The Swamp (Long)

The Doctor said he would wait for me. He told me to bring only the essentials, for once we had passed through, there would be no turning back. He thanked me with a nod, and then vanished into the darkening woods. I had precious little time. Fortunately, there was a path though a burned house back to the Dry Meadow.

One thought kept running through my mind as I jogged back to the tunnel's entrance.

I was finally leaving this fucking place.

If only I had known...

True to his word, the Doctor was waiting for me.He asked me once again if I was truly ready. I replied with a shrug of my backpack and brushed past him. Despite sparing his life, I was not yet ready to exchange words with the man who had drugged and tortured me. We had a mutual interest, where numbers granted better protection. That was the extent of our relationship, and I made it known to him.

As we weaved through the tunnel of liquid dark, I realized that I could hear breathing. The walls of stone and steel seemed to fade into some organic substance, oozing and pulsing with the gentle beat of a dormant mind.

As we reached the collapsed section of the tunnel, a flickering light brought forth disturbing images of half-seen phantasms and shimmering ghouls. I turned towards the exit in disgust, but the Doctor called to me. I looked back to see him staring at the mountain of rubble and glistening roots that blocked the tunnel. I squinted through the flashing lights and saw a man amidst the detritus.

It hissed at me, the creature that rose from the black water only to sink once again. I swore I could hear words in its unintelligible noise, perhaps a warning. It doesn't matter now. After I had swallowed my fear, I moved forward with my weapon raised. I saw bodies now, others like the man in the debris.

They whimpered at my passing, begging for death, for release. I had neither the time nor the ammunition to grant them what they sought, for as I walked, their numbers grew so great that, after a time, I could not distinguish any single plea from the cacophony of agony. At long last, I came to an opening at the top of a ladder, as I climbed, I could smell some semblence of fresh air.

Had I escaped Darkwood, I wondered?

I swallowed heavily when I saw that he was still moving. He lifted his head lazily and spoke to me. he complained of a pain in his head, and when he reached up to his temple, he scooped a wad of milky goo from a hole that sat squarely above his ear. He extended his hand to me, offering me the object.

It appeared to be a bullet, but it was soft, nearless shapeless. Not even a bullet to the brain could end the suffering of the plague, it seemed.

I could do nothing for him, the man who was slowly becoming a part of Darkwood. Scowling, I turned and went after the Doctor, who had all but disappeared in the unknown lengths of the tunnel. The ground sank into a body of water, forcing me to wade through depths that swallowed my legs with stagnant liquid.

I walked for what felt like minutes, until I began to notice the walls growing more narrow. The claustrophobia was building to its zenith, until something emerged from the water that made me instantly forget my discomfort.

I emerged into a desolate landscape of pastel orange and brown. My watch told me it was morning, yet you could scarcely tell. The skeleton trees and bleached clouds blocked all the warmth and joy of the sun, leaving behind a world that appeared to have been sapped of all its vigor.

Fortunately, I was in the vicinity of a hideout that had not been sucked into the stinking bog around me. After scavenging all the supplies I could, I planned my tactics for the inevitable night. I found a small room adjacent from the stove that was more than suitable for a defensive stand.

During my labors, I glanced into the horizon and saw the outlines of buildings. Another village. Squinting, I saw a vast, singular tree in the town's center. Curious, I thought. I also saw what appeared to be a radio tower. Lacking any other options, and with the Doctor nowhere to be seen, I set out to explore the village before the sun could set. It was not long before I reached a narrow path through a hideous mass of roots. Before I could pass through, however, I encountered the first denizen of the Swamp.

My bones still shake when I think of it: a spider-like mass of crawling corpses, rising from the countless dead. Yet, fate was merciful to me; it bled and died like any other living creature. With such an omen at the village's doorstep, I expected to find little of use to me among the ruined structures.

The Swamp had all but swallowed everything, leaving what little remained to be picked clean by desperate souls both animal and man. Curious, I thought to myself, that in such a hostile place I would find the man, who in his fear and mad obsession, had abandoned me.

