Awakened

Chapter 1

The morning light crept through the cracks in the wooden frame, signaling the start of the day. Rising from my warm bed feels like such a challenge. You’d think after sixteen years of constant repetition I’d be used to it by now. But how could I? How could anyone?

“Fera!” My mother cries from below, “Fera, you’re late!”

I’m quick to respond before I receive any reprimands, “Coming, Mother!”

I’m down the creaky stairs and out the door before she can say anything else. My mother stands in the horse stall, removing the old hay and replacing it with fresh. I watch her work as I make my way to the chicken coop. She’s small for a famer, but strong. Years of this life has made her that way. The simple clothes we both wear usually hide our forms, but sometimes I can see the womanly figure she possess. Occasionally I find myself jealous of her for that. I often wish I looked as beautiful as her. Even under the dirt and sweat she’s amazing.

My mother glances over to see me staring. The slight glare she gives me is enough to get me going. She hates it when I dawdle. Not when there’s so much to be done. But there’s always things to be done. That’s what happens when you like on a farm. She doesn’t say it, but I know she wants to keep me busy so I don’t look at The Forest. I still sneak looks at it when she’s not paying attention.

We are the closest house to The Forest. The only one around for miles. Mother swears that if we had the money she’d take us somewhere far away so we wouldn’t ever have to see it again. Her fears – and those who live in the nearby village – give me curiosity. The Forest of Souls is said to be a cursed land, filled with monsters and demons who feast on the happiness and lives of souls fool enough to wander into its wooded dungeon. Few have ever come back after entering The Forest, and those that do suffered a great sickness of the mind. The only village doctor has no cures for it. He said their bodies have been taken by demons, made into vessels to infect other people, and must be destroyed. No one who ever enters The Forest ever lives long. Whether it’s going in or coming back out.

I had only seen a living “vessel” once. Three years ago a child went missing from the farm nearest to us. The villagers quickly laid blame to The Forest, and a search party was sent out after the girl. Several days had passed and no one returned. It wasn’t until a week and a half had passed that one man from the search emerged from The Forest. His eyes were empty and he scratched at his arm until his nails dug against bone. The adults tried to keep me away, not wanting a child to see such horrors. But that didn’t stop me. On his forearm laid a black intricate design of swirls deeply imbedded into the skin. Despite being restrained he struggled to scratch at the tattoo. Tattoos were forbidden in our village. They were the sign of evil.

As I neared him, straining to stay out of sight, the man broke the ropes and grabbed my wrist. I remember screaming and pulling with all my might trying to get out of his grip. I remember his eyes, staring at me with a white film over them while he muttered words I still don’t know to this day. Chaos erupted as people tried to pry him away from me. In the midst of the screaming and yelling, blood splattered across my face. The village priest had cut off the man’s head. I didn’t even hear the thump as it hit the floor. The pounding of my heart took over my ears. My mother rushed me from the house and we never returned to it again. It wasn’t until I got home and began to undress for bed that I noticed it. The tattoo on the man’s forearm was now on me.

Shaking my head I get back to the task on hand – collecting today’s eggs. The tattoo peaks out from my sleeve sometimes. And I always take the opportunity to study it. No one in the village is aware of what happened to me. If they found out my fate would be the same as the man who passed it onto me. Mother knows, but she doesn’t speak of it. Whenever she sees just an inch of it I notice her shudder. I try my best to keep it hidden from her. But when I’m alone in my room at night, I stay up and stare at it – tracing the curves while the candlelight flickers. It may seem foolish to some, but I have a sense of adventure when I look at it. The tattoo is a reminder that there is something else beyond this pointless life.

I look out my bedroom window at The Forest of Souls. The land is illuminated by the full moon and clear skies. I can see the tall, lush trees standing proud, holding whatever mysteries are behind their green walls. All of the trees are grown tightly together, almost interwoven from the base to the canopy branches. In the center of this living wall they part to create a doorway to the other side. The summer wind picks up, blowing the strong scent of earth and pine into my nose. Beckoning me to enter. My tattoo tingles at the thought. I know that I now have some connection to what lies behind the wall – a kind of purpose.

And I plan to know what.