The Crossroads And The Cane

Crone Of The Forest

Kerry sat down and looked at the murky soup her grandmother had set in front of her. In addition to recognizable vegetables and herbs, there were bones that she could not identify floating within it. "What kind of soup is this?" she asked while inspecting her soup. Her grandmother hobbled back to her large pot which was boiling furiously just a few feet away. "It's bone marrow," her grandmother replied while stirring the soup with a large ladle. The soup, a cloudy brown color, was spicy and it seemed as if the spice was used to cover up a different flavor. Kerry looked over at her grandmother who despite being 98 years old cared for herself. She still had trouble as her back had been hunched due to the degradation of her spine, and her long, clawed fingers closed inwards, a symptom of rheumatoid arthritis. Blind in one eye, her grandmother had immigrated from Ukraine as a result of war and settled in a small cabin, nestled in the forest a few miles from the town.

Life had not been so fair to Kerry, especially after her mother had passed away. Once a vibrant, energetic little girl full of promise, she was now a teenage introvert with a grim view of the world. A loner in every sense of the word, her grandmother took her in once the tragedy struck. She had traded her teddy bears and dolls for gothic clothing and her musical tastes switched from pop to Death Metal. She would roam the halls of her school perpetually wearing a beanie, black makeup, and flannel, a stark difference from a few years back when she was wearing all the popular clothing and sneakers. The change did more than just reflect her outlook on life, however, as it also attracted all the bullies. None more brutal than Tiffany and her boyfriend Jimmy. Both part of affluent families, they wasted no time in bullying her when her mother passed and did not spare an opportunity to do so. Experiences ranged from innocent pranks to full-fledged abuse that to no one's surprise the school did little to ensure her safety. Once, Kerry found her bag submerged in a flooded bathroom after having it taken from her. Another time she watched as they stole her final report, a private experience with tragedy, and posted it along the halls. Kerry would spend nights locked away in the extra room in her grandmother's house, blasting heavy guitar riffs while tears streamed down her face.

While her bullies were ever vigilant within the school walls, the abuse never reached her grandmother's abode. Long known in the neighborhood as a crone, many people feared her, and the religious community was directed to not approach her. Her cabin, old and run down was primarily lit by oil lamps and decorated with old pictures of her grandmother and animals that had been preserved. The pictures, all black and white were of her during the 1940s, a dark contrast to what she resembled today. Rumors had spread when she first came that missionaries had vanished while visiting her in an attempt to convert her to Christianity. It was assumed that she worshipped evil gods although no one had spoken to her, many had sworn to have seen figures dancing in the shadows despite her living alone. While some stories seemed outlandish, such as her communing with large antlered beasts to resurrecting the dead, many settled on the possibility that angering her would lead to misfortune. For all the fear she received, she viewed herself as a strong woman and wondered why Kerry did not feel the same about herself.

"What happened?" her grandmother asked after hearing Kerry weeping one night.

"Everyone hates me. I don't know why they can't just let me live?"

"People fear what they don't understand. Sometimes fear is a result of ignorance. You mustn't fall for it. Be strong!" her grandmother stated shaking her fist.

"Easy for you to say. You don't know what I've been through."

"I have seen you through the tea leaves. I have consulted Paimon and he is sure of it."

Kerry scrunched up her face and looked at her grandmother. "Paimon? What the fuck are you talking about grandma? I don't have time for your stories." She fell face-first onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow. The music she listened to blasted through the headphones as they hit the floor.