Short Stories and Poetry

The Story of Piper's Wood

Before the boy's scab had appeared, before he felt truly lonely, there had been the story of the Piper's Wood. The tale started on Easter, when the whole family had turned up at his family's great country house for a roast dinner to celebrate the holiday. His cousins, uncles and aunts and grandparents had all turned up to the abode, and then disaster had struck.

Young cousins thundered up the stairs and took over his room as if it was their own little country, and they were making a right old mess of everything. His parents and everyone else were down in the living room smoking and drinking, with laughter as loud as lightening following them wherever they went.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was his even though everything in this house was his.

The boy trudged down the stairs, brushing a blond curl out of his crystal blue eyes. His mum begged him to have it cut, but the length made him feel different. Rebellious. Fighting the status quo. Right now, he was feeling adventurous. Maybe he'd fight elves on horseback in the fields. Maybe he would have a cold swim in the muddy waterhole where he'd swim with the sharks. Or maybe he would explore the deepest and darkest forest. The Piper's Wood was known for the mystery of the massacre of the local townspeople hundreds of years ago. Their blood had soaked the ground so much that it had grown the massively thick trees that still stood today.

He sauntered down the large carpet: the ugly red, black and yellow behemoth that could even be seen in the dark. Walking out of the front door, the boy made sure to put on his running shoes that rested next to his dress shoes. They were muddy and dirty, stained by months of running in the paddocks with the horses. Balios and Xanthos had been in his family since he could remember back to they were literally part of the family.

As he stepped over the threshold of the chateau, the Piper's Wood suddenly seemed a lot darker and a lot closer.

The soles of his feet silenced his journey to the wondrous land, making his disappearance an unknown mystery. From the distance he was, the adults' laughing was still audible. He could see them through a window set into a brick wall, all of them drinking scarlet wine.

Nettles marked the path to the forest, scratching against his calves. Easter was a casual activity for his family, but he had to wear ankle length pants when they all when to church. His mum would be angry with him if he came back into the house dripping blood from fresh cuts, staining the ugly carpet as he went. "It'll take bleach and hours I don't have to take it out of the carpet," his mother would rant about for the hours she could spend cleaning.

Finally, the boy stood before the forest, the legs of giants set in the dirt. His clothes, usually very formal, turned into armour in his mind, armour to defend him from any of the evil spirits that could harm him. Would harm him.

The darkness swarmed him the instant he stepped into the dank zone. The warmth was sucked out of his bones, leaving him chilled and frightened. But still he went on, his small legs sinking into the muddy ground like quicksand, dragging the foot right at the final instant so that it would pull him into nether world.

The colours of the forest made the whole place shine: mixed of purples and pink, reds and oranges. As he wandered through the twisting walls of the wood, he saw gravestones, cracked and crumbled, with ivy woven all over from centuries of standing. It reminded him of all the darkness and suffering that had occurred on the land beneath his feet.

In the centre of the forest, there was a giant ballroom where the canopy of the trees was held back and the sun seemed to shine and illuminate the area. He floated around with a stick as he swung his sword at the bats that flew at him, slamming them to the ground. He found a length of thorns that he tied into a crown that sat atop his golden, angelic curls. No one would beat the Iron Prince.

Hordes of monsters just kept on coming; ones with green skin, teeth as sharp as needles, eyeless worms and shape-shifting demons. The Iron Prince slashed at all of them, destroying them until there were none left and he was left feeling tired.

The only problem was that all the exits looked the same. He'd danced around until he had lost his original entry place, concealing his direction home. The was a tall angel gravestone, wings spread, legs planted, that he thought that if he climbed on top of it he would be able to see his house. But once he had pulled himself to the head of the statue, the khaki leaves hid the house in all directions.

Lost.

Gone.

The sun was already setting, sparking a fire against the world that wouldn't be put out until the cold winds blew. A flutter of nerves started in his stomach at the thought that even worse things could come out of the dark that in his imagination. You'll be fine, he thought to himself. Everything will be fine. The family would be having dinner soon, and hopefully they'd notice that he wasn't sitting in his chair, enjoying the roast beef with warm gravy and roasted vegetables. His stomach rumbled.

Hours passed as the sun dipped below the horizon like a silver spoon into a bowl of porridge. He spent the time screaming, his voice turning hoarse. He wouldn't be able to talk tomorrow.

Finally, he noticed the glint of candles burning in the distance. It has to be them, he thought. The one orb of light split into five, then into small waves on red and orange held on silver saucers by people. Mum and Dad, Uncle and Aunt and his eldest cousin. His mum gave a sigh of relief, her face turning from a composed worry to a wide smile to showed her perfectly white teeth. She rushed forward and brought him up in a tight embrace, whispering in his ear, "Why'd you go?" He knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do when he got back.

But for now, he would be happy.

* * *

The memory of being lost in the darkest part of Piper's Forest pushed him on. He was halfway through his adventure to the end of the carpet, one that, if completed, would earn him a puppy.

I'm going to make it, he told himself as he took another step.

Authors Note - This story links into a short story written by Roald Dahl called 'The Wish'. Highly recommend it.

I hope you enjoyed!