Among Our Remains

The trees of The Marrow are eerie and lean. They loom like pale steeples. Their branches resemble thin arms raised in worship of the breeze. For as long as she could recall the forest had always been a solemn place. Even the birdsong subdued. The Marrow is neither welcoming nor wicked. Children are warned away. Told if you wandered long enough you’d lose yourself. Be eaten by the trees. Jocosa’s father Alaric, once a great warrior in the king’s army, taught her otherwise. Alaric understood the mystique after witnessing much of it in the war's pursuit for peace. He showed his daughter the ways of The Marrow the moment she could walk. They’d wander in at sunrise to stay till sundown. Catch balm beetles to use their wax for candles and wood finish. Jocosa enjoyed pressing the strange summer flowers while her father drew and journaled.

“Come along Bug we best be getting back!”

Jocosa frowned. She was nearing seventeen yet he still called her that silly little name. As a toddler, she’d obsessed over any creeping critter. Gathering up her belongings, she slung her rucksack over her shoulder. They lived about a mile away in a small homely cottage her parents built together at the edge of The Marrow. They dwelt untroubled there. Over a fire, Alaric grilled two fish caught on the trek home, while Jocosa fed their greyhound Ghoul. They drank wine and her father began a story. As his silver tongue wove, Jocosa couldn’t help but think of her mother. Her once beautiful and lively mother who’d passed from the plague when Jocosa was five. She had possessed an even greater passion for fables than her husband. Often whisper folk tales to Jocosa while brushing tangles from her thick hair. When you rest an ear against the bark, and listen still as a doe. You can hear it. The thump thump thumping of a tree's heart. Jocosa’s eyelids soon became heavy and she dozed off in her chair. Alaric draped a blanket around her. With her jet-black locks and round face, she resembled so much of his wife it pained his heart.

When autumn arrived, the settlers came. Upon realizing the land was fertile. They began to construct a village. Within weeks buildings rose from the ground of the lush countryside.

“Why must they build here!” Jocosa scowled.

“The land is favorable. Why not build here? It will be good for you to socialize. I have seen a few children your age.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Oh? So you want to end up like your old man do you? Telling story after story to your lonely daughter, till your knees crack! Your sight fades,” he baited, “I was once a legendary man you know.”

She couldn’t help but smile and stuck out her tongue.

“I guess I am a little lonely.”

As it turned out there were a handful of families. Most were farmers, but a smith and an old nurse had joined their venture. Alaric was thrilled to speak with her. For she had served in the king's war and they found much to reminisce upon. All the children were younger with the exception of three teenagers. Two boys and a girl named Drew. Jocosa discerned quickly that they wanted nothing to do with her. She was an oddity to them. Living out here alone all these years. They teased her and followed her around to chuck rotten vegetables and mud at. They stopped when Ghoul all but tried to bite the taller boy’s face off. This made her smile. Jocosa took the bullying for she knew if she tried to defend herself she’d hurt them. Her father was at present teaching her to fight, and she’d inherited his skill.

On a cold afternoon, Jocosa sat with her back against a thin tree in The Marrow. She had a yellow shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders. Ghoul lay curled under her legs which she’d pulled to her chest in support of her book. A strong gust blew the pages of her novel causing her to lose her place. Ghoul let out a guttural growl.

“So this is where the freak hides!” came the voice of Henry, the boy Ghoul had attacked.

“I’m not hiding,” Jocosa spat back.

“It’s creepy in here. We should go!” said the other boy.

“Don’t be such a pussy Joel!” mocked the girl.

“I am not Drew! Have you heard the stories about this place?”

Jocosa was on her feet now.

“He’s right you should go.”

Henry smirked.

“Why? Is this your secret spot? Didn’t your parents teach you to share?”

“It’s dangerous,” Jocosa explained, “You don’t know The Marrow as I do. If you’d like I can show you how to navigate it. But right now you should go.”

At this the girl Drew laughed.

“Or what? You’ll call upon the trees to eat us!”

Henry chuckled cruelly and picked up a jagged stone from the ground. He raised it in his arm. Jocosa cried “Don’t!”, as he threw it at a tree. It made a loud THWACK that echoed through the silence of the woods. The forest became frigid. Their breath visible. Then trees began to screech. It was high-pitched. As if someone's nails scratched along a chalk slate. As if a family of Hawkes shrieked, trapped in burning rafters. Out from the trees burst shimmering pale figures. Drifting. Mouths gaping. With veil-like bodies. Ghoul began to bark and snap his jaws at the shapes.

