The Fallen Silk

twilight

Though it had taken her the entire day, the pages of the journal from the clearing were dried and removed from the leather binding – the material had been far from salvageable, and despite her wish to restore the original cover, Effie knew when she was defeated. The pages were strewn around the living room, most of them resting on the floor except for the few that she had placed on the coffee table. Those were the pages she chose to read first, the ones that she knew were her mother's words, her mother's handwriting. How did the journal find its way into the forest? And how did the strange woman know that Effie would have wanted it in the first place? She did not dwell on the questions, and instead sat on the couch and organized the crisp papers into a pile.

June 26th,

I have kept this journal in a box in the attic since the last time I was here. Much has happened, and I have filled a few other journals in the interim, but I felt the need to end this first one on a proper note. It has been three years since I last spent the summer in this cottage. I cannot say that I have missed this little town much, the memories are still so vivid – I'll leave that for another time.

Effie seems to enjoy it here, which is some comfort. I was hesitant, at first, to bring her to Norswood, given my history with the town, but my husband all but pushed me out of the house! He told me I needed to get away, and the only place he knew I might find a fraction of peace was this house. I will say this: I'll take the silence of the forest over the bustle of the city any day.

My darling little girl is one year old, and she is already displaying a love of the classics! I know that I will enjoy raising this little lady, and perhaps I can reconcile my issues with this town and she will grow to love and appreciate it, as I did as a child.

For now, dear journal, I am finished. I will close your cover and lock you away in a box for future reminiscing.

Effie reached for another page and stared at the words at the top:

The Spirit of the Forest

The term sounded familiar, as if she had heard her mother whisper it to her, sing it to her – she tried to recall a specific memory, but the thoughts were gone and she was left with silence and a blank image in her mind. She skimmed the page, a sad smile forming on her lips; there was so much of her mother poured onto the pages, and Effie realised how little she had actually known about her mother and her childhood in Norswood.

As she pulled herself away from the writing, she realised that during the ritual in the woods on the Anderson Estate, there had been a whisper amongst the crowd of a spirit coming to take the offerings to the Otherworld. She hadn't paid attention beyond that, but it struck her as odd.

The Spirit of the Forest has been in these woods for generations. According to the history of the town, the Spirit was once a man, and this man crossed the Gods in such a way that they had no other option but to punish him. In doing so, they gave him eternal life – but at a price. He would only be allowed to come out of his tomb during the Autumn months. And, to further his pain and torture, he would never be satisfied again – be it by food, drink, or intimacy. This would cause him to go insane each year, as the fruits ripened and the animals were slaughtered. Because of this terrible curse laid upon him, the townspeople learned to offer the first fruits, grains, and slaughter of the season at the Great Oak tree.

Some say that this history is false – they believe that the Spirit was never a mortal man, but Mabon come to life. Others say that he is not a spirit, that he is a demon bent on revenge against the town that abandoned him. Still others say it is a myth, a legend, and that the offerings and the ritual performed at the Autumn Celebration are nothing but traditions and have no deeper meaning.

Regardless of our personal beliefs, we will all participate in the Autumn Celebration – it is only right, it is only proper. We will do our duty, we will perform the tasks given to us with grace, whether we enjoy it or not.

Effie had always known her mother was a skilled wordsmith, but there was an eloquence to the words she had just read that had not appeared in her more recent writings. She wondered where that woman had disappeared to – had her mother's illness taken that much of her?

***

The sun was setting and it blanketed the world in soft gold and rose light – Effie looked up from the papers for the first time in hours and, through the lace curtains, saw that she had spent the entire day reading her mother's journal. There was so much darkness written on the pages – so much pain and anger and confusion – that Effie had begun to understand her mother's illness, if not only a small bit better. Theola had kept so much from her daughter, she had hidden so many terrible thoughts and experiences, and Effie wondered for a moment how her mother had lasted so long. She was sure that, had she suffered through half of what her mother had dealt with, she would have broken down years before.

A knock at the front door distracted her from her thoughts, but she welcomed the company as she felt the need to distance herself from the information she had taken in.

She opened the door to Wyatt's smiling face. He handed her a bouquet dripping in dirt and beamed up at her with all of the innocence of childhood plain on his face. Vincent stood a step behind the boy, a grin on his face.

'Wyatt wanted to bring you flowers and ask if you would like to join us for dinner?' Vincent rubbed the back of his head, averting his eyes.

'Are you sure your uncle didn't put you up to this, Wyatt?' Effie laughed, taking the flowers; she took a side-step and invited them into the cabin. 'Please, excuse the mess. I found a journal in the forest earlier and I've been drying the pages and reading them.'

'That seems a bit random, Effie. How did you come across a journal?' Effie knew that she couldn't explain something she herself did not understand, so she worded her response carefully as to eliminate the strange woman. When her explanation was finished, Vincent stroked his chin in thought but seemed to accept the overall possibility, though not the probability, of finding a journal in the woods.

'Miss Effie?' Wyatt raised his hand to gain her attention. 'I'm really hungry. Would you please come with us to dinner?'

With a gentle laugh, Effie nodded. 'Of course, Wyatt.' In silence, she gathered her bag and jacket and slipped her boots on. She followed Vincent and Wyatt out, turning to give Nimbus a silent kiss and lock the door behind her. The words written on the now dry pages of the found journal haunted her thoughts, begged to be discussed, but she felt uncomfortable with the idea of bringing it up with Vincent, or anyone else that lived in the small town. It was too intimate of a topic to discuss, whether in public or private, so she decided to keep her thoughts and fears about the words from the journal to herself.