My mother knocked on my door and stepped in with a lit lantern. Her wide grin was set into her wrinkled skin and glowing from the whoosh of the flame in her hand. She beckoned me forward, and I looked on with confusion, then wonder. I had almost forgotten. It was the 20th already.
I set my book down, whatever sentence I was reading before she entered erased from my mind, and slipped into my shoes that I always kept at the side of my bed for this occasion. They were my nicest pair: a dark leather boot that went up to my ankles, and on the cuff, pink and red flowers wrapped themselves down to the toe. It was important, my mother had told me when she gave them to me. When you go out into the woods at night, you must be sure that your feet are covered. That was after my father passed away, nearly five years ago, and shortly before my mother started hearing them.
I set my book down without marking my place, it was late and the night of the 20th wasn’t infinite. We had to make it out there, my mom said, before the day turned.
“Come, come, love. Can you hear them? They just started.”
I bent my ear like I always did, and closed my eyes tight. All I could hear was the creaking of the wood in the rafters, the slight whoosh that the lantern made, and my breathing. I wanted to hear, so bad, but I couldn’t. Mother didn’t have to know that.
“Yes! I can hear them,” I said.
“Then we must hurry, come on. Grab the supplies.”
She opened the door wider for me as I jumped back and forth to get my boots onto my feet. They were a little tighter now that I’d grown over the past year, but I wouldn’t give them up until I busted through the heel. I finally got them all the way on as I entered the main part of the house where the kitchen and our chairs were. They were lovely chairs, with spindle backs carved by my mother. I was careful to listen in the wind as I gathered the supplies. Three candles, and a bundle of matches, all went into the sack that I threw over my shoulder. Even a bottle of wine my mother let me try. I didn’t like it the first time, but she said it was good for me, so I drank it every 20th of the month, and not too long, l fell in love with the vinegary taste. She made the best wine in the village.
We made our way out of the door and into the warm air of the evening. The only sound that seemed to come from the woods was the rustling of the leaves. All of the animals had stopped calling, as if they had heard what my mother heard, too. I felt alone at that moment, but when my mother took my hand and led me farther into the forest, I felt better. The lantern lit the way well, oaks traveling by us like ghostly pillars. It felt wrong to be out at night. But I loved it.
The trees parted fifty feet ahead and led to the circular meadow my mother carved out years prior. She walked me to it one early evening, when she had started to hear them, and said we needed to come out here every month, or else. I didn’t dare ask what or else meant, because her normally cheerful demeanor slipped into a gripping fear that shook her shoulders.
She set the lantern down on a small log at the edge of the circle. It was lined with smooth stones from the river at the edge of our property.
“C’mon, quick, my love. They’re getting louder.”
I set the bag on the ground and started gathering the candles in my arms. My mother hummed to herself, stopped and bent her ear to the sky, and hummed again. Every time we came out here I was as quiet as possible, so I could get the chance to hear what she was hearing. I’d asked her multiple times what they were, and the explanation confused me.
“They are everywhere, and nowhere, my sweet child.”
How could something be everywhere and nowhere at the same time? I only nodded and forgot about it. One day, I’m sure I’ll understand.
The candles were all set in the circle, evenly spaced like a triangle, with their wicks dancing in the wind and casting gargantuan shadows of our bodies on the trees.
“Are you ready to get started?” my mother asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
My mother gathered her dress around her ankles while I did the same, we stared at one another, me waiting for my mother to give the sign, and she nodded. We began to spin. My mother’s hair whipped from side to side as she danced in the light of the candles, her feet crushing the wet foliage below us. I tried to dance quietly, so I could hear them, and when we had been going for nearly two minutes, breathless and giggling, I did hear something that made me stop.
Out in the woods, something shifted in the night. Not a small animal like a raccoon or a fox, but something large. I felt as though we were being watched, and that same feeling that we were doing something wrong sprang back up in my brain.
My mother stopped as well, anger growing on her face, then happiness.
‘They’re loud tonight, aren’t they?“ she said and continued to dance. But my feet stayed still. Out in the distance, among the thick bushes that lined the river, I could see the outline of something moving, tall and thin in the trees. Something was watching us. Could it be them, I thought, the things my mother had been talking about all of these years? What could they want with us? Was the dancing not keeping them away? I wanted to run, but my mother grabbed me by the arm as she danced past me and yanked me into a twirl.
“We’re almost done!” she said. “I can feel them fading.” But as we danced, I saw that being saunter off into the woods toward the village.
•••
The next morning I woke up scared and parched in my room. I had a dream about monsters surrounding our house, and taking us both with them into the dark. It was silly, though. What I and my mother had done all of these years had kept them at bay. Why now should I think that they want to hurt us? I shook my worry from my sleepy head and got ready to go into the village with my mother for goods.