“Run!” Jocosa cried over the wails.

It was pointless. Before they could move one soared at Joel entering his chest. It killed him in an instant. Lifted him in the air and snapped his neck with a soft Crack. He crumpled to the earth. The apparitions vanished. Drew screamed. Henry threw up. Jocosa ran to Joel but there was nothing to be done. Gently she closed his eyes.

“You don’t know The Marrow,” she said coldly.

Together she and Henry carried Joel’s body back. Drew sobbed hysterically. On the path home they ran into Alaric. He was running with his bow staff towards the party. He stopped at the sight of them, then embraced his daughter. Pouring over her for sign injury.

“Thank god Jocosa! When I heard the trees...What happened!” he demanded.

When the settlers heard of the incident in The Marrow they called a vote to scorch the place to its roots. They gathered weapons and fire. Alaric stood before them on the path. He warned against it.

“Listen to me! The Marrow is alive. It is powerful. If you blaze her trees she will only grow back stronger and wrathful. The best you can do is leave. Take your children and leave. Let this be a lesson. Or you will die.”

Jocosa stood behind him. She saw the faces in the crowd. Frightened, but angry and proud.

“Move aside! My son is dead!” screamed Joel’s mother.

“Do not make me fight you!” shouted Alaric.

The crowd pressed forward. Jocosa’s father swung his staff as they attacked. He lept and dodged nimbly. Knocking torches and pitchforks out of hands. They descended from all sides. Jocosa socked a farmer in the face who had taken a lung at her.

“Jocosa leave! Take Ghoul and go!” her father commanded.

“No father!” she shouted.

The swing of an axe barely missed his head. Alaric glanced at his daughter. Frustration in his gaze. Along with worry.

“Please Bug.”

It was then that Jocosa heard her mother’s voice in her head. Soft and melodious. The trees Jocosa. They were once souls. Gambles and oaths. If you ask, perhaps they will listen. She turned and ran for The Marrow, Ghoul at her heels. When she reached the shadowy foliage the settlers were but paces behind. The trees creaked. They shivered awakened by danger. Jocosa knelt on her knees and began her plea to the great forest. She was cut off by something whizzing past her head. Flames licked up a tree from an arrow lodged in its side.

“No!” she screamed.

She felt the cold crawl up her spine. The silvery haunts erupted from the trees. They flew at their attackers. Screams came from every direction. Ghoul was howling. The bodies of the settlers fell all around. Men, women, children. Mangled. Jocosa stood up. It was quiet now. Henry lay a few feet from her. Eyes open in terror yet frozen in death. Tears slid down her delicate cheeks. She observed a phantom hovering before her. Slowly it entered her chest. Jocosa was surprised to find the sensation pleasant. Like lowering your body into the cool waters of a pool. A heart-wrenching cry came from behind her. She turned. Her father was hastily limping for her. Supported by his staff.

“Take me! I beg you!” he pleaded.

Jocosa felt the warmth return to her bones. She fell into her father’s grasp.

“You would give yourself for this girl,” whispered the spirit that now hung above them.

“Always,” Alaric rasped.

The creature’s empty eyes beheld the stern look of sincerity across his face.

“Then let it be so.”

Jocosa, finally aware of her senses, turned to her father.

“Father no! We can flee.”

Alaric gave a weak smile.

“Jocosa we both know that is not how this works.”

The shades had all faded now. Returned to their hollows. Allowing them a moment of quietude. Ghoul was licking a wound he’d received. They alone stood in the glade. Carnage surrounding. Alaric planted a kiss upon his daughter’s forehead.

“I am proud of you, Jocosa. Your strength. Hold fast to who you are.”

Her father suddenly straightened up. His expression one of peace. Jocosa looked down at his feet. His boots had twisted into roots. The thick snowy bark now grew up his legs. Tears welled up in her eyes. She cupped her father’s face in her hands. His stubble coarse against her youthful skin. His big brown eyes stoic. Ghoul let out a sorrowful howl that resounded in the clearing. An icy surge swirled about them.

“I love you, Father,” she murmured.

“I love y…”

The bark enveloped his tired face and Jocosa found herself embracing a tall birch tree. Buried deep in the silence of The Marrow.