The Crimson Forest

Every night on the full moon, hallowed screams echoed through our town. It was the Beast. Always hungry and thirsty for the blood of our villagers. Our town is growing, the forest must be cut down, and the clearing must evolve. We started as a small village, but like always, we humans had to keep growing. Children played through the streets of once dirt and grass, now cobblestones pave the path between the homes. Though dirt has turned to stone, Mother Nature has not been choked out yet. On the outskirts of our clearing there is a lush fir forest. Oak trees drop their acorns and squirrels gather them for the fast approaching winter. We have our fields near the forest, apiaries line the wooden fence posts between the forest and our fields.

Don't you see, Beast? We can still live in harmony among nature. Through the waning sunlight bats fly across the sky, leaving the forest and flutter across our crop fields. Will tonight be the same? Will the screams once again echo through our town? Every full moon night, our streets run crimson with blood. Five lumberjacks are killed, dragged from their homesteads and left pierced on the branches of oldest tree in the townsquare. It is almost poetic like, the one tree our forefathers left us at the founding of our village, is now being a sacrificial alter for those that have been condemning the forest around us. More and more people have arrived over the past several months, our Council has demanded the loggers to cull more trees from the forest. Before our village became popular the town would cut down a few trees during the winter months, but always replant what was taken away. The trees closer to the town were younger, and from where I stood at the window I could see the various ages of trees.

However, I could see those acres of stumps, no saplings. The scent of burning trees and the soft glow of brush piles. Very soon the cattle and the men will come. They will rip the stumps from the earth and add to the brush piles. The sky will turn black with smoke and the air will be acidic from the scorched wood. At least they haven't burnt down the entire forest. Yet. The Council members met this morning and claimed that at least fifty more people were arriving on the next ship. They will be here within the month. By the next full moon. Carpenters would be working over time, as will the mill workers. Day and night they work, to prepare for the new arrivals.

The sun turns red as it sets on the horizon. Red, burning red like the anger that coils in my gut. I can no longer remain silent, watching as the forest be culled away. We could have lived in peace among Nature, but we are growing too fast. How can I stop this? I advised the Council that we dedicate protected areas of the forest and other areas dedicated for the development. Why can't the town develop in patches around the forest? A few old trees can be cut down to make way for the younger trees around them. I tried to tell them. Less people overtime, so the trees could return and the older ones cut down for the new homes. They weren't listening to me. The laughed and told me I was nothing but a silly girl, who doesn't understand development.

“And what happens when the soil dries and the flood waters come, because you've killed too many trees? What will you feed the people then? Surely not the deer that will have long since run off due to the deforestation,” crossing my arms over my chest, I stand defiantly among a few others that have seen the error of the expanding village and stand beside me. We stand as The Five. The fist that will rival the Council, to correct them when they are wrong. Using our numbers to show them the other side of the coin. We have to see both sides, if we are to cohabitate with Nature. They remained silent then. We agreed to convene at the beginning of the next month to begin a census of the trees and develop a plan for the future of our village and protect reserves for the wildlife and the forest.

If I could relax, why did I watch the sun disappear over the horizon, as if I could sense something was coming? If they had agreed on the protections, why can I no longer feel the breeze on my skin? Something was wrong. Narrowing my eyes I can catch a large shape moving over the horizon, just before the sun disappears. I don't know what it is, but my gut tells me they lied. The Council lied. They will not listen. As dusk claims the sky, I can see horses pulling a large sled, a tarp tied around it. Whatever was under the the tarp, it made my gut twist. This will be the end. Unless, I can stop it. Closing my eyes, I can already feel the dread creeping over my body. Nausea twists my gut and I have mere seconds to run to the bathroom.

The smell of iron accosts the air, mingling with the burning of the pyres. Stalking into the village, the Beast walks the same path as you've had before. Passing the Giant Tree, gently it caresses bark. One last warning. One last sacrifice. The Beast will make these humans listen. The stones are familiar, the homes and lights of caring neighbors. The scents of the innocent, the compliant and the those that are fearful. Those that wish they could do something, but are too afraid. It's okay, the Beast understands and will carry your burden. They know you try. Midnight black fur, bristles as the Beast turns it's head this way and that. Smelling the air. It is easy to find the man responsible for the torture of the forest. Iron clings to his very scent. Too much. He takes too much and cares so little. He will be the final warning. The moon shines above, bathing the Beast in a blessed, lunar light.

The Beast quickly, yet quietly enters the dwelling of the councilman. A gentle fire burns in the hearth at the center of the room. Even without the burning lumber, it can track him easily through the home. They are a true predator. Taking the stairs, they follow the metallic scent to the room above. The gentle snores of sleep, touch their ears. Peacefully asleep, this man assassinates it's kinfolk, destroys the law and breaks the bonds between our Mother. How dare he! Opening the door, a candle is lit by the councilman's bedside. Perhaps the old man is afraid of the dark.

Moving quieter than a whisper the creature stands above him, watching him breathe, that fire of hatred burning within it's belly. This human doesn't deserve to live, he was warned and those warnings fell on deaf ears. Is he truly lost though? Is there no hope for him? Silver light trickles across the man's face as the full moon rises between his curtains. Is there a silver-lining? Letting out a soft breath, the candle disappears and a growl rumbles in the Beast's throat. Grrr-rruheehguh... His eyes open and before he can run, you pounce!