Many, many years ago when I was young and life and this world were but means to find adventure, I was told by my mother, her wisdom gained from her years,
“Darling-dearest, when all is said and done you can only do so much. You mustn’t wander past the forest or interact with strange beings lest you unintentionally harm yourself or those among you.”
I ignored her warning often without any consequence or trouble befalling me until one day I decided to explore the forest behind our warm safe home. It was a dreary day, the summer had ended abruptly, like the death of a young child; unexpected, mourned and followed with cold unrelenting sadness. I was young myself, I couldn’t comprehend the grief.
I donned my warm enveloping jacket, mittens and boots. My mother gave me another stern warning, she knew I was about to disobey her, yet she knew it would be best not to keep me forever enclosed in the heat of home. She believed, if you haven’t experienced darkness you will never appreciate light. I left, determined to discover all I hadn’t yet. Everyone spoke of the terror from the forest especially my grandfather.
Grandfather spoke to me in his low hollow voice, trying to trick me into fearing what he called “Bloody Bones”. I, being interested in the macabre, always feigned bravery, simply to hear more and more of each tale of gruesome glory. Of each anecdote a moral came, every time he ended,
“This is why you mustn’t venture far into the forest, where strange and malicious creatures dwell, you must remember that things like that prey upon children like you. You cannot risk being foolish. One step in and soon the trees have close in behind you. Promise me you’ll never venture in there.”
Every time I promised him, my stubby fingers crossed behind my shivering spine. This was the time I became the child from the paternally proclaimed parables, I was the damned fool, but I’d rather doom myself by adventure than live for eternity, only wondering.
The sky ominously covered the earth below where I walked intently soaking in everything I saw. The skeletal trees stood shaking and everything around me made me feel so small and meek and fragile. I prayed as I walked asking for guidance as my instinctual fear began to consume me. I looked from the sky to the ground; each root was a skeletal arm grasping at my feet, each leaf- a piece of flesh.
Onward I went, shrugging off all my better judgment and warning. I stopped suddenly recollecting what grandfather said. What with the many twists and turns of the untamed trail I had moved from where I first entered. All I could see behind me were more and more skeletal trees- my safety slipped from me. I no longer could see my home- I was in the carcass of the woods. No escape.
Immediately I regretted everything. I was petrified. All I had ever known and loved I could never again be a part of. If by some beautiful miracle I were to find my self a survivor of what none had survived before, I would forever be shunned- not only by the town, but by grandfather.
This was it; I had positively nothing to lose now. I went on my now solemn journey slowly and enlightened, paying heed to every small detail I saw. Eventually I came across amidst the hollow, deteriorated, autumn landscape, one un-barren bush, green as my mother’s eyes. I neared it, astonished and frightened by the anachronism far more than any horrible sight. I heard from within the most phenomenal singing by the most spectacular voice.
“My death is but a finale, a calm, yet tragic end. Don’t cry for me, my darling. Don’t weep for me my friend. This world is but a dream, wherein you simply stay. I cannot continue, for this is my final day. Love me now or mourn forever as my mortal ties I do, now, sever.”
I lay my hand on one of the pristine emerald leaves, with the assumption that the bush was the spirit who possessed the voice I adored. As the leaves withered I expected the song to conclude. There betwixt the branches lay a small, brown bird at it’s last agony. I whimpered,
“Please don’t die! You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard!”
The bird opened one eye and whispered in a low raspy tone far different than the sound of his singing,
“Please, child, leave me to die in peace.”
I wailed back at him telling him that I wouldn’t let him give up his soul to the bloody bones. To this he said,
“Stupid child- if you do not leave me the demon of which you speak will consume both of us. You certainly must comprehend that if my passing is interrupted both of our souls shall be taken!”
“I can’t let you die! I no longer have anything to live for, but if you survive- I will!”
I cried. His singing made up for all I had lost- I needed him, and I erroneously thought that he needed me, too. I picked the bird up from the now dried bush, that slowly consumed him, and held him in my icy hands- I began walking- not knowing how to save him, but feeling like I needed to.
I asked him to sing, he only cried, which made me cry too. The tears attracted that which both the bird and I dreaded. I didn’t realize it, but we were being followed, followed by bloody bones.
I glanced back; I saw the sky growing darker and darker. I heard a terrible noise that made me feel hollow inside, emotionless. A crow swooped down and landed in front of the dying songbird and I. He croaked,
“Child, why do you fear me?”
I said nothing. The crow had eyes of silver and sapphire, his voice gravely and intimidating. I backed up as he neared lifting each foot off the ground; he flew up above my head and asked again, far more threateningly,
“Why do you fear me? Are you really foolish enough to believe what you’ve heard from those stupid mortals- especially that unwise elder- he made me like this.”
He spoke ill of my grandfather, I was terrified but I stood up to the crow.
“Who are you to insult my grandfather- I’m glad he made you a rotten old bird!” I shouted.
The crow smiled and flew down, taking the songbird from my hands. The crow flew into a nearby tree and squawked,
“I, my dear, am Wendigo. It is my duty because of you, my child, to take your friend where he now belongs.”
Then the crow put his beak to that of my little songbird and inhaled his essence. I ran away only hearing the cursed words of a dying creature calling to me,
“You did this to me! Why did you doom my soul? Why couldn’t you listen? This is all your fault!”
I ran and ran until my feet wore through my boots and bled. My chest heaved and my eyes felt forced. I couldn’t stop running. The sight of my love being consumed haunted me with every blink. Eventually despite all odds and all my strongly felt beliefs I found myself thrown out of the forest’s clutches. I saw the smoke from my village and ran into my home.
I climbed up the old familiar pine tree and snuck through my bedroom window. The cold wind followed me. I sat on my bed and cried. My head stayed pressed upon my pillow, wet from tears until I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone.
The room became colder than ice and I knew of my dismal fate. Bones clicked and I heard the song of the dying bird mutilated into something horrible.
“My death is now damnation for you did not let me be, for you it is not long until you are here with me. Wendigo has cursed us both there is only one thing to do. Unless you confess all that you’ve done this same thing will happen to you!”
Soon before my very eyes the Crow flew in carrying the songbird’s bloody skeleton. Wendigo dropped the corpse into my hands and opened his eyes to reveal the fire in his pupils and the empathy he did not feel. I ran from my room and cried to my mother,
“Please forgive me, I’ve done something terrible! There’s a dead bird in my room, I tried to save him but now I’ve doomed him. Mama you have to help me!”
“Where did you find this bird?”
“I went into the woods; I know I’m not supposed to, but I did and now Grandfather is right- bloody bones is after me!”
She didn’t believe me. I led her to my room where she picked up the songbird and carefully wrapped him in her handkerchief. She couldn’t see Wendigo, and strangely neither could I.
We buried the songbird at the edge of the forest. Grandfather read a prayer and made me promise, then at that very moment never to go into the forest again.
The next day at dinner grandfather asked what sort of story to tell, I asked if it could be about something other than bloody bones. He smiled a sweet old smile and went on to tell the story of a little brown songbird with the voice of an angel.
