These Woods
Lauren Bolger
On November the first, the clocks flipped. The hills drank the sun before dinner. Cora pressed her head against the cold, thin windowpane, letting her eyes adjust, trying to forget what this date brought her five years ago.
Off in the distance, two figures moved, side by side in the snow. They advanced in the direction of the house in the low light. She squinted as they got closer. Bigger than raccoons, smaller than adults.
Strange, she thought. Looks like two kids. She passed from the living room window into the kitchen to check on dinner. On her way through the foyer, she tested the latch on the front door just in case. She could care less what they were doing out there, as long as they didn’t come near her.
Cora kept to herself, and for good reason. Again, she remembered why she’d moved all the way out here exactly five years ago.
***
She stood in the bushes, her braid dirty and disheveled. Her eyes caught him, and she shuddered at the sight: Jared, in a tuxedo, in the courtyard and her sister Melanie, in white. Despite her warnings. Despite everything. The guests were family and friends she knew when they were together. Everyone laughed loudly, hugging themselves feebly against the unforgiving cold, their breath a cloud of jolly smoke, joining. Her throat pulled itself raw and tight again, just like that night.
"Freeze, you fuckers." She’d spit, throwing on her jacket, and stalking back to her truck.
***
She was almost fully alone in these woods. She had one neighbor, and even he was a good mile away. Rodney. He lived in a little shack not much bigger than her toolshed. A thick strip of woods separated their homes. They visited each other occasionally, but only when one didn’t want to go into town, and had to come borrow something. His eyes were always bloodshot and darting like a scared squirrel, so she tried to make him laugh, bring him some joy. Nobody else to pass the time with, anyhow.
An unmistakable thump with claws sounded in the kitchen. Her cat Lou stared at her, a foot from the fridge. She’d fed him from her porch for about five years, until last winter when he came in the house, and stayed. He was big as a medium-sized dog. Her little monster, she called him.
“Nice try, ya cat. I heard you.” Briefly, she forgot about the random travelers as she stirred her baked beans. She scooped some up and blew at the steam. It dissipated, then kicked right back up again. She brought it to her lips to test.
A quick succession of knocks caused her to drop the spoon. It sounded like the work of a fist instead of knuckles. Rounded, not sharp, against the metal of the screen door. Her vision darkened and the walls closed in around her. Frantically, she reached her hands to her face. The spoon hit the edge of the pot. The noise brought her back to the kitchen as the utensil clattered to the floor. splashing bean juice on her slipper.
“Shit,” she spat the word out and exhaled, scooting her feet back and bracing herself against the edge of the stove. She tried to win back an even breath. But the blood—stolen from her face—remained down, down, down, hidden away.
She passed by the cupboard that held the gun and chuckled at herself, trying to alleviate some of the fear. Would be ridiculous to get out the gun just because someone knocked at the door.
Nevertheless, she answered with a noncommittal “Yeauh?” then winced. I sound like a kid imitating their dad. She’d hoped to come off deep and unwelcoming.
“Hello Miss, may we come in? My dad is nearby but we’re cold, my brother and I.”
“Um,” Cora paused for a minute.
“Hello?” the voice asked again immediately.
“Yeah, hi. Who are you? Where did you come from?” she said gruffly.
“In this land, the hills aren’t many. But from there, we’ve come.”
“What the—” She tiptoed back three steps. Mentally, she tested her resolve to quit the conversation. She squeezed her eyes shut for the first few painful seconds of creating an intentional lull in the verbal exchange. She heard the repeated scrape of impatient feet on the concrete.
“Are you still there?” The words were locked tighter together. Impatient. Angry, even.
She bit down gently on a thumbnail. Was she really afraid of two kids waiting for their dad? People went hunting around here, sometimes. The mountain bucks here were too clever to hang around the main roads. Good hunters knew they had to venture at least two or more miles deep into the woods.
Nope, no. Can’t do this anymore. Can’t just give the benefit of the doubt like it’s candy. It’s what landed you here.
It’s not that cold out, she reasoned. They’re fine. It’s not like they’d freeze to death.
They’re fucking kids, though. You can’t leave them out there. The screen’s locked, ’sides. Cora took a deep breath and blew it out. Adjusted the bun in her hair, pulled at the sleeves of her sweater. She cleared the few steps back to the door.