He glanced up at me nervously, obviously expecting something more feral than I. Still, considering his abandonment of me, I confessed myself surprised that he did not fear me most of all. I thought of killing him again, yet when I saw him fully in the faint light, I knew that any effort or resource on my part would simply be a waste.

He was dead already.

He mocked me as I studied him. I distinctly remember the way he spoke then, how different his inflection was compared to the day before at the train car. It was like hearing a mind break, as if it were something brittle and exposed. I watched the Doctor for only a moment longer as he continued digging in the dirt like a confused child.

Then, I pushed further into the village. Aside from scraps here and there, I found nothing that proved useful to my escape from the cursed forest. Then, as I drew closer to the town's center, a crowd of indiscernible voices began to grow. I quickened my pace, searching for the throngs of people that had to be its source. I darted through a dilapidated warehouse, and it was there I found a strange old man.

He was disabled in many ways, yet ironically, he appeared to be one of the last surviving residents of the village. He ignored all I had to say, electing instead to ramble about a "tree" that spoke lies endlessly. Then, he made an odd request.

He said there was a basement. A dark place beneath the tree where the roots were strong and close together. Without acknowledging him, I turned and left, certain that the voices I heard held people who might have answers for me. When I exited the building, however, I saw nothing living.

There was an open square, bereft of all except a massive tree that towered over the tallest building. Water at least waist-deep was everywhere. Cursing under my breath, I started to go back the way I had come, yet from the corner of my eye, I noticed a peculiar movement in the great tree. I became mesmerized as I focused my gaze upon it fully. Gradually, I waded closer and closer to it, and as I did so, the weeping multitude of voices grew louder.

The full horror of what waited for me still haunts me to this very moment.

I cannot say how long I stood there, staring in stupified revulsion at the twisting mass of bodies in the tree. Something within me asserted that this...thing...was somehow the heartbeat of the forest, the catalyst for all that had happened. As I sat there, tracing my eyes across all the figures in the tree, the face of a man who was looking at me drew my attention. He was fixed high upon the trunk, beyond my reach. His mouth moved in obvious patterns of speech, yet amidst the din of so many others, I could not hear him. His lips mouthed out one word that I could comprehend, however.

"Radio"

Whatever the man was saying, the tree was blocking the main road, the same road in my photograph. The road home. My new objective was to get past the tree. The tree, I surmised, sensed this. It knew I would stop at nothing. I investigated the spot the Old Man had spoken of. True to his word, there was a basement, yet it was flooded. I could not go further without an air tank. Finally satisfied, I left the town square.

On my return to the hideout, I stumbled across a discomforting scene.

A sane man, perhaps, would pass off the corpse as simply another victim of the forest. Yet, I felt an indubitable connection between this fuliginous, ritualistic display and the mushroom men that lay dormant throughout Darkwood. But, such creatures cannot be summoned through "magic", can they? Are we not still bound by the laws of nature? I once thought as such.

However cruel it may be, there is a certain harmony to our world. Supernatural beings are restricted to the machinations of the mind. Darkwood, however, has turned every preconception I have had about reality into an afterthought. At one time, I might have uttered a prayer to a god, but what would that save me from? If such nightmares were allowed to walk freely in our flawed world, then what terrors were waiting in the world beyond?

The following morning, after barely surviving the harshest night I had, at that point, endured, I set out for the distant tower. I kept thinking of the man in the tree. It was a feeling I could not fully explain, but I sensed no hostility from the tree. It wanted to offer me a solution, one that did not involve destruction. It was my best lead, and so I took it. Before I could depart, however, I was stopped by a trio of unusually dressed humans.

They did not speak to me, it seems like they were incapable of that. I asked as to my old friend, the trader, but they merely indicated with their masked faces to some spot behind me. I traded with them quickly, nervous that they would tire easily if forced to wait. Then, I left them, only to discover my friend for whom I had inquired.

His headless body, with his head besides him still in his mask, stared at me.

The word "LIAR" was scrawled out in messy handwriting on his visor.

I couldn't cry, I did not mourn. He would have wanted me to stay strong. I quietly buried his body on the most beautiful clearing I could find in the cursed woods, one where the trees would not absorb the body.

I never talked to that trio again.