Tales From Midnight Forest

Bloody Phantom ~ 2nd Disappearance

I scream

You scream

A blood-curdling scream

Bloody Phantom~ 2nd Disappearance

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It had been a week since the yearly Festival of the Spirits.

A week since my friend had disappeared into Midnight Forest.

Not a trace left behind.

Although some say that they heard a scream pierce through the silent night, but they all assumed that it was us girls off doing silly things in the middle of the night.

Leaning against the dead tree, I stared up at the sky, thinking about everything that could have happened to our Rita, but nothing could come to mind. I felt as though she could have fended for herself, that she was quite knowledgeable on survival, but I guess she wasn’t quite as practiced.

“You’re thinking of her again, aren’t you?” A voice came from the other side of the tree. Turning, I saw Tira on the ground, nose buried in yet another book, “You get a weird, pathetic look on your face and nervously glance over at the trees. It’s not healthy, but that’s just my opinion.”

I scowled at her, “Aren’t you even worried about what happened to Rita?”

“Of course I am, but there’s nothing that we can do. They’re now putting guards around the forest and putting up that wall.”

“So what happens if Rita does come back? She can’t get in if there’s a wall!” I protested.

Tira paused, “…She won’t come back, Lisanna.” She whispered softly

I couldn’t believe her.

She gave up on Rita. 

But a part of me agreed with Tira. She’s not coming back to us. 

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The stars twinkled brighter than usual and the moon reflected more light than usual, like there was a spot light on our little village, but it felt ominous.  The superstitious locked themselves away, along with their families, as soon as they felt that something was wrong. I don’t blame them, after Rita disappeared into the forest that night, I began to believe the tales that the older women told, listening along the edges of fences through the open windows as mothers told tales for their children.

Part of me felt sad whenever I did this, for my mother and father always refused to read bed time stories to me, said that it’d keep me immature.

As I stood along the fence line to a small wood cottage, I heard a mother telling her kids about gremlins that would take them away if they didn’t do as their parents told them to do, the kids gasped, horrified by the thought of being separated from their parents.

At another house, close to my own, an elderly woman claimed to a group of youngsters that when the moon shone like this and a young maiden, bold and daring, would go beneath the bell tower when the moon is at its zenith and hang a ribbon, and a peculiar man, said to be quite handsome, would snatch the ribbon and bring it back to you, but when he brings it back, you’re his. 

I shuddered at the thought of belonging to somebody, to not own myself. 

I needed to get my mind off of things. I knew that I had listen to one story too many.

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“Hey there, you want to get something to drink?”

Looking up, I saw one of the older boys in the village. I think his name was Paul. He was one of the few guys that I could actually remember and wasn’t a blur in the crowd, especially with his trademark blue eyes that made most of the girls swoon, but they always felt like they were piercing right through me. Definitely not melting my heart.