Her guts twisted in agony. Something’s wrong. They shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. Wincing, she opened the door partway, peering out. “What’s going on?” Her voice was rough, raised. “What you doing out here after dark?”
I can handle this, she thought, while the color red flashed inside her skull. Her ears chugged the word wrong, wrong, wrong. The feeling knocked her back a step. She gripped the door to try and steady herself. But the scene was exactly what she expected; two boys standing side by side in the yellowed porch light.
She stared. What could be in front of her that caused this feeling? One had their head turned away, towards the woods at the side of her house. The other stared down at his shoe, scuffing it repeatedly against the concrete, like she’d heard when the door was closed. The nervous tic reminded her of Jared.
“Good you opened the door, for it is changing time. And we are truly lost,” the one with moppy brown hair spoke, rubbing the back of his neck, still looking down. The taller boy had lighter hair, and a side part.
“Changing time?” Cora shook her head as if to clear it. “I asked what yer doin’ out here.” She bit her inside-bottom lip, scared of the reaction to such a direct question. They both wore peacoats and slacks. Dressed kind of weird for the middle of nowhere. Like they were on their way to church or something.
Moppy boy spoke again. “Our father. He was here, and then he was gone. We request shelter within,” he gestured toward her house with his whole hand. He lifted his head and quickly returned his hand to his forehead, as if to shield his eyes.
“Your father? This is all very strange,” she croaked. She waited for them to look up, smile, nod, explain, do anything normal. She reminded herself of the last time she was scared. It was just a possum fucking around in the metal garbage can. And all the times before that. Nothing bad happened.
Yet the threat churned faster and faster in her head, scrambling her thoughts.
Fuck this. I’m not letting them in. “You guys look older. You have to know your dad’s cell number, right?” She reached for her own phone on the front hall table.
She returned to the screen door. They’d lifted their heads. That flashing fear, saturated in red, erupted into a blind, white panic.
Their eyes were a glossy black that shone in the moonlight. The black mottled at their lower eyelids and leached onto their skin like soot-marks blasted down a burnt down house. Their expressions looked completely relaxed. The muscles in their cheeks, their mouths, drawn down in indifferent little frowns.
“We didn’t ask for your telephone. We asked you to let us in!” The shorter boy’s eyebrows yanked into inverted v’s, his mouth elongating, stretching. She stared in disbelief at the sudden loud demands exiting that unnatural, ovular shape. He grabbed the handle of the screen and shook it, banging the thin metal door in its frame.
Cora made a little “huh!” sound and moved behind the front door, gripping the edge tight. Her head reeled to where she didn’t know what she was looking at. Her chest pounded and the blackness returned. She stood still, hiding behind the door. Listening to the incessant rattling, completely dumbfounded.
The rattling paused. A low growl from behind the door. A voice rasped: “She’s not listening. And she’s mad Melanie wouldn’t listen.”
“Melanie,” she whispered. “How do they—” She blinked desperately, gulped a few breaths, shoved the front door closed, and locked it. The blackness returned.
Gasping, dry throated, she leaned heavily against the door, trying to rub the sight back into her eyes.
***
Her sister Melanie’s voice came to her. What she’d said before the wedding. “You bring out the worst in him,” she’d said. “He won’t do those things to me.” Alarm, betrayal, concern for her sister’s well being. Cora had hounded them, calling constantly. She’d been convinced if she worded it just right, Melanie would see reason. Would make the right choice.
***
She swallowed the pain down without digesting. Could I get my gun out? She knew she shouldn’t unless she was prepared to use it. Could she shoot two shit kids? And for what? Being weird and aggressive? Knowing impossible things about her past, her family?
What the fuck am I dealing with? They looked young. Maybe 10? 12? Why the black eyes? Could they be on drugs? Black contacts and makeup? Was this a prank?
But again, she was five miles from town. Nothing made sense.
The rattling stopped. She heard an exchange like humming back and forth. Her front door was thin, so she found it odd she couldn’t make out what they were saying. The humming grew louder.
