The Heavy Stories
Darkness came back slowly.
My arm hurts a lot.
I was lying on something soft.
The air smelled like dirt and herbs, and it felt warm.
Mom's worried face was above me.
Her eyes were red, but she looked very relieved.
"Elara! Oh, Elara!" she cried, touching my head softly.
"Thank goodness you're alive."
I tried to sit up, but my arm hurt sharply.
It had a tight bandage on it, and I could smell Old Man Hemlock's medicine.
He sat nearby, looking sad, staring out the small window.
"Rest, child," he said quietly. "You've been through something terrible."
The memory of the red-eyed creature made me feel scared again.
But then I remembered the werewolf protecting me, and the clicking creature moving fast.
They had saved me.
The "monsters" of the Blackwood had saved me from something really bad.
Inside, I felt confused.
The scary stories from the village didn't match what I had seen.
The stories that everyone believed suddenly felt empty, not good enough to explain the real Blackwood.
The scary stories were like heavy chains, keeping the village in a darkness they didn't understand.
News that Thomas was safe spread quickly through Oakhaven.
Old Man Hemlock had found him near the Blackwood, not awake but alive.
The villagers said Hemlock was a hero.
They used to be suspicious of his knowledge of the forest, but now they praised him.
But no one talked about the creatures I saw, the ones who fought the red-eyed thing.
When I tried to tell them, they didn't believe me and said it was just a bad dream.
That night, everyone gathered in the village square.
A big fire burned brightly, making shadows move on their worried faces.
It was the night before Shadowfall when they always had a ritual to keep away bad spirits from the Blackwood as the seasons changed.
But tonight, everyone was even more scared because of what happened to Thomas and the rumors of strange creatures.
Old Man Hemlock stood by the fire, and everyone respected him.
He talked about the dangers of the forest and said they needed to be careful as the nights got longer.
But his words felt different to me now like he was sad and not saying everything he knew.
The firelight moved on faces full of fear, showing how old their scary beliefs were.
Then, the old people started telling the stories of the Blackwood.
Stories about the Shadow Taker, the crying ghost, and creatures with shiny eyes that tricked travelers.
Each story was scarier than the last, with big actions and quiet warnings.
The villagers listened closely, really scared, looking nervously at the dark trees far away.
I felt more and more alone.
The stories, which used to be just scary tales, now felt like lies, a way to keep the village scared and not know the truth about the forest.
Inside, I felt a big difference between what I knew and what everyone else believed.
Mom sat next to me, holding my hand tight.
Her eyes, usually soft, looked a little scared as she listened to the scary stories.
Even she, who had seen I liked the forest, seemed to be going back to the village's old fears.
The old ways were strong, pulling the village back into fear, away from understanding.
A young boy pointed at the edge of the forest, his hand shaking.
"My grandpa said the Shiny Ones come out on Shadowfall Eve! They steal your breath at night!"
Everyone gasped.
The fear felt real like everyone was holding their breath in the cold night air.
Old Man Hemlock sighed softly, looking far away.
He didn't say the story was true or false, but just said, "We must always respect the forest, children.
It does things differently than us."
His words sounded like they were about fear, but to me, they meant something else.
Respect, not just fear. Understanding, not just staying away.
The scary stories were like a cloth made of fear, but I could now see different threads hidden in the dark parts.
As the night got darker, the villagers started a traditional song, a sad chant to please the spirits of the Blackwood.
Their voices, usually warm and friendly, now sounded like they were begging for protection from something unknown.
I listened. The song felt both familiar and strange.
The words talked about a bad forest, a place of darkness and evil things.
But the pictures in my head were different: the werewolf protecting me, the clicking creature being curious, the shiny moss glowing.
Inside, I felt more and more like I didn't belong. I had seen a different Blackwood, one the village didn't want to know.
Their heavy fear felt like it was holding me down, stopping me from understanding.
Suddenly, while they were singing quietly, a scary howl came from the Blackwood.
It didn't sound like any animal I knew, a sound full of pain that made everyone shiver.
The villagers gasped, their faces lit by the fire, their eyes wide with fear.
"The Banshee!" someone screamed. "She's come for us!"
The forest's sound, made louder by fear, made the old stories stronger, hiding any hints of a different truth.
But as I listened to that sad cry, I felt like I knew it somehow.
It didn't sound like a dumb animal.
It sounded… lonely.
Almost like a person.
Old Man Hemlock reacted differently than the others.
His face, usually calm, looked a little sad. He closed his eyes for a moment like he was hurting.
Then, just when everyone was most scared, I heard fast clicking sounds from the edge of the trees.
It answered the howl with a quick, strong beat.
It was the clicking creature, its call clear.
The howl answered back, sounding a little different this time, less sad, more like… talking?
The clicking kept going, a fast back-and-forth that sounded like it was sending a message across the dark.
The villagers stared in silence, not so scared anymore, just confused.
This wasn't part of the stories.
This wasn't the sound of a dumb monster.
It sounded… like a conversation.
Old Man Hemlock opened his eyes and looked at me across the fire.
His face looked serious like he was warning me about something.
Then, as the strange talking between the howl and the clicks went on, I heard a new sound from deep in the Blackwood – a slow, steady thump-thump-thump, heavy and strong, the same sound that had scared the village before.
But this time, it was closer, and I also heard a low growl that was the werewolf's.
They were coming.
And the old stories of Shadowfall Eve, meant to keep the darkness away, suddenly felt weak, not strong enough against the unknown things coming from the trees.
The heavy truth of the Blackwood, a truth the village had ignored for so long, was about to come to Oakhaven