It was always exciting, and scary, to go into the village. We didn’t live in it, but I always liked to think we were a part of it, even if the people didn’t treat us like we were. Our home was on the outskirts of the small Village of Laurelton, Connecticut. It had been built shortly after I was born, my mother told me. Even though she and my father were already established there, the settlers decided to cut down an area of sprawling woods for their new home and used that wood to build the many homes that were there now. My mother said it was because they thought the land was better and more fertile, but they were never able to grow anything unlike my mother, who grew barley and potatoes, pumpkins, and squashes. That always confused me, but as I grew older I saw the stares and the way they all looked at us.
My mother was waiting for me out on the small wooden steps of our home and jumped up joyfully as I walked out of the door.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes,” I answered.
The walk to the village was quick. Only a quarter mile from our small home. The houses were in two rows. A dirt path was carved into the earth with river-like ruts, made by the wagon wheels and the hooves of horses, that divided each side of the village into sections. Two houses and the Riley’s barn on the right, two houses on the left, and the church which sat at the end of the road and capped the town like the cork of a wine bottle. It wasn’t like the trees, the quiet landscape filled with soft creatures and bugs. It was loud and full of wonderful, and horrible smells. Smells of the bread baking in the Thompson’s, and the manure of the cows that the Rileys kept. It was exciting.
The second we stepped onto the road from the leaf-darkened canopy, the town seemed different. It was quiet. No bread was baking, chimneys barely whispered smoke. Unbeknownst to myself I quickened my pace towards the town center. What if they had gotten to the people last night? The rest of the village didn’t dance.
My mother yelled from behind. “What are you doing? In such a rush today, hmm?”
I scanned the village to find a sign of lanterns in the windows and saw none until I made my way past the first house, and behind it, where the large barn stood, was a group of people in a circle. I must have caused a raucous running through the street because they all turned to me, and their already horrified faces hardened. It made me want to shrink down to the size of a pixie and disappear back to our home.
My mother finally caught up, and waved gaily to the group, who continued to whisper in hushes. “I wonder what’s the matter,” she said and pulled me along.
“Greetings, everyone! Wonderful morning, isn’t it?” she said.
The man who seemed to be leading the congregation, Nathan, stepped forward with his hands on his hips, and a scowl so fierce that even my mother shrunk back slightly.
“No, Lydia, it is not. My daughter Harriet has gone missing.”
“Oh, my word,” my mother said, placing her hand on her mouth. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” piped up another, Samuel, stout and red-faced in the heat of the morning.
“Well if we see her we’ll be sure to let you know,” my mother said, and off they went.
I looked back, and all their eyes stayed upon us, until they circled back around, each one poking their heads out of the circle, like prairie dogs on the lookout for predators. I thought of the thing in the darkness the night prior. Despite the heat of the day, I felt frozen.
•••
It was night when I gathered the courage to ask my mother about what happened. It had nagged at my mind all day, taking any joy from my normal activities.
“Mother?” I said as we sat in our chairs. The fire coughed and burped in the hearth.
“Mmhmm?” she said.
“I heard something in the forest last night.”
“We always do on the twentieth, my love.”
I set my book on the floor and turned to her.
“Not like that, I heard something crawling through the woods. Something large, and then it went towards the village.”
She turned her head slowly. Her face had gone a sickly white in the firelight. “Crawling?”
She stood abruptly. Her knitting pitter pattered to the floor, where the spool of red twine unwound as if it were blood pooling on the floor. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Dancing is not enough. They are here now.”
“What is here, mother?”
She ran her hands through her hair, and went to the window to stare out, snapping her head back and forth. “We must do the ritual again. Tonight.”
The idea of going outside and dancing, drinking wine with my mother, while those things were out there caused me to slither down in my chair, as if to hide myself from the world.
“Must we, Mother? What if they were the ones who got to Harriet?”
“The villagers do not hear as we do, child. They wouldn’t understand. Come, grab your things.”
I didn’t move and instead looked out into the darkness. They could be out there, waiting for us, and if the dancing didn’t work the night prior, did it ever work at all? My mother scampered around the living room, gathering her things as I sat, praying we wouldn’t have to go. My whole life, I believed what my mother had told me about the things in the night, the things we kept away from us, but if it didn’t work, what if those things had never been there at all, and what I heard last night was something else? I got lightheaded and felt my heart rate quicken. Beads of sweat formed on my brow, and just as I was going to tell my mother I didn’t feel well, she knelt beside me, and with her usually charming, bright eyes, she pierced into me with a fury I had never seen.
“Do you want to be the reason your mother dies, Lidia? Hmm?”
My voice came out shaky. “No.”
“Then get up, and grab the candles,” she said and stepped out of the door and into the night.
My mother bent her ear to the sky when I walked out into the cool air. This time was different. She was twitchy, talking to herself in a low murmur. I had been afraid the night before, but now it wasn’t them that I was scared of, it was my mother.