They’re fucking leaving though, she told herself, eyes shut, head tipped upward as though praying the words. She strained in the silence. The scraping of shoes again. One pair went left round the back of the house, and the other, right, towards the picture window in the living room; the same window through which she’d first watched them.
Cora gasped. Are they not leaving? Her skin stiffened—goosebumps reigned across her arms as she realized she hadn’t closed the curtains. She’d never go near that window.
A loud hiss cut through the silence as Lou padded past her, heading straight towards that window. His back was arched, tail straight up. “Lou, no!” she whispered, crouching down. “C’mere!”
He hopped up on the cushion in the bay window and yowled. Batting at it, then attacking the glass. A rhythmic tapping came against the outside. Lou arched his back, frozen and staring out the window at whatever made that noise.
Cora couldn’t move, either. She watched Lou’s body, bristling and stiff. She shook herself out of a trance and grabbed her phone.
She rushed to unlock it. Tapped 9-1-1. Right before she could hit send, the sound of breaking glass shattered her resolve.
“No!” Cora screamed, shuffling backwards toward the kitchen. The nervousness exploded into panic again.
Lou flattened himself and snarled, staring at the hole in the window.
“Oh god,” she white knuckled her phone and dropped to the floor, landing hard on her knees and folding back onto her heels. That single pane piece of shit should’ve been switched out years ago. She watched the jagged opening for movement.
Her cell phone rang out, severing the quiet. Lou rocked back on his hind legs, momentarily stunned. A pounding rattled the window. Who fucking cares who that is. Telemarketer. Hitler. My mom. She grabbed at the phone and tapped her finger desperately against the answer button. No, slide it, you idiot. Slide to answer! Goddammit!
With a trembling hand, she pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello? Hello, I need help!”
“Is that m’boys in your house?” a relaxed drawl dribbled into her ear.
“Who is this?!” She moved her hand from her ear to check the number.
“Cora, it’s me. Rodney.”
“What?! Rodney? Wait a minute…” she looked wildly around the room, trying to make sense of things. “Your boys?” She sagged back against the floor. “You don’t have kids.”
“Ah yes! I got two boys. You never met them before. They only come out at night!”
“What? Why—”
“Time change. It confuses them. We don’t have that… Not where we’re from—”
“Rodney. Rodney!” Cora was done letting him talk. “Your kids are here, yes? You’re sure??”
“I mean who else—”
“They’re scaring me. Are you nearby?” her breath hitched. “They’re gonna come in!”
“Yup.”
More glass broke at the window. A hand reached in, gripping the window frame. One of the boys hoisted himself up and inside effortlessly. His face remained smooth, undisturbed by any strain as he climbed in. He stood at the ledge of the bay window, looking down at her. His lips twisted in a smirk.
She ran as hard and as fast as she could towards her room. Quick little feet banged down the hall behind her. She shoved against the wooden window frame until her hand hurt. The boy was running full force. He slowed to a stiff walk as he neared her doorway. Looked up at her as he kept on walking towards her. Those glossy black eyes stretched wide, straight thick eyelashes.
She backed up against the window, panicking, her own eyes wild with fear, heart racing.
He wrapped his arms around her middle. Turned his glossy black eyes up towards her and stared. “It’s changing time,” he opened his mouth and a whisper crept out “Changing time,” he repeated. The breath that carried the whisper smelled oddly chemical and sharp, like a new car smell. “You don’t want to be alone. Not really. See?”
Her breath came loudly in her ears. She stared back. She couldn’t help it. Tiny black fingers crept out from his eyes and reached towards hers until they were so close they were blurry. She jumped, startled as a cold black liquid embraced her corneas. Again, she was plunged into blackness.
***
The walls closed around her. A sharp rapping shook the top of the trunk. Somehow, those eyes had brought her back to the night of the wedding. Jared locked her in a trunk so she wouldn’t screw anything up. The hot panic scrambled across her insides, scratching, begging to be let out.
“Help!” she screamed, her own muffled voice echoing in her head. She kicked with all her strength. The backseat gave a little, then bounced back, immediately. Gave, and bounced back. Like it was made of meat.
I’m not there, though. Not really. She pulled her breath in harder and held it, then released. Pull, hold, release. She pressed down the panic.
