Journey Through Haunted Woods

I lingered under a brilliant canopy

This day too perfect

This air to alive

This energy too delicious

To put aside.

It’s Halloween, and I’m in the woods, I said,

where I belong . . . so . . .

I won’t go back

to the grinding

and the racing

and the ordinary.

I just . . . I can’t.

My heart won’t let me.

This will be my home now.

I’ll find a comfy cave

or a hollow log

and become that weird old hag

that the police have to keep

dragging back to civilization.

I’ll let moss grow in my hair

and let my fingernails get long

and black with real dirt.

I’ll sleep rough and eat from

Nature’s Own Larder,

berries and nuts and mushrooms.

Or maybe instead I’ll become a Dryad,

and wear flimsy dresses

and let my hair flow long

and drink morning dew

out of acorn cups

and eat nothing but flowers.

I strolled for hours, dreaming,

looking for a nice cave

or a hollow log,

avoiding the life I’d grown,

until I realized that the light

was fading. Fast.

And I was extremely lost.

At least I knew where West was,

because that was where the Sun

was setting like a slam dunk.

I may have said some . . .

Unseemly words.

Cursed my rampant curiosity,

my foolishness,

my recklessmess,

my lack of focus.

Lost. In the twilight woods.

Deep in the woods.

On Halloween Night.

Deep enough that I won’t

find my way out before

the Sun slips away

and draws the Veil between worlds

up behind him like

complex stage machinery.

No time to freak out.

Time to assess the situation.

What have I got?

Sandwich? No.

Water? Gone.

Matches? No.

Flashlight? Yeah right.

Cell phone? In. My. Car.

Pretty journal to write my thoughts in? Check . . .

Well, I can probably use some of the pages

to get a fire going.

The wind laughed at me.

Really hard.

Okay, that’s West,

so just keep walking that way

and something will turn up.

The woods will end

and I’ll be on a road

and I’ll flag somebody down

and find out where I am

and maybe get a ride back

to my car,

or get murdered by a serial killer

who just happens to be passing

this way on his way

to his next appointment . . .

I walked.

And it got darker.

And the wind got meaner

and I wished for a coat and mittens

and a more normal sense of proportion

and responsibility, but I didn’t have

any of those things, either.

My neck began to prickle

like it does when there’s

somebody watching you

that you can’t see.

Hey, whoever you are, I said,

more bravely than I felt,

this is my home now,

and I did not invite you in,

so you’d better leave right now

or . . . I will do something terrible.

I didn’t think the wind could

laugh any harder than it already had,

but it sure could.

The path curved,

and in the dim light,

I saw a figure standing still,

as though waiting for me.

Back to that inventory list . . .

Spare undies? Nope nope nope . . .

We just stood there,

I didn’t go any closer,

they didn’t move.

The Sun kept moving, though,

Oh yes.

Do I turn around and try to run?

Do I try to stand my ground?

Can I even remember any

of the self-defense I learned

how many years ago?

Why are they getting bigger?

Trick of the . . . light is too strong a word now . . .

It (he?) grows, and grows.

He’s at least twice my height now,

and still he grows.

My courage is sparked by my anger

and I blurt, “Okay, I get the point!”

He stops growing and looks at me.

Hard.

“Small human, do ye ken

what night it be?”

I figured maybe things would go better for me

if I tried to answer him in rhyme.

“Yes, I know it,

All Hallows E’en.”

“Why tarry you here?

You’re late for supper!”

He roared a laugh, leering at me

in a whole new way I didn’t like.

Rhyming wasn’t helping.

I had to remind myself,

breathe, breathe, breathe.

Think hard. He’s not attacking,

he’s waiting for your response.

Now, what do we know about . . .

Monsters?

My mother used to say,

Inside every monster is a wounded child.

I looked at him again,

thinking about how someone so big

was once someone very small.

I could see him then,

a tiny, hideously adorable urchin,

mostly running and hiding,

hungry and scared,

always fleeing, sometimes fighting,

and then one day,

he said, “Enough!”

and grew. And grew. And, trust me, grew.

My eyes softened, and my fear, too.

“Who hurt you?” I asked.

“Who made you hate yourself

so much that you turned into this?”

The monster just stared at me.

He didn’t know what to roar back at me.

Nobody had ever reacted like this before.

So I kept going.

“I see you, I see the little child

who couldn’t run far or fast enough

to keep the monsters away.

I see you, feeling hated

and unworthy of love.

I see you, finally standing up

to them, and thinking this was

the only way to handle it.”

Was he shrinking?

Maybe, just maybe?

Oh, words, don’t fail me now!

“But love always, always wins.

Trust me, I know,

for I was born of love,

born into love,

raised on love,

taught by love,

nurtured by love,

and dedicated to love

in all its forms.

I know love.

And I can meet you with love,

because I am love.”

At last the monster stood before me,

a gangly, dirty youth,

sullen, but curious.

You could love me?” he sneered.

“You aren’t brave enough,

or strong enough,

or nasty enough,

or stupid enough,

or desperate enough

to love me.”

“You’re right,” I replied.

“I’m none of those things.

But I am true enough,

kind enough,

nurturing enough,

smart enough,

and empowered enough

to love you.”

The monster began to weep,

and slowly transform.

His dark and shabby clothes

were replaced by fine silks with

gold filigree embellishments

and gleaming boots.

His hair untangled,

his curls gleaming in the Otherworldly light.

His skin was clear of grime,

his face handsome,

his eyes kind.

“The spell is broken!” he cried!

“You have returned me to myself,

and I am whole again!”

All I could do was watch in wonder

and smile at his joy.

“All part of the service,” I replied softly.

When his transformation was complete

he took my hand and looked into my eyes.

“How can I repay you?

What reward would you choose?

Anything you want.”

I said, “Could you see me safely

through this wood back to my . . .

chariot so I can return home?”

“Surely there is something more than that!”

I thought, and thought harder.

“Nope, that’s what I want.

But thanks for offering.

I think I just want to go home

and enjoy being who I truly am.”

He smiled. “You have no idea

what a precious gift that is!”

And so we walked, hand in hand,

through the dark wood,

under rainbow canopied trees,

to the edge of the parking lot

where my chariot awaited.

“Thank you!” we both said,

and laughed.

Blessed Samhain! Happy Halloween! Hooray for All Hallows Eve! Rock on, Day of the Dead! Subscribe for more holiday and Holy Day fun, insight and wackiness. 

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Shopping Cart