James Davison
“There she goes again!” the black walnut tree says to no one in particular. “I wish she would stay home and bake those wonderful smelling pies she puts in the window.” A brief gust of chilly wind interrupts the black walnut’s ruminations, its leaves rustling and twisting left, right, and then upside down, where they stay for just a bit too long.
“She’s not going out, is she?” asks the young pine tree. “I feel it in my roots. There’s a storm coming. And look at your leaves! They’re all upside down! She should stay inside her trunk, covered and safe.”
“Don’t her parent trees know better than to let her wander around on those tiny trunks in a forest? There are things out there that can hurt her.”
“And look at that bark she has grown!” young pine adds, bowing slightly in the wind towards a mature Canadian Maple, “It’s all red, as red as you get when the days shorten and the cold returns.”
“Yes, but mine is certainly more beautiful and serves a higher purpose. What does hers do? Look at her bark, it is short, doesn’t properly cover her stalks, mind you, unlike what my friend pin oak says, those are not trunks, they are merely stalks; and she walks without purpose as if she has no cares or fear of breaking in the wind. I do not understand.”
The trees go silent, each following her path through the woods with interest and a measure of trepidation. Their interest turns immediately to horror as the girl turns towards a little-used pathway through a part of the forest known to everyone as “Moon Shadow Holler.”
The wind kicks up once again, and all hear and understand what the wind carries, the snickers, laughter, and finally, the muttered threats of death from the brambles, sticker bushes, and the deadly but beautiful berries. Nothing of the lone inhabitant of Moon Shadow Holler, a hideous animal known to all by its yellow eyes, is heard. They all are hopeful the killer is elsewhere.
With a sinking feeling, they watch as the little girl, encased in her red bark, carrying some type of basket, disappears.
“She’ll be okay, she’s never taken that route before to her grand trunk, but I know she will be careful.”
“You know what will happen. That child will become distracted by those beautiful berries and forget they are so dangerous to her kind.”
“The ones that kill?” interrupts a junior juniper on the edges of the conversation. “Those are so pretty, bright and shining. I have watched her kind taste them and immediately fall to the ground, only to be covered in leaves and consumed by the animals.”
“You have not seen that,” the old black walnut opines.
“Have too! You don’t see everything that happens here.”
“Oh, but I do. I have seen more than a thousand cycles of the lesser light. You have yet to see even a fraction of that. You should concentrate on growing your roots, and not make up stories that are so easily proven to be untrue.”
The juniper looks on in mild anger as the grouping of trees shakes their trunks and claps their leaves in agreement. Under its breath it speaks forest blasphemy. “I know what I’ve seen. Just wait until I’m big and strong and you are all dead. Then we’ll see who is king of the forest.”
Unaware of the drama swirling through the trees behind her, the young girl adjusts her red riding hood downward, cinches it tighter as protection against the growing wind, and pauses. In front of her is a different pathway through the forest, which seems to have magically appeared.
Ahh. Someone has made a new way to grandma’s house! I wonder who is responsible? It looks barely used, as if it was recently created. Perhaps a shorter walk would mean I could get one of her excellent cookies sooner than if I took the usual route around the forest.
Her mind made up, the little girl skips towards the deepest part of the forest, thinking only of the freshly baked cookie she will receive once arriving at her grandma’s house.
It actually worked. Such a fool. She took the path I prepared for her and soon, I shall have a full belly, and the world shall be rid of that stupid girl and her skipping.
Hearing the wolf’s heavy breathing, the nightshade plant knows something is up.
“What is it, nightshade? Has the plan yellow eye described to us paid off?” the nearest moonseed asks, anxious to be thought of as part of the cool plant club.
“It would seem so. His next meal walks the pathway he has prepared. She has no idea it is a ruse to confuse her.”
“I wish she would stop and pick a few berries,” moonseed says with a pout. “I’ve worked especially hard to make my stalk red and beautiful. Just look at my berries! So bright and inviting!”
“Yes, we all know how beautiful you are. You tell us so every day and every night, even when you should be asleep, preparing for the next sun cycle,” a random maple tree says.
“Shut up, you don’t rule here. We do. You’re lucky we even let you live so close to the water of life.”
Maple says nothing in return, though. It is already planning on how to reach higher and spread its branches and leaves. A process with which it hopes to permanently deny access to the life-giver in the sky, in turn, killing the plants that have tortured it ever since a bird dropped its seed.
Beneath its branches, the little girl rushes past, humming. Yellow eyes follows slowly through the bushes, keenly aware he must remain silent yet vigilant.
Keep skipping, for soon, you’ll be too far into the holler to realize the path you have chosen is one that ends with you as my supper.
