OCtober Day 17: Grimsley

Sometimes, I regret ever entering the Grey Forest. If I hadn’t, I never would have met the deer, nor spent the rest of my life regretting that I could not save him.

I should’ve known it the moment I arrived in Mistwell. This small village was tucked away in Britain’s countryside, hidden under literal smoke and mirrors. The field and forest neighbouring the place possessed a perpetual fog. Though many warned against it, the mystery had piqued my curiosity. Thus I chose to seek it out, since not much else had quite caught my attention. At first, I had chalked it down to the strangeness that already seemed to be English weather. Even the locals liked to use that excuse, devising nicknames to play off the unique phenomenon. The field, for example, was known as the ‘Cloud’, which led itself into the Grey Forest. 

However, the further I wandered, the thicker the fog got, and the less normal it seemed. Though they seemed disapproving of my desire to journey into the forest, many of the villagers were still kind enough to provide me with supplies. Right now, my cold hands clasped at a torch to light the ground, so I didn’t trip on my own feet. After a fair amount of awkward stumbling, I came to an abrupt stop. Seems I’d bumped into something. Craning the torch up, it revealed an old wooden sign. A little worse for the wear from the fog’s moisture, this made the words difficult to read. I could just about make out ‘do not enter’, as it had seemingly been painted on a fair few times. As for the forest’s original name, that was now lost to nature.

By some miracle that did not deter me. Ignoring the subconscious trembling in my legs, I cautiously crossed the edge, entering the forbidden woods. 

I was definitely grateful for the torch. The fog seeped through the space in the trees, and little sunlight managed to peek through the canopy of leaves. It made every step a little disconcerting. Still though, I trod forth. There were a small handful of established trails thankfully, though many were overgrown. My journey was met with relative silence for the most part. Aside from the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath my boots, all that permeated the quiet was the whispering breeze. Not even the mercy of a squirrel skittering along the path, or a distant bird call. It was almost as though I’d entered a space separate to the one I was in just ten minutes before. So uncanny, to the point of nauseating. 

After some time, my body began to droop with fatigue. I required rest, and though taking one here did not feel ideal, I’d walked so far I wasn’t so sure which way I’d come anymore. A problem for my future myself. Meanwhile, I flickered the torch around. To my surprise, it managed to reveal a path leading to a small clearing. Heading inside, I found a few carefully placed logs around an unlit campfire. Reluctantly, I took a seat on one. Ignoring the smell of cold mildew, I closed my eyes and breathed in.

Splat.

...What was that.

My eyes flew open. 

A pair of legs stood before me. Black, ripped trousers painted with skeleton bones, like a halloween costume. 

Slowly, my eyes turned upwards. 

The torso, disturbingly thin, also draped in a black, ripped shirt with the same pattern. 

Drifting to the side.

The fingers were long, bony. Dirt stained the nails and palm.

Further up.

An exposed collar bone. They’re so pale, I think. Deathly pale. Not a drop of blood pulsing through the veins. A black bag hung over the shoulder.

I dragged myself mentally to look at the face. Thin lips, neither smiling nor frowning. White, tangled hair flopped lazily, covering the ears. Jutting out from the skull beneath the locks were a pair of deer like antlers. They looked smooth, and the points sharp. Yet, those weren’t even the strangest thing. I became fixated on the eyes. Those pure, black eyes. Their void like ambience felt like staring into nothingness. An inky liquid dripped steadily from somewhere within, trickling down the colourless cheeks and onto the grass.

And there we were, a weary traveller sat upon a log, towered by a skeletal creature. Each one silent, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Every beat was timed wasted. The creature’s lips parted. My legs tensed, preparing to bolt.

“I’ve seen you...walking...a long time…” 

They...spoke?

It sounded mellow, and weak, as though this being had not conversed in quite some time. I was in too much shock to speak, so they did again.

“I brought...some food...you seemed...hungry” they murmured, pointing a bony finger at the ground. 

Looking down I saw the carcass of a freshly killed rook. Uncomfortable, my gaze slipped back up the deer person. Their head was cocked, in the way a cat might when presenting a gift. The action itself is grim, and yet I don’t sense a hint of malice in there.

“Um...thank you...but I can’t eat that” I reply, nervous but polite.

“Oh...sorry” 

The strange being picks the rook back up and lays it on another log, perhaps for later. Then, they rustle through the bag on their shoulder, producing what looks to be a cereal bar, albeit a little squashed.

“Can you...eat this?” they ask.

My stomach rumbles, so I’ve no choice but to accept the kind offer. I devour it quickly. They continue to stare as I do.

“Say, do you have a name?” I ask after a moment, slowly.

They shake their head.

“That’s unfortunate...why don’t I call you Grim for now? I kind of feel like I’m in a twisted fairytale right now, so it’s fitting” I suggest.

Grim twitches, softly grunting. I take it to mean they’re happy. It’s strangely cute. Feeling more energised from the snack, my brain starts to kick back into gear, and that creeping feeling of needing to leave comes back. 

But...for some reason I don’t want to leave them here like this, alone. It feels wrong.

But I can’t take them with me either.

In frustration, I slap my knees and stand up. Poor Grim appears a bit startled but the sudden movement. I try to calm them down with comforting hushes. Once they’re back to normal I sigh, and make the request.

“Well, this has been...interesting, Grim. I’m sorry to cut this short but I really need to go. If it’s not too much trouble, could you show me how to get back?” 

Grim says nothing. The neutral facade is betrayed by the dark liquid trickling faster, like a tap turned on to high. Inky tears, wiped away by pale hands. Eventually, they nod.

I’m quietly guided to where I started, in half the time I’d taken to travel inwards. Not looking back, before taking a step outside, I whisper my full name to the deer, leaving them with a memory of at least one friend.

And I leave.

And they’re gone.

And I’m crying.