I swam back to shore, the pink coral I plucked in hand. I walked across the mesh of rocks and broken shells, slipping occasionally, for ten minutes, before arriving in the woods and drying out at my camp. I soon fell asleep.
I woke up to someone shaking my shoulders and shouting. I pulled myself up arms first, stretching up, a striking cobra. I toppled onto my butt and brushed away the leaves and dirt stuck to my face, chest, lap….everywhere. I wiped at the drool that edged my lips. Only then did I actually open my eyes to the boy throwing a fit in front of me. You woke me up, now calm down and tell me why, I thought to myself.
“What do you want?” I asked, running a hand through my red hair, straining out as many leaves as I might. While he began speaking I picked up a salamander and played with it idly.
“I need help, there is some spirit or ghost or something after me!” he exclaimed.
“What exactly happened, what made it unkindly to you?” I asked the frantic boy.
“Alright, me and my friend were sword fighting in this graveyard right? Well, he pushed me against the wall of a mausoleum, and it crumbled in on itself. I landed on a shrouded dead…. THING, and I saw a flash, and ever since I have been having visions of mutilations, murders, rapes, and any other form of destruction you can think of. I can’t continue like this, I’ll surely go insane!”
“Alright calm down, I think you might be able to fix this.” I put the salamander down…then thought to myself, how the ******** did he know I was here, and how the ******** did he know I could help him? Then I asked exactly that.
“Well,” the boy began, you are sort of…. An urban legend, you know, like Bloody Mary, and things like that? Around here. My friend told me that you lurked about in these deep woods some where, and I’ve been searching for days, that thing hasn’t given me a moment’s rest. And part of the legend was that you’ve been alive for years. Hundreds of years! And that you are some sorta shaman, that knows about spirits and fairies, and gods. I figured you would be the only one to help.”
I couldn’t help but laugh; I couldn’t believe that such a fun image had been drawn of me, a normal half-insane guy in the woods. “Well, just so you know, I only have around thirty years I think, and I am probably the closest thing to a shaman ‘round here. If you’re serious, I’ll help you. You are serious, right?”
“Of course, how could I be anything but about something like this?!”
So I talked to him, about gods and giants, faeries and spirits, dryads and will-o-the-wisps, I even talked to him about old science, and some philosophy. I taught him as much as he could bare, over the course of several weeks, that time in which I saw him as he was haunted with horrifying visions, I could see them behind his eyes, and was certain he wasn’t some sort of prankster.
After those weeks, I took him to the last Elm Grove in New Hampshire, the rest had been destroyed by Dutch Elm Disease long ago. This last one was protected by some sort of energy or magic. I took him there and we spoke, with caution to dryad after dryad residing in these trees, looking for one who would help us bind whatever was forcing these visions into his soul. As we reached deeper into the grove, we stopped at one who approached us. “I have heard…” she began, “that you are looking for some help. I can rid you of this demon, but what will I get in exchange?” she asked in a creaking, slithering, seducing voice. Her skin was grained and colored as dark polished wood. She moved in jagged advancements, but not suddenly. She was as an inebriate trying to keep her balance. But she remained balanced, never losing it, but balanced in an artistic way too. Complementing the scenery behind her. Just as all dryads, she had no eyes, but still knew where everything around her was. “I. Wish. To. See!” she pieced out.
I nodded to the boy, who stared back confusedly and I said, “Take my sight and take the demon afflicting this boy.”
She smiled and bridged the gap between us with one long step. She raise her arm in front of my face smiling with polished wooden teeth and made some smooth and creeping evil sound. She raised her fingers to my eyes, and opened her eyelids, to a reveal some wooden, pupil less, eyeless, ball. She touched my pupils and all began to fade, but I began to know things. My eyes appeared on those blank orbs and mine turned white. She then stepped away, taking in the sights, and breathing in and smiling in some hideous joy.
“The demon in the boy.” I reminded her with authority.
“Ahhhhh, Yes.” I knew still what happened as she reached toward the boy, in the same sort of sick pleasure, and stroked a single finger along his chest in some perverted manner. He cringed but held as still as he might. She held his cheek, stroked his neck and back to his chest. Then plunged her hand into him. I heard him gasp. She did it like he was some pipe, curved immediately, reaching into the depths of his bowels, maybe farther. Then I heard a loud deep thing bellowing and her laughing. Then a plop like dripping water and the boy coughing. “The demon will never leave me now, he is mine. Now leave this place before you need be gotten rid of.”
The boy gathered himself as quickly as he could, and took my arm. “Come. She took your sight, I am obliged to lead you back to the world.”
I could see, in a sort, very well but would not abandon the kind gesture. He took me to his world; I left in the night.