Chapter Text
All throughout human history, we have been warned against venturing too deep into the forest. For as long as we have lived near forests, we have been afraid of what lurks in the shadows of those ancient trees. We’ve huddled around campfires in the dead of night to tell each other stories about what happens out there amongst the creaking bark.
There is no doubt that, at some point in your life, you will have heard some of these stories. Those tales tell of little girls attacked by wolves and children lured in by candy houses and teenagers unable to survive a single night in a cabin, all within the deep dark forest. Even today, we hear stories of people getting lost in the woods and nearly starving to death before miraculously finding their way out — and those are only the lucky ones.
In almost every case, these stories are born of a very natural fear that has stalked us since the dawn of conscious thought: the fear of the unknown. For as long as we have wondered about the edges of our own existence, we have also been afraid of what lurks beyond. We naturally fear what we can’t see or what we don’t understand, and so we make up stories to fill in the parts of the forest we have no knowledge of.
But what if there really was something in the forest to be afraid of, other than wild animals and the potential for getting lost? What if there was a world deep within the trees where the bright and warm surroundings of nature became a dark and twisted shadow of themselves? And what if, once you found it, you were unable to find your way home and were doomed to remain there for the rest of your life?
It was the tales of just such a world that brought a witch by the name of Grace Morgan to the town of Wicker Creek, Inglenook. The town itself was far out of the way of the rest of Inglenook, located by a creek of the same name and surrounded by the verdant growths of Blackwood Forest. To most, it was nothing more than a few shops and a couple hundred people huddling together in the midst of nature — but to Grace Morgan, it was the chance to answer an age-old question that had long nagged at her mind.
Her life before coming here wasn’t really much to celebrate, as she had spent many years of it drifting from one cheap motel to another in search of the next mystery to solve. When she was in school, other children used to pick on her for things like collecting rocks and talking to spiders. As she grew, their taunts changed but never really stopped, and so she remained an outcast even into adulthood. What little family she had no longer wanted her, and she never stayed in one place long enough to find a new one.
Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to this town. No one else would even have thought twice about the stories its residents told, let alone paid them a visit to investigate the truth of the matter. But there had always been a deep yearning within Grace to discover what lurked in the shadows where others feared to tread. There was a reason she was the person so many people called when they wanted someone to check for monsters under their bed or inside their closet.
That said, it was not the town itself that was the mystery. The residents of the town, however, were more than willing to point Grace in the direction of the true mystery. They all told her the tales of locals who went missing in the forest during particularly long nights, often those who had gone out on a camping trip and simply never returned. No one seemed to personally know anyone who had gone missing, but the town was convinced enough of the stories that Grace believed there might actually be some truth to them.
Just a fragment of possible truth was enough to convince Grace to pursue this investigation. She wasn’t the type of person who would pass off strange noises around the house as being just the wind or squirrels in the walls. On the contrary, she was the type of person who stayed up all night, searching the house for the real cause of those noises. Being a witch, she was also the type of person who would be able to tackle whatever monster or creature she revealed as the culprit.
In this case, she was the type of person who would make the journey into the woods to determine for herself where this whole local legend came from. If she happened to find some of the supposedly missing people along the way, then she would be perfectly capable of bringing them home — or, at the very least, discover once and for all what had happened to them in Blackwood Forest.
So it was that Grace Morgan set off into the woods with her thoroughly-packed drawstring bag over her shoulder and her flying broomstick underneath her, the enchanted besom carrying her far and wide. For the first several hours, Grace and her flying broomstick meandered around the woods more or less at random, hoping that getting herself lost would allow her to find the darker parts of the forest. After all, one major aspect of the tales she was told was that no one who ventured into the woods knowing where its secrets were hidden ever actually found those secrets.
As the day wore on into night and the moon eased into the sky above, Grace had lost all sense of where she was or how she might be able to return to Wicker Creek. Her plan had worked so far, since her flying broomstick had taken her so deep into the woods that it was easy to forget there was civilization in this valley at all. There was a kind of peaceful isolation here, one that made her wonder why she hadn’t just taken up residence in the forest long ago.
