There’s a tune, one with words that remain unclear and fuzzy in my mind. Where this tune is from or what it is, I do not know. I only know that the sound lingers in the back of my mind. Even now, as I sit on this stupid wagon with a bunch of tourists, I can’t get the melody out of my head so it’s quietly hummed or tapped against the wood.

“Whisper Woods is located right on a forest reserve, there’s over 8,000 square miles. There isn’t a better place to hide than here, in the deep brush. These tree’s you see here, some are two, three, maybe even five hundred years old!” Tony, our guide that looks like he was plucked out of a Looney Tunes episode, says animatedly from his seat on the wagon. It’s a rickety old thing with two strong black horses pulling us along some trails right outside of the reserve.

There’s mostly kids on the ride, leaning over the side of the wagon to try and touch the tree’s we’re passing. Even if it’s summer and the humidity is high, the shade from the brush keeps us cool. Nature has such a unique smell, something comforting and warm that it has me relaxing even if the wagon kind of hurts to sit on.

“There are all sorts of precious critters protected in there because of the reserve, but, most of all, the Forest Folk. It’s easy for ‘em to hide. They live in the tree’s and the brush and the water, not quite like fairies do. The first ever encounter with one was said to be during the first settlement of Whisper Woods over 300 years ago. A young girl claimed to have come across a man of white light, everyone thought she was crazy until others started spotting them too.”

“Has anyone spotted them today?” A young boy shouts from the back of the wagon.

“Oh yes, quite a few town folks claim to see ‘em regularly. They never cause any harm, stick to themselves and even help the gardens grow. They have a green thumb, ya see. Give them a night and a sapling will turn into a tree.”

I ignore the guide that’s clearly trying to win over the kids. Instead, I lean against the railing of the wagon and admire the view. Dr. Driscall was pleased when I told her I’d be going on the wagon ride. Honestly, I thought this to be a stupid idea but now I’m really enjoying it, even with the silly guide.

There’s wilderness on either side, tall trees and thick bushes with wildflowers littering the forest floor. Nana used to tell me a similar story about Forest Folk, only hers had the girl and the Forest Folk falling in love and living happily ever after together. I think they honestly believed the tales too. Both loved fairy tales, stories of wild adventures, knights and princess’, dragons and fairies. Why wouldn’t they believe in the idea of some magical forest people living in their own backyard? I wonder if I would have still believed had they survived. Either way, it truly is fascinating how the town turned all this mumbo jumbo into a tourist attraction. I have to give them props for that. Excellent marketing done right here.

My camera is out snapping pictures for future inspiration. I’m sure I’ll be painting like crazy once I get home. We even stop the ride at some point in an open field atop a cliff that looks over the forest. There’s a wooden railing keeping people safe from the cliff side and signs requesting to keep a distance, but it’s hard to do that when the forest itself feels as if it’s calling to you.

The view truly is a sea of green consuming the horizon. The sun is high in the sky, casting a warming light over the forest where birds flutter from the tree tops singing cheerful tunes. In the distance, there’s a break in the trees where the Crimson River resides. Something about the algae of the rock makes the water red in some places, which is how it got its name.

Tony is gushing over Whisper Woods history and Forest Folk lore as I traverse the forest around us, taking a bit of a break from the group. I glance at them over my shoulder, double checking they haven’t left as I climb through the brush. The forest is thick, so thick that it blocks the sun so the forest floor is covered in shadows with brief glimpses of light. Heavenly is about the only way to describe the rays breaking through the leaves.

Something snaps. I pivot towards the noise. A bush a few feet ahead rustled, dark and overshadowed by overhanging branches and vines. I take a knee, peering through the camera lense in hopes to catch a rabbit or a squirrel. The camera zooms in, focusing on the bush, scanning over it and—

Eyes. Black as night, gleaming from the brief light in the darkness, wide and watchful, frightening and fixated on me.

“What the—” I hiss, nearly dropping my camera in shock. I stumble to my feet, but the eyes are gone and the forest is still.

“Everyone huddle back!” cries Tony. “We’re returning to the cabin, come on, come on!”

I take a lingering glance at the calm forest. My racing heart doesn’t settle as I back away, barely taking my eyes off the spot where I saw those wide eyes. I don’t turn my back until I’m out of the forest and heading for the wagon. On the way back, I inspected my recent photo and found that I took a picture but it’s blurry. I can’t make out any eyes. Must have been my imagination.

“I hope you all had a great time today on our tour of Whisper Woods!” Tony announces when we have returned to the cabin. Everyone is slowly hopping off while he stands atop his seat watching on with a smile. “And remember, keep your ears and eyes open, you may yet see a Forest Folk through the tree’s tonight! It’s a full moon.”

I’m tempted to remark how that’s a werewolf thing, but decide not to since the kids seem so chipper about it. Once off the ride, I finally have time to shift through the photo’s admiring the beauty that is now my home. It baffles me how I grew up here in the summers yet my memories pale in comparison to seeing it all again.

A pair of purple slippers and wrinkled toes suddenly appear in my vision. Slowly, I raise my gaze to find a peculiar elder woman. Her hair is peppered gray and frizzy but twisted with random braids and flower petals. Her clothes are a bit tattered and brightly colored, like that of a fortune teller from some weird movie. Her face isn’t familiar but, somehow, it feels like she knows me. A pair of dark brown eyes, so dark I would argue they’re actually black, bore into my own with some form of determination.

“Bewitched,” she hisses.

“Excuse me?” I question hesitantly, taking a step back when she suddenly takes one forward.

“You’re bewitched,” she repeats more confidently than the last.

“Uh, thanks for the warning?” I try to step around her. Her cold fingers grasp my wrist. The sensation shooting up my arm makes my body twitch with discomfort. On instinct, I smack her hand away. She smiles, nothing fearsome nor kind. I don’t know how to describe it.

“Fascinating,” she says, looking me over like a specimen in a lab. The gaze has me twisting my nose in annoyance. Before I can ask what the hell she means, or just tell her off, she leaves without another word.

“Ok then...seems I found the village crazy lady,” I whisper to myself, returning to my car only after the elderly woman disappears down the street.