There were no stone walls surrounding the academy or iron fences. Just trees, miles and miles of woods. At least three students every year were lost to them and usually they were the same as the way they were before, only with the addition of mild ticks and quirks.473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSvy3jJMb6H
The most famous incident happened in the seventies when Clarice Scavenger went missing for three months. She came back, claiming she was the forgotten fairy princess and when the men in large vans came to take her to the hospital, she proceeded to call to the flowers for help. She was met with soul crushing silence.
A sudden snap of a twig pierced the air and sent a shock up Moss’ back. Feeling silly, he steadied his breathing. He did not like the woods. It was like a sensation of something always crawling over his skin, creeping past the collar of his shirt. He smacked nothing off his arm like a compulsive habit. There was always something he missed behind him or in the corner of his eye.
Thankfully the sun hadn’t set yet. Not that they would notice with a soup of gray sky above them and darker menacing clouds in the distance. They couldn’t help but make noise with every step, crushing all the fallen dead and brown leaves that left the trees naked, unable to hide their pointy limbs and jagged shapes.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Moss asked, seeing nothing but tree in front of them and a shrinking school behind them. He could still see the towers, the gargoyles that were probably laughing it up from their pristine perches. Moss added, grimly “I don’t want to be a statistic Beckett.”
“Don’t worry!” Beckett laughed, leading the charge. He had a book out, a map he found inside one of the libraries public records. He was meant to write a paper about a historic wing of the school. He decided searching an abandoned cottage on the grounds would be much more interesting. He eyed the yellowed page closer, examining the scribbles. “These directions are very clear. Did we not see the tree with a broken heart?”
“A tree that was a bit cracked,” Moss corrected.
“We also saw the fairy circles.”
“You mean the rocks. Rocks that just happen to be everywhere?”
Stopping mid-step, in the same motion, Beckett turned and bopped Moss in the head with the book. “Mossy Green, where’s your imagination? Your sense of adventure?”
“Oh, sorry I left all that in my other pants and if you hit me with that book again I’m going to break your hand.”
“Noted.”
Happily, he spun back around and continued on the path to probably nowhere. Moss could see all the papers now. Heir to Wilde Cosmetics, Beckett Wilde, drooling, spouting fever dreams about being a frog prince. His associate, Moss Kapoor was arrested that morning, found trying to strangle the delusional young billionaire.
With a sigh, Moss followed Beckett blindly because of course he would. He’d follow him anywhere really, right off the cliff if he asked. So, Moss continued, focusing on Beckett’s wide back. If they’re lost, they’re lost but at least he wouldn’t be lost and alone.
The trees groaned against the wind, making sounds like snaps and cracks as they bend and pretended like they were going to break. A witch tornado blew around the leaves, rustling them up before their shoes crushed them all.
“Over here,” Beckett said and broke into a run. He kicked the dirt back, causing Moss to panic for just a moment before he started running too.
Moss tried to keep up. “Wait! Don’t just run off!” He chased him through the trees and right off the path. He maneuvered through the tall grass and bushels of sharp thorns, one by one whipping back and scratching up his coat. He looked back, needing to the see the school. It was his only comfort, but there were only tall trees and mist gathering from the ground in big milky clouds. His stomach curled up and a side splitting ache stopped him. He sighed through his teeth, taking in the hot pain. Wincing, he peered up and nearly chocked on his gasp.
Barely a few feet in front of him was a towering iron gate. Moss stumbled back, sure if he had looked back a few seconds longer, he would slammed right into the black bars. Dead ivy tangled between the poles of iron like silver briar with the few still attached leaves.
“Beckett,” He whispered and a flash of black rushed behind him. He snapped straight, his heart ramming the inside of his ribcage. He blushed when he realized it was only Beckett.
“Stay there!” Beckett called out. “I’m going to try to find the entrance!”
There was no point in telling him to wait. Not only was he still trying to catch his breath, but Beckett was a child that never learned how to listen to directions. He made people keep up with him. Anyone who didn’t got left behind.
His pain subsided into a dull ache and he took a real look at the gate. The iron was slim and continued to sharpen until the very tops were thin like needles. He noticed something sticking out of the corpses of ivy, something pale. He pulled what seemed to be a sign off.
DANGER, it read clearly despite having faded.
Whatever was dangerous has been dangerous for a very long time.
Carefully, Moss lowered to spy through the bars. He saw more trees and building fog. Maybe in the distance there was something. He tried putting his face through the small opening, but a barefoot stepped forward and he gasped, falling backwards on his hands in the mud. “Wh-what?” He stammered, his breaths becoming labored but his heart wouldn’t slow down.