Her mind drifted in those thoughts until a sense of wrongness brought her back to the journey at hand. Everything around her now had a musky and earthy smell, like a pile of wet grass clippings left in the sun all day. The trees had gone from thick and healthy trunks with leaves full of life to twisted and crooked things that clawed their way up from the black dirt below. An eerie mist now took the place of clear air, rolling off what seemed like thick and dirty rivers to surround the witch and her broomstick.
This was a part of the forest not documented or even mentioned in any Inglish textbooks, and was thus unfamiliar to Grace. A lesser person would be reluctant to venture much further into this place, but at this point, Grace had no choice. It was now just this strange world shrouded in unnatural darkness in every direction Grace looked. But she was neither scared nor hesitant about this.
Instead, she merely smiled to herself about having found the world within the woods and pressed further in the hopes of discovering its secrets.
On and on Grace Morgan flew on her broomstick until the first views of the world that would become her home became apparent through the fog. As she approached, Grace’s smile widened with a kind of dreadful glee she had only felt a few times before in her life. This was even more exciting than when she had been given her first knife for Almsgiving!
In the distance up ahead, the revolving beam of a lighthouse illuminated the shadow of buildings, their silhouettes betraying nothing about whatever dwelled within them. A foghorn called out across the mists — no doubt a part of the lighthouse’s duties, yet Grace felt as though it was beckoning her into this world. Even the crickets that chirped all around her seemed as though they were applauding her in some small way.
At last, Grace flew through a covered bridge over a river, and shortly thereafter came upon what appeared to be a town, though not like the ones she was used to seeing. A grand majority of the town’s buildings were constructed of stone and brick, and the streets below Grace were exclusively cobblestone. A number of clunky, antique vehicles all shining with brass littered the way in between those cluttered buildings. Each building cast a shadow so dark as to seem painted on the ground, and the ever-present mist lumbered through the streets like some kind of living being huddling close to the cobblestone in its death throes.
Only a few people were out tonight, many of them travelling by foot. Those Grace saw were dressed all in layers and vests and fancy clothes that would be little more than a costume back in Inglenook. Almost everyone she glanced at stared at her as she passed by and, whenever she returned someone’s look, they quickly looked away and shuffled back to their business. Grace found this to be deeply unsettling. Was it just because she was an outsider, someone they had never seen here before, or was there something else behind their gazes?
Whatever the reason, pondering their motivations was not Grace’s top priority at the moment. Investigating disappearances in the woods only to find an entire town hidden away from the world was, to Grace, like searching for a house spider and finding a black widow instead. There was so much to see and explore here that Grace had trouble figuring out where to begin – until she heard the echoes of screams and bestial growling coming from down an alleyway she’d just flown past.
Grace altered her direction quickly, heading down that same alley to investigate the noises. The alleyway led to a courtyard between buildings, where Grace found a young boy with sandy brown hair and a set of scratches already on his cheek. He was cornered against the wall by his attacker, which appeared at first to be a bestial dog-like creature whose fur was unaffected by the nearby lamp post. In fact, this creature looked more like a shadow than a living being, its fur somehow darker than the black clothes that covered Grace’s own body.
Seeking to strike before the creature noticed her, Grace reached for the holster attached to her belt and drew out a slender rod of dark brown wood, a spiderweb pattern carved along most of its length. She was already preparing a sleeping spell, visualizing the inner workings of whatever brain it had, trying to imagine it in a peaceful sleep on the ground. Once she had the image, she aimed her wand right at the creature’s back and focused on her desire through it, uttering as she did so, “Somniferus!”
The spell shot out and hit its mark square on the creature’s matted fur, and for a moment it seemed to work. The creature lurched and stumbled on the very edge of sleep, and Grace’s wand wavered in the air — but the beast just barely managed to shake off her spell’s effects. Perhaps Grace simply didn’t know enough about this creature for the spell to be able to trick its body into sleep the way it did with humans?
