By C.R. Langille
Heather killed the engine to the old Tacoma and sat in silence. Only the click of the cooling motor and the rhythmic breathing of her daughter in the passenger seat gave off any noise. Just outside the car, tall pines loomed up into the evening sky, towering fingers of wood and bone that stood sentinel to any who would dare step foot into their domain. Most were wise enough to stay away these days. However, Heather was desperate.
Snow gently fell, kissing the windshield. Some flakes melted, but many stuck. It gave the promise of a chilly night. One Heather didn’t look forward to, but perhaps an end to the hell she and her daughter called life. That was enough to spur her forward.
Heather placed a hand on Gretchen’s forehead. It was hot. Doubts crawled into her mind, whispering worries, and urging her to turn back. Perhaps Gretchen wouldn’t have the energy to make it. Heather willed those intrusive ideas away. If Gretchen couldn’t walk, that was what the sled was for.
“Hey there Gret, we’re here,” Heather said. Her voice cracked, and she almost started crying again. Almost.
Gretchen opened her eyes. Once, they were a brilliant blue, like the ocean. Now they were dull, worn from a year’s worth of pain. Gretchen sat up straight and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth.
“This is the place?”
“It’s where we start,” Heather said.
Gretchen stared out the window, her breath forming small splotches of fog that would disappear only to come back a moment later. Just as Heather once again reconsidered, Gretchen opened the door and got out of the truck.
“Here we go,” Heather said.
She pulled a small oak figurine out of her pocket. It looked like a raven’s head, but instead of eyes, there were just spiral pits. Heather kissed the figurine and closed her eyes. “Corvid Queen, please protect us.”
After squeezing it so hard the beak nearly broke skin, Heather put it back in her pocket and joined Gretchen outside.
The cold October air cut across Heather’s face and stole her breath. She zipped her coat up, wishing she had brought another layer. But they would have to make do. Besides, she would have probably given the extra layer to Gretchen, anyway.
“How are you doing? Too cold? We don’t have to do this you know. We can come back in the spring or something.”
Gretchen looked away from the skyline and locked eyes with Heather.
“I’m okay, Mom. We have to do this now, or we won’t get another chance. At least I won’t get another chance.”
Tears threatened to break through the levees again, but Heather fought them back. Why did this happen to her little girl? Perhaps if the world hadn’t fallen to hell years ago, a doctor could have done something. But now, when your next meal wasn’t even guaranteed, medical care was a luxury very few had.
“Okay. Let’s get going. Now remember, once we start down the trail, keep moving, don’t stray from the path, and don’t—”
“Don’t listen to the voices. I know, Mom. We’ve been through this a billion times already. You know, I’m not a little kid anymore. I can take care of myself.”
Heather nodded. It was tough. Even though Gertrude was nearly 20, she would always be her baby girl. Years of keeping her safe from those things and the people… oh by the Corvid Queen, sometimes the people were worse than the others, but years of protecting her, caring for her, and now keeping her as healthy as possible, it was hard to let go. But Gertrude was right. She could take care of herself. Mostly.
“I know. I just… never mind. Let’s go.”
As they approached the trailhead, marked by a wooden post covered with keychains, pictures of loved ones, scarves, and other mementos, Heather removed a worn silver ring from her finger. It was simple, with only a tiny turquoise stone attached to it.
“That’s Grandma’s ring.”
Heather smiled at Gretchen. “Yes, it was.”
She placed the ring on a bent iron nail someone had haphazardly driven into the post. It was their tribute to proceed into the woods. Heather hoped it was enough. The old lady had told her the offering had to be special. Something precious.
They stepped past the post and into the trees, and a pair of ravens took flight, cawing as they left.
Heather hoped it was a good omen.
With the overcast skies and the falling snow, there wasn’t much light. Heather had brought their only working flashlight, but batteries being as scarce as they were, she had no idea how long it would last. The clouds above spun lazy circles, spirals. Was a tornado forming? She couldn’t remember when the last tornado occurred. They rarely happened in October. After making a mental note to keep an eye on it, she pressed forward.
The trail was difficult to follow. A long time ago, someone had carved blazes into the trees to help mark the path. But these woods were tricky. Sometimes, the trees didn’t stay put.
After what could have been hours, Heather stopped to get her bearings. They should be nearing their destination. That was, of course, assuming they went the right direction and that the information she bought from the old woman back in town was correct as well.
Lady May was known to lead some astray sometimes just for fun. Yet Heather had made an accord, sealed with blood and paid for with bone, so a deal was a deal.
