Chapter Text
There’s a demon in the woods, lurking just behind the trees. You can run, you can scream, you can try to hide. But it sees you; it can feel your tremors; it can taste your fear. It is watching you. There is no escape.
Matty wasn’t looking for trouble when she began walking the long, twisting road in the middle of the night. She wasn't in the habit of making trouble for herself. She was a quiet kind of being, nothing too extraordinary, nothing too bland. Her mother would call her unique, others a bit dull, most would call her ‘nice’.
“She’s just so nice, isn't she?”
“Who?”
“Matty”
“Oh, yes, a great girl, very quiet. No trouble.”
She never had much attention; she never had many friends. Her name was merely murmured in her house between her parents and her family. She wouldn’t amount to much, that Matty girl; she would never be a star or a leader. She was born to be quiet. She wouldn’t amount to much anymore.
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“Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to join us.” Pastor Colin’s voice was as thick as molasses as he spoke to the congregation.
“A beloved member of our community,” he paused, “our flock. Has been murdered.” His voice cracked as he spat out the word. Murder. What a ghastly word. What a disgusting word. Not a word they hear very often in Glenfoe. Not something they hear very often at all.
Murmurs broke out among the people in the church. Shane tried not to stare at the woman who began to sob in the front row. Her hand was gripped so tightly around her mouth; Shane wondered if her flesh would rip away if she held on any tighter, before shaking his head slightly and returning his attention to Pastor Colin, who looked as if he was close to breaking down himself. That’s the problem with a small town: everyone knows everyone, and those you don’t know are either new in town, or weird. Very weird.
Matty Dawson’s parents were well loved in the town; her dad had owned the local mechanic’s, and despite having a small-town-famous dad and a mother who was practically the church’s mother - with how involved she was - Shane couldn’t recall much about Matty Dawson.
He remembered sitting beside her in a biology class once because he came in late and the only free space was beside her. But he couldn’t ever remember speaking to her. She was nice from what he had heard, but he wouldn’t want to conjure up any further description out of fear that it would be too grand and expose that he didn't know her much at all, which made it even more strange that he was sitting in the church at her funeral.
Found mauled and in pieces scattered in the woods by the Jenkins brothers on their morning hunt, Matty Dawson was dead, was definitely dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
“Shane?” His mum tapped his arm, signalling that the service was over and it was time to move. He blinked at her, wondering how long he was spaced out for, apparently long enough that he had missed the whole damn thing.
“Yeah, sorry.” He stood up and walked to the end of the row before standing into the centre aisle of the church, holding his arm out for his mother to take as she stepped down from the slightly raised platform of the pews.
“Are you alright, honey?” she asked, moving to rub his shoulder. “I know she was your friend; this couldn’t have been easy for you.”
Shane hated how parents seemed to do that - to generalise everyone and anyone who was their age to automatically be their friend- but he didn't have the energy to correct her; he just nodded and walked with her to the doors, where a sobbing Mrs Dawson and a sombre Mr Dawson stood. Fucking hell, he couldn’t do this. He had never had to look death in the eyes like this before.
“Mrs Dawson”, his mother began, “Sarah.” She let go of Shane to wrap her arms around the small woman as she sobbed into his mother's chest. He looked awkwardly to Mr Dawson before extending his hand, surprised at how quickly Mr Dawson gripped it back.
“I” he paused, “ I am sorry for your loss, Mr Dawson,” he stated, trying desperately to break his hand free of the iron-clamped grip of the other man. He could see Mr Dawson assessing him, nodding his head whilst looking Shane up and down like he wanted to reply, wanted to say what? Thank you? Thank you for telling me you are sorry my daughter is dead whilst you stand there shaking my hand whilst you get to go home and have dinner and hug your mother and father and, and, and-
“Thank you, son, she always spoke so highly of you and that Hayden boy. I don’t know what she would have done without you boys.”
Shane didn’t know what to say to that. What did that mean? He was suddenly hit with a wave of sadness. Sadness for a girl he didn’t know, but who had clearly lied to her parents, telling them she had friends, and those friends were the two boys down the street who were inseparable, the two boys who would go skating on the frozen lakes and stay out late to go for late night drives and talk about how bored they were of this boring town in the north of Canada and how sometimes, when they were in the car driving the snowy roads in winter, they would tell each other that tonight was the night where they get in the car and don’t stop driving until they reach the boarder, where no one knows their names or their business, and they can start living their lives however they want.
Shane realised that he had begun to cry, tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the front of his suit that his dad had loaned him for the service, because what do you need a suit for in Glenfoe?