Nonetheless, with a great shaking of its head, the beast turned its face to her, its eyes reflecting the nearby lamplight in what seemed like a glowing red. Seeing Grace’s wand once again raised, it unleashed a growl that threatened to vibrate the very cobblestones it stood upon.
Grace stared right back into its eyes, her own full of righteous anger. “Unhand that child, foul beast!” she shouted with her hand still aiming straight at it. When it showed no signs of backing down, Grace opened her mouth to cast her second spell—
—and the creature lunged at her, its heavy paws swiping her clean off her hovering broomstick.
Grace and the broomstick were both sent straight for the ground, one ending up more hurt than the other. Her wand was sent clattering away, leaving her almost but not quite defenseless. With a groan, she recovered herself and leaped away from another lunge, her own body stretching to retrieve her wand.
The creature glared at her over its shoulder, but was not fast enough to prevent her next spell.
“Jaculum!” Grace shouted, her voice ringing out around the courtyard.
The flinging spell sped out from her wand, fueled by Grace’s panic and anger. The burst of kinetic force hit the creature hard enough to give it pause, leaving it nearly huddled as it tried to recover, but not quite enough to fling it away from Grace or the boy. It wasn’t a particularly deadly spell either, but it was a quick one that didn’t need much preparation — and gave Grace time to ready her next spell.
She was already aiming her wand when the creature came at her again with a great leap. A wave of pain flowed through her body as she was knocked flat back against the cobblestones. With the beast’s terrible teeth mere inches from her face, its growling filled her ears and drowned out all other sounds.
Grace’s hand against its neck was all she could do to prevent her face from being eaten off by this thing. Fortunately, her other hand was free to point her wand at its stomach and her mind was busy visualizing her wand as a blade, the kind she used to wield before the chronic pain set in. Though she couldn’t hear her own words, she focused her wrath out through her wand and shouted out, “Severus!”
Her final spell shot up into the creature’s stomach, the kinetic force focused and finite enough to act as a blade that tore open what flesh the creature had. Its stomach caved in with a splatter of warm crimson across Grace’s front and the cobblestones beneath her. As the creature went still with a shocked and dying squeal, Grace dropped her wand in order to push the thing’s corpse off and away from her body.
In the newborn silence of the courtyard, Grace laid there against the cobblestone and took a deep breath, attempting to ground herself. She could feel the built-up anger fading away with each breath she took, until she was calm enough to reach into her drawstring bag and pull out her trusty cane. Though her body was already sore from the fight, Grace was able to use the cane to stand on shaking legs and retrieve her wand.
Stepping around the bloodied remnants of the creature’s corpse, Grace approached the boy she had just saved with the calmness of approaching a lost and scared animal. His cheek was still bleeding from the scratches, but the shock of his attack seemed to be wearing off. Even though she had just saved him, his fearful face was directed at her now. With every step Grace took toward him, he inched a little closer toward the alleyway out of the courtyard — until he was far enough that he could turn and run off into the fog.
Now alone in the courtyard, Grace turned back to the corpse of the monster and stared down at it. It was an unusual beast for sure, bigger and meaner than any dog she had seen — which was saying something, considering she wasn’t fond of most dogs. But regardless of what it was, it had attacked that young boy, and so Grace considered her final judgement to be a righteous fate for the creature that now laid dead at her feet.
As Grace bent to retrieve her broomstick, she began to realize how hungry all of this had made her, as well as how much she needed to wash the blood from her clothes. To that end, going on a search for what kind of restaurants a town like this might have would be her next priority – after storing her broomstick in her bottomless bag and switching it out for her walking cane. Then, with one last look back at the creature, she set off for a walk, evading the gathering crowd and leaving the monster far behind her.