“Mom!”
It was Gretchen. Though from further away than she should have been. Heather spun around and found her daughter was nowhere to be seen.
Her heart rate increased as her blood ran cold. How could she be so stupid to let her get out of her sight?
“Gret! Where are you? Mama’s here!”
Only silence responded. Not even the forest made a noise, as if it held its breath in anticipation.
“Gret!?”
“Mom? Help me!”
This time, her voice came from further away in a thick patch of trees. Heather turned her flashlight on, shining the beam towards the thick grouping of birch. She was about to run over to find Gretchen but stopped at the tree line.
The hairs on the back of Heather’s neck danced a nervous waltz. Beyond those trees was unknown. Don’t stray from the path… one of the rules. But Heather wasn’t about to let Gretchen fall to any danger in these woods.
Just as she was about to step off the path, someone grabbed her shoulder from behind.
Heather screamed and whirled around. She nearly hit her assailant with her flashlight, but tripped on a root and fell backward.
Standing in front of her was Gretchen, wide-eyed, with her hands up, showing she meant no harm.
“Sorry,” Gretchen said with a sheepish grin.
Heather scrambled to her feet and backed away from her daughter. She shined the light at her, then the trees.
“Gret, I… I could have sworn… where were you!?”
Gretchen was about to answer when her voice came from the woods again.
“Mom?”
The smile disappeared from her daughter’s face. She took a tentative step back from the trees.
“That’s not me,” Gretchen whispered.
Heather rushed over to her, wrapping her up in a big hug. “I know. Come on, don’t listen to it.”
The other Gretchen continued to call out a few more times before finally falling silent. The pair didn’t say anything for some time after that, afraid it might attract whatever was out there.
“Mom, I need to rest. Just for a minute.”
Heather turned to find Gretchen sweating, face red, and eyes dull. Her daughter took another step but stumbled forward. She would have fallen face first into the snow-covered dirt and rocks if Heather hadn’t jumped forward to catch her.
“Whoa, okay. Yeah, let’s take a breather then.”
Heather led Gretchen over to a fallen tree and sat her down. She placed a hand on her daughter’s forehead. It was even hotter than before.
“Hold out your hands,” Heather said.
Gretchen did so. They were steady.
“Let me see your eyes. Try and keep them open for me.”
Heather flashed the light onto Gretchen’s face. At first, Gretchen squinted, but then fought through it to open her eyes fully. The pupils were dilating. Not quite all the way, but enough to show it had begun.
Heather sucked in her breath and turned away. If it came down to it, Heather didn’t think she had the courage to do what needed to be done.
“Mom?”
Wiping fresh tears away, Heather pulled Gretchen into a hug. “It’s going to be okay. We’re almost there, we have to be. Lady May said if we started at night, we’d be there before morning. And look. Just look,” Heather said, pulling her coat sleeve up to expose her wristwatch. It was almost six in the morning.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Of course you can! I know you can. Just come on. Not much further.”
Gretchen took a few steps before she leaned against a tree and shook her head.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
“Then I’ll pull you,” Heather said, and pointed to the sled. She hoped and prayed to any god listening that the trail would be clear enough to use the sled with Gretchen’s weight, even though she was lighter now than even a couple of weeks ago. If not, she’d carry her.
The sled itself was old, but sturdy. Heather’s father had used it when he ran trap lines out in the woods before everything went south and they were no longer safe. She still remembered when he put it away in the shed while nursing a bleeding arm, mumbling about the voices and the teeth. He never slept well after that night. It wasn’t too long after he went to get something from the shed and never came back.
Gretchen got in and sat down. Her face was pale, almost as white as the snow that fell around them.
“Mom?”
“What is it, Hon?”
“What’s going to happen when I die? Am I going to become one of them?”
Heather buried Gretchen’s face into her coat when she pulled her in for a big hug. Partly to comfort her daughter, and partly because if she saw Gretchen’s face, she’d break down again.
“You’re not going to die. Not tonight.”
Gretchen started crying then, hugging Heather tight. Her daughter’s body trembled in her arms. So frail. Not the happy kid from years past, but now weak, sick, and…
No.
They would make it.
“Come on.”
Heather got up and dragged the sled behind her. It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be, which was bittersweet. Happy to be able to pull her daughter faster, but sad that she was so light.
The trail cooperated with her and the sled for the most part. There were times Gretchen had to get out so they could get over a fallen tree, or around large rocks, but overall, smooth sailing.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“I know we’re not supposed to listen to the voices, but what do we do if we can see them?”