***
The loud rapping sounded one more time in her memory, and the black residue started to part. She could see, but barely. The boy was doubled over and silent. The other stood in the doorway, watching them with the same relaxed, blank expression. She turned and wrenched herself out her bedroom window.
The cold smacked her like a truck. Her arms, her middle strained as she threw all her weight into pulling the window shut from the outside. A streak of gray clothing flashed on the other side of the glass. A shoulder and a head crashed against it from inside. A chalk-white face flashed in the window with two of the blackest eyes. The feeling of wrongness seized her again.
She collapsed against the hard snowy ground but couldn’t tear herself away from those eyes. She was five yards from the kid, yet his eyes seemed to enter her own. To wrap around her skull. To penetrate her psyche. The chalky fist banged on the window as its eyes grew wider, wider, and wider. Its anger tore through her, blood-orange liquid iron ore racing from the back of her skull, tunneling down her spine, arching her back.
“Rodney!” her choked scream bounced about the black thickets. It seemed to get lost, then return to her. “Help me! Please!”
A thrashing sound came from far and high in the treetops. Like great feet crushing a floating underbrush of spent branches.
Loud cracking came this time. The sound approached her position. A growling, gnashing, then a chorus of staccato screeching.
Cora couldn’t move. She closed her eyes and lay there, snow soaking through her sweater; the cold seeping, climbing in, reaching for her bones.
She opened her eyes again; two thin tree trunks in front of her.
“What the—” These trees did not exist in her yard. She brought herself up on all fours and looked up. Not trees. Sticks. Two long sticks. She followed them up and they met in an upside down “v”. Then came a torso. Two arms with no hands, and a head. The head was tilted to the side and tipped forward, watching her. Its exterior shone in the moonlight, hard and ridged like an exoskeleton. Earthy colors moved in rippling waves across its body, like an oil rainbow in a puddle. It undulated from sickly to dark green, and then dark brown again.
It took her a minute to realize the pounding on the window had stopped.
Rodney’s voice came from the sky. She tried to see his face. It was far, but his eyes were like theirs.
“I never come round here at night,” his voice was different. Wavery, quick and far-off. “Can’t come round here lookin’ like this. Night is when I ‘unfold’ as I call it.”
Though he sounded different, his local drawl was still intact. Even more backwoodsy than hers. She’d imagined he’d always lived in this area. In that same house. Now, she didn’t know what to think. Maybe he’d lived here much, much longer than her, but he couldn’t have been born here.
“Rodney?” she managed. “You’re… different.”
He chuckled. “We all got reasons why we’re out here, smack in the middle of nowhere. I’d argue I’m very similar to you in a lot of ways. Don’t belong anywhere but out here. We’re both pretty lonely, right? Taking care of these knuckleheads is something, but I still get real lonely.”
“They— What are they?”
He laughed again, seeming to ignore the question. “Time change. You turned yer lights on earlier tonight. They’re like moths to a flame, they are. They must’ve got too close following the glow, then they smelled your loneliness. Yours smells like new cars and Melanie’s shampoo.”
“What were they doing in my house?”
“They pretend they tryin’ to help, but they never helped nobody. They just kill things dead from poking at ’em.”
“I thought I was gonna die.” Cora started to sob.
“There now, there now,” he soothed. “Yer a nice lady, Cora. I hate to see you upset.”
Pleasure crashed inside her skull in waves, licking at her brain. Breathing grew difficult, then plummeted nearer to impossible. She held on, stealing short, quick little gasps. A warm tingling blossomed in her chest. Her lungs. Her gut. White stars twinkled in her eyes.
Her chest was heavy now. She choked as though her lungs were filled with fluid. She pushed harder. In, out. In, out. Come on, Cora. You can do it. After minutes, the flashing red alarm had washed fully away. Slowly, her breathing came easier again.
She wiped at her now-wet face. Blinked at him. “What did you do to me?”
“What did I do to you? I fixed ya, scared little bunny!” Rodney chuckled lazily. “They’re comin’ round back here now.”
Elsewhere in the woods, her front door groaned. Footsteps creaked across the November snow.
Lauren lives in a suburb near Chicago with her spouse and two young kids. Prior work is linked on her website at laurenbolger.com. Her debut horror novel, Kill Radio, is out April 2023 with Malarkey.