by Julia Kavan
As a child, Emma lived in a dilapidated cottage cradled by dense woodland. A deep melancholy embraced the building, entwined in the branches reaching out to seek entry. At night she listened to what sounded like fingers scratching at the windows. The rustling leaves on stormy nights whispered to her. Sometimes the wood was angry, howling in the wind.
Emma would stand outside, staring towards the dark heart of the woods. It was impossible to see right into the centre—the trees crowded closer and closer together, no light penetrating or escaping, the trunks merging into a deep, dank, solid blackness. She thought she could hear the soft thud, thud, thud of it beating, and feel its pulse through the musty, moss-covered ground. Slow and steady. In unison with hers. She would take off her shoes and socks to feel closer to the earth… rooted to the spot for hours.
Now, as an adult, in her heart that darkness still lingers. The melancholia still creeps. She tries to recapture her childhood, but every copse and spinney is full of birdsong, ramblers, and laughing children.
She takes the chance to return to the cottage. Or what is left of it.
A crumbling ruin, ivy rampaging over broken walls and through shattered windows. Nettles crowd the pathway, obscuring it from view in places. Emma’s heartbeat quickens. She makes her way towards the treeline. She feels the soft thud, thud, thud again and her heart slows to match it. She kicks off her shoes and the earth trembles. She crosses the threshold.
Thorns scratch her legs, and jagged stones break through the undergrowth, cutting into the soles of her feet. The whispers she recalls return, but more insistent. Sibilant.
She stops.
The centre of the woods is still as dark as she remembers. Perhaps darker. Her pulse quickens. So does that of the woods. Their hearts beat harder and faster. In unison once more. Misty tendrils reach through the trees, solidifying into sinewy vines as they weave around her wrists, her shoulders, her waist. Brambles entwine her ankles, every thorn stabbing into her flesh as they climb upwards. Hot blood trickles down chilled skin. Something sharp scrapes across her stomach, coiling around her torso, crushing her ribs, probing her flesh, once…twice… She screams. A branch spears through her chest, ripping her ribcage apart before she’s plunged into the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness.
Emma opens her eyes. Leaves rustle above her, although she cannot see them through the gloom. The whispers are so close they caress her ears. She can still hear the dark heart of the woods…loud and strong… she can feel the heart of the woods. Not beneath her feet—but beating through her…inside her… Unable to move her limbs, thick, rough stems holding her upright, needle sharp shoots pushing through her, inch by inch. Wrapped in a slowly tightening, invading embrace, she is rooted to the spot. And the howling in the wind is her own.
JULIA KAVAN lives in Cambridgeshire, England—its atmospheric landscape the perfect setting for ghost stories. She loves exploring the darker side of human nature, writing horror and psychological suspense, and writes supernatural suspense as Beth Kelan. She finds inspiration in the British landscape, art, photography, and music. You can find her at https://adarkmiscellany.com/, on Twitter as @Seneca24 or on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4sc4naB5GYA6TbbZt6DWaQ