Heather stopped and turned to look at Gretchen. She sat, wide-eyed, on the sled looking at the trees. Heather flicked the flashlight on and tried to spy what Gretchen was looking at, but it was just forest.
“What do you see?” Heather whispered.
“You.”
She couldn’t see what Gretchen was talking about. It was just trees and-
-wait-
-something moved.
Heather shifted the flashlight’s beam and tried to get a different angle. There was a shape amongst the branches. Somewhat human, but…off somehow. For what felt like minutes, minutes that were too long, minutes that ballooned into eternity, Heather stared.
Then it moved, a pair of eyes catching the flashlight and reflecting back at her.
Heather screamed, dropping her flashlight as she grabbed onto the rope tighter. She pulled with all her strength, rushing down the trail to get away from whatever it was.
The voices came from all around her. Yelling, screaming, laughing, crying, moaning…
Voices she recognized. Her mother, crying for help, saying she’d fallen down and broke her hip. Her father, saying he was just going to get something from the shed followed by the gunshot that still echoes in her dreams. Her elementary school teacher slamming his fist onto her desk to tell her to keep quiet. Gretchen laughing as Heather chased her around the kitchen and living room when she was only five.
Nothing she did quelled the cacophony of noise invading her head. In the distance, Gretchen cried, or maybe screamed. She couldn’t tell. Nor could she discern if it was really Gretchen or whatever was in the woods with them. Part of her wanted to turn and look, make sure that her daughter was still in the sled. Another part of her feared what she would see.
The clouds broke above her, exposing the moon. Its pallid light fell upon the forest, and the illumination revealed an unkindness of ravens circling above her in a spiral. They spun a few times, before breaking away and veering down towards the tops of the trees to the right.
It was a sign. The Corvid Queen had sent it.
To the right was nothing but trees. Don’t stray from the path. That was one of the rules, and probably one of the most important ones. However, she couldn’t ignore a sign like that.
Fighting through the screams, Heather stopped and turned toward Gretchen. What she saw made her heart drop into her stomach.
Gretchen was unconscious, her arms dragging along the dirt and snow. Blood poured from her nostrils and ears, caking in her hair.
“Gret!”
Heather dropped to her knees.
“I screamed for help, but you ignored me.”
It was Gretchen’s voice, right behind her. Heather tried to ignore it and scooped her daughter into her arms. Her legs and lungs were already burning with the exertion of sprinting through the forest dragging a sled, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.
“Just a little further.”
Whether she was talking to herself or Gretchen, it didn’t matter. Peeling away from the trail, Heather ducked into the trees.
Immediately the woods fell silent. Branches scratched her as she barreled through the trees. It wouldn’t have been an issue if she could take her time, but a cold feeling crept into her stomach that told her if she didn’t hurry, sign or not, the woods would take her and her daughter and that would be that.
“Just keep breathing, baby girl. We’re almost there.”
It was a lie. Just like every time she had to tell Gretchen that it would be okay, that she would be fine, that everything would be fine. Things had not been fine for a long time. Not since they tore through the fabric of reality and spilled into the world like a flood.
Things had not been fine since the crops wilted and died. Things had not been fine since it was no longer safe to be out in the woods at night. They weren’t fine and they would never be fine again.
“Just keep breathing.”
It was a mantra now. Not only for Gretchen, but for herself. The coppery taste of blood tinged her taste buds as each breath became harder and harsher than the last. Spots and tiny bursts of light danced in her eyes. Each step was harder than the last.
Finally, she burst into a meadow.
A scene from a fairy tale splayed out before her as a babbling brook cut through the middle. Just past the brook was a circle of stones, each bigger than her Tacoma and worn from eons of weather.
Lichen and spiral petroglyphs covered the rocks. There were other shapes as well, shapes that hurt her eyes if she stared too long. Heather limped over to the stones and stood just outside of the circle. Being this close, she found they weren’t a circle at all but arranged in the same spiral pattern she had seen all throughout the forest.
More signs. Whether they were good, bad, or something between, she didn’t know.
At the very center was a stone altar with dark-colored mushrooms fruiting all around it even though it was so cold.
“We’re here, Gret. We made it.”
Her daughter’s breathing was labored. A long, wet wheeze accompanied each exhale.
“Hang in there.”
After readjusting Gretchen’s weight, Heather took a step into the stone spiral. As she did, the brook stopped flowing. It’s sound cutting off as if someone flipped a switch. The snow stopped falling, freezing in place mid-air all around them.
