The forest beyond the Bending River was absolutely off limits. The boy knew this, though still he raced along the muddy path leading from his village, throwing rocks at a hare he spotted by the bank of the river to see if it would scare. He sent it squeaking as it fled into the tall grasses of plains spreading before the forest. Satisfied with his menacing aim, he continued on his forbidden quest, marching up the hill and stopping just outside the yawning gaps between the trees. Staring up at the great giants, he felt the oldness of them and the youngness of himself. Shadows seemed to creep around in the depths of the wood, figures flickering just beyond his sight. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as he gathered his courage, and ran through the first line of trees. He didn’t stop running for several pounding heartbeats, terrified of what would happen when he did. Finally he skidded to a stop, bracing for his immediate death or dismemberment, as he’d been told would happen by every mother in the village. But only a breeze caressed his cheek, making his eyes flutter open.

The forest beyond the Bending River was absolutely off limits, but it was also beautiful. Rays of sunlight pierced through the canopy, illuminating the undergrowth with a warm glow as ferns and lilies of the valley danced in the breeze. A few rotting, mossy logs sprouting mushrooms dotted the path before him. Not a ghoul or goblin in sight. The breeze picked up for a moment and the forest seemed to heave a sigh, as if saying what did you expect?

The boy glanced around, hoping for a sign of what he came for. Tiny footprints, small tools, any sign of a faerie. He knelt onto the soft ground, peering into a hole at the base of a massive oak tree. Patrick, one of the older boys in the village, claimed he had caught a faerie here which granted him one wish for his merit. That’s how he got his fancy cap that caught the eye of the girls in the village. Patrick claimed only the cleverest and strongest boys could catch a faerie, that the boy was still too little and too stupid to achieve such a feat. So the boy decided to prove him wrong. He couldn’t wait to see Patrick’s face when he marched out of the forest holding a cap even fancier than his. Or perhaps a new pair of boots. Or a sword. The boy knew only the strongest men had swords.

A flicker of movement grabbed the boy’s attention, and he scrambled up to catch sight of a tiny figure skittering behind a tree. He chased after it, crushing the wildflowers and tripping over the rotting logs. Just as he was about to leap around the tree it had disappeared behind to snatch it up, he heard a light giggle and saw another flicker of movement behind a tree deeper in the woods. The boy grinned, following the tiny figure he couldn’t quite get a good glimpse of. Diving and slipping and snatching, he only ever came up with a handful of air. Further and further he chased the delicate faerie, laughing brightly as he was covered in mud, oblivious to the fact that the sunlight beaming through the trees had long since left him and the forest was still, as if holding its breath. Waiting.

The boy dove for the faerie once more, grunting and giggling as he came up empty handed, having bumped his head into the base of a tree. He looked up, searching for the next glimpse of the impish faerie. But the faerie was nowhere to be seen. Instead his eyes met the pits of another creature’s gaze. The tree he had bumped into was not a tree at all, but a towering, skeletal thing with rotting vines curling around its bones, sharp thorns jutting from its cheeks and eyes that were deeper and darker than any shadow the boy had ever seen. They were a pit of black, black, black that the boy was falling into, that he was trapped in and could never claw out of. The boy was too deep in the forest for anyone to hear his cries, if his throat had ever made any sound at all.

The forest beyond the Bending River had many stories. Some told of the riches of a long dead king hidden in the heart of the forest, or the beauty of the wildflowers in spring. Most were scary tales to tell to children so they wouldn’t misbehave. Don’t throw rocks at Mrs. O’Connor’s windows or the goblin will slink from the forest to gobble you up! Finish your chores before sundown or the forest ghouls will snatch you from your beds! The older children would scoff and the adults would titter about how clever they were to tell such stories, but even old wive’s tales must begin with a drop of truth.