“Herron?” I call.
He turns, but he does it so slowly, so sluggishly that my heart rate spikes and ice slithers along my spine.
What is wrong with him?
When his face comes fully into view, I gasp and clamp my hand over my mouth.
His eyes are huge. Not wide from surprise or anger—no, these eyes are three times the size they should be. The sockets are so big they have changed the shape of his cheekbones, pushing them into concave bows. And yet despite the enlarged sockets, his eyeballs are still bulging so far I’m afraid they’ll pop out.
“Herron,” I falter. “Your eyes… What happened to you?”
“I went to check on Grandmother Riquet,” he answers tonelessly. His mouth opens and shuts mechanically, like the hinged jaws of a puppet.
Something bad has happened to him. I blame it on this fucking forest.
My family and I have been ushering demons into this place for about two decades now. Maybe the demons’ influence has altered the very fabric of Wormsloe. That’s why the normal animals have disappeared. That’s why none of the local folks will venture beneath these trees anymore.
When Herron entered Wormsloe, the forest must have changed him physically, like it changed Grandmother. It gaveher big, sharp teeth, and it swelled his eyes to insane proportions. The air of this place has become dangerous, and I’ve been breathing it more often than usual.
I resist the sudden, frantic urge to check my body for changes. Instead I stare at Herron, trying to control the tone of my voice so the panic doesn’t leak through.
“We need to get out of here, Herron. You need to come with me. I can take you to your father. Maybe someone in the village can help you.”
His head lolls to the side, and his mouth sags open.
“Herron, please come with me.” Terror cracks through my words. “Please. If you don’t come, they’ll send people to look for you, and those people might get hurt, too. No one should be out in these woods.”
“Tell them I died.”
“I can’t say that. You’re not dead. They’ll want to see a body. They might even think that I did something to you, something bad. Please just come home.”
“Tell them I died,” he repeats, louder. “Tell them I died, tell them I died!”
Then he takes off running, heading deeper into the woods.
“Herron!” I scream. My gaze drops to the path, which feels like the only safe place in this forest. I don’t want to step off it.
“Herron,” I call once more, but he’s gone. All I can see is the interminable wall of tree trunks, all different and yet all the same, standing endlessly still in the silence.
There are no birds here, near the Barrow. No insects that I can see, not even a spider’s silken web.
Maybe it’s not just the demons. Maybe the Barrow itself has an influence, and maybe the otherworldly creatures that I’ve summoned over the years disturbed whatever is buried beneath it. Mama started to tell us a story about the Barrow once, but I can’t remember it.
If I make it home safely, I’m going to ask her to tell it again.
A wild, elongated shriek tears through the quiet. It’s far away, in the direction Herron fled. The fear that grips my soul is the most visceral terror I’ve ever felt.
I flee along the path. The empty basket I’m carrying makes it awkward to run, and I’m tempted to fling it aside, but it’s a good basket, and a family as poor as mine can’t afford to waste even the simplest resources.
The forest seems to be dragging me backward, slowing my steps so that no matter how fast I run, I feel like I’m crawling, creeping past one tree and struggling on to the next. There’s nothing but trees and roots, roots and trees, with the endless dirt path squiggling through the leaves like a desiccated centipede.
My shoes weren’t made for running, and my feet hurt from the repeated impact. One sole slips, and I slam flat on the ground, dry leaves in my mouth. From beneath the layer of leaves, the smell of rot wafts into my nostrils. It’s not the damp, rich, murky fragrance of healthy soil—it’s rancid. I gag on the stench.
The forest is sick, and I didn’t realize it until today. Or maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m changing like Grandmother and Herron. Maybe I hallucinated my encounters with both of them. Maybe, after all these years of struggling with my ability, I’m going mad.
I force myself to my feet, and I run again, faster than ever, like I can outrun the evil plaguing the woods. But the same shoe fails me again, this time slipping off the edge of a root. My ankle twists, and I hear asnap.
“Fuck!” I fall to the ground, clutching my leg. “Fuck, fuck!”