“Can’t you read?” The foot owner, a girl seemed to ask. Her voice was an echo, almost like three voices speaking at once, all different tones and inflections. “Do you think that’s smart?”
He cocked his head. Her skin was dark like the color of the trees behind her and in-between her toes and around her foot was mud and bits of sticks and leaves. Just above her ankle was a flowing white dress, see through and with real flowers threaded unevenly about the hem.
“I- I-” was all Moss managed to stammer, still fighting the surprise.
“Well, you’re certainly not one for conversation. If you don’t value your life fine, but if you at least value the life of your companion, leave.”
That hit Moss where it hurt and like any threatened animal, Moss was ready to bite back. He climbed back to his feet, slowly approaching the gate and the girl took a step back. “But you’re over there,” he argued. “How can I take you seriously if you’re doing the exact thing you’re telling me not to?”
“DON’T ARGUE!” She roared and her other two voices shrilled like nails on a chalkboard. “Just listen! Why is it so hard for you mortals to listen? Just listen! You’re all so stupid! I could save your life, but all you want to do is prove me wrong, you insolent brat!”
“Hey!” Moss fired back, his brow furrowed and fists tight. “I asked to be convinced, not insulted! You know, you should really work on your people skills because no one wants to take advice from some temperamental bitch!”
She scoffed and turned on her heel. “Takes one to know one.”
“Hey!” Moss snapped, grabbing the bars to get a better look when the fence gave just a little and he realized he held the gate inside his hands. The girl moved again, keeping out of sight. Quickly, Moss took a moment to shout at Beckett before unleashing the rest of his aggression. “The entrance is here! And you! You say that to my face you coward!”
“Coward maybe,” her three voices spun the words together like needle work pricking his skin. “But at least I’m not an idiot.”
Moss yanked the gate harder, noticing the padlock, rusted from time in the shape of a rose that was thrown to a fire and became ash. Tightening his hands on the bars, Moss pushed with all his might and there was a snap and then, the lock hit his foot. He rushed through, already shouting “listen here, I-”
But he stopped.
Face hot and flushing, he was huffing and puffing at nothing at all. Not even the trees were paying attention. He straightened up, searching back and forth, peering deeper into the woods but there was no way she went that far. The leaves aren’t even crushed or bother at all where she once supposedly stood.
“Are you yelling at me?” Beckett asked from behind.
A haze descended over his eyes as if a thick black curtain was drawn and he couldn’t fight his way through. “Um…” He said, lost in his train of thought. He missed his stop. “There was a… girl?” He almost had to convince himself. “No, there were more or was there?”
Any clue he did have, vanished all at once. He looked at Beckett’s face, all his agitation vanished. If you value your companion, the words sprung into his mind and his face grew very serious. “Wait,” he raised his hand as Beckett, who attempted to cross the gate. “I don’t think it’s safe.”
“What are you talking about?” Beckett laughed.
“We should go back.”
“But you’re the one who broke the gate open.” He snorted, grabbing Moss’ hand to pat it. He studied Moss’ eyes a second, maybe because he wanted to get punched in his stupid good-looking face or he might have been checking Moss’ sanity levels. An understandable concern, but whatever Beckett saw, didn’t worry him.
He sauntered past Moss’ shoulder, leaving it frosted over. Just once. It didn’t matter if Moss was wrong in the end. Just once, he’d like it if Beckett listened to him. Trusted him on nothing else but his word.
With a sigh, Moss quickly fell back into Becket’s step. He hurried to keep up with Beckett’s long legs. He asked. “So what are we going to do if this cottage isn’t even here?”
Beckett shrugged. “Eat our feelings.”
“With coffee,” Moss added.
“Always with coffee.”
They shared a smile and Moss’ heart race a little faster, this time over something much more pleasant. He focused all his attention back at the silhouetted structure just beyond their reach. The closer they walked, the more the fogged parted and Moss saw the stone walls, washed out and gray with windows. They’re stained glass, he noticed and the roof curved to a tall point, but it was slanted… something was off.
Moss stopped and grabbed Becket’s arm. The last of the fog fading, the structure became more and more clear and so there was no denying it. The round stone building sat without all its foundation quite on the ground. The small structure was slanted towards one side, somehow not tipping all the way over. There were no doors, only windows.
Moss said, “This is not a cottage Beckett.”473Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ7uQ02KK1C
