Into the Forest Dark

Finn followed Tamy deeper into the Oldrian, his wicker basket bumping against his hip with each step. The fading autumn light filtered through the canopy in progressively weaker green shafts, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d been walking in circles for the past hour.

“We should head back,” Finn said, pausing to catch his breath. “Ma will have our hides if we’re not home before dark.”

Tamy didn’t slow down. At fourteen, he was two years older than Finn and never let him forget it. “Don’t be such a baby, hoglet. The best mushrooms grow deep in the forest. Everyone knows that.”

Finn adjusted his grip on the basket handle, already regretting agreeing to this adventure. The village elders always warned about venturing too far into the Oldrian, though they were vague about why. Something about the forest changing people, making them forget their way home.

“Besides,” Tamy added, pushing through a curtain of hanging moss, “old Jenson said he saw a clearing full of giant Fleshfold just past the lightning-struck oak. We find those, we’ll have enough to sell at market for a month!”

Finn was about to point out that they’d passed three lightning-struck oaks already when he heard it - a sound so faint he almost mistook it for wind through the leaves. But there was no wind. The air hung still and heavy around them.

“Tamy!” Finn whispered, grabbing his sleeve. “D...do you hear that?”

Tamy stopped, tilting his head. The sound came again, clearer now. It was singing, but odd. The melody rose and fell like a lullaby, vibrating strangely in his ears.

“Probably just some village girls picking berries,” Tamy said, but his voice lacked its usual confidence. He pulled a torch from his hip and set it ablaze with a hit of his flint. “Come on hoglet, let's check it out”

Finn wanted to turn back, every instinct screaming that they should run, but Tamy was already pushing forward toward the sound. The forest seemed unnaturally quiet all of a sudden, the boys footsteps through dried leaves crunching loudly.

They seemed to be following a path of flowers - bigger than any they had ever seen, giant petals straining for the sun through the thick canopy.

Then the trees began to thin, and ahead they could see a break in the canopy where - despite the darkness of night - a strange amber light illuminated a clearing. As they approached, the singing grew louder, more distinct. It was definitely not ordinary—too many voices, all harmonizing in perfect, impossible unity.

“Saints above...” Tamy breathed, stopping so suddenly causing Finn to bump straight into his back.

Finn peered around his shoulder and felt his blood turn to ice water. The clearing stretched before them, filled with the most beautiful flowers he’d ever seen. Giant flowers bloomed in vibrant hues - deep purples, electric blues, yellow that seemed to glow with its own light. At the edges of the clearing, lilies towered overhead like small trees, their petals translucent as stained glass. Morning glories carpeted the ground in spiraling patterns that hurt to look at directly.

And they were all singing.

“We shouldn't be here Tamy, we need to leave,” Finn whispered, backing away. “Now!”

But Tamy seemed transfixed. “Look at them, Finn. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

The flowers swayed without any breeze, their movements synchronized like dancers responding to music only they could hear. Their song was clearer now, words Finn could almost understand floating on the melody:

“Little blooms beneath the moon… I must leave you far too soon…”

“They’re singing words,” Finn said, his voice cracking. “Flowers don’t sing words, Tamy. Flowers don’t sing at all.”

“Maybe they’re not really flowers,” Tamy said dreamily, taking a step into the clearing. “Maybe they’re something else. Something wonderful.”

Finn grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Don’t! Can’t you feel it? Something’s wrong here. This whole place feels… sad.”

For a moment, Tamy seemed to snap out of his trance. He blinked hard, shaking his head. “You’re right. We should - ”

The singing stopped.

The silence that followed was worse than the singing. Every flower in the clearing slowly turned toward them in unison, their blooms rotating like a sea of monstrous faces. Finn could feel their attention fixated on him, pressing against his skin.

“Run!” Finn yelled, grabbing his brother's arm.

They both bolted, crashing through the underbrush without caring about the thorns that tore at their clothes. Behind them, the singing resumed, but now it sounded different—sadder, more plaintive, like a lament for something lost.

They didn’t stop running until they could see the village lights flickering through the trees. Only then did Finn realize he had lost his mother's basket somewhere during the chase, but at that moment he didn't care, so shaken was he by what they had seen.

They burst out into the open fields at the edge of the forest, thorn-scratched and dripping with sweat. Tamy glanced back at the forest edge, his pupils wide with fear, "We don’t tell anyone about this,” Tamy panted, his face pale in the twilight. “Promise me, Finn. No one would believe us anyway.”

Finn nodded, but he knew he’d never forget the sound of those flowers singing, or the way they’d turned to watch them with blooms that had no eyes but saw everything.

That night, he dreamed of scarlet roses and voices calling from deep in the forest, singing lullabies that now, sounded sweet...

The next morning, Finn awoke to find a single, orange petal on his bedsheets, though no flower of that color grew anywhere near the village. His blood ran cold and with the events of the previous evening fresh in mind, he couldn't help but panic. 

He ran to his brother's room, suddenly freezing on the spot in front of Tamy's door.

His brother was singing.