After the meal, the house was filled with the soft hum of activity. Harold was busy at the table, crafting little trinkets from straw—whistles, small figurines, and simple toys for the children. His hands moved deftly, twisting and weaving, creating little works of art. The younger kids crowded around him, watching in awe as he skillfully shaped the straws into playful shapes.
Meanwhile, Mary quietly tidied up the kitchen, her hands submerged in warm, soapy water as she washed the dishes. The soft clink of plates and cups was the only sound that accompanied her thoughts, the quiet of the evening settling in around her. Carol, the matriarch of the family, had settled into the rocking chair by the hearth, her feet resting up as she gave herself a much-needed rest after the long day.
Poppy and Liam, full of energy, were playing with Rosette and Michael, chasing each other around the house. The sounds of laughter and playful shouts filled the room, a stark contrast to the nagging worry Mary felt in her chest.
As Mary rinsed the last plate, she felt a soft hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Carol standing beside her, a gentle smile on her face. "No, mama. Please, rest. I'm a big girl now," Mary said quickly, trying to push her mother away.
Carol chuckled, the sound soothing and familiar. “You are still my little girl, Mary,” she replied, her eyes softening as she surveyed her daughter. “But you look... stressed. Something happen today?”
Mary paused, the scrubbed dish in her hand momentarily forgotten as she considered her mother's question. Carol’s knowing gaze seemed to pierce right through her, but Mary wasn’t sure whether she should say anything about the eyes in the woods—or about the strange feeling she’d been carrying with her all day.
Mary shook her head slowly, not wanting to worry her mother. “No, mama, nothing happened. I’m fine.”
Carol arched an eyebrow, her playful tone not fooled by the quick dismissal. “Really? I see that look on your face. Don’t try to hide it from me, Mary. Something happened, didn’t it?”
Mary bit her lip, unsure whether to share the strange experience. She hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Liam, but Carol was too perceptive to let it slide for long.
“Oh, I know,” Carol continued with a teasing smile. “Did you meet a handsome boy in the woods? Or maybe... you’ve been playing too many games in the forest, and the fairies are calling you now?” She nudged Mary’s side, her tone light and teasing.
Mary laughed softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No, mama. It’s not like that.”
Carol, still smiling, let out a small sigh and sat down beside Mary. She reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Mary’s ear. “You’re a strong girl, but even the strongest need to talk sometimes, Mary. You know you can tell me anything.”
Mary stared at the sink, lost in thought. She wanted to tell her mother, wanted to share the fear she’d felt in the woods, but something held her back—maybe it was her own worry, or maybe it was because she didn’t want to frighten her family with things that couldn’t be explained.
Finally, Carol sighed, as if sensing her daughter’s hesitation. “Alright, if you’re not ready to share, that’s fine. But remember, you don’t have to keep everything to yourself.”
With a soft chuckle, she patted Mary’s hand and stood up. “Now, finish those dishes, and I’ll take a turn in a bit. You’ve done enough today, my dear.”
Mary nodded quietly, grateful for her mother’s understanding. As she finished rinsing the last dish, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Even though she hadn’t confided in Carol, there was something comforting about knowing she could.
Poppy’s voice rang out from the other room as she continued playing with the younger kids. “Come on, Liam, let’s see who can make the best straw bird! You can’t beat my straw animals, you know!”
Liam’s laughing reply echoed from across the room. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Aunt Poppy!”
Mary couldn’t help but smile as she finished up the last of the dishes, the warmth of her family wrapping around her like a blanket, even if the shadows of the forest outside still lingered at the edges of her mind.
That night, the house was quiet, the soft sounds of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl filtering in through the wooden shutters. Everyone had gone to bed, the day’s activities finally wearing down even the most energetic of the children.
Carol was about to retreat to her own room when she noticed Mary lingering by the living room, her small frame illuminated by the faint moonlight coming through the window. Dressed in her simple white nightgown, Mary’s expression was uneasy, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress.
“Mama…” she whispered hesitantly.
Carol turned, her brow furrowing slightly. “What is it, Mary?”
Mary glanced toward the hallway where the rest of the family was asleep, then back at her mother. “Can I tell you something?”
Carol’s expression softened, and she motioned for her daughter to come closer. “Of course, Mary. Come, sit first,” she said gently, easing herself into her chair with a small sigh, her hands resting protectively on her swollen belly.
Mary hesitated before sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor in front of her mother. Carol reached out and began brushing her fingers through Mary’s dark brown hair, the soothing motion calming both of them.
“Is it the nightmares again, Mary?” Carol asked, her voice soft and understanding.
Mary nodded but then took a deep breath, her hazel eyes glinting with unease as she looked up at her mother. “It’s not just the nightmares, Mama,” she admitted. “I saw the eyes again... in the woods.”
Carol’s hand paused briefly, then continued its gentle rhythm. “The eyes?” she echoed, her tone careful, not dismissive but curious.
Mary nodded again, her voice trembling slightly. “Rosie and Michael saw them too… or something. They got so quiet all of a sudden. It was like they were frozen, just staring at the trees. I… I saw them too, Mama. Two glowing eyes, watching us from the woods. It wasn’t an animal. It felt… wrong.”
Carol’s face grew serious, though she remained calm, not wanting to alarm her daughter. “Tell me everything, Mary,” she urged gently.
Taking another deep breath, Mary began to recount the events of the evening—how she had been washing clothes by the river while Liam played with the younger children, how she had warned them not to wander too close to the woods, and how everything had seemed normal until the sudden, eerie quiet.
“It was like… the woods were holding their breath,” Mary said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And then I saw them. The eyes. They were… glowing, like embers in the dark. I grabbed Rosie and Michael right away, and we ran home. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Carol listened intently, her hand never leaving Mary’s hair. When Mary finished, the silence stretched between them for a moment, broken only by the soft creak of the chair as Carol shifted slightly.
Finally, she spoke, her tone measured. “You did the right thing, Mary. You kept your siblings safe, and that’s what matters most.”
“But what were they, Mama?” Mary asked, her voice trembling. “What could they be?”
Carol didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes drifted toward the window, where the faint outline of the dark woods loomed in the distance. She had grown up in this village, just as her parents had before her, and she knew the old stories—stories of spirits, creatures, and things that roamed the forest under the cover of night.
“There are things in this world, Mary, that we don’t always understand,” Carol said finally, her voice gentle but firm. “The woods have always been… different. That’s why we’ve always been careful, why we tell you children not to wander too far. Whatever it was you saw, it’s best to stay away.”
Mary nodded, though the unease in her chest didn’t entirely fade. “Do you think it’ll come closer, Mama? To the house?”
Carol’s hand paused again, and she leaned forward slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of Mary’s head. “Not as long as we’re careful,” she said softly. “And not as long as we stay together. Remember, this house is full of love and light. That’s something no shadow can take away.”
Mary wanted to believe her mother’s words, and for a moment, she did. She leaned into Carol’s touch, finding comfort in her presence.
“Now,” Carol said with a small smile, “it’s late, and you need your rest. Tomorrow, we’ll talk to your father about this, alright? He’ll know what to do.”
Mary nodded, her eyelids growing heavy as the tension of the day finally began to melt away. “Alright, Mama. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, my little girl,” Carol said, watching as Mary shuffled off to bed.
Once Mary was gone, Carol’s smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. Her hand rested on her belly, and she glanced toward the darkened window again. The woods outside seemed to press closer somehow, their shadows deeper than before. Whatever Mary had seen, Carol couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a child’s imagination.
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