creds;versatahl
Hell is a forest deep and dark. Its earth is cold, its trees are stark.
Among the shades dwells the Hunter's face, please send another in my place.
My Uncle Teddy gave me a book of Old World fairy tales when I was little. It was filled with stories full of blood and terror far different than the modern versions you see today. But there was this poem at the end of the book that was different than the rest, and that was the thing that always stuck with me, always spooked me even when I got older.
I thought of it again when I was sitting at my uncle's wake three weeks ago. Staring at strangers milling around the casket and funeral sprays, my eyes landed on a photo display that had been set up showing various pictures of my Uncle from a little boy on up to his mid-fifties when he died. It reminded me that I didn't really know him very well.
He only visited a couple of times when I was 8 or 9, and while I know he called and checked in with my father periodically, my main sense of the man was a vague impression from stories of my father's childhood and that book of fairy tales. I suppressed a small shiver. Was that poem part of the book or written in? I couldn't remember now. And what kind of man was my...
"He is a wonderful man, isn't he, Dilly?"
I snapped out of my reverie to see two old women standing stoop-shouldered and solemn just a few feet away. They reminded me of a pair of wizened buzzards tucking into a good meal, except I supposed funeral stalking old women fed more on despair than spoiled meat. Chiding myself for the unkind thought, I offered a weak smile as I saw they were looking at me.
"Oh yes, a truly singular man of truly singular talents, Milly," the other one offered, her eyes not leaving my face.
Swallowing, I accepted they weren't going to just go away, and so I decided to engage them in the hopes of getting it over quickly. "So you two knew my Uncle well?"
Milly gave a low throaty chuckle that spoke of cigarettes and bourbon earlier in life if not now. "Oh yes. Fairly well. We've been clients of his for years."
I felt a small flicker of interest at that. "Clients? You know, I always wondered what my Uncle Teddy did. He always had a lot of money from what I heard, but I never knew from what. Can you tell me what kind of work he did?"
The two women exchanged a glance and then a giggle. It was a short, nasty sound like schoolgirls sharing the secret of the cat they had just lit on fire. I felt myself recoil slightly and was about to make an excuse and go when Dilly started speaking again.
"He is an artist, my dear. Painfully talented. The thing we use him for are our memoriam dolls. I have one made every year." She said this last with some amount of pride or boasting in her voice, but I had no idea what she was talking about. Whatever it was, it clearly rankled Milly, whose mouth drew down into a sullen frown.
"Not everyone got all of their father's and husband's fortunes, Dilly. And besides, Theodore always said that once every five years was quite sufficient. "
Dilly sniffed, her painted on eyebrows arching slightly. "Well, time will tell, I suppose. I prefer to have the least amount of time in the woods as possible."
I froze. "The woods? What woods?"
Dilly looked at Milly again before giving me a sly smile. "Oh, nothing for a sweet, young girl like you to worry about, I'm sure."
Milly leaned forward and touched my forearm, sending a crawl of flesh up to my neck as I stepped back. "We just wanted to come by and tell you what a remarkable man you uncle is. Good to meet you." And then the pair were gone back into the crowd.
