She was back in the woods, but this time instead of standing off in the distance, Darcy was standing several yards away from a small cabin. As soon as her surroundings became clear, the girl was immediately on edge. She didn’t want to be there.
These woods are bad, she thought, though she wasn’t sure why.
An unseen pair of hands seemed to push Darcy in the direction of the cabin. She felt her legs move forward, but each step was difficult. The sky also seemed to darken with each step she took. Finally she stood in front of the crude front door.
Her father taught her that she was always supposed to knock. That was the polite thing to do. So Darcy reached out to knock on the door. But as her knuckles were about to connect with the aged wood, the door slowly opened, revealing the dark room inside.
The cabin was empty, its plain furnishings dark and dull. Dust traveled in the air as the silence tried to convince Darcy to turn and run.
Instead of fleeing, however, she took a deep breath and went inside; she had seen something that caught her attention almost immediately.
Her bed.
It was the same exact bed, the same intricate designs. But what was it doing here in the middle of the woods? In this horrible place?
Just as Darcy was about to sit down on the bed, she heard a man talking outside the cabin. Unsure as to what to do, she crawled underneath the bed, nearly choking on all of the dust and cobwebs she came into contact with as her small body rested against the dirty floor.
“And that’s why you need to stay closer to home,” the man was saying in a booming, gruff voice. “These woods aren’t safe. And you’re quite small and weak. You understand?”
“Yes, Papa,” answered a boy whose voice Darcy didn’t recognize.
As she peered out from underneath the bed, she could see the man and the boy, whom she assumed was the man’s son. They were both dressed in odd clothing, wearing shorts that were hitched up high on their stomachs and plain white shirts. They both wore thick white socks and dark shoes. Their clothes reminded Darcy of a book she’d read in school about the different foods of the world. In the picture book, there were images of people from different part of the globe, all dressed in their respective, regional garb. The man and his son looked like the people she’d seen in the “Germany” section. They were both speaking English, but had strong accents that she thought might be German.
The boy sat down at the wooden table and watched as his father puttered around by the stove, picking up a bucket and pouring water into a steaming pot. The man pulled a slew of vegetables out of a nearby sack and began cutting them, the falling pieces each making a plopping and sizzling sound upon hitting the hot water.
“Papa?” the boy asked, “Why are the woods bad? And why do I sometimes feel strange, like my body belongs to someone else?”
The man didn’t turn around but grunted as he continued to slice beets and carrots. “I don’t know. These woods have been here for as long as I can remember, and our family’s no stranger to these parts. But there’s badness in the trees at night, and you’re spending too much time out there. I can see it in your eyes.”
The boy shivered and looked down as if ashamed by the accusation, but then looked up again. This time, he didn’t hesitate, saying in a sly voice, “My eyes, Papa—what do they show you? Do they show you how you fucked Mama to death and I’m all that’s left?”
Darcy’s blood ran cold as the boy stood up from the table, staring straight at his father. The man didn’t turn around right away, but she could see that he had stopped cutting the vegetables.
“Well, Papa?” the boy asked again.
The man turned around quickly and in a flash lifted the boy and threw him onto the bed, bellowing, “Leave my son, you demon! Leave my son alone!” He continued shouting as the boy thrashed on the bed. Darcy could feel the entire piece of furniture vibrating, and the metal that pressed against her back was getting warmer.
Suddenly, all of the noise stopped. Darcy paused, afraid to breathe. She lay still for a moment, and suddenly the boy’s face appeared, facing her upside down. It was contorted and terrifying in its evil, recognizable as bad to the core…even by an eight-year-old.
“Why, hello there. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to join me?” With those words, the boy-creature cackled in pleasure.
Darcy screamed and screamed until she woke up in bed, shaking. For a moment she considered calling for her father, but she knew that he would remove the bed from her room, and for some reason, she didn’t want him to take it away. Despite the bad dreams, she liked her bed and didn’t want to be parted from it.
You’re my bed, she thought as her eyes once again closed in exhaustion.
Dreamless sleep descended upon her for the rest of the night.