What do you think it is about a place that makes it welcoming? It’s something so intangible, so hard to identify that it almost feels unreal when describing it. What drew me to the woods behind Dionaea Park, every Monday at 3 pm when I got off from work early? What gave it such a hold over me that I found myself rearranging schedules, canceling plans to wander the forest? If you had asked for a real answer, I would probably say the mushrooms. As an amateur forager, the woods behind the park were ideal. I’d often find large, untouched fungi just off the trailhead, in a variety of interesting colors. I never picked any, but I took plenty of pictures. But the mushrooms weren’t the only thing I liked about those woods. The other thing I liked was that I never seemed to meet anyone else in them. Even if I saw people in the park itself, the woods were a blissful haven of solitude, one that I made it my job to internally map.
It had always seemed strange to me how empty the woods felt. In other nature trails around my little town, I often felt watched by unseen figures just out of my sightline. But in these woods - in my woods, it almost felt like no one could hear me, in all the best ways. The sound of my footsteps never seemed to carry and startle wildlife, and the dorky podcast I listened to felt safe within my earbuds without prying ears around me - these woods truly felt like they were made just for me to get lost in, and to find my way out and emerge exactly when I wanted to.
The woods were empty until today. I know they were. So when I leaned down to get a better angle for a picture of a mushroom, I nearly dropped my phone when I saw a silhouette in the background of the shot. I almost would’ve found myself walking towards it, if just to ask how they had found my hiding spot. But the person in the distance seemed well within their own silent journey, and I could tell they hadn’t seen me from the serene way they glided along the trail, unperturbed by me. I thought it best not to disturb them, as I knew I would wish to be afforded the same luxury.
The next person I saw in the distance was much closer, close enough that she noticed me immediately. It was odd, the clothes she was wearing weren’t fit for a long hike. She wore a sundress, tattered and faded. The fabric was ripped in several places, with dirt coating the edge of the fabric. She didn’t look confused to see me, as I’m sure I must have. She gave a small, friendly smile and walked right past me. I had half a mind to ask if she needed help finding her way out, but thought against it as she walked quickly away. I noticed as I watched her leave that she was barefoot, her feet caked in dirt and leaves.
I didn’t think anything of the people I continued seeing. Not the third, or the fourth, even the fifth person I met, despite rarely following any distinct trail. I was happy for them, for having found the place I held so dearly to me. As long as they were respectful, I was happy to share the forest that I still felt some claim over. I’ll admit, I was shocked to see a usually empty area so teeming with life, but it was a beautiful day with a shining sun and all the time in the world beneath the shade of a thousand leaves.
The sixth person. That was how long it took before I noticed something awry. When I saw her in the distance, my stomach flipped and I felt paler than a ghost. I didn’t even know what caused it until I got closer to the girl. In the distance, wearing very distinctive homemade clothes, was the girl my sister had known in high school who had gone missing.
I had remembered seeing her at a party once. She always wore clothes she had made, and they were genuinely good for the work of a 14-year-old as she had been at the time. I remembered when she went missing, the police searching every possible place in town, putting out alerts in neighboring cities. I remembered a candlelit vigil held by the girls weeping parents. I couldn’t however, seem to remember her name. That didn’t stop her from knowing mine.
“Hey, Noah!” She said, as we approached each other. She seemed happy to see me, at least. I didn’t know how to react other than to look at her dumbly. I had seen countless pictures of her face on the news, even seen photos in which they’d attempted to age the photos - she didn’t look a day over 17, the age she was when she went missing.
“Do you remember me? Chelsea’s friend? We met at the party a few years ago.” Few was putting it lightly. It had been five years since she’d gone missing, and eight since the party she spoke of. I stood perfectly still, as if any sudden movement would startle her away.
“How…long have you been here?” I stuttered, managing to disguise the first question with another.
She smiled broadly. “An hour or two, tops. I’ll find my way out when I want to.” She grinned at this. Her clothes did not look like they had been in the woods for hours. They were practically falling off, the stitching she’d used to make them ripped open in more than a few places. They were speckled with dirt and sun-bleached and old. Jessica, I suddenly remembered. Jessica, who never wore the same outfit twice.
As I stared at her, still in utter disbelief, I realized that I should’ve felt the urge to run, the urge to bolt from the forest and tell everyone who I’d found. I should’ve been desperate to get Jessica home to her family. I should’ve taken her muddy hand in mine, turned around, and tried to find the exit. But I realized that not only did the world outside the woods seem inconsequential, but the soft glow of the sun between the leaves was still above. Surely I could spare just a bit more time in the woods, just a few more blissful hours before going back to my daily monotony.
“You should probably tell someone that you’re here,” I told her, against my better judgment.
“No, this place is my little secret. Besides, I’ll only be another hour or two.” She said, already beginning to walk past me dreamily. If the surprise of a familiar face had momentarily broken her hazy, trancelike expression, it was entirely back now. She floated by, walking between two trees and disappearing out of sight. Already, as I saw her turn away, I found myself walking too, found myself drifting sleepily deeper onto the paths only I knew how to find.
What do you think the difference is between a haunted place and a magic one? I think the only answer we as mortals can know is connotation. A place that invokes a warmth without just cause is the same as one that feels wrong, somehow. These woods, my woods, have never once felt haunted. They have only ever felt like home, felt like a safe place removed from life and fear and worry. Even after seeing Jessica, I felt no concern and only bliss in wandering amongst the trees I loved so deeply. If there is a haunting that keeps me here, keeps anyone at all here, I dare say it is a welcome one.
I do not know how long I have wandered the woods behind Dionaea park. I have found things between the trees I never would’ve guessed, have found indescribable wonders within my time here. I have met countless people, and have spoken to some. Many people have said they come here often, and I wonder if some of the power this place holds over me may be a reflection of the shared experience I’ve had with countless strangers. I suppose despite the solitude I came to love, I never was alone when walking through my forest. I have never once felt hungry or tired, or anything at all but the mindlessness of wandering. I know that when I want to find the exit, I will stumble upon it. But what’s another hour spent amongst the beauty of nature, beneath the soft light filtering through the trees?