Between Two Worlds

The day of the lottery is fast approaching, and despite the fear gnawing at me, I resist the temptation to run away. I am on a quest, seeking something that was lost in these woods many years ago, something essential that I must recover. My brother would be beside himself with worry if he knew I was here alone. He constantly tells me what I can and cannot do, treating me as if I were still a child. However, I am nearly twenty-one, fully capable of taking care of myself. Indeed, marriage may only be a few months away for me. Alternatively, death is also a possibility, but that is a thought I choose to put aside for now. My focus at present is on the enchanting yet dangerous woods that surround me.

The weather is unusually warm for this time of year at sixty degrees. Looking down, I see brown flowers sprouting among the decayed leaves from last winter. Hereabouts, brown is a color associated with death. It taints everything: the flowers, water, leaves, and grass. In the brief summer, the foliage and grass turn a vibrant green before returning to their usual brown color. Patches of green grass are visible, poking through the blanket of fallen leaves. It looks like a child’s drawing done in shades of brown with occasional splashes of green added as an afterthought.

My journey continues with the belief that this path will lead me to the creek. As I walk, the leaves crunch beneath my feet, and I enjoy the touch of a soft breeze on my hair with my eyes closed. Today, the woods are quiet except for the occasional bird call. My thoughts turn to the creek and what I saw during my last visit. Yesterday—or so it seems—there was movement under the water’s surface. Such movement indicates fish, and fish mean food. Whether it will appear again is uncertain, but I long to find out its condition. The season’s heavy rains have swollen the creek, causing it to overflow its banks. I hope to catch sight of fish being swept downstream from some far-off winding river. Encountering fish is an uncommon event, so successfully capturing one to bring home would be quite remarkable. Similarly, the sight of frogs leaping about would be equally delightful. Their antics are amusing; it’s fascinating how they manage to hop so adeptly on three legs. One might assume they’d be unbalanced and tumble face-first, yet they never seem to. Astonishingly, their ability to jump outpaces my own speed.

A subtle rustling behind me interrupts my reverie. Something heavy presses down on the leaves, and I spin around to survey the surrounding shrubbery. Not a thing stirs, not even a single leaf. My ears perk up, trying to detect any sound, but it appears that whatever it was has passed by. Strange, but alright, let it be. I resume my stroll, only for the hairs on my nape to bristle as the sound of footsteps crushing leaves reaches me again. I come to a halt, scanning and listening intently, yet once more, silence falls as soon as I stand still. Who or what is tailing me?

“Hello?” I venture. Perhaps my pursuer will respond—unlikely, but worth an attempt. After a brief pause, there’s still no reply. “Wolfe, is that you?” My brother has an uncanny knack for knowing where I am. He believes I’m not safe by myself. Today, I’m en route to the creek, which he deems one of the most perilous areas. According to him, too many creatures could make a meal of me, though I contend that the town isn’t any safer. I understand his protective instincts, but he ought to ease up; I’m nearly grown. “You need a pastime or a girlfriend, Wolfe. Shadowing me like this, just to spook me, is downright childish.” No sign or sound presents itself. “Alright then, have it your way. I’m off now. Goodbye.” With an eye roll, I proceed on my path. Yet as soon as I do so, the persistent patter of footsteps resumes—Seriously? Again?

I pause once more to listen; the peculiar footsteps cease as well. Surveying the bushes for the source of the sound, I discern nothing. Nearby, a stick as thick as my forearm lies on the ground. Stooping, I grasp the stick and hurl it into the thicket where I surmise the noise originated. It’s a shot in the dark, but perhaps I can strike my brother and persuade him to return home. After all, it must be him— who else would trail me into the forest? Suddenly, a large gray bird erupts into flight with a clamor, leaving behind only silence. I concentrate, straining to detect footsteps, yet none reach my ears. It appears that has addressed the disturbance.

Resuming my trek towards the creek, I remain alert. The colossal bird likely accounted for the sounds since the heavy footsteps have ceased. How a bird could produce such noise baffles me, but perhaps it’s mere paranoia. Wolfe’s cautions about woodland perils reverberate in my mind. Dismissing these thoughts, an unusual scent catches my attention. It reeks of death and decomposition, akin to flesh abandoned to decay under the fierce summer heat for weeks on end. There’s an inkling that I should recognize this odor. Rotting flesh? No, that’s not quite it. Refuse? No. Could it be some form of animal or human waste? Again, no—that doesn’t fit either. What could it be?

