Damien's Woods

Damien was in the woods, whacking trees with a branch. He was pretending they were an army and he was a lone soldier standing against them. He scrabbled over exposed roots, dodged imagined blows, grunted with every thrust and slash.

He passed through a shallow stream, imagining himself swinging across a raging river to escape the chasing horde. On the fighting went, past the Mason's lodge, past Old Percy's shack and past the furthest place his mother allowed him to go.

Damien didn't notice he'd gone so far. Three great warriors were chasing him, Damien didn't have time to see where he was going. He began to stumble up a hill as he fended off their blows.

He heard singing. He straitened up and dropped his branch. It came from behind. He finished climbing the hill and looked down the other side, looking for the singer.

A graveyard was down in a clear at the base of the hill. Damien saw a couple dozen head stones where he knew people lay underneath. One grave was open, a tall pile of dirt stacked next to the shadowy hole. A thin line of cobblestone ran around the yard, a narrow opening near a small shack.

The shack looked old. No windows, only a door. A sod roof that had overgrown, greenery hanging down over the sides. A saddled horse was grazing next to it.

Damien waited to hear the singer again. When it came, he knew it was coming from the shack. It was the strangest song he'd ever heard. He wondered if he should go back, mother would not be happy he was out this far. He looked up at the sky, the sun well past the midday point. It would be getting dark soon.

He crept down the hill, too curious to go back. He watched a rabbit bound away when he spooked it, wondering if that's what he should do. Mother told him there were men in this world that would hurt him if they could. When he had asked her why, she'd said "I'll protect you." and kissed his forehead.

He came to the cobblestone wall, its sides worn smooth by decades of wind and rain. A man of average height could step over it no problem. For Damien, the wall came up to his breastbone.

Crouching down, Damien kept most of his body hidden as he moved. He kept his eyes on the shack door, ready to run if he saw it open.

Damien glanced at the headstones near him, the engravings too worn by time to read from this far. The singing was very clear now but Damien couldn't understand the words, they were words. The voice rose and fell with a undulating cadence, one moment frantic, the next calm and serene. He heard a loud sequence of bangs and stopped. It sounded like when mother used the ax to chop wood for winter. He eyed the door, ready to run if it opened. It only wavered back and forth slightly in the breeze. He steeled himself and went on, crouching lower and creeping slower.

Damien came to the corner. The door to the shack was in front of him, past the opening in the wall. If he wanted to see inside, he risked being exposed if the door opened.

The sun was starting to go down, casting a murky tinge over everything. He could hear his mother screaming at him for going so far from home. He should leave. He took a look behind, up to the hill where he'd been. The singing came wafting out from the shack, seducing him closer. He gave a quick apology to his mother and slithered along the wall, letting his left hand drag over it as he went. The stones were smooth like the ones he and mother would use to skip rocks on the lake. The banging and singing from the shack grew louder and more intense with every step.

When Damien got to the door he pried open a slight crack and stuck his face in, still crouched low. In the darkness a man stood in front of a thick wooden slab. The slab came up past the man's waist and was covered in candles. Damien saw a thin trail of smoke coming from something that lay on top. From down here Damien couldn't see what was on the slab. The shack smelled like a mixture of burning hair and rotten meat. Damien put a hand over his nose to block it, feeling sick.

The man wore a gray robe with long, baggy sleeves and a hood that obscured hid his face. He had a large cleaver and was brought it down to the slab with great force. When he brought it up, Damien saw the cleaver was covered with something dark, the light too dim to see plainly. The singing continued and the eerie sound sent a dreadful chill up Damien's spine. He might not be able to understand the words but he felt their evil.

The man swung his big cleaver down again and it stuck into the wood, reminding him again of mother and the ax. The singing reached a pinnacle as the man stooped to lift something off the slab. It looked like a large carrot with a knot in the middle. The top of the carrot was smeared with the same darkness as the cleaver.

The man raised the carrot above his head, singing wildly. Damien was amazed his mouth could move that fast. The voice felt like an icy wind and Damien shivered. The man twisted the carrot so it was vertical and put one end over his head which was tilted back. The end over his hood moved slightly, dangling. Damien's eyes went wide when he recognized it. A human leg. The darkness at the top must be blood. It ran down the leg, passing over the man' s hand and dripped off the bottom. The foot.

Foot first, the leg disappeared into the man's hood. Damien thought he saw black tendrils leap up to grasp the flesh, drawing it in. Down the leg went into the hood, slowly growing shorter. When it was gone the man grew silent and still, his hands clasped together in front of him.

Damien begged his legs to work, knowing he must go. The man was doing something very wrong, Damien knew, much worse than him disobeying mother.

The horse snorted loud and took off. Damien jumped and stumbled back on his rear. The shack's door banged shut when he let go. He scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash for the woods. The door to the shack slammed open behind him. Damien stopped and looked back. In the growing night's gloom the man stood there, face still shrouded in darkness. Even though he couldn't see him, Damien felt the man's eyes on him. A wave a chill passed through his chest.

Damien snapped back around and scrambled up the hill, pulling on roots and rocks to aid his climb. When he got to the top, he looked back down. The shack's door still hung open but the man wasn't there. Damien, breathing hard, looked around. Maybe the man ran away. The man was doing something bad, maybe he was scared Damien was going to tell on him.

Damien turn to run home and hit the man's abdomen, sending Damien down on his rear.

The man regarded him silently from under the hood, his face only a black void.

Damien's hands ran over the ground, searching for a weapon to defend himself. He threw a small rock, missing the man's head. Another stone bounced harmlessly off the man's shoulder. Damien shuffled away from the man on his hands and heels, his rear on dragging on the ground.

The man followed, silent and slow, never looking away. His arms were clasped behind his back casually. Damien had seen people walk like this when he and mother went to market. He closed his eyes tight, picturing her coming to chase the man away, begging for it to be true.

