They came in the night hours, prowling at the edge of the forest. A flash of eyes, the curl of a lip, then darkness once more. They had been in the forest since the beginning. They were the blood the ran through its veins, their wild drums the beat of its heart, their lavender smoke its breath. When they chanted, the forest dreamed.

Cash Judson wasn’t the sort of man to believe in things that went bump in the night. But he certainly believed in things that sang in the night. He wasn’t an idiot.

When Gloria Alburn moved to town, she thought people had rather funny notions about the woods. People murmured about strange happenings, storms appearing out of nowhere after that boy had been hung, hunters coming back from the park oozing blood from slick holes because their buddy thought they were a bear, babies disappearing with nary a cry. Gloria was a sensible, god-fearing lady, and she wasn’t going to let a few rednecks convince her that some sort of devilry was afoot. Only heathens believed that sort of nonsense. And that was just what she told little Minnie Hannifred when that dimwitted bumpkin tried to tell her that someone sang fairy stories outside her bedroom at night. That kind of nonsense was precisely what turned good church-going girls into the mouth of the devil. No, Gloria Alburn slapped her on the wrist and told Minnie not to go telling lies, that there were enough of those to go around, and that Minnie ought to worry more about God and less about fairies.

Beulah Hannifred shook her head at Minnie. The child’s fingers were all wrapped up in a loop of string, winding it into spiderwebs and ladders, making broomsticks and all of the other silly games girls her age did. Beulah wouldn’t have let her bring the yarn at all, except Minnie was in a talkative phase and funerals were solemn affairs. The pastor rose and said a final blessing. Women shuffled out, bedecked with hats more colorful than the azalea bushes out back. So strange, Beulah thought to herself. How does a person just disappear like that? She hadn’t known Gloria Alburn well, she was a little too stuck up for her taste, but it was a shame nonetheless. It was always a shame when someone disappeared- folks out to learn to keep their windows closed at night.

Pastor Mason set off with a wheeze, ambling along the dirt road, forest to his right, hayfields and a starry night sky to his left. The woods rustled beside him. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, wishing he was the sort of man to carry a knife, and walked on. A shadow stepped out into the road ahead of him, four-legged, and nearly as tall as him. He froze, debating whether it was even worth it to run. A gray wolf would overtake him in seconds, and it had been half a century since his track career ended. The wolf growled, a flash of fangs in the dark, blood on its tongue, rotted flesh in its teeth. He took a step back, tripped on a stone and landed hard on his bad hip. Pastor Mason closed his eyes and began to pray. He opened his eyes and looked at the forest. “Please,” he whispered. Whispers rose from the forest, like the breeze rattling through dead leaves. Pastor Mason looked up at the wolf, but it was gone. Nothing but a dirt road, and a silent forest.

Minnie scrambled up onto the windowsill and pulled at the heavy glass. It opened with a shriek like the chickens in the morning, wood sticking sticking to wood like a slug to bricks. Minnie looked out, but there was nothing but darkness and fireflies. It didn’t bother her; she knew she wouldn’t be alone for long.

Callie held Beulah’s hand the whole funeral.

Pastor Mason shook his head. No parent should outlive their child. It breaks every one of God’s rules.

Minnie took the woman’s hand. Her fingernails were purpled with berry juice, just like Minnie’s. Minnie stepped into the forest. She looked up at the moon and laughed.

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