An Ode to Edgar

Scents and Sensability

     It was a cool, crisp September day, and I was following the sweet scent of wild honeysuckle in the forest behind my house. I figured I would follow the aromatic trail to the flowers so that I could capture them with my camera before they withered with the nearing onset of winter's harsh weather.

     As I carefully treaded along my fragrant path, I couldn't keep myself from snapping photos of the changing Autumn leaves, marveling at the deep oranges and vivid reds. Some of the leaves still glistened with remnants of the early morning fog that passed through the mountains, and the way the midday sunlight shone through the canopy and reflected off the water almost made the trees' leaves look like they were glimmering and dripping with fresh blood. Had it not been light outside and had there not been any happily chirping birds, the effect would have been eerie. Instead, it was inexplicably beautiful.

    The smell of the honeysuckle grew ever-stronger the deeper I walked into the woods, tantalizing my nostrils with their perfume. Eventually the scent grew so overpowering that it was puzzling that the flora wasn't in sight. I was so distracted that I did not notice how the birds slowly sang softer and softer before stopping altogether or how a strange shadowy darkness crept over the woods like a robber tiptoeing in the night.

     Out of the corner of my eye I caught a rustle of white and turned to face it, finding a lone clump of the flowers that smelled so strongly. I knew there must be many more nearby, so I walked a couple feet past the isolated plant and held apart two bush-like trees like I was holding open a beaded curtain. As soon as I slipped between nature's drapery, my field of vision was assaulted with the telltale white flowers of honeysuckle in the small clearing. It seemed to be gated with dark, slender tree trunks but I didn't care.

     I took picture after picture of the honeysuckle, sometimes kneeling down to get up close while I delicately plucked my way through the wildflower patch. After several minutes I noticed a pink tinge on some of the starkly white buds. I thought that perhaps this was a combination of the lighting and the setting of my camera, so I adjusted it and continued. Not many more moments after that I was sitting with my legs folded to my body and my weight on my left hip when it felt like water or mud was seeping into my jeans. The flowers began rapidly changing from white to light pink to a deeper and darker, more ominous hue. The liquid slowly soaking my jeans went from cold to warm, almost like a faucet heating up.

     I stood up quickly, frightened, and looked down. My denim-clad legs were saturated with a dark substance I that instinctively knew was not water or mud. I touched my left hand to my thigh and when I pulled it away and brought it closer to my face for inspection, I was horrified that my fingers were coated in a thick, sticky substance the color of rust. I stumbled forward towards the opposite edge of the clearing as I had entered and found that the vegetation was crushed.

     My gaze painstakingly moved a couple dozen inches from my feet to a lump of clothing. I took a handful of steps toward the lump, realizing that it was more than just a pile of clothes. It was humanoid in shape, and a pool of blood radiated out from the body, steadily absorbed by the soil. Some strange force wordlessly compelled me to peer closer. Stretching my neck like a cautious turtle, I was now able to see the mangled face with its black sockets void of eyes and a smile stretched more unnaturally than any comic book villain's. The scent of the honeysuckle was now cloying and overpowering, filling my lungs and stuffing my throat. I was choking on the air, the terrible air, that nightmarish blend of honeysuckle and iron, the sickening scent of metallic wildflowers.

    I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out. I turned around and ran back across the clearing, hardly slowing enough to hold open the curtain of trees that offered me entry only moments before. Tore through the woods and back towards my home like a wild, feral child. Brambles grabbed at my ankles while spindly branches snatched at my hair and scratched my face like skeletal fingers. I turned back for only seconds to see if o was being followed and tripped over a fallen tree, tumbling over and over through the brush as dead leaves and fallen twigs snapped all around me. When I finally stopped I pushed myself up and continued my mad dash out of the forest, my camera thumping against my chest in time with the crazy beating of my rapidly pumping heart.

     Finally after what seemed like centuries I pushed through the tree line and burst into the backyard of my cozy home. My nose was tainted with the smell of that hellish clearing, and as I came to a stop at the halfway point between the sliding glass door and the forest behind my house, my ears were assaulted with the sound of throaty laughter. I spun around in time to see a black cloaked figure emerging from the woods. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman or even a human. The figure traipsed up to me but I was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. It spoke in a raspy, ancient sounding voice that sounded as if it belonged in a hovel or a cave in some fantastical realm.

     "It's too late, darling. You cannot run any longer. You have evaded me for far too long. But now! Now I have finally caught up to you. After years of lurking in the shadows I will remain hidden no more! Soon you will join me. Soon you will be mine and I will only grow stronger."

     I wanted to shout out that I would never join such an evil and malevolent force, that I would escape and the police would find this ominous monstrosity before me, but my tongue could form no words. All I could do was stand in place as the figure raised its right hand and placed it on my forehead. Its touch was as icy as death but the blue glow emanating from the hand had begun a painful reaction. It felt as though a small fire started in the base of my belly and was growing larger and hotter until it burned the entirety of my body internally. Now I could hear sharp, heart-wrenching shrieks coming from my own searing throat mingling with the deep, rumbling laughs of this mysterious, blood thirsty figure in black.

     As I felt myself growing weaker and weaker, I remembered. I remembered the figure's voice. I remembered a loving mother tending fields of grain as I cultivated gardens and fields full of flowers. I remembered this figure courting me and making a deal. I remembered being wed to him and counting down the days until my mother would visit and bring a touch of spring to the eternal winter of my new dark castle or until I could return to the Earth and breathe the fresh air. I remembered. "Hades," I uttered.

"Yes, my love," the antiquated Greek god answered. "It is I, and I have come to bring you home. They will not be able to steal you away and keep us apart for eons again. I will watch over you, Persephone."