THE FORGOTTEN GROVE

Three

"Fly like a bird on a wing, picture the lines in the trees. we can escape from the lives, we can unsettle the breeze"
David O'Dowda
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(The lines in the trees)

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Eamon swallowed nervously, "Are you sure we should do this? I mean, screw what I said, I don't want to be eaten by a monster or some gargoyles turning alive to imprison and feed us their yucky food for the rest of our lives." The imagery reenacted in his mind and he shudders as though he didn't harbor the thought in the first place. "Oh God!"

"This isn't some fairytale turned horror-nightmare, calm your tits, we are just checking the place out— who knows, we may get out of here as heroes, saving lives if there are any."

"I don't have tits." He blocked her way, his hands firm on his hips to prove his point.

"Seriously, that's your takeout?" Hafsa shook her head in dismay looking beyond him as she took in the cabin afront her, she knew a few things about buildings thanks to her dad; he was a superintendent: she could easily tell the cabin was constructed from roughhewn logs, the surfaces weathered, greened and greyed by years of exposure to the natural elements 'How could anyone live in such old house?' she wondered, dissolving herself further from Eamon's complaints, she didn't care to know why he kept throwing his hands up and down her view.

She tilted her head, eyeing the ivy and moss that crept up by the sides, blending the structures, almost seamlessly with their natural surroundings. The roof is a patchwork of wooden shingles, some of which have fallen off, revealing the rustic rafters beneath. A small rock chimney juts out from one side, blending with greens and flowers' natural work. Finally, she paid attention to the door— how hadn't she noticed before— the door was fine compared to the whole cabin from the outside, as in 'brand new looking' fine... it was made out of the sturdiest wood she'd ever seen before, looked like the owner just had it replaced. The windows, though small, were made of glass panes the way they would be in the movies in creepy lone houses tucked away in the woods, but much better looking.

"Hello, are you still there?" she blinked repeatedly at Eamon's fingers snapping her out of her trance. Not that it had been much of it; if you left it to Hafsa, she would call it 'a keen observative' and go on to say, 'the perks of being a future naturalist.'

"Did you even hear anything I said?" Eamon scoffed.

"What?"

"Gosh, where do you travel to sometimes? I was saying—"

"You know what," Hafsa interrupted, "shut up and let's check the inside out."

He laughed hysterically, as though she'd said something funny, "Sorry to break it to you partner, but nobody leaves their doors open these days."

"Well, maybe a person who lives in the hollow of the woods does." Her hand already holding the knob, the door slightly agape.

He grumbled, "I hate it when you're right."

"Yeah, me too."

As they strolled inside Eamon shivered,

"Lord, why's it so cold in here?"

"I know, it's a totally, palpable differing temperature from the outside." She couldn't help but draw her thin woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"This place is strange. Has a temperature malfunction."

"I agree." Hafsa scanned the inside too, taking her time to piece thread into needle: The inside was illuminated by strings of light from the holes in the ceiling, a beacon of light pouring from one of the closed windows, it didn't look much like anyone had lived here for decades; it was clear from the smell of aged woods, poor ventilation and something distinct she couldn't quite put a name to. There were a couple of old things around, like shelves hanging askew along the walls holding torn books, and some roughhewn wooded chairs splattered in the middle of the room. In general, the house was something the acquaintances would normally refer to, as a 'hot mess'.

She would have to agree with the tiny voice in her head: this place was indeed one of a kind. No, she would call it... what's the word again? It was at the tip of her mind; she knew she knew the wor— yes, Extraterrestrial. The place was extraterrestrial. Like no place she'd ever seen before.

She strolled to her partner who was sorting some dried herbs in an old jar.

"This could be our very own hideout, you know. A real workshop." She said, so elated her feet were curling.

"Yeah, if it didn't belong to someone else." He replied unenthusiastically.

"Look around, does it look like anyone has been here in a hundred years?"

"Actually," he turned to face her with a strange leaf in his hand and she frowned, "Ask that guy," he pointed to a skeleton— she'd somehow missed in her observative—reclined on a creaky wood in the kitchen arena of the strangely weird house. "He must own the place."

She counted her steps to the unforeseen skeleton, "How dare you assume their gender, she may be a woman." Hafsa scolded as she neared the bony person scrunching her nose in advance.

"Suit yourself." Eamon mumbled returning to his business.

"Holy poopy Daddy!"

"Yeah, I'm the bad one for assuming a skeleton's gender."

"Sorry, just get over here."

He strolled over to her cleaning his hand on his shirt. "What's it?" he asked.

"See for yourself."

"Holy poopy mommy!" he exclaimed.

"Yes." Hafsa smiled her satisfied smile. "I guess we aren't the only ones with curious and daring minds After all."

'Updated—30-5-24

Never stop wearing a smile, it's your greatest strength ;)'