THE FORGOTTEN GROVE

Six

"A test of my patience. There are things that we'll never know"
Harry Styles
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(Fine line)

^.

The old floorboard creaked as Hafsah stepped forth; a pensive and gentle attempt to reach the door.

Eamon beat her to it, he twisted the door knob over and over, but to no avail. "No, no, no, no." panic and a faint streak of sobby sound amalgamated in his voice as he pulled on his hair, pacing restlessly around the room.

"Calm your fear-infiltrated tits Eamon, the wind must have just slammed it too hard," Hafsa said, still struck to her earliest position.

"For a person who's usually the smart one, you're not doing a very good job at picking up on this; what we are currently faced with," he walked to her not stopping until there was no space left between them. He grabbed her by the arms and shook her gently as he spoke. "We are trapped here Hafspoopoo. We're gonna become lost souls like everyone else who has ever dared to come this far— we know too much, and we're never seeing our family again." Fear spoke so clearly in his voice.

"We're going to be fine," Hafsa assured, putting her hands around his biceps. "We just need to find a way to get that door to open." He nodded. Only halfway, before his eyes poured wide.

"Did you hear that?" "Don't tell me you didn't hear that and start lecturing me about being crazy."

She looked beyond him, and around them, "I sure as hell heard it." Somehow her voice remains impenetrable and unfiltered.

Another shallow hum reverberated around the old house, this time with a little depth, causing him to clutch onto his best friend's back, shivering in fear.

"Again, again... they hummed again, oh God." Their eyes darted around anticipatingly.

Hafsa didn't need much explaining to understand now, what their current situation communicated, she was equally as confused as anyone in their shoes right now would be.

She thought about being trapped here forever and not being able to see her parents ever again, and her soul almost freed her body as her heart suddenly became erratic against its cage.

She wouldn't admit it right at this moment but she was scared... shitless, and would really appreciate it if Eamon stopped crying against her shoulders and gave her a headspace to think.

"Okay, okay," she turned to him, wrapping her hands around his, "There's no need to cry, I told you I'd protect you right? Well, you're lucky I don't often go back on my words." She smiled at him. "Wipe your tears." She ordered, and he obeyed.

The atmosphere was growing increasingly oppressive, and both realized how solitude didn't much define their current situation; the humming was pellucid evidence Reynold was right. They weren't alone all along. Which hurled along the question: what was it keeping tabs on them? Was it a person, spirit, or the monster Reynold wrote about?

"What do we do now?" Eamon asked, tugging his shirt forward to blow air into his torso, "Why's it suddenly so hot?"

Hafsa strolled to the door to try on the knob again and walked back to him when it was vainly. "Something about this place isn't right." The look on her face was one of assertiveness. "And before you start gloating about how you've been voicing your worries all day and have been right all along, we need to find a different way out of here first." Eamon nodded.

"What would Nancy Drew do?" he asked, sniffing loudly.

"Well, unfortunately, this isn't one of Nancy Drew's cases of mystery solving, it's unfortuitous that it's all up to us, and we have to think and come up with something fast." She said pointing out the window at the orangeness of the day.

"Let's try this." He said walking to the door.

"Try what?"

"Just follow my lead." But it didn't work. Eamon had suggested that they break the door down with whatever material they found. They're both panting, out of breath now, crouched in front of each other.

"The wood is too strong," Hafsa said.

"And the heat is growing unbearable."

There was a moment of silence, their ragged breaths the only sound filling the void until Eamon started pointing to Reynold's skeleton. "What would the old man do?" and that was when it dawned on Hafsa, the Journal, it detailed some sort of map outlined by Reynold, it could be their way out of here, maybe not, maybe a compromise, but it could lead them to the key out of here. They had to start from somewhere at least, she thought.

She bounced up. "Grab me the Journal." Eamon's face sagged but he frog-jumped to Reynold's skeleton to grab it anyway.

Hafsa Clicked her tongue, halting at a page where she scanned her eyes along "Reynold says here that there's a door in that curve of the kitchen," she traced her finger to the area. "It leads to... oh yeah, it's this part that's faded."

"Great."

"Lucky for us we have a chance to find out."

"And what if there's a monster waiting for us to fall into its trap."

Hafsa sighed emphatically, "Then we need to be careful."

It's a trapdoor hidden in the wall of the kitchen store, no one would ever have guessed it exists.

They skirted in to juggle mindfully down a stairway that led them to the basement.

Eamon's throat dry, his heart, a pendulum of strikes to his throat and the pit of his stomach.

Hafsa needed to keep herself at a solid bay; she'd picked on very quickly that however their fate turned out to be tonight, was all up to her.

Venturing deeper, closely and carefully, they discovered an underground tunnel system, Eamon had been hesitant to further the trail, but Hafsa convinced him the map read it, and that Reynold would not find the time to put it into noting if he didn't somehow make it out of there alive.

Eamon had been this close to countering that with 'yet, the old man remains skeleton dead,' but decided against it.

They tunneled down, the air thick with unnatural coldness, colder than the first two experiences... enough to pluck through their skin. In here the orange bulb kept glitching, and through the unsteady flash of light, they were able to make out something not only familiar, but that required Hafsa to dip her hands into her rucksack, fish out the torch light to better view what had caught their eyes flamboyantly.

"These are the same uncanny symbols in the trees— the same ones in Reynold's journal." Her breath hung with each word.

The walls surrounding them are lined with the same strange patterns.

Eamon snatched the torch from her to scan the wyrd and elaborate symbols surrounding the room.

"What the hell do they even me—" he gasped lightly, "What's that?" his voice was resilient, but also a wing coat of shock.

Whereas 'shocked' would be an understatement for Hafsah, seeing how her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach and refused to return to its original place.

'Updated—05-06-24

I read a poem today where the author says: "If Heaven isn't you, I don't want to be there" and i've been hung up on it all day.  It made me wonder if maybe, one of these days, I'll be someone's Heaven too.

Lol, anyway,
I hope everyone is doing well,
Other than wanting to be someone's heaven, I think every other thing is fine for me.'