It didn’t take Grace too long to find somewhere to eat. Her discovery came in the form of a pub on the corner of a nearby intersection. Above the door hung an old carved sign with the words ‘Crying Wolf’ around a depiction of the same thing.
Though she couldn’t see through the frosted windows, she felt it was somehow an appropriate name for the shambling, dreary exterior before her. Thankful for the resting place, Grace readjusted her support on her cane and headed inside the pub.
The pub itself was almost as empty as the streets outside, with most patrons drinking silently around dark tables. A majority of them seemed to have a desire for isolation, yet almost all of them looked up at Grace when she came in. Even the group of young people standing by a strange wall, one which Grace had trouble looking directly at, watched her move through the pub toward the bar itself. As she took a seat on an empty stool and leaned her cane against the bar, they all went back to their drinks and quiet chatter and whatever they were doing with that wall.
After only a few moments, the apparent barkeeper approached Grace and spoke to her. “Welcome, stranger. What’ll you have?”
“Greetings,” Grace replied, inclining her head. “I would like a meal, some information, and preferably a washroom.”
“Well, there’s the menu,” the barkeeper said with a gesture to the folded menu beside her.
Even just glancing over the menu made Grace’s stomach nearly turn as she searched for anything with green instead of grease. Listed alongside rotten dishes and fried insects were things that didn’t even seem like real food to her, such things as fried shrewtails and boiled bloatroot, washed down with a helping of whatever bile wine was. At least there was a rice dish available that didn’t sound fascinating yet completely off-putting, as well as what seemed like normal wine.
“The rice salad,” Grace said. “And a glass of red wine.”
“Be just a moment,” the barkeeper said, before heading off to fetch her meal.
As she waited, Grace turned her gaze on the pub to search for the washroom. Upon finding it, she picked up her cane again and headed for it so she could clean up the blood on her clothes. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t such a pleasant place for Grace inside, what with its damp and clammy atmosphere and the obscure spells scrawled like graffiti all over the stalls. It did, however, have a sink and that was what she needed the most.
Turning the water on, she stripped off the lace-edged top she had been wearing and held it under the water for several moments. Were there others in the washroom then, they would’ve been able to clearly see the set of tattoos Grace had gotten years before, back in her less graceful days. Feathered wings like those of a fallen angel sauntered vaguely down her back, while the depiction of a spiderweb sprawled across her upper left arm and shoulder. Then there was that black rose, one of her most treasured symbols, curled around her belly button with thorns along its stem.
But there was no one else in that washroom, and so Grace was free to clean her clothes in peace without questions about her tattoos or her scars or anything else about her. That allowed her enough silence to thank the Great Matrons that the blood on her clothes was still fresh, and that her clothes were all black anyway. Because of that, what she couldn’t get washed out wasn’t likely to be seen unless you were looking for it.
Once she was done washing it out, Grace stood for a moment to watch the creature’s scarlet blood run down the drain. Killing as she had done that night was something that had always come easily for her, and something she almost never regretted. Even her actions that night were done to rescue that boy. But even still, what did it say about her that the first thing she had done in this strange new town was kill something that lived there?
Her eyebrows furrowed as she posited the reputation she might already have developed in this town. It was no matter just yet, but it almost certainly would be soon. She was still pondering it as she draped her top out over one of the stalls behind her and swirled her wand through the air. She pictured a great wind within the washroom, aimed her wand at her top, and uttered, “Ventorum.”
The kinetic force of her spell grabbed the air itself and threw it at her top like the very wind she had imagined. There was enough to get her top mostly dry, acting as a kind of blow dryer like she was used to having in Inglenook, and leave it slightly damp and Grace slightly lightheaded. She had cast a lot of spells in such a short time and could feel her soul running low on anima, the emotional energy and fuel used to cast every spell. Putting the top back on, she only hoped she would get a chance to recharge soon.
