Viridian Forest

As the mourning sun shimmered through the crisp early autumn leaves, I dug. I continued to dig. Warm beads of liquid salt rolled down the side of my head while a single file marching band of saline globules trickled down my spine. How long had I been toiling in the dirt like a curious badger? My long lean fingers weakly gripped the shovel while my quivering knees held my body upright with the last of their strength. My clothes were covered in dust and debris while my raven nest hair frizzed at the broken ends and clung to my face. I had definitely been burrowing aggressively for a long while. To someone walking past – not that this was anywhere near civilization – I would look like a treasure hunter. But I wasn’t. I was looking for something and it wasn’t treasure. I actually received the treasure a week ago. What I’ve been looking for, let’s just say, I don’t know.

Gong.

My name’s Skye Allissa Monroe. This is my story and why I’m standing in the middle of Galloway forest where the sun mourns the viridian grounds and blesses the fiery treetops.

1 week earlier

I squinted at the suspicious package sitting at my doorstep. The lone brown box from the Post Office sat on the welcome mat, inviting my attention. My birthday wasn’t soon. In fact, if was seven months, three days and four hours away. The box looked battered yet sturdy, beaten and torn yet strong and mysterious. Maybe it was missed by the Post Office and they had just located my address? No, that couldn’t be. I approached the box cautiously, before squatting down to investigate it more. My father had been a butcher since I could remember. He had always tended to the meat deliveries, making sure what we received was of the highest quality, checking and examining the meat before use. I learned to analyse things growing up and thanked him for the skill that haunted my days and cheered on my perfectionism. I looked left, looked right, looked left again and back down at the box. It wasn’t small by any means; it was a decent sized package. I slowly reached out and grabbed the box with my perfectly French manicured hands. I had gotten them done the day before, so they were fresh for the first day of class next week.

I brought the box close to my face and stared. It was decently heavy. Not as heavy as a box of canned tomatoes but it was heavy enough to require some energy. My curiosity had peaked. I straightened my legs and walked back inside, closing the door behind me.

“How odd. I haven’t ordered anything recently, especially with the lockdown coming to an end. I wonder who you’re from.” I murmured to myself as I took the box into the kitchen.

The radio by the toaster continued to blare I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys – it was a throwback kind of day. I put the volume down, so it was barely a hum and placed the box on the cold, white marble counter and searched for a knife in the drawers nearby. After a moment of unnecessary rummaging, I found a small butter knife and sighed. Of course, I couldn’t find anything when I needed it the most. I brought the knife to the minute slit at the top of the tattered box and slide it down the middle, where the cello tape clutched the two flaps together. Once they became loose, I placed the knife on the table and began opening the package.

“W-What the…Hell…” I whispered to myself as my honey brown eyes widened, like that of a deer seeing headlights in the middle of the Pennsylvanian highway.

Stacks. That’s what it was. Stacks and stacks of cash. Untouched, crisp, straight out of the bank kind of stacks. I stepped forward and squinted at the contents of my mysterious box and gawked at the mountain of cash that delicately filled in the box perfectly. I blinked and finally fixed my gaze to the top of the stacks, homing in on a black piece of card. My hand trembled as I reached for it but stopped suddenly. I ran to the back, shutting the kitchen door before locking it. I then scurried around the room, sliding the blinds throughout till the kitchen was veiled in a darkness. I power walked back to the box and stood looking down at the note before grabbing it and bringing it to read.

‘I trust you. I’m sorry.’

“What? What does this even mean?” I hissed, frowning as I read and re-read the note after re-reading it again.

“Why would anyone send me this, then say this kinda crap?”

I blinked at the money then back at the note in confusion before warily taking the money out of its dilapidated cardboard prison. After placing the rubber banded stacks on the counter, I found another piece of cardboard at the base. I felt hot chills along my spine, as if the devil had licked seductively from my tailbone to the base to the back of my neck. Why did the chills burn? Why did I feel uneasy? My hands trembled as I reached out and grabbed the second piece of card. I turned it over and took in the contents.

“Help them.”

“W-what the actual hell? Help Who? Who am I helping?” I growled lowly to myself as I sighed and placed the card beside its sibling.

“What is happening…” I whispered.

No sooner had I uttered the three words of confusion, my phone vibrated in my back pocket. Though it made me jump, I reached behind me, grabbed my phone and read the text.

“Co-ordinates?”

