The Woods 21

I cradle my head in my hands, my elbows resting heavily on the light wood texture of the dining room table. My eyes are open, but they aren't really comprehending anything in front of me.

"Alex, honey, is everything OK?" My mother asks sweetly as she closes the bathroom door behind her, slowly crossing the small dining room towards the table I sit at. I snap, lifting my head slowly and turning towards her, smiling the warmest smile I can manage.

"Mhhmmm," I respond without thinking, "What- umm- why do you ask?" I furrow my brow, despite knowing what she's asking about, I feign confusion. The vision of my future smiles warmly, reaching out her hand and stroking my cheek gently.

"Well sweetie, your eyes look so tired, and in the shower there's quite a bit of dirt around the drain," she shifts a little, clearly uncomfortable by the conversation, "You know if you need anything you can always ask us. Anything."

I nod and smile again, leaning into her hand for a moment before turning towards the small plate of food my father set down before me on the table. It was perfectly cooked. Bacon steaming, the eggs a perfect sunny side up with a dash of salt, and a small piece of toast browned perfectly. I thank my father and carefully grip the fork beside the plate. For just a moment, my eyes catch a glimpse of a small clump of dirt under my fingernail. I feel a sinking, gnawing void in my tummy for just a moment. Then it passes.

I dig my fork into the eggs carefully, scooping them up. I'm not hungry, not in the slightest, but I know that if I don't eat, the suspicion will only worsen. I finish the eggs and lift the bacon to my lips careful to only hold the edge with the tips of my fingers. It's clear I spent so much time scraping them out, the white scoring of the fingernail cleaner are visible even at a glance. I take small bites of the bacon, finishing it in only a few moments.

As I turn my attention to the slice of toast, I feel my stomach begin to gurgle. I knew this was going to happen. I stand carefully and begin to excuse myself from the table.

"Dear you haven't finished your breakfa-"

"I'm not feeling well, mom." I cut her off mid sentence, pushing the chair up against the table and turning towards the bathroom. I can feel my insides churning, trying to reject the food it now deems unnatural.

I feel like I'll vomit at any moment, but it never comes. I know it won't. Instead I sit on the edge of my bed, looking out my window. Whatever had drawn me to the grave of my beloved, it hadn't been him. Something had found me in that moment, something had found its way into me.

From the second floor I can see it, only a few hundred feet away. The tall green trees swaying gently in the late morning breeze. Even now I can feel it whispering, calling to me without making a sound.

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I keep my eyes closed. I know that as long as they're closed, whatever is outside is just a theory, an idea. The sun's warmth that I'd fallen asleep in had faded, replaced by the gentle breeze that blows in my window. Night is close, if it isn't already here.

After a few moments I manage to peel my eyes open. I quickly scan my body and hands. No dirt, no scratches, no sticky tree buds, just a lose pink tshirt and short black shorts. I breathe a sigh of relief and slowly begin to pull myself upwards. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I realize my stomach is still turning. I place a hand over my tummy unconsciously, as if it'll help soothe my issues. This is the fourth night since I'd first visited his grave, the fourth night since I'd made those devilish choices, since I'd awoken covered in mud and dirt, since I'd heard the calling.

The calling is louder now. I can hear it. I can feel it.

I stand from my bed and head for the door.

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My knees are wet, the grass that had begun to grown was covered in a gentle dew. My hand snakes it's way into my panties, gently pulling at my clit as I breathe out deeply. The hot breath turns to steam in the chilly evening air. I lean back, settling my butt on my heels and spreading my legs slightly. My other hand slips up into my loose tshirt, sliding and caressing my breasts, the chill of my fingertips sends shivers up and down my spine. I push and pull my index finger over my clit, gently probing at the button I know well.

I don't choose to do anything. I don't really remember getting here. My eyes open, my head is tilted back, looking up at the infinite blackness. The trees sway gently at the bottom of my view, drawing my eye down. My finger applies a little more pressure on my clit, each application sends a shiver up my tummy and straight to my forehead.

As I rub, I remember. I can feel the first night, how the presence had caressed me, had held me. I feel a similar warmth wash over me. the hand caressing my breasts gropes a little harder, pulling at my nipples with my own fingertips. I remember more. I breathe deeply, feeling more memories flood my mind. I remember stumbling at the funeral. I remember the deep emptiness I felt that night. I remember stumbling towards the woods four nights ago.

The thought burns my mind like a hot branding iron. A humming swirling thought. I remember climbing to my feet, the wet splotch on my pajamas darkening as I wordlessly turn towards the trees. I walk without hesitation, I walk briskly towards the treeline.

I push more firmly, my finger now firmly rubs against my clit. The hum grows louder, my other hand pulls the front of my tshirt up and over my head, providing a clear view of my breasts, belly, and throat to the woods. My hand comes down hard, clapping against the side of my left breast. It shakes as my hand raises again. Immediately I can feel the red mark forming, even before my hand comes down again, this time an even louder "CLAP" rings out.

My memory comes flooding back. My pajamas crumpled at the treeline, my shirt tossed onto a tree branch as I break into a full run into the woods. My bare feet splash and slap through puddles and stones as I breathe deeply. I can feel a smile etched across my face as I suck in great lungs full of the damp night air. A dark pit in the forest floor approaches quickly, just at the base of a great tree. I see it, but do not change my speed or direction. I launch myself into the dark pit.

I bring my hand down again, the loud CLAP sounding off again. My breast is bright red, a nearly perfect hand print forming on my pale skin. My other hand is pushing and pulling furiously at my sex, my entire body feels as if it's being struck again and again. My abs tense and relax, an orgasm desperate to escape, but somehow seeming impossible. I breath deeply and quickly, a cloud of breath drifts lazily towards the dark treeline

I remember myself in the pit. I look around, seeing stones etched with strange markings, a fine layer of pine needles cover the dirt floor. I roll over slowly onto my hands and knees. My hair hangs down around my face. I push my hand deep into the soft soil, curl my hands into a fist full of dirt and pull the dirt to my face. I open my mouth wide, shoving a great fistfull of the cool soil into my mouth. I chew for a moment, then swallow. I shift my weight back, sitting once again on my heels.

I let out a deep moan, lifting my hand again and bringing it down on my breast with a with a "CLAP". I let out a whimper the pain of the strikes reacting and swirling with the pleasure of the clit rubbing that continues beneath my shorts.

I remember it now. I dig both hands into the soft, moist soil. I bring one hand to my lips and take a deep bite of the soft soil. The other I pull to my belly, placeing a hand against the pale flesh of my tummy. I hold the dirt against my skin, slowly pushing my hand down from the center of my tummy, down past my hips, and eventually to my curly bush. The dirt smears and clings to my skin, as I reach my hand around, pushing the dirt into my glistening wet pussy. The moonlight gives a clear view of what I've done. I dig my hand again into the dirt, this time bringing it right to my twitching cunt and shoving the filthy fingers inside of myself.

I thrust my body forward my hands slamming flat against the cool grass as my body wretches. With little effort it spits up the vile food I'd eaten earlier into a pile. I crave the cool soil of the woods. It sustains me. The soil at the foot of that great tree. The soil of the pit.

I stand slowly. Pulling my t-shirt the rest of the way off and dropping it on the damp grass, then shuffling out of my shorts. My bare skin glistens in the moonlight as I face the treeline and begin to walk forth.