Dozens of thin hands clutched the tree trunk so hard their little knuckles turned white - a stark contrast to the blood and filth they were covered in. It's been said that if one manages to catch them unawares one can see the bodies hiding behind the trees but I know this is false.
I was hidden up in a hunting nest, still and silent for so long that the forest forgot I was even there. It was where I used to go to find a moment of peace, not any more of course... not since I saw what all those little hands connected to and what they do to people who aren't careful enough.
His name was Martín, a friend of mine from university who decided to spend the semester break with me in my hometown. I told him the usual courtesies and mannerisms to remember and avoid but the forest called to him as soon as he set foot in the town.
It does that from time-to-time. It summons someone to enter the forest and never return but my aunt said it took someone just the week before we arrived so by all accounts we should have been safe. He should have been safe but the forest hadn't taken its fill yet.
He was a pianist, hands delicate and thin like a spider's web - perfect to join the others. I saw it all from my hunting nest. Saw him come out to find me and saw the forest find him instead. It had been waiting just below me, those dozens of perfect and filthy hands desperately - eagerly - holding the tree til they saw him.
One thing the stories get all wrong is what hides behind the tree, what the hands are attached to. It's nothing. Absolutely nothing. They stop existing just beyond the wrist and whatever wasn't there slammed its non-existent body into Martín and consumed him til only his hands were left.
They were covered in blood - his blood.
All the other little hands gently held his and brought them to their new positions within the cluster of others. As they drifted deeper into the forest I felt like I could finally breathe again, which is more than could be said for Martín and certainly not something I could explain to his family.
In the end we settled with telling them we went camping and became lost and separated. I was found unconscious many miles away from a path and we were still searching for Martín. It was something easier to explain and easier to understand but all the while we searched with his family he was there.
In the distance with the other delicate little hands - easier to spot as his blood still shone fresh in the sun.
No comments:
Post a Comment