The Dead Forest

We did the normal things kids do when visiting relatives - watched a lot of television, occasionally played baseball or football, walked to the local family convenient store for pop and candy, or explored the undeveloped woods surrounding the entire community. I had little in common with my cousins and I was then - as I remain today - almost pathologically shy. But, they were pleasant enough and as my elder sister made it her mission to keep her little brother from hiding from the world, I would tag along during their escapades. These were days when children could play unwatched for hours with little fear of harm. We hiked through endless forest, waded through creeks, climbing rocks and trees - often losing ourselves for the better part of any given afternoon. We are now in different days.

The day was dazzling. It was one of those rare Ohio days when temperature, humidity, sun and the pollen-count converge to form the perfect Norman Rockwell world. With our pockets full of candy and our hands sticky with pop and bubblegum, we were postcard portraits of middle-class tedium as we walked through the small town, making our way to the woods. We typically entered the woodland by crossing through the small baseball field on the outskirts of town, jumping the homerun fence and disappearing into the growth beyond. On this particular day, there was a flea market at the park and the place was flooded with small town bargain hunters. They kicked up dust and filled the normally quiet neighborhood with the noise and commotion of commerce. We decided to walk a little farther and enter the woods from an area just beyond the boundaries of the tiny settlement. The real world noises quickly faded as we marched - by order of age - to the western edge of the woods.

We entered the woods through a small clearing. We noticed immediately that the woods were much more dense than we had previously experienced. It was our custom, that once we entered the wood, we would break ranks and explore individually - always within earshot of each other, but separately. As we entered the wood this day, no one left the safety of the group. It was unspoken, but obvious - things were different here. A group of adults would have most likely left immediately, but as children, our sense of adventure overcame our sense of fear - we marched on.

By now, the sounds of the market were gone - slowly replaced by birds, crickets and other small things along with an occasional distant scream from a passing train. One by one, these sounds disappeared as we passed deeper into the wood. As the last of these sounds dropped away, we realized that another sound had been missing all along - the usual joking and clatter from a small group of kids. As the last earthly noise passed away, we realized no one had spoken since we entered. It was deadly quiet.

For some unknown reason, I kept my gaze cast upward as we walked. Perhaps I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the radiant sunlight we had lost since entering the wood - perhaps I was too frightened to see what I sensed was in front of me. Whatever the reason, I made my way by staying within the energy of those around me. With only an occasional glimpse at my feet, I managed to walk with the others while maintaining my heavenly gaze. The bark on the trees looked damaged - as though fighting a constant battle between healing and harm. I noticed that the leaves on the trees seemed an unnatural color - they were TOO green. The wooded canopy was so dense that only the smallest stars of light penetrated. The almost black leaves of the trees immediately absorbed the light of the sun, never allowing it to reach the floor below. During those rare glances at the ground, I noticed the forest floor was completely dead. There were no patches of grass, no wild flowers, no weeds. Even the soil seemed much darker than is natural. The earthly floor was covered in dead leaves and fallen branches, but no living thing came from it, no living thing walked there - except us children.

Our group was dressed for the season - light t-shirts and jeans, canvas tennis shoes and socks. This made it more evident that the temperature was dropping as we continued our journey. It was an unnatural drop in temperature. As the dense wood blocked most of the sun, one would expect a drop in temperature of five or ten degrees. Yet, this was a spiritual cold. I came to learn later in life that it was the cold that accompanies the arrival of spirits. The air around us grew unusually moist and rancid smelling. We all silently entertained thoughts of turning back. We had been walking for approximately twenty minutes - speechless, cold and scared - when at once, the silence was broken. In the distance were the sounds of breaking branches and of huge tree limbs crashing to the dead floor below. The cold increased and a heavy wind fell upon us - or at least the sounds of a heavy wind. In reality, none of the leaves moved to the music of the wind, nor could we feel it on our faces - only the sound - growing louder, growing stronger.

The sounds of breaking branches continued with the beat of the wind. Small ones seemed to be breaking just behind us, but none in our group was moving. We stood transfixed like a deer in headlights. As the invisible footsteps continued to break dead things all around us, faint whispers passed our ears. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was unmistakable - we were to leave - now. As a group and with no words exchanged between us, we launched into a dead run out of the forest. The cracking and crashing of limbs continued - not from our footsteps, but from what was behind us - all around us. The chill increased and the air took on the scent of death. The whispers increased their intensity. The words were still a mystery, but the meaning was explicit - and we obeyed.

It seemed like hours when we finally penetrated the wood and stood in bright sunlight at the side of the road. We were bathed in sweat and chilled to the bone as we turned back look at the forest. From within the ghastly sounds continued - growing stronger, as if that seemed possible. With horror, we realized the sounds and smells were coming ever closer and they would soon breach the wood. As this thought entered our minds a massive blast of foul wind vomited from the clearing and knocked all to the ground. Any writer in Hollywood could not have dreamed the sounds that accompanied that wind - they were pure evil. And then, just as soon as they assaulted us, at once they were gone. All was quiet again.

From the distance, the sound of the flea market crowd began to catch Gods wind and float to our eager ears. We stood and brushed ourselves off, looked knowingly at each other and formed our age-based marching line back to town. The trip back wasn't quite as good-humored as usual, but slowly we began to talk, and then to joke, and then to laugh - we were kids again. By the time we made it back to the house, all seemed normal. Seeing the gang return prematurely from their adventures, my Aunt poked her head through the back door and asked, "What are you all doing back so soon? We figured you'd be lost for the day." With only a brief glance between us our eldest simply said, "Nah, we thought we'd hang out here and watch some TV."

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