It was an interesting situation, but it worked for us. Our old farmhouse in the woods, the gardens, the deer. We were self-sufficient out there in the middle of nowhere, and it worked. Or it had so far.
The family? Hmm, like I said, interesting. Four children altogether, two mothers, and me. How it had begun? Long story, really, but I think it's enough to know that it did begin and it got us to where we are now. A happy, though perhaps unconventional little group.
Things have changed lately though. Not within our family, but within the woods. The boys have begun to talk of their friends in the forest, the little children they see and talk to. The little ones that none of the rest of us ever seem to see. We passed it off as a childish game at first, but it's beginning to worry Karla and I. They don't seem to be playing, and there aren't any other children living within miles of our spot in the forest.
That was strange enough . . .
Now, as I walk in the woods around our gardens, things are different everywhere: Plants I had known have disappeared replaced by things I have never seen before, and trails that I used to be familiar with now wander through thickets of forbidding size. Things are beautiful still, but no longer in the safe comfortable way. Instead, things are becoming frightening. Dangerous, even.
At home I sit with Karla and Tracy, the children off playing in the house somewhere and we discuss the changes we have seen. The way the landscape seems to be shifting and the childrens new, seemingly imaginary friends. We talk for hours and only become a little more frightened I think, by the whole thing.
Living simply, as we do, lends much time to reading and thinking, and all of us share a love for books of the supernatural, horror novels and so forth. Now our lives are becoming strangely reminiscent of one of these novels.
So, a start . . .
C
Should I write more?
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