Mr Dawson smiled sadly at him, pulling their still intertwined hands into himself until Shane stumbled forward and could feel the shaking hands of Mr Dawson coming round his back to lock him in place as they both cried. There was something heavy in his chest, something so heavy it felt like a lump of lead, holding him down and trying to pull him to the ground, to lock him in place and never let him leave this small town, in front of this small church with a sobbing mother to his left and a grief-stricken father in front of him. He could feel the shift in their town. He could sense the mothers holding on tighter to their children’s hands, and the fathers' steely glares at anything that could cause the smallest ounce of pain or harm. The people living here would never recover, never move on. They were hiding behind this tragedy like it was a wall blocking them from the world outside. If they just stayed focused on this, like a dog on a scent, never letting themselves stray from the memory of how hard this rocked their town, they would never have to experience another tragedy like this again.
Genfoe was a happy town, now covered in blood and drenched in grief.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
5 years later.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Shane!” he heard his father's voice calling from the kitchen downstairs. Shane was late; he was so fucking late. “Yeah, I’m coming!” he called back, still standing in his boxers with his wet hair dripping onto his skin.
“Where are they?” he said to no one, looking desperately for his sweatpants and his hoodie.
A quick knock came from his door, which was the only warning he had before his fuming mother stormed in, throwing his missing hoodie and sweatpants in his face. “Shane, we needed to leave ten minutes ago, and you are standing here doing what? Dancing in the mirror? Lets. Go. Get. Moving.” She clapped her hands, annunciating the final words with a fierce glare.
He nodded, not saying a word, knowing she would just tut at whatever excuse he was going to give. He heard her mutter, “Twenty-four years old and standing in his underwear waiting for me to bring him his clothes”, as she left the room. He tried not to roll his eyes, but he couldn't help himself; he was, in fact, twenty-four and still living with his parents who kept a close eye on him, as if they looked away for even a second he would go wandering into the woods and get mauled to death like the other kids before him. Since the first killing of Matty Dawson five years ago, there had been seven deaths and three people missing in the woods behind Glenfoe. It had become somewhat of a tourist attraction. These woods behind a small town in the north of Canada, that seemed to eat anyone who dared to set foot in them. The town stayed clear; even the hunters avoided those woods, their lives not worth whatever animal they could pierce their arrows through.
Shane ran down the stairs and headed for the front door where both his mother and father were standing, arms folded and annoyance etched clearly on their faces. “Sorry,” he murmured, walking past them and out into the fresh and chilly autumn air.
“Yo, Hollander!” Hayden Pike was walking towards their house, a grin splitting his face as he took in Shane’s messy appearance. “Running a bit late there, mate?” he said as a question, but the teasing tone showed it was more a statement than anything.
Shane broke into a matching grin at seeing his best friend. “Alright, Pike, not when the parents can hear you; I could've convinced them we were bang on time if it wasn’t for your stupid mouth.” He jogged over to his friend, throwing his arm around the slightly shorter man and pulling him into a half-hug. Hayden looked up to Shane’s parents, who were clearly trying to hide their amusement at seeing the two boys. “Sup, Yuna!” he smiled before mock saluting to Shane’s dad, “David”, he nodded. Both Yuna and David smiled at him, rolling their eyes and following after the two boys.
“This is going to be exciting, Hollander. The whole town stood in the church like we’re some medieval village being spoken to by the King or whatever.” Hayden had thrown his arms out in front of him, imitating what he imagined a King giving a speech would do with his hands as he addressed his people. Shane laughed, “At this rate we practically are in a medieval village, or maybe a zoo; I don’t know which is worse.” Shane’s tone was light, but they fell silent after that. Their lives in Glenfoe over the last five years had been hard. Especially hard for them and the other kids their age. In their prime, but with curfews like they were still in high school. Sneaking out of the house late at night to attend house parties with others in the town and waking up the next morning scared to check their phones in case someone didn’t make it back, or into the next morning.
Shane and Hayden had suffered just like the others in the town, but their dreams of driving off to the border had become as unobtainable as a child saying they wanted to become the leader of the universe when they grow up. They had never spoken of leaving again after Matty’s death.
Shane had found himself having dreams of the woods behind their town. Horrible, gruesome dreams that had him waking up with sweat-drenched sheets and breathing so heavily he was convinced more than once that he had woken to die. This time was the time that whatever lurked in the woods had managed to dig its way into his dreams and tear him apart from the inside. He didn’t tell his parents; he didn’t want to worry them even more than they were already. He had found himself more than once standing by his bedroom window, looking out into the dense forest and convincing himself he could see something there, something watching him. But he knew it wasn’t true; he knew his paranoia was getting out of hand, but part of him couldn’t shake the feeling, the feeling that the woods were coming for him next.
