It was when the darkness fell from the sky to bathe the earth in its icy black touch that Steven yearned to go out and play. It was during the night that the things which lay hidden by day were free to roam the woods behind the house. Steven would watch from his bedroom window overlooking the yard, his darting eyes scanning the small shrubs and bushes, and finally the trees and thick undergrowth that was home to wondrous and magical things. Creatures only glimpsed in fairy tales and folklore, dismissed by adults as creative imagination.
But Steven knew they were real. He would sit patiently at his window, his light off so that his parents would think him asleep. Soon, the shadows would begin pulse with life, feeding on the moonlight that was their catalyst. Slowly, they took on form. Humanoid, animal, and unidentifiable shapes evolved from the deepest patches of the inky expanse, sprouting horns and claws and hooves and shining eyes that peered through the night, seeing things clearly as if it were bright day.
Steven couldn’t hear them from his room, but he could imagine their growls and their laughs, their little shrieks and their sighs of contentment. He knew they reveled in their short time in the woods, short because soon the sun would come up to send them scurrying back to whatever hiding places they sought shelter in during the day, safe from the heat and the cursed light that would reveal them to the world.
He knew this because with the first inklings of pink light creeping over the horizon, they would melt back into the earth, take on the substance of trees and bushes, or scatter themselves into fragments formed of leaves and twigs blowing about in the wind, their voices fading and disguised as insects chirping and the rustling of branches.
Steven sometimes mused that there were strange children in the woods, maybe elves, maybe something never before seen, because sometimes he thought he saw them standing on the edge of the woods, peering up at him. He was unable to make out a distinct shape, but he imagined small, glowing eyes of various shades, or eyes slit like those of a snake, or huge, multi-faceted eyes like those of a fly. He supposed they were wondering what was beyond the woods, just as he was wondering what the woods concealed.
Did they want to explore the huge world outside their borders? Were they told not to by their parents, that it was dangerous?
He would like to meet them one night, but he was forbidden to play in the woods. His parents would warn him on numerous occasions that he was not to venture beyond the tree line that ended his yard and began the forest. They told him stories of little boys who had gotten lost in the woods in an effort to ward him, but he knew they were just stories without truth. Parents were always making up things. He thought that was funny, since parents always seemed to yell at kids for making up stories. He didn’t understand it, but he supposed he would when he grew up.
But there were a lot of things about grown-ups he didn’t understand, nor did he have any desire to. He preferred to hide in his room and stare out the window, longing to run into the woods and play with the other strange children, to remain a child forever.
He imagined he would bring them candy bars and comic books, sharing with them the wonders of the world outside the woods, and they would sit around a campfire eating and reading about Spiderman and the X-Men, and laugh until the sun came up. Then they would melt away, absorbed by the woods that gave birth to them each night, safely tucked away in a leafy womb.
*****
Steven’s days were spent at school, where his body was present but his mind was in some faraway place where fantasy dispelled reality and homework was never heard of. He did not mind being picked last in gym, he did not care when the other boys teased him, and he did not listen when his father asked him why he never brought home any friends to play with.
He did have friends, he wanted to say. And one day he would meet them. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow night, sometime soon, he would gather the courage to sneak from his room into the woods and play with his new friends. They would teach him to climb trees and hunt for food, which berries were safe to eat and which were poisonous, and they would show him their strange rituals and customs.
“Steven, Steven, are you paying attention?” The words intruded upon his thoughts, chasing away his daydreams and bringing the classroom back into focus, a hazy room full of dust, glistening in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
*****
Dinner this evening was uneventful and silent, his father reading the paper and mumbling under his breath about one headline or another, a curse escaping his lips when he turned to the sports page. His mother scowled and told Steven to finish up his chicken so that she could clean the table.
“Can I go watch TV after?”
“When you finish up.”
His father looked up from the paper. “No, he can’t. There’s a game on tonight.”
“Oh, honey, let him watch for little bit. The game will still be there when he’s done. And when that one’s over, there will be another one.”
His father scowled, mumbled, and returned to his paper.