She skips over a gurgling brook, full of clear, cascading water whose noise brightens the darkening forest like a symphony that echoes off the rocks. She stops, keenly aware that she has no idea where she is. Slowly, she turns in a complete circle, looking for a way to retrace her steps and return to a familiar path. However, her footsteps are hidden by the moss and other debris that lines the forest floor. Suddenly, she seems worried and speaks to the forest.
“I know I must be close. Grandma’s house has to be here, somewhere, but I do not smell her fire, and none of this place seems familiar to me. What am I to do? It will be dark soon, and I do not want to be out in the forest after sunset.”
“She is lost, just as yellow eyes planned,” smirks the hawthorn. A shred of clothing that once belonged to the last person who fell to yellow eyes still hangs in its thorns, a trophy about which it boasts among the denizens of the deep forest.
“Hush. How would you like it if yellow eyes were after you?” the willow next to the stream says with some force.
“Yellow eyes is aware that I am his friend, not an enemy. And he also knows that I, alone in this forest, carry the power to kill him should he ever try to hurt me.”
“Don’t be so full of yourself. You’re just one part of the forest. Nothing is special about you,” mutters the willow.
“We’ll see about that,” it says in return, as they all hear a crunching sound approach.
Carefully placing each paw on the forest floor, yellow eyes appears. Nose first, then teeth, then the eyes, bright and alert. His entire body slides into the clearing near the brook, and he stops. The first sound he makes is a low growl. Everything else in the forest goes quiet, which causes the growl to register with the young girl.
She turns slowly and is face to face with the monster.
“Hello yellow eyes.”
Ah, my meal has arrived. A pause. Something isn’t right. What did she just say? As yellow eyes evaluates which part of this treasure to eat first, he mentally congratulates himself. So good of you to deliver yourself to me with such ease. I shall have to make use of this method again. It was far too easy.
“Red Riding Hood, stand perfectly still!” both hear a female voice, strong and unwavering in its authority, call out from behind a large stone. “What do you think you’re doing, yellow eyes? You can’t have my granddaughter!”
Taken by surprise, yellow eyes ponders this new event. What are you doing here? How did you find me? I never smelled you! How did you mask your scent so that you could sneak up on me as I was about to devour your granddaughter?
“I’m sure you are surprised,” grandma says, stepping out from behind the large boulder. Yellow eyes. Yellow eyes is surprised to see her covered in what appears to be moss and dirt from the forest floor. She sees comprehension in his yellow eyes. “That’s right. You think you lured my granddaughter here to kill and eat her. But what you don’t know is that we lured you here.”
What? That isn’t possible! I have planned this and prepared as needed. What does she mean? I’ll just kill them both and share the proceeds with the forest.
With that thought, yellow eyes takes a tentative step toward the larger of his two intended victims.
You first grandma. His head twitches as his ears pick up a curious sound. He sees grandma raises a hand and something appears to slip from between her fingers.
The woods above yellow eyes are pierced by a thunderous noise. It startles him, but he remains in place. He isn’t prepared for what happens next as the crushing weight of a nearby willow tree lands directly across his back, breaking it into hundreds of tiny pieces. In fact, the willow breaks every bone in his beautiful body.
“I gladly give my life to stop this killer,” the willow tells the world. It comes to rest across the carcass of the thing that was once yellow eyes. The line holding it in place falls to the ground beside it. The cut that felled it, clean and perfect, is illuminated like a golden disk as a shaft of sunlight beams down from where it’s canopy once was.
“How’d I do, grandma?” the little girl asks meekly from under the red hood.
“You did fine sweetie. He never knew we were setting him up.” Then, with a level of accuracy born out of years of practice, grandma spits tobacco directly into the mouth of the dead animal. “Chew on that, you filthy bastard. Moon Shadow Holler is mine.”
“Grandma! I’m too young to hear language like that.”
“Perhaps that is true. However, he deserves it and you need to learn it. Come on, let’s go home. I have cookies waiting.”
To the willow tree, lying on the forest floor, grandma directs her attention for a moment, coming over to run a hand across its trunk, admiring the bark and the bulk. “Thank you, my friend. You have done a great service. Now, grow seedlings, take nourishment from the thing that lies dead beneath you and grow your young. Tell them of the great thing you have done here today. Your story shall resonate throughout the forest. You are a hero.”
With the light of its life dimming, the willow responds. “I will, grandma. Thank you for choosing me. I shall do as you instruct, and through the years, as I become one with the forest floor, I will raise up a new family of willows here by the brook. They will always be your protectors and friends.”
