#ditb

Summary: He is lost. He is lost and alone in the forest.  Written for my Creative Writing class, but using characters from one of the novels I’m working on. 

Warning for blood, gore, cursing, almost death

The branches crunch under his feet as he walks through the dark forest, phone battery almost dead as the flashlight flickers, causing shadows to twist and curl and become distorted around him. Anxiety spikes in his chest and his blue eyes begin to flicker around, searching desperately for an opening in the wall of looming trees. No such opening exists, from what he can tell, yet he refuses to cry, continuing to try and search for a hiding place at the very least. The wind whispers secrets, dangers, and legends to him, telling of what happens to all lost boys who travel these woods alone at night without proper protection, such as he. More branches crackle and he shrieks, swinging his phone around to catch a glimpse of his pursuer, but spying nothing except complete inky blackness as his phone finally dies, leaving just him and the wind and the hungry forest alone.

Something slips through the undergrowth and he slips the useless technological brick into his pocket before retreating into his hoodie, awaiting his end at the hands of some horrifying monster that he was sure lurked out here but had never seen or heard of thanks to Leslie. “Oh, Niels, don’t be silly, there’s nothing out here that will eat your soul or drain your blood or rip your limbs apart. You’re perfectly safe in the woods,” Leslie always tells him in that infuriatingly calm, sweet, genuine voice he has. He starts to think that either Leslie was lying to him, which makes a hot bubble of something expand in his stomach at the mere thought, or even Leslie, the de facto guardian of this forest, did not know what horrors lay within, and this thought causes the constant ball of ice to shrink, chilling him to the bone as he pants for breath. He takes another shaking step forward before being swept off his feet amidst a whirl of shrieks and laughter and inhuman whispers that ooze inside his skull and taunt him with his own mortality and uselessness. He curls into a ball, covering his ears with his arms, and waits to die, waits for the voices to grow tired of their new play-thing and do whatever despicable thing they do to others to him.

“Hello, little one. You are safe now,” a new voice whispers in his ear, soft and soothing and maternal. He thinks of his mother back in California, in the old days when she still loved him, and he thinks that maybe it would not be so bad if he listens to this new presence. He is gone, claimed by the trees already; it would be a pleasant end if he allowed the warmth of his youth to overtake him again. A soft chuckle, a sharp pain, and then numbness began to spread, starting from his neck and coiling down his veins, through his torso into his limbs, draining the fight from him. He slumps down towards the ground, eyes fluttering, as the warm numbness spread, filling him to the brim with peace. He could just let go now, live forever in the days when he was loved and cared for, the days when he knew he was someone’s son. His younger self crouches in front of him, blue eyes wide with naivete and brown hair floppy in the way only young children can manage.

“It’s okay, Niels. Mom loves us here. Don’t you want Mom to love you?” He nods, exhausted, desperate, tired, warm, cold, lonely, about to surrender the will to live and fight. The soothing voice joins the words of his childhood self, lulling him to the edge of the dark chasm in the centre of his mind. He smiles softly, inching his foot towards the edge, prepared to take that final step and stay in a place where he is loved.

“No, Niels, you can’t do that. You can’t live a life of lies. You hate lies, remember?” The soft voice of Leslie cuts through his thoughts. He blinks, confused. What lies? This was a lie? Yes, it is a lie, he realizes: his mother does not love him at all. She never had, and she never will. He cannot listen to the voice.

Said voice hisses, clearly miffed at having lost her prey, and he scrambles upright, swaying from… what? He brings a hand to his neck to find the source of pulsating pain and brings it away, coated in a thich, warm red fluid. Blood. He is bleeding. He is bleeding from his neck. The voice hisses and he stumbles backwards, screeching at it to leave him the fuck alone. He needs to get away, he needs to get back to town and get help. Another branch crunches behind him and he whips around. Unfortunately, the sudden change is too much on his body and he collapses, the last thing he sees being long blue hair and wide, familiar green eyes. He reaches out, desperate for help, as the blackness overtakes his vision. He whimpers, needing help, needing to survive, and he pushes, where-

He shoots awake, laying atop a fluffy white cloud of a bed, panting, stomach rolling. Turning onto his side, he grabs the bucket that has been placed in front of him and vomits, the contents of his stomach vacating as fast as possible. He heaves until nothing is left, until it feels as if every drop of HCl with traces of KCl and NaCl has left his system. Someone’s hand runs through his hair, and he sobs softly. It can’t be his father, who is out of town on a business trip. It cannot be his mother, as she hates him and never wants to see him again, the imperfect son that he is.

“Hey, Niels. I’m here. You’re okay,” Leslie’s calm voice soothes. He startles, surprised and pleased that Leslie is here. Leslie won’t abandon him, he knows, not after everything they have been through together.

“What… what happened? I was in the forest…?” he asks, finally sitting up and grabbing water. Leslie’s sharp green eyes stare into his, taking in every exhaustion line and sweat drop on his face.

“You were attacked by a snake. Luckily, we had the antivenom on hand, but your neck will be sore for a few days.” He nods, draining the water, before smiling softly at the love of his life. Silly him, of course he would get bitten by a snake. He should never be trusted in the forest alone.

“Thanks for getting me,” he murmurs. Leslie snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling at him.

“Well, of course. You missed movie night. Zina’s going to kill you, and I think Fen is planning to tie you to a chair to make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Leslie explains. He nods and settles back down, sleep already tugging at the edges of his vision. Leslie chuckles and runs a hand through his dark brown hair. “Sleep well, Niels. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He nods off to sleep, dreaming of rolling fields of golden grass and picnics shared with a boy claimed by the forest.

Leslie walked into the forest, head held high and shoulders fixed. The creatures of the forest seemed to know, instinctively, that the Caretaker was not in a good mood today, and scattered to avoid his wrath. Leslie would feel bad about that later, of course— he always did— but all that he cared for now was the promise of making that Arachne pay for laying a hand on his boyfriend. He paused in the clearing where he found Niels, adjusted his poncho, and cupped his hands to call for his adversary.  

“Gertrude, I believe? We need to have a word,” he calls, voice calm, pleasant, conversational. There was no reason to give up his motives this early. A large Arachne skittered out, eyes blinking in shock as she registered who stood in front of her.

“What word, Caretaker?” she asked, confusion bubbling in her voice.

“Last night, you attempted to eat my boyfriend. I don’t take kindly to that, you know,” Leslie simpered, rocking back and forth on his heels, smile showing far too many teeth for his tone. Gertrude the Arachne blinked again, startled, before comprehension dawned. She began to plead, whimpering and crying, trying desperately to justify her actions, but Leslie had already made up his mind. He flicked his wrist, calling upon his Trees, and smirked at the pathetic creature in front of him. With a single thought, the Trees plunged into her body, winding and twisting around her organs and connective tissue. Blood spattered the ground, and, ignoring her screams, Leslie snapped his fingers to complete the task. The Trees ripped apart, taking her body with them. Leslie simply flipped up the hood of his poncho and allowed the guts and blood coat him. Eight spider legs fell to the forest floor with a sickening thud, followed by two human arms. The torso, ripped in half and cleaned of organs, fell a few meters away. The organs lay scattered about the clearing, and a layer of spider blood coated every available surface. Gertrude’s head rolled to a stop at Leslie’s feet, and, without a second of hesitation, he stomped it to mush. He stepped back and slowly tilted his head back, staring at the young Arachne’s peering out at him.