Outside, the trees rustled in the wind and a rabbit scampered across the yard. It paused, sniffed the air, recognized the scent of the approaching night, and continued on its way.
It would be dark soon, Steven thought, and imagined himself as a denizen of the forest, hungrily devouring his prey.
*****
“I’m going to bed now.”
“Make sure you brush your teeth,” his mother called after him.
“Goodnight son.” His father rustled his hair as he walked by, then quickly snatched up the remote from the coffee table.
Sitcom laughter was transformed. The voice of a monotone announcer and cheering fans faded away to a dull television hum as Steven walked upstairs to his bedroom.
He stripped off his socks and chucked them in the hamper, pretended he was walking barefoot on short grass.
Outside, the last remnants of the sun dissipated. Shadows and a light rain of silver moonlight soon replaced the bright glow of sunset that had turned the woods fluorescent.
*****
The woods engulfed him, brushing against his bare skin, tickling and caressing, sometimes scratching but never too deeply, and his feet soon adjusted to walking on the bare earth. The pebbles and twigs did not bother him, and he liked the tickle of the grass and leaves, the soft mud between his toes.
Up ahead, he heard them, but could not make out distinctive voices, so he approached them, moving deeper into the undergrowth, pressing aside outreaching tree limbs that sought to block his path and protect the denizens of the forest.
Deeper into the forest, the moon barely visible through the canopy of trees overhead, but his way was lit by fireflies signaling their mates. He tried to be silent, but twigs cracked and leaves crunched under his weight. Perhaps the creatures of the forest would teach him to move silently as they did.
His house far away, little more than a memory, he began to feel as if he had been birthed here, living his young life among the trees and the earth, cradled within the leafy arms of the forest. How he longed to make it real, to banish his true life to some nether-region, replace it with one free of parents and school and all the complications his parents seemed to accumulate as they grew older. None of that would be found here, he knew.
The voices grew louder now, but were still unintelligible. Yet, the woods were brighter now as well, the telltale glow of a fire, glimpsed through a break in the trees, some distance away but growing closer as he traveled deeper into the heart of this magical world.
He moved slower, more carefully, picking his through the bushes and around the trees, doing his best to avoid roots and thorns, until he advanced upon the clearing, but did not yet dare to enter.
The firelight lit the clearing in a soft orange glow, flickering shadows dancing across the trees to match those of the strange creatures who frolicked about the fire, waving their arms and swinging their heads with wild abandon. They looked to be caught in the throes of lunacy, yet their movement varied in accordance with a small drum, beaten by a small form that sat before the fire.
Steven watched in awe, unable to make out the true forms of those in the clearing, as they moved too quickly and were obscured by the wavering light. He found himself mesmerized by the dance and the drum, and did not realize that a form stood directly beside him until it gently tapped him upon the shoulder with a child’s hand.
Steven, his reflexes dulled by the trance he had succumbed to, blinked and turned his head. He beheld a small boy not unlike himself, save that two small knobs, the beginning of horns, rested atop his head, and his eyes were of purest silver, absent of pupils.
The boy smiled, angel-like, and held something out.
Steven reached for it, and saw that it was mask. Seemingly made of tree bark, it was painted a light shade of red, two eye slits rimmed with black, and two small horns imitating those of the boy.
“Come dance with us,” the boy whispered.
Steven donned the mask, felt it adhering to his skin as though it belonged there, and shivered with forbidden delight. Following the boy into the clearing, the ring of strange forest-folk parted, allowing him entry.
He followed the boy into the circle, skipping and dancing, waving his arms frantically along with the beating of the drum. He soon found himself surrounded by other strange and wondrous children, some with tails, some with scales, some with claws, and some with wicked grins filled with sharp teeth, but Steven was not afraid.
He was welcome here, the mask made him one of them, and at last he felt he had found his true family. Laughing and shouting with glee, he frolicked and dance away the night. His tired bones and weary head at last succumbed to sleep, and he collapsed into a soft bed of leaves and grass, the intoxicating smell of the earth like a sweet perfume.
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