As she headed back to the bar, she watched the crowd around her. The patrons were largely an uninteresting sight, but whatever those kids were doing with the wall drew her attention. While she still had trouble looking directly at the wall, she could look at the youths with no problem – and it was a confusing sight to see. It seemed as though one of them kept throwing themselves against the wall while the others reacted with some kind of disappointment.
Upon returning with her order, the barkeeper noticed her staring. “Got a problem?”
“Not as such.” Grace turned to the bar and sat down. “But pray tell, what is their intent with that wall?”
“You really are a stranger, aren’t you?” the barkeeper said. “There’s something not right with that wall, there is. No one knows what it is, but if you go at it a certain way, you’ll get yourself stuck in it. Some among us have made a game of it.” The sentence was punctuated with a pointed glare at the youths.
Grace nodded, attempting to understand the concept. “Such a game does not seem safe to play.”
“It’s safe for people who know how to play.”
The barkeeper shrugged. “More or less.”
“How intriguing,” Grace asked.
The barkeeper gave her a suspicious look. “Just where are you from, anyhow? You’re certainly not from around here.”
Grace raised her eyebrow at him and took a sip of her wine. “No, I am not from ‘around here’. I am merely a traveler attempting to determine the truth behind some local legends.”
“So you’re from beyond the Veil,” the barkeeper said. “Well listen, I don’t know how you found this place and it’s really none of my business, but I have to warn you. This town and the people who live here have a way of devouring those who don’t belong. You’re in the lion’s den here. Get out while you still can.”
Grace merely stared back, his warning coming as no surprise to her. “I appreciate the warning, but I am fully capable of removing myself from whatever danger I might encounter during my stay here.”
With crossed arms, the barkeeper smirked at her. “So be it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Grace inclined her head in acknowledgement, and the barkeeper left her alone to tend to the other patrons. The rest of Grace’s meal was eaten in silent intrigue. Even if there really were no missing people, there was truth to the legend after all! There was in fact some secret world within the woods and, in the attempt to solve one mystery, Grace had stumbled onto a whole new set of mysteries that were ripe for investigation.
Upon finishing her meal and her wine, Grace pushed her dishes away from her and took out her coin purse, intending to pay with Inglish gildings and hoping that was right. The barkeeper took one look at her coinage and gave Grace an unfamiliar look.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
“It was intended as payment for the meal,” Grace replied.
“What kind of screwy place uses scraps of metal as payment?” the barkeeper said, as though this should’ve been obvious to Grace.
“If not coins, then what will you accept here?”
“Everyone wants something, you know?” the barkeeper explained. “The apothecary down the street takes your coughs and bottles ‘em up. St Crucian’s, that’s the hospital, takes days off your lifespan, depending on how bad you’re hurt. Most places’ll take drops of freshly-spilled blood if you haven’t anything else to offer. Myself, I take secrets.”
Grace turned her head. “Secrets?”
“Yeah, people come to me for a meal and a drink and, naturally, I give ‘em what they want.” The barkeeper leaned on the bar as the explanation continued. “In return, they tell me all the things they can’t or won’t tell anyone else. You know, things you keep hidden in the shadows of your mind, things that even thinkin’ about fills you up with guilt or regret. Only condition is they have to be true — and I can tell when they’re not.”
Grace leaned back in her chair, thinking over the barkeeper’s words. “What an intriguing system you have here.”
The barkeeper gave her an expectant look.
“I suppose this is the part where I tell you one of my deep dark secrets,” Grace said. “Very well. Let us see...” She thought about all the many secrets she had taken to keeping over the years, all the little parts of her past she would never willingly tell someone.
But no matter what she came up with, she wouldn’t get a chance to deliver it. There was a sudden clamoring of noise from near the door and front windows, as several patrons seemed to become scared of something they had seen outside. This was enough to draw Grace’s curiosity away from the barkeeper and toward the commotion instead.
She took up her cane once again. “My secret will have to wait, I suppose!” Grace said over her shoulder, and hurried outside to meet the terrible carriage that everyone else was so afraid of.