This story is by Kaia MacLeod and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
When Gran died, she left me a small jewelry box with instructions to never open it. Maybe she left it to me because I’m the eldest of the cousins, maybe it’s because I appreciated the craftsmanship of the box; or maybe she hinted that I was supposed to go into the trades. I wouldn’t call her a hoarder, she kept a lot of random things though, from books and manuscripts that were piled high on the kitchen counter to various plants spread throughout her home.
When I think of Gran, it’s impossible not to think of the stories she used to tell us. The kind that says “Don’t whistle at night”, never tell strangers in the woods your name, and of course, watch where you walk. Practical advice tied to sweet and easy-to-remember stories. I can still remember the bruises I got when she yanked me away from a ring of mushrooms; purple indents that lasted a few weeks.
It lasted about a week before I opened the jewelry box. Inside it was 7 little stones and a map. Gran did have a big rock collection, she was always picking up little rocks on our walks. The map looked vaguely familiar, like the time that the cousins and I pretended to be shipwrecked pirates in the woods. Gran had made us a map, soaked in tea to age it, and we ran wild before the sunset. The map was fun, and the treasure was always just enough. Gran would say it’s about the journey, not the destination. But those talks were long gone, even towards the end they had been replaced with the same question “What are you going to do.” Looking at it, the map was of the large woods behind Gran’s house. If she didn’t want me to find it, she wouldn’t have left a map right? Thats counter-intuitive.
I pulled up to her house and parked in the gravel driveway. Gran’s house looked like something out of a fantasy book, a cute cottage cabin-type thing. Stone that just seemed to be there forever. It was now empty. I remember the smell of biscuits being made, the kitchen was dark but the presence was still there. Gran was one of those ladies that you couldn’t tell the age of just by looking at her. Her silver hair seemed timeless and effortless in those braids. Gran was always talking about adventures she had, you could just tell she had lived a full life. It was a dark time when she passed on, but in the will, she had left me a few things. Including the box, a cowboy hat, and a large backpack from her trips across the continents. Much like myself, it seemed she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to do. Finishing high school and every option was before me, get a job, learn a trade, go to college. It was too much.
I probably should have started earlier, but it’s not like the woods were huge; half an hour of walking and I would be at the centre. The woods were always so peaceful. I’ve seen moose, deer, coyotes, and a whole wonderful world of madness contained in these woods. It has been a maze, a castle, and many more things for me and my cousins.
Walking through the woods without anyone else was strange. There was a time I could have taken hours to wander through the trees, but now they seemed a little barren and so much smaller than I remembered. I eventually came to the spot on the map and saw what it was. A fairy circle, one of those old tales that Gran always said to avoid, never walk into a circle in the woods or else you won’t come home. It was nonsense, but the fear was put in me quite young.
I looked at the little ring of rocks and mushrooms and the perfect flowers in the middle; enticing to any small child. I huffed and wondered why the map had led me to this, treasure maps were fun but needed something at the end to be worth it. One time she had buried a box of chocolate and comics for us to find, it was obvious where to dig but we used the map anyway.
Opening the box I looked at the rocks, and then it hit me. It appeared they had been chiselled out of the stones before me. My mind thought of Tetris and decided to put the small stones back where they belonged. I was careful not to fall into the circle, superstition got the best of me. It felt similar to standing on a grate in the city, and thinking it might collapse under you. Piece by piece I placed the rocks back, and decided I was an adult there was no need to be scared of inanimate objects. I placed my big toe into the circle and just as quickly yanked it back out. My surroundings had not changed, nor was there anyone lurking in the woods. Of course, nothing happened, on the big list of things Gran told me not to do ” stepping into a fairy circle was like a 6″ out of 10. It was odd when mushrooms or flowers would form into a circle like that.
I kneed down in the circle and put the little stones back in their original spots. Each stone was noticeably different, whether it was the texture or the shine in the fading light; it was enough that I could easily pair them up.
I can remember one of the times I stayed with Gran and the cousins. It was a hot summer night, we had all the windows open and you could hear the nightlife of the woods. Owls, bugs that sort of buzzing. I remember it because I sleepwalked, I got way deep into the forest for an 8-year-old. When I woke up, Gran was carrying me back from the woods and put me in her bed. I felt like I had missed something, but in the morning she said I had sleepwalked to the creek but wasn’t hurt.
When the last stone was put in, I felt nothing. I wish I could say I felt a sense of accomplishment or even admonishment like Gran was there with me. The nagging “Hey don’t open this box, but also don’t get rid of it” got to me. I saw the sun was starting to set and headed back out to my truck. If I wanted to enrol in anything, be it welding, or creative writing, I had to be up early to snag a spot.
The woods always seemed a little more intense in the night. It’s not like they had bears, and I was big enough to scare off a coyote or two, but I should have grabbed a flashlight before heading out. Always thinking of the past to avoid the impending future. When I saw the house, I saw the lights were on, and it sounded like people were inside.
I rushed over, thinking that I had turned everything off. When I swung open the doors, it wasn’t Grandma’s house. It was a tavern, and all the patrons were looking at me. The inside was so different from her house, where there was warmth and memories, this had a sinking feeling of a gambling den. Had I walked back the wrong way, was this a house from across the woods? My truck was nowhere in sight,
After a moment or two of silence, the barkeep spoke.
“Lizzie?” Said the barkeep, squinting in the candlelight.
“No” I responded, a little sheepish.
I backed away slowly, turned and sprinted back to the woods. Determined to make my way back, maybe a year off would suit me fine. Not that I could afford to go abroad.
I headed to where the fairy ring and there was a moment I considered what I had seen. It would be madness to assume everything Gran had said was true, but I had a creeping sense of hope that I was wrong. I stepped back into the ring and out. Nothing had changed, and I headed back in the direction I had walked. My truck was parked outside the empty house, the windows looking like eyes.
Things were closing up in town, but I saw Al was still in his store. I felt compelled to window shop, and by the end, I had a shopping cart filled with a rope, an axe, and a safety kit. He commented that Gran used to have a bag filled with similar stuff, she would regularly re-fill it when she lost something or it broke. I put the cart down without purchasing and headed to the bed of my truck, where the cowboy hat sat atop the large backpack.
After opening it, I drove back to Gran’s house and headed to the woods.
“It’s time for an adventure.”
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