Song of the Murkwoods

Sensitive Content Warning: graphic violence, body horror, suicide, and the death of a child.

Song of the Murkwoods

​Splash. Crack. Thump.

A day’s worth of rainwater masked the pothole. It felt as deep as the sea. The sudden fall and abrupt slam of the hard oak bench was simply adding insult to injury at this point. The road through the Murkwoods was bad enough on a good day. But today, after three hours lost to a busted wheel, it was unbearable. The shoddy repair left the wheel sitting unevenly, jostling the carriage at every turn.

A groan, barely audible, betrayed me as I massaged my battered bottom.

The big man beside me, the hulking brute, glared from the corner of his eye. I could smell his curdled judgment. I choked down hard and continued to massage, keeping my eyes straight ahead. Let him judge me. Why should I care what he thinks? That big oaf of a man.

The man who abandoned my mother all those years ago. He was so daft he didn’t even recognize me. But then again, how could he? He hadn’t seen me since I was a child, and now I was about to become a father.

My beautiful Maria was expecting our first child. It’s why I sought him out. Sought to meet the man who cast me aside like trash. I never told him who I was. I refused to give him that satisfaction. It wasn’t really him I was here for, it was me. To prove to myself that I wasn’t anything like him and that I’d always be there for my family.

The thought of it, of being better than him, curled into the corner of my lip. It was a half-smile he must have clocked as he let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

The carriage kicked again, this time nearly launching me overboard. I heard the snapping and crunching of alders, I couldn’t see through the rot-infused fog weaving through the woods.

And then the old bastard chuckled. “That’s why you keep your hands on the rail and not on your ass, kid.”

What an asshole. I could feel my face steam and contort into a resentful pout. It only made him laugh harder, enough to start coughing. It was a deep, resonant cough with a crackle of something layered underneath.

A hearty slap on the back nearly unseated me again, and the man laughed out loud. “Pouting, are we? And here I thought you were meant to be a man.”

I hated everything about him.

###

Night had crept out of the ground, oozing from the mud and the muck. An oily black veil blotting out the way forward. The old man tugged the reins and slowed the carriage to a halt.

A worried passenger, Mr. Reese, poked his head out from the door. “Excuse me, driver, why have we stopped?”

The old man looked at me and rolled his eyes dramatically before giving me a wink. I smiled despite myself.

“We make camp here for the night, sir.”

“Here? In the Murkwoods? No one spends the night in the Murkwoods. They’re unnatural.”

The old man lumbered down from the bench to secure the horses. “You’re not wrong, but either we camp here, or we run afoul of the bog, and you may never leave this place.”

“But, but…”

“Listen. I didn’t open the floor up for debate. This is where we camp. I suggest you lock the door and keep your family calm.”

Just then, Mr. Reese’s daughter squeezed her head out from behind her father and nearly knocked him out of the carriage. Her mother tugged at her arm. “Rebecca, get back inside.”

“Aww, mum. Please, can I go see the horses? I saved my carrots for them.”

The old man grinned. “Or maybe the women can keep you calm.”

“Why, I never! Becca, back inside. Now!” Mr. Reese puffed as he brushed the carrots out of her hands and slammed the door behind them.

With the old man still tending to the horses, I grabbed a lantern and wandered to the carriage door. In the dirt just below the crooked step, I saw the carrots.

I knocked.

Mr. Reese nearly blew his top as he threw open the door. “What, now… Oh, my apologies. I thought it was him.”

“No apologies needed, sir. I don’t want to be out here any more than you.” Then I whispered. “But he’s right. Just don’t tell him.”

Reese frowned but nodded his head.

Before he could close the door, I held out my hand. “And don’t worry, Miss Rebecca, I’ll make sure the horses know these are from you.”

Her beaming smile was almost worth the bruise on my ass and the bigger one on my ego.

###

In this place, time seemed to move more slowly. The fire didn’t crackle, it didn’t blind, it barely whimpered. Damp wood and soggy leaves smoldered, and the acrid smoke burned my eyes. At least it kept the bugs away.

The family was already fast asleep, but the old man was restless. He rifled through his bag and pulled out a peculiar pot. I had been riding with him for over a month, and I had never seen it. I watched as he closed his eyes and held the container to his lips, muttering something in a language I couldn’t understand.

He rose to his feet and carefully untied the twine holding it shut. Tipping it gently, he carefully spilled its contents. Some sort of white powder. Sugar, maybe salt?

