Page 76 of The Woods

He goes to the kitchen window. His nana’s outside light is on and he can just make them out, standing near the edge of the woods. Their heads are bowed toward each other as though deep in discussion. Two people who only weeks ago couldn’t stand each other. His dad no longer has the folder of photographs in his hand.

His mom walks back into the room on her way to Polly but stops when she sees him staring out the window. “What’s out there?” she asks, sounding nervous.

“Nana and Dad.”

His mom joins him at the window.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Quinn says. “The way they suddenly get along so well.”

His mom puts a hand on his arm and gently pushes him in the direction of his room. “You should really get to bed.” She heads to Polly’s room.

He stays right where he is. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to sleep in his room again. Not after the séance. Instead, he whistles for Panda and then steps outside with his dog, pretending he’s just letting her out. His dad and nana don’t notice him walking toward them; they’re facing the woods. Panda runs back and forth behind him as he goes. He’s gotten used to her new skittishness, but he wishes she were a better protector. He’d like to feel safe here.

“What are you looking at, guys?” he asks when he’s only a few feet away.

His dad and nana spin around, startled by his arrival. Quinn sees the shadow of something slip from the edge of the trees and into the darkness beyond.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2023

Polly

The only time Polly doesn’t hear the whispering is when she’s sleeping. Mostly it sounds like Gray, but sometimes it’s a voice that she doesn’t recognize at all. One that sounds ancient and makes her belly feel hollowed-out. No matter whose voice it is, the message is always the same—It’s in the woods. Now and again, her sister will chime in about something, telling her to eat, or drink, or get a grip. Polly finds that comforting.

The whispering makes her feel like she’s going crazy.

What else is this, if not madness? She knows she had it coming. After what she did the night of the accident it was only a matter of time before karma caught up with her. She guesses that going mad is the way. A person can only hold on to secrets for so long before they crack.

Polly hasn’t told anyone, but they’ll probably figure it out eventually. Especially because she’s been stealing sleeping pills from her mom’s work bag. The only relief she gets from the whispering and the remembering and the horror of it all is sleep.

Her mom comes into her room throughout the day. When she’s awake her mom asks what she needs. When Polly replies, “Nothing,” her mom sits on the end of the bed with one hand on Polly’s foot under the blanket. She sighs, clucks, rubs the foot, sighs some more, and then gets up saying, “Please let me help you. I’m here for you,” before leaving the room. Within an hour she comes back to do it all over again.

Polly has no idea what’s happening to her, so how can she ask her mother for help?

Then there’s Quinn. Every now and again he’ll pop his head into the room, eyeing her suspiciously, as though what she has is contagious. He asks if she’s okay, if she needs anything. She mumbles a vague response and then rolls over. She wants to apologize to him for the séance, for freaking him out, but she knows it will only lead to more questions she can’t answer.

Her dad and nana have both been in on their own. If she can, she pretends to be asleep when they visit. Neither of them seems particularly unnerved by her state, which she finds unnerving. Her nana likes to throw open the curtains and comment on what a beautiful day it is, imploring her to get out there and get some fresh air. Her dad likes to pat her arm and tell her that everything is going to be fine. She tries not to visibly recoil from his touch. There’s something robotically cheery about them both. And then there’s the smell they bring—damp earth and forest air—just like Gray’s.

It’s late afternoon and Polly has just woken from a deep sleep. This morning her mom came into her room. Polly pretended to be asleep, but she could feel her mom standing above her, then felt her hand on her forehead checking her temperature like when she was a little girl.

“You need to get better,” her mother had whispered. “I want my girl back.” After she’d left the room, Polly had lain there, the warmth of her mother’s hand still pulsing on her forehead, tears sliding slow across her face and onto her pillow. Then she’d reached into her bedside table and taken out another sleeping pill and slept for six hours straight.

Awake again, Polly makes a decision. Because the voice keeps whispering, It’s in the woods, that’s where she’ll go. She will go into the woods in search of her sanity. It’s the only thing she can think to try. Do what her mad mind is telling her to do and see what she finds on the other end. For the first time in days, she puts on real clothes, jeans and a sweater. She pulls her greasy hair into a ponytail and brushes her teeth. When was the last time she did that? she wonders. The bristles feel strange against the surface of her teeth.

The house is quiet. Her mother is at work, her brother at school, her father in his writing studio, and her nana in her cabin. What was hard rain earlier has turned to a light mist. Polly searches for a raincoat in the hall closet and the effort almost exhausts her. She contemplates getting back in bed but then the whispering starts again, this time louder, a chorus of voices. She pulls on the raincoat and steps out onto the back lawn. Her nana pokes her head out the door of her cabin.

“Getting some fresh air?” She looks hopeful. Polly nods and her nana smiles wide. “Wonderful! You’ll feel like a new person after. I guarantee it.” Polly nods again and forces a smile. She picks up the pace slightly, afraid her nana will ask to join her. She glances at her dad’s writing studio as she walks past and sees him at the window looking out. He lifts a hand and waves, so she does the same.

A shiver races through her.

Just past the opening into the woods she stops. Now that she’s in there, she’s no longer sure about going any farther. The only sound is the dripping of rain onto the fallen leaves on the forest floor. The whispers have stopped, but so has her brave determination. She’s thinking maybe she’ll try again tomorrow when movement in the trees beside her catches her attention. She turns to see what looks like Gray, weaving his way through the trees away from her.

“Gray?” His name feels strange in her mouth now that she knows who he really is, if not what he is.

He turns and looks at her. Without saying a word, he turns back and keeps moving. She steps off the path to follow him, forgetting her apprehension. It’s not easy keeping up; he moves much faster than her, over fallen trees, exposed tree roots, through thick clusters of low branches. She has to keep her eyes trained on the black of his jacket, which at times is just a sliver of shadow flitting through the trees. Frustrated, she calls out to him a few times, but he doesn’t answer or look back.

She’s like Alice in Wonderland chasing after the rabbit. A thought moves through her mind like ticker tape: The boy I am chasing is not real. The faster and farther he goes, ignoring her calls to him, the angrier she gets.

Finally, he stops. The chase is over. He’s reached the rock face.