The church in the town centre was large enough, its stained glass windows glinting as the morning sun caught them at the right angles and making the surrounding walls shine like a beacon to the people: come here, it said, come here and hear the news of what is coming. The expressions on the townspeople's faces told him before the church did - what was coming wasn’t going to be good.
“We are living in fear, and I’m sorry, Colin, but praying for us hasn't helped us the last five years, and it’s not going to help us now; we need solutions.” Gasps came from the crowd at Mr Dawson’s words. The last hour had been a back-and-forth of hearing family after family telling everyone about how much fear they live in, and others trying to suggest what they could do to make this end once and for all. Pastor Colin looked defeated; for the last five years, his job had been to tell families he would pray for them, with them, beside them; he would pray for the whole family and time and time again he would hold funerals, hold meetings, hold support groups. The majority of the townspeople couldn’t move, although some did; most of them refused to give up their land, telling others around them that they had lived here for generations and that they came long before whatever is lurking in those woods did. “I was here before it, and I will be here after it,” Shane recalled an elderly man - Frank Thompson - saying at the last town meeting. Shane remembered trying to talk to his parents about moving; they seemed to consider it. For a minute, for a moment, he had thought he saw them look at him for the first time like an adult. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but as a mist had shifted over their eyes, they blinked and told him no. They wouldn’t leave their home over something that would be sorted soon, soon, soon. It was always soon.
‘Soon this will all be over.’
‘This will all be a distant memory soon’
‘Sometime soon, once this is all over, why don’t we take a camping trip south?’
Shane thought he would be old soon; he would be moved out soon; he would be dead soon.
“Sheriff Dayton, what are you saying?” A woman stood from her seat, her husband clutching her hand from where he sat. People’s faces had gone pale. People were shaking their heads and crying silently into their hands.
“I’m sayin’ we need to start fightin’ back.” Sheriff Dayton was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a strong, muscular physique. He was an attractive man, the kind of man who, when he spoke, could grab the attention of anyone and everyone. People listened to Dayton, and although loved by the residents of Glenfoe, many had questioned why he hadn’t suggested a plan of action long before now. Others in the local sheriff's station had spoken out about a plan before, but they had never carried as much weight as the man in front of them now. When Sheriff Dayton said jump, majority asked ‘how high?’
“I live in fear, my children live in fear, I am not volunteering our family to be sent on a golden platter to whatever is hiding in those woods.” The woman responded. Snapped. Shane glanced around the crowd, not believing what he was hearing. Go into the woods? Would they all have to? Would he and Hayden have to? He tried to talk himself into it; he was twenty-four now, his mother and father both in their early fifties. He glanced at Hayden, face pale and body stiff. Hayden’s mother had died three years ago, and his father may as well not live with him, with how out-of-it drunk he was constantly. Shane knew what his friend was thinking at that moment without having to ask. Hayden couldn’t send his dad in there, and if he went and didn’t make it out, who would look after the man?
Shane’s attention caught on a man standing by the door. The mass of people in the church were pushed as close to the front as they could be, wanting to be a part of the discussion. But not this man; no, this man was standing by the open door, as if he had arrived late and didn't want to push in with the others. Shane noted his clothing: dark jeans, an old, tattered black hoodie, and a baseball cap with the letters C.U.B.S. patched on in what Shane had guessed used to be white lettering, but was dirtied and greyed with what? Time? Mud? He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see the bulge of his muscles stretching the arms of the hoodie ever so slightly. This man was completely and utterly unfamiliar. A town like Glenfoe was small enough that you knew who was coming by the way they walked before you saw their face. It was true that they had received many tourists in the last few years, so it wasn’t necessarily too strange to see an unfamiliar face now and then, but never at a town meeting, never dressed like that, hiding at the back of the church.
“Man, what are we going to do?” Hayden whispered to him, dragging his eyes briefly back to his friend. When Shane glanced back to the door not even a second later, the man was gone. Weird. So very fucking weird. He felt unease prickling into his skin, almost like he was being watched again, but by who? He glanced once more at the door, but the mysterious man was long gone.
“We will figure it out,” Shane responded to his friend, resting his hand on his wrist as they turned their attention back to the mess that was the town meeting. Like lambs to the slaughter. They had to face their fears, he supposed.