“What are you doing?”

But he didn’t answer. He just kept moving around the fire, pouring out the powder. Soon, he had completely encircled it before coming to an abrupt stop.

He stood motionless, except for the visible tremor in his hands.

Mud cradled the pot where it had fallen. Whole and unbroken, it sank into the dirt as if the earth itself was intent on consuming it.

Tears flooded the old man’s eyes, and he collapsed to the ground. From under his robe, he fished out the chain around his neck. It revealed an old wooden cross made of barbed, twisted vinewood. He squeezed it between both hands and bowed his head towards it. “Forgive me.” He whispered as blood bubbled down his forearms.

My stomach heaved, and my mind raced. “Hey, old man! What is happening?”

Like a creature, he skittered towards me on all fours. I tried to back away, but he caught me and clutched my head between his hands. I tried to wriggle free, but he was too strong.

“No matter what you hear, boy. You do not leave the circle.”

“Let me go, you’re scaring me.”

“By rights, you should be scared.”

“But what about them?” I pointed to the carriage in the distance.

He flinched, couldn’t look me in the eye. “Just stay in the circle.”

###

I can’t be certain of how long I had sat at the far end of the circle watching him. That man, that beast, that oaf. Watching him disappear by degrees. Not a word had been spoken since the warning. He simply crawled away and curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, hands covering his ears.

I also can’t be certain of how long it had been since I first heard it. That voice. Singing in the distance, calling to me. Even now, I hear it. At first, it was driving me mad, but now it’s all I can focus on to drown out what I heard next.

The carriage door slamming. Rebecca calling after her father, and him wandering into the woods. I had held my breath, waited, and then came the blood-curdling scream. But it wasn’t the scream haunting me. It was the wet, choking gurgles that had smothered it.

The carriage door slammed once more. It was Mrs. Reese. Rebecca was screaming. “Mama, Mama!” as she disappeared into the night.

“We can’t just sit here!” I jumped to my feet. “We have to do something.”

My father uncovered his face and looked at me. “There is nothing to be done. ‘Tis the witching hour.”

“You fucking coward!” I shouted as he just laid his head back down and continued rocking.

“I can’t just wait here!”

Stepping across the threshold, the voice singing in the distance suddenly boomed as if it were my own. It filled the space inside my head and dampened everything else. I could barely hear the old man shouting.

“I will not carry your loss too. This is your own doing!”

Turning towards him, I shouted. “I’m glad you left my mother. We were better off without a pathetic man like you in our lives.”

The color drained from his face. “No. No. No! All I did, all I suffered to protect you. Why didn’t you listen to me!”

I turned without answering. He didn’t deserve an answer.

###

The voice in my head grew louder and more unsettling. It played tricks on my mind. Moments of calm punctuated the terror. When it did, it felt warm and inviting. The wrongness of it only sharpened my panic.

The glug, glug of boots trudging through the muck and the whip-snap of alder branches attacking my face kept me grounded. I couldn’t see where I was going, but I could feel it. It was pulling me forward and reminded me of the old man’s pot swallowed by the mud.

Another scream. My hair stood on end. No! Was I already too late?

The overgrowth opened into a large clearing. A lone tree stood sentinel at its center. A twisted, gnarly thing, grey and old. Like someone or something standing center stage as the rest of the Murkwoods gathered to watch. Even the moon played its part, bathing the tree in twilight.

There, near its base, a figure. It was Mrs. Reese. She was kneeling as if in unholy reverence, surrendering herself to it. And behind me, I heard the final slam of the carriage door.

My legs burned as I dashed toward her. My footing gave out on something slick, and I crashed headlong into the ground. Writing through an oil slick of blood coagulating over the mud, I scrambled to my knees and faced her.

I lurched at the sight.

The blade resting in her hand, still fresh with blood, glinted in the moonlight. The erratic stuttering of her body, somehow still kneeling, refusing to lay to rest. Her mouth stretched into a toothy smile far too large, far too tight for her face. And the whispering cloud of steam, gurgling and spitting from the seepage where she opened her own throat.

###

I had barely managed to wipe the sick off my mouth when I felt a presence moving behind me. I spun around to face it. After seeing Mrs. Reese, I was ready.

But then, I wasn’t.

A deep, guttural groan seemed to hollow something out of me, and I burst into tears. “No, no! Please don’t!”

It was Rebecca, sweet little Rebecca, and she reached down to take the blade from her mother’s hand.