I frowned at the unknown number and unlocked my phone before calling the sender. Nothing. The line was dead. I tried responding to the text. The message - could not be delivered. I sighed and sat down on the barstool getting lost in my thoughts. Questions whizzed through my mind like the 90’s Tasmanian Devil.

Present Day

That day led me to the now. Mining the grounds of Galloway forest for my next lead. After reading the cards in the box that day, I counted the money suspiciously. $20,000. After counting a total of $20,000, I counted again just to be sure and confirmed that I had not erred. There was a total of 20k in the box.

Gong.

As I sunk the head of the shovel into the ditch I had created, I thought back on my first set of co-ordinates. I had thought about handing in the money to the Police with the notes, but my gut told me otherwise. The more I thought about turning in the money in, the more protest I received from my gut, the more unease I felt in the house and the colder my skin felt. Eventually I looked up the co-ordinates and found myself wandering through Pendle Hill in Lancashire, UK. I had trudged through the large and portentous land above the Lancashire countryside, shoving the paranoia aside as I searched for the location. Eventually, I did find the co-ordinates, only to be sent another text with a further destination. Yes. As soon as I stepped on the precise location, another text vibrated my phone with another site.

Gong.

I slammed the shovel back into the ground letting out a loud ringing as if I had hit something metallic. The vibrations washed up the handle of the shovel like a wave and washed over my core. Was this it? It had to be. I fell to my knees and clawed at the dirt above the tin box. It looked rustic and old. The type of old you’d hide things in as a child. I tugged out the box and sat in the middle of the ditch and stared down at my hands. This was it. I murmured a little prayer in hopes that there were no more co-ordinates.

I slowly pried the tin open, using what little strength I didn’t have. With a loud gasping pop, the lid exploded open. I coughed slightly and wrinkled my nose, only to feel the air become colder. It was definitely colder now. Without looking inside, I placed the lid loosely on top and crawled out of the caved earth, stumbling to my feet. I glanced around me, my deep brown doe eyes now adjusting to the spectrum of fire and viridian growing through the forest. The emeraude leaves of the bushes rustled while the veronese green grass swayed slightly. The golden leaves quaked on the ground as if it were warning me to return the tin to its burial ground. The burnt, orange crisp shrubberies began dwindling to the ground while the wind whistled strangely into the melting air. It had been decently warm when I had arrived, but now, as if to beckon me away from its land, the forest became cooler, only growing in its hostility.

I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulders, clutching the tin to my chest as I made my way towards my car. With each step, I heard another step. With each breath, I heard another breath. Was someone following me? I steadily began to increase my pace. Adrenaline coursing through my veins as my feet carried my battered body towards the direction of my car. I needed to get out of this forest. Now. As my body bolted forward, I whipped my head back to see if I was alone. Although I was alone, my eyes darted to every movement and shadow, regardless of animal or tree. With my calves burning and my thighs tensing, I squinted at the ray of gold at the end of the sea of fire and earth. I pounced towards the light as the rustling grew louder behind me.

“Fuck!” I gasped as I panted into the forest free sunlight, basking in the unexpected warmth.

My feet buckled as I came to a halt, causing me to crash into the side of my trusty red Mini. I hurled over, placing the tin on the hood of my Mini and took a few slow, deep gulps before regaining some of my breath back. After licking my dry pink lips, wetting it with my non-existent saliva, I sighed and walked to the tin, sitting eerily on my hood. I grabbed the lid; thankful I had opened it before and glanced back at the forest towering behind me. The deep viridian blanket began turning dark, the dusky royal green became black, a warning I wanted so badly to adhere to. But I couldn’t. I had come this far; it would have all been for nothing. I sighed again and turned to look at the contents of the opened tin. I expected another set of co-ordinates. Instead, I was met with a dust of dead leaves, beneath it, a hard surface that looked used and warn. I dusted off the debris and blinked at the smooth black cover of… a book?

Confused, I reached in and grabbed the little black book delicately and dusted off the hard cover. I turned the little A5 tome in my hands and tilted my head, taking it in.

“So, this is what had me running around the country like an idiot, huh?” I murmured to myself.

I had half expected it to be some sort of diary, but the moment I opened the book to its first page where the acknowledgments would be, my tired eyes regained their energy as if finally receiving a coffee shot. My eyes once full of life, were drained of all soul and my heart sank into the pits of my stomach.

“N-No. It can’t… But… H-How…” I stuttered as my hands trembled uncontrollably.

I re-read the page as my saliva scratched its way down my sandpaper throat.

‘If found, please return to Skye Allissa Monroe. 1997, Milan, Italy.’