
This time I was not greeted by my daughter but rather by a nurse, leaning over me, visions of the old crone leaning over me gripped me, and bolted awake in a panic. I startled the poor nurse and she ran out of the room screaming “Doctor! He’s awake!”.
Nurses, doctors, and some of my colleagues rushed into the room and before I knew it I was engulfed with cheers and hugs. I wasn’t home but at that moment it felt like home. I had escaped, by all odds out of that forest, I was the lucky one and I will never forget that. My belief is something was watching over me that night, and I can’t help but think it was my daughter.
The woman I saved lived and I’m happy to admit we’ve been married for 6 years, she is the current light of life, and I need it. She left the church behind but still kept the faith, she has her reasons for going to that horrid forest but I will not tell it here but maybe one day she will.
It was extremely tough to move on from what happened but we kept in touch and supported each other through our moments of despair. Enough so that a fondness for each other grew into a blossoming flower, though it does not all end in roses.
For after the horrific event I have been plagued with nightmares of an otherworldly deity, I cannot describe its cosmic reality and I shall not attempt to do so here, as words are simply not enough. The crones left me with a sign on the back of my hand that only I can see, it glows with an inferno of fire and burns with rage when the nightmarish entity enters my mind. I still see the haggard crones from time to time, in reflections, on the seat of a train, and in my nightmares, though they must only be visions, surely?
I shall leave you now dear listeners and I thank you for reading. I know not as to which I saw but I’ll never forget the maddening sight of those three haggard crones dancing beneath the ethereal glow of the waning moon.
I know that when the time comes for my departure from this realm I will face them again, and I’ll be sure to send them hell.