I tried to shake her, but nothing. I grabbed her wrist and tried to wrestle the knife free, but I couldn’t. She had a strength beyond reason and continued to raise her hand like I wasn’t even there.

“No, God, please! Stop this!”

Then a burst of terror screamed out of her. But only for an instant. As her throat parted and life drained from her in a violent gush of crimson, a haunting smile stretched across her face. I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried so hard. But it was no use. She was already gone.

###

​I removed my hands from her neck. There was no more bleeding to stop. I looked at my hands, almost purple with blood. I hadn’t stopped crying; I couldn’t stop. All I could think of was Maria and our child. How could I face them? What could I say? I looked at the trees, then I looked to the heavens, and I begged God for an answer.

He didn’t reply. But something did.

It started with a laugh, a tease. “Oh, poor little man. God has no sway in my woods.”

It was the tree. It wasn’t singing now; it was speaking to me. Its voice was… soothing. Every nerve ending in my body fired at once. It felt as if my skin was sloughing off wholesale. My chest thundered, and I stumbled backwards, away from it.

​ “There now, little one. Don’t be afraid. Come closer.”

Against my will, I stepped forward, and I couldn’t breathe.

​ “Soon we will be one, you and I. And you will experience such exquisite peace. A peace not many will ever know.”

I tried to fight it, but my will betrayed me.

​ “There it is. Go on, pick it up. This will all be over soon.”

My entire body shuddered as I fought to regain control. But it was too late. The blade was already in my hand. A memory of Maria flashed to life, and it began to fade. I could feel the pain and grief building in my throat. It burned like wildfire, and I thought for a moment how wonderful it would be to let it out.

My hand tightened around the handle, and I felt a scream ready to tear loose. I closed my eyes, and a single word echoed in my mind.

​ “Goodbye.”

But then a heavy hand folded over mine.

​ “No. Not this one. You can’t have him.”

A deep, sucking sound flooded my ears as whatever had wrested control of me let go, and I could breathe again. My deep, panicked breaths and uncontrollable sobs echoed through the clearing. I crumpled to the ground and looked up at my father, and he looked down at me. A calm seemed to settle over him, one I hadn’t seen since nightfall.

###

The tree preened with glee. “How delicious. A son.”

The old man stared at the tree, unfazed.

​ “So, are you here to make a new deal, sir knight? It’s been so long since we last spoke. But you’ve kept your end of the bargain.”

​ “Spare his soul and you can have mine,” he whispered.

I couldn’t speak; I didn’t know what to say.

​ “Surely you jest, sir knight. Death would be a blessing for you. I know the burden you carry. Besides, if I let you leave, then who would ferry me my feast?”

My father hung his head and sighed. “My son.”

​ “Oooh. What a wonderful twist! But you can’t make that deal. No one can be forced into it. Will he accept?”

I felt sick. “I don’t understand. Accept what?”

​ “Three souls delivered every Samhain before the witching hour wanes.”

​ “I can’t,” I sobbed. “Rebecca.”

​ “It’s your choice, boy. You either take the deal and live, or you die right here with me.”

The tree cackled. “Oh, poor knight, you can’t end your journey. You know the cost if you do. Your bloodline dies with you.”

The old man smiled. “He is all that’s left of my bloodline. Take him, and you hold no more sway over me. And I swear to whatever God is listening that before I go, I will tear out every fucking root from your disease-ridden corpse.”

The tree snarled. “You vile little man, how dare you play me for a fool!”

My father smiled.

But I couldn’t. I knew the thing he didn’t. That he couldn’t. And if I knew it, the tree knew it too.

​ “So, boy, what is your choice? Tie yourself to this bloody place as I once did? Or do we end it? Together.”

Tears streamed down my face. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

​Confusion spilled across his face.

​ “Maria, my wife. She’s pregnant.”

​ “He didn’t know?” The tree squealed. “Oh, how splendid.”

The old man fell to his knees, but I couldn’t look at him. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”

He looked at me. “No. This is not your fault. I tried to protect you from this curse, and now I’ve delivered you right to it.” He picked up the blade. “Sing your bloody song, demon.”

​ “Oh no, sir knight. That song is a gift for the offerings. No, you have to do this part on your own.”

I watched my father raise the blade to his throat. He paused, then looked at me and smiled. And with a quick pull, my father was gone.

The tree nearly purred. “The deal is done. Three souls next Samhain, or your child’s life is forfeit.”