We Stay Out of These Woods

By Hannah Bertalot

I was always curious about the big trucks that drove past all the farmland. Large trailers covered with white sheets thundered down the tiny dirt road all throughout my childhood. They only showed up every few weeks, and I would drive the four-wheeler out to the back corner of the property. I would race them along the fence line, and try to peek under the thick white canvases to see what they hid underneath. 

One night, I went out on the same errand. When I got back, my uncle, who frequently sat out on the front porch in the evenings to shoot coyotes, scolded me for not minding my business. 

“Sorry, Uncle Harris.”

“I had better not catch you doing it again.” He warned as he wiped the barrel of the shotgun resting across his knee. I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but the sheer implication was enough to scare me straight for the rest of my childhood and through my rebellious teenage years. I never once tried to snipe a peek past that point. They also stopped driving past for a long time as well, so it wasn’t like it was a challenge for me to knock it off. It slipped my mind eventually, just as many mysteries in childhood often do.

Or at least it did, until recently. I’m twenty-one now and haven’t chased them down the fence line since I was eleven. I was out at the edge of town near dusk, and I saw the distantly familiar black trucks as they all pulled up to a bar, got out, and traipsed inside. I considered myself old enough to make my own decisions regarding my safety, so I decided to go out of my way and finally sate my younger self’s curiosity. 

I stepped inside the bar- and this is a really nasty place. It was more where motorcyclists would congregate than a nice bar where one might take a lady for a fine evening. Cigar smoke nearly choked me out, and I had to slink past a group of grisly-looking older men who shot me dirty glares on my way to the bar, where the group of men who had gotten out of the trucks were just pulling out recently vacated stools. 

I couldn’t help but notice as I walked closer the tension that built in the air, nor could I ignore the subtle way that others around stared at me as if signaling that I was doing something taboo. 

“Evening, gentlemen.” I greeted, minding my manners and using a polite tone. The group reminded me of a herd of buffalo, gruff and standoffish. Their demeanor tended to ward off outsiders, so maybe that’s why I was regarded so harshly. 

“You had best turn back before you slip into a muddy mess that you won’t be able to pull yourself out of, bud.” A man who looked to be the leader warned softly, his voice toughened like leather from what I knew could have only been years of hard labor. 

“Please, sir,” I started lightly, but leaving enough of an impression that I wouldn’t be frightened off so easily - I let my uncle scare me away from this curiosity as a kid, but now I wanted to chase closure on this childhood mystery. “I’m only curious about what you’ve been up to for so long. You’ve driven past my family ranch for my entire childhood, see, and I’m dyin’ to know what you’re working on in the old woods.” 

A few beats passed, my gaze intently set on his, and I could see the change in the light of his eyes as gears turned in his mind. Something softened, then broke as he sighed and shook his head. 

“I’ll not be held accountable for whatever happens to you, bud. But fine, we’d best be headed out that way tonight anyhow.”

And that was how I found myself in my truck as I followed the old man down the dirt road, going right past my family ranch and over the crest of a steep hill. I watched as it disappeared for the last time in the rearview mirror, a subtle sense of longing began to build in my gut as the place I lived my entire life left my view. Immediately, I discarded the feeling as pointless rumination-- something I had been prone to for a long time. 

We drove for a long while, tall grass and brush eventually gave way to towering pines that obscured my view of the sky. Night fell quickly as I followed the red taillights of the old man’s truck. The bright burgundy glow surrounded by darkness lent itself to tunnel vision, and gave me the impression of staring down a pair of red eyes. 

If I thought the feeling of foreboding in the bar was bad, it was tenfold out here where it was just me and these men who blocked me in front and back on a rough dirt road. 

It felt like hours had passed, but a brief glance at my dashboard told me that it had only been an hour and a quarter since I had last seen the familiar terrain of my homestead, and about thirty minutes since the long fingers of sunlight had slipped out from between the trees and disappeared into a faint glow at the edges of the sky.

