Records of the Forest (Completed)

A Nickel from Your Birth Year

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"Ian Thomas Mornn here. It's Tuesday, July 6th 1965. Dad let me borrow mom's recorder for my investigation. A few weeks ago, people's pets began to just vanish. Mrs. Wiederstein next door apparently lost ten of her... well, I've only counted thirty of those cats but who even knows? But besides her there have been thirteen dogs and five cats gone missing. It's too deliberate for the coyotes; my classmates have told me they've seen those "wingmen" that Mrs. Jose is always raving about. Something is going one here in Wispertin. I'm gonna keep this recorder going throughout my investigation. It'll be cool if I solve this thing and have it on tape. I'll keep you updated."

Ian smirked with a huff, carefully standing as to not bump the recorder too much as it was recording. Though it hit the several nickels he had in his pocket. He straightened up his clothes and began walking down the street. Down the sidewalk to Mr. Richard's house, taking a left and kicking away the seemingly ever-present tin cans.

"Also, just for the record, if there's ever any fowl language, it's not me. That would probably end up Dick's little gang. He calls it something ridiculous but I refer to it as "Carrot's Brigade." I call it that because his hair is the brightest orange I dare say has ever existed. The only reason in down here is to see... Oops! There she is-"

Quickly, Ian scrambled down, bumping his elbow on a metal trash can. Grumbling under his breath, Ian  hunched over, breathing hard. He sounded nervous.

"Get into position... Alright, so that's... Him? Her? No one knows. Haider from the general goods shop down here in Wispertin told me too never go near... Him? Her? Ugh! I can't tell. But they're, I guess, name is Deere. Apparently they've been here since before I was born. Deere always carries this weird staff thing around. It's kinda stage looking, but if you give Deere a nickel for the year you were born they'll tell you two truths and a lie. In all honesty I'm a bit freaked out, I have no id-"

Ian looked up over the trashcan, but to his shock the black-cloaked, slow moving figure was now gone. "What the-? No way! Where did-?"

"What are you doing there, following ol' Deere around?"

The voice was rough and dripped with age and phlegm. Though it was hard to hear over Ian's scream.

"It seems you need to learn yourself manners child."

"Hey! I'm no child! I'm twelve!" Ian stood up proudly. "And I do know manners, si- no, ma- um, Deere.... Please don't take my eyes..." His confident tone dwindled to a whisper.

"Heh, wherever do ya hear a rumor like that?" Deere laughed quietly, slamming their wood rod into the sidewalk. It stuck in with a crack. They reached out their hand, beckoning. "I have no use for eyes... As of now. Now, give it to me. Don't waste my time!"

Ian dug around in his pocket, looking for the nickel. After a stretch he found it and handed it to Deere with a shaky breath. "H-here. A nickel from my birth year."

She rubbed the coin around in their fingers. "Humph mm, no, this won't do," they mumbled. "This won't do at all."

"But, but it's the year of my birthday, 1952!"

"Dear boy, there are birthdays and then there are birth days." Deere put the coin into an invisible pocket on their cloak. "But I will tell you this: be careful the things you chase after. The animals are just the first thread... The darkness thinks they got a friend in you. And maybe they do. Fer a short while at least." Deere turned and began to slowly saunter away. "But through th'worse of it you'll remember what I said. Vines will come eventually, And if both will hold tight, you won't be lost forever.

"Wait, I don't understand!" Ian called after. But in a whoosh the figure vanished. "What does that mea- which one's the lie?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?"

Ian turned slowly at the voice. There was the barking of a dog; Ian whispered in shock. "Oh dear g-"

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