Page 44 of Wildwood

I turn. It’s a woman, standing in thigh-high grass, maybe ten or twenty yards out. What. The. Fuck??

Madeline’s body seems to glow in the moonlight. Because she is stark naked, except for the crown of eucalyptus and wheat she’d worn at the harvest festival. She’s staring at me, as she takes slow steps backward, her fingertips gently trailing the tops of the grass. Is this some kind of weird harvest ritual??

“Madeline!” I call out, but she just smiles and holds a finger up to her lips. I follow, breath quaking.

Then slowly, at some specific spot, she kneels down in the grass, still facing me. And then, she begins to rock, in slow undulating movements, in the same way she’d been dancing by the fire, her eyes trained on me. As she rocks, she lifts a hand to her crown, plucks a piece of wheat and places it between her crimson lips.

I make my way to her, a sense of dread, cold and heavy, moving through my limbs. When I finally get to her, I know what I’m going to see before I see it. I look down and see Topher, naked in the grass, his hips rocking in time with Madeline’s. A strangled scream tears through my throat. My eyes rip up to Madeline but she’s gone. A black bird hangs in the air, wings flapping silently. I lift my hand to touch it, but then it, too, is gone.

* * *

When I wake up, the clock reads two in the morning, on the dot. Topher slumbers beside me. I leap out of bed, eager to put distance between us, before my mind slowly catches up and realizes there’s nothing to be mad about. I don’t think. I don’t sleep the rest of the night, though, unable to slow the hammering in my chest. Unable to take my eyes off my sleeping husband, thinking that if I blink, he, too, will disappear.

Chapter 35

“What time did you get home?” I ask Topher, dropping a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, the dish clattering on the old wood table.

“Uh . . . not long after you, I don’t think.” He picks up his fork and begins shoveling in mouthfuls of egg. “You shouldn’t have walked home alone in the dark.” There’s an accusatory edge to his voice.

“Yeah, well, I was tired. And I didn’t want to bug you.”

“Why would that have bothered me?” he asks, shaking an unnecessary amount of salt on his plate, eyes flicking up to me.

“You looked like you were having a lot of fun.” I smile curtly and sit down across from him. I shouldn’t be mad at him. I shouldn’t be mad at him.

“Madeline wants you to come over for a cup of coffee this week.”

I stiffen. “That’s nice.”

Topher looks at me, eyes narrowed and confused. “It is nice.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to ask him how his field fuck was last night, but don’t. It was a nightmare. And if I tell him about it, it will only fuel his concern that I’m losing it to stress and inventing stories in my head. Which, I suppose, I am.

I smile, more sincerely this time. “I’m sorry. Yes, it is nice. They are all really, really nice. I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Topher reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Good,” he says. “Let’s do a little hike today. I think the fresh air will do you some good.”

“Sounds great.” I swallow the rest of my coffee, hoping the caffeine will purge the image of Madeline naked in a field, astride my husband, a crown of wheat atop her head.

* * *

Run, I hear a soft voice say. The woods are safer.

I’m leaning against a doorframe and the moon is bright. But then, suddenly, I’m in the woods, as if spirited across the meadow. I begin making my way through the forest. My feet move as if they aren’t my own. I remember then that this is where it gets difficult. The branches are like an impenetrable wall, ready to lash at my skin. But I’m prepared this time. I barrel forward, arms like scythes. The branches still whip at my face but I’m stronger and don’t feel the cuts. I smell smoke in the air, the scent of campfire. It is becoming harder to breathe, the farther I go. I begin to cough, loud raking barks, which I try to muffle. I know somehow that I don’t want the noise to give me away. They’ll know I’m gone by now and know where I would go. The thoughts echo inside my head, and the woman with wild hair appears beside me. There is dirt smudged on her pale face.

Suddenly, the ground gives way and we both tumble into a clearing. I’m on my hands and knees, gasping. And then I look up, though I know I don’t want to. All I see is smoldering ash. Gray smoke rising like ghosts in the night sky, and beside me, the woman howls with such rage we both shatter into a million sharp pieces.

I wake up. The trees are still in front of me. How can this be? Then I realize they are painted. But there’s something new. Brush strokes of red among the branches. My body sways back and forth, delirious. And then I feel a stickiness on my hands. I hold them in front of my uncomprehending eyes. My nails are cracked, and my fingertips bloodied. I look back up at the painted trees. How stupid of me. They aren’t brushstrokes on the wall. They are claw marks from when I fought my way through The Forest of the Dead.

Chapter 36

We sit at Madeline’s kitchen table, looking out over the back property. More and more of the leaves have turned, and the woods are aglow with reds, golds, and oranges. The sky is blue, making the colors even more striking. She has, somehow, made pumpkin spice lattes and maple scones. I have no idea how she does it all, running a company, raising a family, maintaining a perfect figure, and preparing café-worthy goods. Normally I would be savoring this experience. Autumn is my favorite time of year and this year, I could, in theory, enjoy it to its fullest each day, as I’m not bogged down by a job. Take a walk, buy pumpkins, paint the landscape. But I can’t. The latte tastes bitter and the scone, which I objectively know is delicious, crumbles like ash in my mouth.

“Thank you so much for hosting such a wonderful party,” I say. “I should be the one having you over as a thank-you.”

“You are so welcome.” She smiles. “It’s a blast planning it every year and I know how lucky we are to be able to bring the town together like that.”