At last, the road that seemed to have grown ever narrower finally opened up into a clearing, and the truck in front of me turned off the road, and my sense of tunnel vision was broken. I pulled off to the side with him, then got out of my truck and stood next to him as the rest of the band of vehicles pulled in, the semi-truck hosting the tarp-covered trailer bed brought up the rear.

“Don’t wander too far kid, we’re finishing it tonight.” The old man advised ominously before he wandered toward an old camper that looked so old that nature had started the process of reclaiming it. Vines of ivy grew up onto the awning and rooted the shelter in place.

I braved further exploration of the clearing, which had slowly begun to light up as other buildings further into the trees turned their lights on, the people who lurked inside stirred by the cacophony of trucks that had just arrived. Front and center was a tall structure, obscured by white tarps that waved gently in the breeze. A large cabin that looked just as aged as everything around it, but exuded a sense of grandeur, stood at the back edge of the clearing. People with gas lanterns began to gather before the porch steps, and I curiously wandered closer when an elderly woman stepped out.

The quiet chatter that echoed around the clearing died away as soon as she appeared, so I took that to mean that whatever was meant to be happening was about to start. I searched the crowd for the band of old men that had led me here, then found them gathered around what I had originally assumed to be some kind of generator, but upon closer inspection, turned out to be a large crane. The mast stretched high into the trees and blended with the narrow trunks. 

A hush muffled any other noises as the old woman began to speak, “Hear me, valued tenants, as we finish reassembling the statue of Pandora, the guardian of these woods,” her voice was frail and creaked the same way the trees did in the breeze. “As you all know, Aldous--” she gestured toward the old man, who dipped his head respectfully as the woman acknowledged him, ”--and his dedicated crew of scouts have worked tirelessly for over twenty years, and scoured far and wide to find and bring all of the missing pieces of His statue back together again, so that He may once again watch over us all.” She explained in a reverent tone. 

A murmur of appreciation echoed through the crowd before it was again silent. 

“Now, we will begin the final assembly!” The elder announced in a grander tone, and a little bit of the youth she had lost in the wait for this night seemed to return to her. 

The crane in the corner of the clearing roared to life, and Aldous and his men all set to work as they carefully lifted the tarp from the structure in the middle of the clearing. Beneath it was a sculpted figure. A well-built man with hooved feet, the legs of a goat, I reckoned. The head was missing, though I looked over and saw the crane as it lifted a smaller piece off the semi's truck bed. The sheet that sheltered it from the elements fell away, revealing a handsomely sculpted face. 

I watched alongside the rest of the crowd with bated breath as the head of the statue was slowly lowered to the base of the neck, and several men shouted directions.

  With a loud rumble, they connected; the head mended the cracks and sealed itself to the neck all on its own. 

The air went dead still, the crane withdrew and shut off, and everyone watched in a stifled silence. 

I waited for anything to happen. 

Everyone did. 

All at once, the wind began to pick up. The moon, which once barely shone through the trees, was shrouded by dark clouds. It wasn’t long before trees lashed violently about, their trunks flexed and creaked threateningly as thunder roared. I heard people cry out in fear as a crack sounded out across the clearing, and chaos seemed to break loose. All around me, the crowd rushed for shelter anywhere they could find it, though destruction was faster than any of us as it circled the clearing. Shattered propane lanterns cast an eerie orange glow as young flames licked at the trees. A smoky haze filled the air as we realized there was no way to escape.

These people played too carelessly with old forces of magic that were better off untouched and forgotten. I let my curiosity get the best of me and now it’s too late to back out. Uncle Harris, if you ever read this, I’m sorry.  

Teardrops dripped off the hooked nose of a bespectacled old man as he pushed the newspaper featuring the journal entry and obituary of his nephew away. “I told you, foolish little boy,” He grumbled in a wobbly tone, “To knock that right off, didn’t I?”