Finally getting to the center, Heather laid Gretchen down on the altar as gently as possible. She brushed some stray hair away from her face before kissing her on the forehead.
“Okay. We’re here.”
Not sure what to do now, Heather stood. Lady May never mentioned this part, and Heather hadn’t thought to ask. Was she supposed to say something? Offer something?
“Look. I don’t know who or what, or if anything is listening. But if you are, please… please help my Gretchen get better. Bring her back to me. She is all I have left.”
Gretchen’s eyes fluttered open. “Mom?”
A surge of adrenaline flushed through her body, making her tingle. Was it happening? Heather kneeled to be at eye-level with her daughter.
“I can see them.”
“See what, baby girl?”
“The stars. They are beautiful.”
Heather looked up to find the stars swirling in a vortex. They were beautiful.
When Heather looked back to Gretchen, she found the light had faded from her daughter’s eyes. She had a smile on her face as a single tear rolled its way down her cheek and onto the stone altar.
The rattle in Gretchen’s chest slowed and then stopped.
“Gret?”
Heather stood, checking Gretchen for a pulse. Nothing.
“Gret! No, no, no…come on baby girl. You can’t die. You can’t!”
No. They’d come all this way. Braved the drive, the hike, the woods. Did everything the Lady May told them to do. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It wasn’t going to be like this.
Heather started chest compressions.
“Come on! You come back to me. You hear me! Gretchen Theresa Chambers, you come back to me right now!”
Press. Press. Press. Press.
Crack.
Gretchen’s rib cracked.
Heather stopped, hands shaking as her mind raced over what just happened. Over what she just did to her child.
“Oh my god! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
Keep going. That’s what they told her during training. Keep going.
But… what about…? There wasn’t time. Every second counted and she was losing them.
Press. Press. Press. Press.
Gretchen stared up at the stars, lifelessly. Heather wailed, her anguish washing across the forest and filling the woods with her anger and frustration.
“No… come back. You come back…”
The brook started flowing again. The snow began to fall in earnest, coating both Gretchen’s corpse and Heather as she continued to will life back into her daughter.
Heather collapsed in a heap.
Sometime later, Heather woke lying next to the stone altar, but Gretchen’s body was gone.
Heather knew deep down in her marrow that Gretchen was gone-gone. Taken by the forest or whatever it was that this altar was for.
It had all been a lie.
After another couple of hours, Heather left.
She made the trek back to the truck in silence. There were no voices. At this point, she would have followed Gretchen’s voice if she heard it. Only the occasional lazy caw from a raven, or irritated scream of a squirrel filled the woods.
The truck fired right up, and she navigated home in a daze. As she got closer to civilization, the occasional pop-pop-pop of gunfire echoed in the distance. Plumes of black smoke rose into the sky like damned pillars. Eventually, she found herself back at the cabin.
Heather went through the same ritual. Lock the doors. Shut the windows. Put up the blackout curtains.
Then she found herself sitting at the kitchen table. Alone.
A handgun—her father’s handgun, sat on the table in front of her.
Just going to get something from the shed.
What was left for her? Nothing.
Heather stared at the gun for a long time before she picked it up. It felt heavy in her hands.
Just one squeeze of the trigger and that’s it. No more pain.
“Momma will be there soon, Gret.”
Heather pointed the barrel at her temple. There were no more tears, as she was fresh out. Only focus filled her mind.
Just as she was about to pull the trigger, the back door opened. Heather recognized the shuffle of feet, as Gretchen’s gait was forever ingrained in her mind.
“Mom?”
Heather put the gun back down, surprised that she still had some tears left.
“Yeah, baby girl?”
Heather didn’t turn and look. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“I saw the stars, and they have teeth. Let me show you.”
A shiver ran down Heather’s spine as Gretchen’s icy hands touched her shoulders. Then they wrapped around her throat.
Gretchen told the truth. The stars have teeth. So many teeth.
* * *
C.R. Langille spent many a Saturday afternoon watching monster movies with her mom. It wasn’t long before she started crafting nightmares to share with her readers. She is a retired, disabled veteran with a deep love for weird and creepy tales. This prompted her to form Timber Ghost Press in January of 2021. She is an award-winning author, affiliate member of the Horror Writers Association, the DEI Chair for the League of Utah Writers, earned her MFA: Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in 2014, and was named Editor of the Year by the League of Utah Writers in 2024.