Hearing a faint splashing sound, I dismiss my concerns. “Just call me Wolfe,” I mutter to myself, as it seems everything is set to unnerve me today. A sweet fragrance drifts by, filling my nostrils with its delightful scent. “What is that incredible aroma? I’ve never encountered such a smell before.” Glancing around, the creek comes into view. “Hold on, was that another splash?” Surely, there must be a frog or fish in the vicinity. The scant rainfall this year has significantly reduced the creek’s size, yet there’s still a reasonable depth of water, which I reckon is about knee-high. The water’s reddish-brown hue and lack of transparency catch my attention. I patrol the creek’s edge, searching for any hint of frogs but to no avail. Then, something in the midst of the creek grabs my attention. Straining for a better view, it appears there’s a green plant thriving at the heart of the streambed. Advancing another step, my shoe and foot are promptly soaked.

“Aw, man!” Retreating, I shake my foot futilely. A frown forms as I lament my foolish curiosity. Yet, the vision of a green plant flourishing there strikes me with wonder—it’s the first I’ve seen that isn’t wilted or brown. Occasionally you might spot one with hints of green, but never one so vibrantly alive. This one stands out, especially since it’s growing right in the middle of the creek—a sight unseen by me in all my three years of visits since that night.

It was a perfectly normal night. Dinner, some conversation with Wolfe, shower, and then bed. When I went to sleep, I dreamed of my mother. I was very young when she was taken from me, and I hadn’t thought about her in a few years. But that night, I dreamed we were laughing and playing out by the creek. When we went to leave, my mother was upset because she lost her pretty crystal necklace, the one my father gave her when they married. When I woke up, I remembered my father going into the dangerous woods, every day.

He would always say he was looking for something, and I’m sure that something was my mother’s missing necklace. My father died searching for that necklace; wild animals attacked and killed him. At least, that’s what we think happened. We don’t really know for sure; all we do know is that one day he was home and going about his daily routines; and that night he never came back. And even though I know how stupid it is to be out here, alone, I come out here a lot anyways. I’m determined to find that missing necklace, that piece of both my parents.

As I stand there, staring at the mysterious green object, I realize something. It’s not a tree or grass; it looks like some kind of flower—a green flower! The sweet smell must be coming from that flower! The thought seems to come out of nowhere and commands my full attention. I’ve never seen a green flower before. I see movement in the water, near the green plant. A small fish breaks the surface of the water, does a backflip, and disappears back beneath the water.

That was the most astonishing spectacle I’ve ever witnessed! Curiosity grips me—can I coax the fish to leap once more? Perhaps a lure would suffice. I scour the surrounding verdant blades until fortune smiles upon me, bestowing a plump grasshopper. Its length surpasses my digit, its girth defies my grasp. Seizing it by a wing, I fling it towards the brook’s heart and await.

The insect embarks on a brief flight, concluding with a gentle splash. It navigates the liquid expanse, veering in unpredictable directions. Patience is scant before a fish erupts from the depths, ensnaring the grasshopper. My repeated attempts yield similar rewards—flashes of shimmering scales, evidence of aquatic residents. These creatures belong here; they are not mere transients. Such a revelation thrills me!

Perhaps I could go back to town, and persuade a local to craft a net, one that could span the creek’s breadth, ensnaring our finned friends. The prospect of fish gracing our dinner plates is tantalizing!

As I observe the tenth grasshopper’s demise, a chilling recollection surfaces—the odor that earlier eluded identification now instills dread. A frigid wave cascades through my being, an icy embrace from within. The temperature is blameless for my shudder. That scent—it’s neither waste nor decay but something far more sinister. Foolishness and hubris have led me astray, Wolfe’s warnings echo with newfound gravity. My presence here, unaccompanied, borders on folly.

I am immobilized, scarcely daring to draw breath. The harbinger of death prowls on four limbs, and I stand as vulnerable as the unsuspecting grasshopper.