Damien backed into a tree, stopping hard. He opened his eyes, the man still creeping toward him, his mother nowhere to be seen.

"Get away from me!" Damien cried.

The man pressed on, stopping at his feet. He gazed down at him from beyond the blackness. Damien hated looking at that hood, the place where the leg had gone. He grabbed a large stick and swiped at the man's thigh, sending vibrations up the wood when it landed.

The man didn't flinch. He brought arm around from behind his back and waved a gesture. The stick in Damien's hand ignited. Damien tossed it aside in shock. The flaming stick landed on a large rock and smoldered.

"Who are you?" Damien asked the man, still looking at the smoking stick.

The man put his arm back behind him.

"I do not have a name." he said. His voice was cavernous and frigid, like wind gusting through a tunnel of ice.

Damien's heart pounded in his ears. He'd never been so scared in all his life. His mind raced, searching for the words that would make the man go away.

"What do you want?" Damien said. He licked moisture onto his lips.

"Come with me." the man said and held out a hand. The man's flesh was mottled and patchy, bare bones shining through in places. Smears of blood ran over the fingers from when it had held the leg.

"No." Damien whispered, fear seizing his throat.

"Come with me." the man said, gesturing with his hand like he did when the stick ignited.

Damien felt thin rivers of coldness creep up his neck and into his head. His body refused to answer him. He could only sense the happenings, not control them. He watched as his hand grasp the man's bony, rotting hand. The touch felt like an icy stream.

The man lead him back down to the graveyard, stopping in front of the open grave.

As they went Damien screamed inside, begging his body to fight. Run, grab a weapon, bite the man's hand, scream for help. Anything.

The man knelt beside him and looked into his eyes.

Damien saw past the blackness of the hood to the horror that lay beyond. The thing he saw was so utterly repulsive and deranged that Damien felt his mind fracturing. He wanted desperately to look away or close his eyes but his body wouldn't listen. The terrifying thing under the blackness that was the man gazed into him, Damien's consciousness writhing in agony as they stood in silence.

The man tore off Damien shirt and traced a pattern on his chest, creating a great chill like a great block of ice was on it.

Down into the grave he was thrown. The man piled shoveled down dirt and his view of the growing night slowly vanished.

Damien knew he should be dead. So much dirt sit on top of him, he felt the crushing weight. Still his mind still lingered and the sight of the man that dwelt beyond the hood haunted him.

He drifted in and out of coherence for many moons, spending his time wandering the corridors of his mind. Some days he was screaming endlessly, begging to be set free. Others he talked with people who weren't there. Sometimes he existed in complete silence, incapable of forming a conscious thought. Most times he thought about mother scolding him for disobeying. She would always forgive him though, like she always did. She hugged and kissed him gently, whispering that it would be alright. Damien's mind ached for her to find him down here so he touch her for real. He would scream out for her, begging her to find him.

Rainwater filtered down from above and Damien drank deeply, relishing the energy it gave him. Insects and tunneling creatures ran over him and he felt his body grow down, setting him firm in the dirt.

After many rains, he rose up through the dirt. When he breached the surface he saw the graveyard where he'd been long ago. The soil over his grave had grown over with thick grass. The shack where the man had been was collapsed.

Many seasons passed and Damien grew large. He stood tall above the graveyard and could see far in every direction. The wind blew through him tenderly and he thought of mother's hugs. The rising sun felt like mother's kiss when she woke him in the morning. Birds and squirrels made him their home. He tried to speak to them but they never answered.

One season he felt a part of him fall to the ground. He watched a bird peck at it, eating. After it finished the bird flew up and landed on him. The bird's head twitched and it gave a pained screech. Its body writhed and bulged. It finally burst open, sending feathers and bits flying every which way. A small black ball with two spindly tentacles was all that remained. Many woodland creatures met a similar fate. They ate pieces of him and were changed.

This continued for many seasons and the woods around him grew corrupt and wicked. His very presence was enough to change the plants and animals around him now. The graveyard where he stood became overgrown with twisted corruption and the air had a constant sickly darkness.

Many men came, trying to chase him away. They yelled and cursed at him, hurling torches and cutting him with axes. Some even came to pray at his feet, begging him for deliverance. They all died the same. Damien's woods were filled with monstrous fiends that killed anyone who dare venture in. Their screams tore at Damien's mind, every corpse a grievous wound.

There Damien stood, his sickly black woods spreading out until nothing he saw went untouched. He'd had been there so long he forgot about the man and the graveyard. He forgot about skipping rocks on the lake. He forgot about pretending to be a soldier or even what a solider was. This was the only existence he knew, watching the animals and plants change, watching his hideous creatures kill and consume. The only thing he remembered of being Damien was his mother and he would often cry desperately for her.



People spoke of the cursed woods in hushed tones. The twisted black plants, the noxious wind that blew from within. People said that even a few seconds in there was enough to drive even the most pious or stalwart men insane. For centuries they tried to end its evil, sending brave men with swords and scripture to end the evil for good. Holy men, warriors of great renown and daring adventurers from far away. They all came to end the evil of Damien's woods. People even began to enter the woods as pilgrims, thinking the God of the woods would spare them if they showed Him devotion. They all failed, never to be seen again. If you went into those woods, you never came back. There were many rumors of what lay at the heart. A great corrupted hunk of rock that fell from the sky. A tear in the spiritual boundaries, evil spilling out into the world. A sprawling, hateful tree with poison fruit. No one knew for sure.

On most nights, people gathered at the edges of the wood yelling prayers, begging for forgiveness, pleading for the corruption to cease its endless march. The only sound that ever returned, so quiet it might've been the wind, was the sound of a young boy crying for his mother.