Page 30 of The Woods

“There you are,” he says, not even looking up from his screen to see the panic on her face.

“There’s a tree,” she hisses at him, not wanting anyone else to hear. “Outside Polly’s window. With one of those weird carvings on it.” He finally looks up. “And the initial P is carved right in the symbol.” He gives his head a little shake, the wine slowing down his processing skills. “P for Polly,” she rasps so loud spit flies from her mouth.

“Are you sure?” he asks, putting his phone and glass of wine down on the deck. She nods and he pushes himself out of the chair. “Show me.”

Alice leads him around the house, putting a finger to his lips and pointing at Polly’s window, not wanting to alert her to what they’re doing. She motions him into the trees, following the footprints until they stop. She does a half turn, just like she had when she’d first gone in there, but she can’t find the tree with the carving. She turns the other way, thinking maybe she got her directions mixed up, but every tree around them is the same, no carving.

“Where is it?” he whispers.

She looks down at the ground and sees where she disturbed the leaves moments ago. “It was right here,” she says, pointing at the tree where the carving should be, her voice full of uncertainty.

“I don’t see anything, Alice.”

“Neither do I. But…” She doesn’t even know what to say.

“It’s dark in here,” Geoff says, already turning to go back. “You probably just thought you saw it because it’s on your mind.”

“I felt it,” she says to his receding figure. He keeps moving but glances back over his shoulder at her, his eyes full of wary concern. “I’m not crazy,” she spits at him, in response to the look, making her sound even crazier.

He stops and turns back toward her. “I never said you were.” The defensive edge to his voice clearly indicates that he hadn’t said it but had thought it. “Come on.” He motions to her, his voice softer, kinder, like he’s talking to a confused child. “Let’s go finish our wine.”

She doesn’t bother reminding him that he’s the only one drinking. She just nods, letting him turn and walk out of the woods without her. Only once he’s gone does she move over to the tree that she’s sure had the carving on it, to put her hand against the bark. It’s not rough like the first time she touched it, but soft, like skin, and warm. Keeping her hand there, pressed hard against it, she’s sure she feels a pulse.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2023

Beverley

“The party’s not far off now. Any thoughts on food for it?” Beverley asks Alice from her place on a stool at the island. She’s sipping her cocktail while she watches her daughter make a home-cooked dinner—finally.

“I think we should call the party off,” Alice replies, not even looking up from the fleshy, pink chicken breast she’s slicing.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Beverley shoots back, working to keep her tone lighthearted. “You’ve already sent out invitations.”

“Parties get canceled all the time, Mom.” Beverley ignores the condescension in her daughter’s tone. She doesn’t want to start a fight with her right before dinner.

Alice has been acting strangely. Beverley caught her on her knees in the woods outside Polly’s bedroom the other day running her hands over the bark of a tree, peering at the thing as if she were deep in conversation with it. When Beverley had asked what she was doing, Alice had mumbled something about the trees being different here and then got up and moved over to the next tree to do the same thing to it.

Beverley borrowed Alice’s computer yesterday to order something online and found a bunch of bookmarked pages on the occult. Her daughter had never been one for the witchy stuff. She’d never even watched a horror movie.

Beverley had gone to Geoff’s writing studio earlier in the day to ask if he’d noticed anything off about Alice lately. In typical male fashion he’d blamed it on the female body—menopause—and said that they all needed to be as patient as possible with her and not do anything to set her off. “Shall we reserve her a spot in the asylum now?” Beverley had asked, crossing her arms. Geoff had looked back at her vacantly, the reference going right over his head.

“I know parties get canceled all the time, my dear,” Beverley responds, swishing her ice cubes. “I just don’t think this one should. In fact, I think it’s just the thing you need. Lift your spirits and get you acquainted with some neighbors.”

Alice looks up from the cutting board. “Do you think something is off about this place?”

“What, the house?” Beverley asks, shifting her gaze away from the eye contact.

Alice gestures wildly, oblivious to the large knife dripping raw chicken juice on the floor. “All of it. The house, the woods.” Her hands drop back to the counter. “Especially the woods.”

Beverley immediately thinks of the shriek she’d heard in the middle of the night and the figure she saw standing at the edge of the woods. “Not at all,” she’s quick to answer. “The dead animals a few weeks back frightened me, but since then there haven’t been any incidents at all. In fact, it’s quite peaceful out here.”

She lifts her glass to her lips to take a sip, washing away her true feelings. Yes, something does feel off about the place, especially after seeing that figure in the woods. But she doesn’t want to say it out loud. It’s bad enough that her daughter comes across like a paranoid menopausal woman. She doesn’t want to get lumped in there as an old lady with dementia. Nothing can be done about it anyway. They’re here to stay.

Alice nods slowly, with a far-off look in her eyes. The kind she gets when she’s debating whether to share something. “Why?” Beverley asks. “Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

Alice snaps out of the reverie. “No. Nothing.” She goes back to cutting up chicken.

“A new place takes time to settle into,” Beverley offers. “Especially coming from the city to the sticks.”