Great Oak Gazette

By Marie Kiggins

You are lost. That is fairly obvious.

You left your home behind long ago, and you aren’t quite sure how long you’ve been away. A day? An hour? A couple of minutes?

Your friends are probably worried.

But not more worried than you are right now, lost in the woods that block out the sky. Only the dim glow from bioluminescent mushrooms—far from natural—and the glow of fireflies are your sources of light for miles. Or however far you can see, anyway. And above, you see long branches and dark leaves. The trees are as tall as a small office building. It’s intimidating and makes you feel smaller than you are.

You walk on. Maybe you should turn around? Go back the way you came? 

But when you do, you trip on a thick root. The forest is so dense, it’s near impossible to think you haven’t tripped already. Maybe you have. Maybe that’s why you can’t remember how you got here.

This is terrible. There’s mud everywhere, you think, feeling like if the thick air doesn’t make you sick, the mud you just tasted from your fall surely will.

You spit it out and wipe your tongue, then cringe backward when you realize your hands are also covered in dirt and grime.

You wipe your tongue on your shirt instead. It’s gross, but better than having that taste on your tongue.

When you stand up, you realize you can’t tell which way you came from.

That’s fantastic, you think bitterly to yourself.

The forest is so quiet. Not even the sound of rustling leaves in the wind. There isn’t any. No sounds of animals like crickets or frogs in the damp environment, not even birds chirping in the trees. It’s like the whole forest has been plunged into the ocean, drowning out all sound with nothing but pressure in your ears, but this time, with a little ringing.

Too quiet. Too empty. Too lifeless.

That’s when you hear something—a snap of a branch.

You turn around. There’s nothing there. It’s quiet again.

You keep walking, picking up the pace a little more. There could be a bear behind you. Or a psycho killer. How cheerful.

Then the ringing stops—still quiet, but now there’s some kind of sound you can’t name. It’s low, switching on and off.

You pause. It sounds like some kind of booming, or softer, less intense thunder.

You turn around again. Still nothing there. You look all around, trying to sense where the sound is coming from. It reverberates around your skull, making it feel like it’s coming from every angle.

Suddenly, light bursts into your vision. Fireflies swarm violently around you, a buzzing of wings in your ears as they rush past. They fade away until only a few are left, floating through the air, confused and dazed. Just like you, although with less bug-like floating.

The buzzing vanishes, and the thunderous sound grows louder and closer.

What— you begin to question yourself, trying to figure out what’s happening. It’s all too much, until you look up. And everything goes silent.

Large, pitch-black figures move through the forest as shadows, glittering like reflections of stars on a midnight sea.

“What…” you exhale shakily, and wide glowing eyes snap toward you, forming out of the shadows. There are only a few, but enough to make your brain buzz with static.

Their shapes become clear. Large, pitch-black antlers sit atop the creatures’ heads, brushing the dense foliage above. Leaves fall around you. They have stallion-like legs, long and graceful. And then you realize—you’ve seen this shape before.

They are deer. Large, ominous, intimidating deer.

They stare with their glowing eyes, and it’s still silent in the forest.

Fireflies dance across one’s eyes, reflecting soft purples and blues hidden underneath the glowing white.

It would be mesmerizing and enchanting if they weren’t twenty feet tall and looking at you with wide eyes.

You wonder what they are. Then they begin to move.

They all pass by you, the wind from their large movements forcing you to stay in place. Their eyes soften and relax when they realize you aren’t a threat.

But one stays. It continues to stare.

You wave a hand nervously, hoping the beast sees it as a friendly gesture, as non-threatening as possible.

It leans forward. Its muzzle is large, almost the same size as your hand, which it sniffs with intensity. It’s trying to learn something about you, but you can’t tell what.

It pulls back and opens its mouth.

This is it, it’s going to eat me, you think, closing your eyes and waiting for a quick, hopefully painless, death.

But it never comes. When you open your eyes, the creature looks straight up and inhales. Then it lets out a yowl, an ear-piercing sound that makes you cringe backward in fear. You clutch your chest to remind yourself you’re still alive and not being devoured by some eldritch creature. But here you are, feeling, hearing, seeing, and tasting this. It’s real. You are here.  At one point.

The creature howls on until it becomes so loud you put your hands to your ears and watch in fascination, still scared it might turn around and swallow you whole whenever it wants.

The sound it makes is like the melody of a song, and if you wanted, you could probably sing it yourself if you tried hard enough.

Then, all at once, the creature bursts into dust. Yellow sparkles glow and swirl through the woods. It doesn’t buzz like the fireflies but curls and sings with a soft melody that reminds you of love, warmth, and times when you weren’t so scared.

You are still scared, yes, but those eyes could come back and stare into your soul again.

The dust settles around you, offering a moment of relief, but it’s short-lived as another howl rings through the air, making the dust swirl around you violently like a tornado.
You are the eye.

The dust curls against your skin, your face, your chest, and you gasp for air, only to inhale the dust like a dying breath. Might be accurate, considering you’re probably suffocating.

You yell out for anyone. A family member, a friend, an acquaintance, or even someone you’ve met in passing. Anyone would do at this point.

The dust chokes your lungs, and then the world around you fades to darkness.

You and the Darkness are one.

Until you aren’t. You open your eyes.

You see bright eyes staring at you, blinding and headache-inducing.

They blink slowly at you.

Your chest tightens.

“Help me,” you plead uselessly. This thing is the reason you’re on the ground, struggling to breathe.

The eyes close, and so do yours.

When you open them again, you’re lying in a grass field.

It’s dark outside, and your hometown is in the distance. Stars twinkle above you, clustered so tightly together they look like eyes. Maybe they are.

You hum, recalling the sound the creature made.

And as glowing fireflies dance around you at the sound, you wonder if it had been a dream.

You get up and see your car, making your way toward it with a sick feeling in your stomach. Your hands are close to your chest, uncomfortable and tight.

When did you get here? Why did you come here? Did you bring yourself here? Of course you did! It’s your car!

But…

You turn around.

A silhouette paints the sky. Bright white eyes stare down at you from the hill.

You stare back, trying to disappear. Your hands white-knuckled against your elbows as you grip yourself tightly.

Not a dream. Not a dream. Not a dream.

It explodes into stardust, and you dart forward to open your car door, never taking your eyes off the fading shape.

But instead of moving toward you, it drifts upward.

And turns into stars.

As it fades away, you cough.

You step into your car after clearing your throat.

You exhale a sigh but let out another cough—more violent and painful this time.

You bring a hand to your mouth to cough again.

When you pull it away with trembling hands and fearful eyes, you see two things on the palm of your hand.

Glowing dust.

And mud.