She walked far ahead of me, a silhouette in the night. I listened, too, for them, but now I knew what sounds I needed to hear. Something moved out in the forest again, and I yelped, and ran back towards our home, leaving my mother. The thought of young Harriet missing, somewhere out there, was all I needed to leave. She didn’t even notice, at first. My feet hit the ground with rapid, frantic beats, snapping twigs and slipping on stones. I could feel something behind me, moving fast now, and when I turned I saw it was my mother. Her teeth were bared as if she were a wild animal, and it nearly stopped my heart. I ran to the left, just missing a tree as I heard her murmuring to herself behind me.
She was getting farther back, I could tell by the sounds of her boots fading. I stopped behind a large oak and tried to catch my breath. Why now? Everything had been fine. Did I do something wrong? A twig snapped near me, and when I bent to look around the tree, I didn’t see my mother, but what I saw the night prior, in clearer vision. It was Nathan, Harriet’s father, on his hands and knees caressing something that lay on the damp soil, hidden by the shadow of the tree. He must be out here looking for his daughter. But without a lantern? I almost called to him but thought otherwise when he stopped and stared off in the distance to see my mother trudging through the forest. He ran off. He didn’t look like a man who was looking for his daughter, I thought, wouldn’t he have stopped and asked us if we’d seen her?
I was yanked from behind the tree and thrown to the ground by my mother. She was breathless, panting and sweating.
“Mom–” I tried to explain, but her hand reached back and swung. The sound of her palm hitting my cheek was like the crack of a whip. I crawled, with my front towards her. She had never struck me. Ever. She seemed to be shocked herself, holding her hand up in the light as if it had been dipped in gold, and she wanted to see it glisten.
“I was afraid for you, my love. I… we need to dance, for them, or else they’ll do what they did to your father. Please.” She trailed off. Her ear raised, listening again, but I did not try to listen with her. I was starting to think that there was nothing and never was. My entire life we had danced on the 20th, or at least as long as I can remember. Now, that was tainted, and so were the boots that left my feet bleeding into my stockings, forever ruining them, as the 20th always would be.
“Come with me, my love,” she said and held out her hand. I shrunk back and shook my head.
“No, mother. No. There is nothing out there, not them, it’s who. I saw Nathan out there! He was looking for Harriet, like we should be, not dancing in the woods. It does nothing!”
My mother wasn’t even listening anymore. She shivered, shook her head as tears fell down her cheeks, and walked towards the circle to leave me in the dirt. I stood. Despite my fear, the sounds of the creaking trees, and my sore feet, I had the feeling to go over to where Nathan had been. It was irrational. Against every one of the feelings in my body, but I needed to know, I needed to know what he was doing. I stepped out under a ray of moonlight, and that is when I saw what he had been caressing in the dirt. Blond hair, and a dirty, gray dress nearly in half. It was Harriet. She was beautiful and dead. Her skin was pale and bloated, her throat slit and full of maggots. Tears filled my eyes. She was so small. So lovely. It wasn’t fair. I stood and scanned the woods for my mother. She was in the circle with just the lantern to illuminate her wild dancing. I almost approached but stopped. Something was carried in the wind. A sound, so faint, that it took everything for me to concentrate on it, and not the body of poor Harriet behind me. It was a chanting, a furtive roar that grew and grew. Was this what my mother heard on the 20th? I nearly collapsed. It was Nathan, all this time. Was my mother crazy, is that why she hears things? The sound grew louder, hundreds of voices on the wind. I had to go and warn her because the sound was not them, it was them, the villagers, angry with lanterns held up in front of their faces.
“They killed her!” Nathan yelled. My mother seemed to not hear them. I screamed for her, and she looked up as the mob surrounded the circle of stones, each one angry like a beast. I had to tell them what I had seen, that I had seen Nathan out there with her. I ran to them, pushed one of the men aside, and took my mother by the hand.
“Don’t you touch us! We did nothing wrong. I saw Nathan. Out there with his daughter. How would he have known where she was? He did it!”
“They lie,” Nathan yelled. “That’s what witches do best, is lie. I saw them last night, as I was looking for my daughter and they were performing a ritual.” The crowd gasped and inched back from us. “Why do you think their land is fertile, while ours is a barren wasteland? Not even the cows have grass to feed on. And now they take my daughter from me?”
Nathan reached out and snatched my mother by her arm. Tears streamed down her blushed cheeks. I cried out.
“There must be a trial! Is that not customary?”
“The jury has made up their mind!” A man yelled. The crowd agreed with screams of anger.
Samuel stomped over to grab me. I swung my arm wildly, hoping to land a solid blow, but it was not nearly enough to stop the man. He snatched my wrist out of the air and bent my arm behind my back.
“We will burn them for their crimes,” Nathan yelled.They dragged me and my mother from our circle, and when they did, I heard them. The rest of the village turned to stare into the woods, where they heard them too.
Tyler Markham (he/him) is a writer from the Midwest and has a particular obsession with small-town horror. His writing journey began at a young age, and coupled with his love of the paranormal, the horror writer he is now was born. You can see him in the Kaidankai Podcast December 2023 and Wicked Shadow Press’s Halloweenthology.
