Songs We Keep in the Forest Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Keagan Guy

  Fawkes & Krane Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author, except in the form of brief reviews or articles. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters or names to actual persons is entirely coincidental. Images and photos by Keagan Guy. All fonts are verified free for commercial use. Special thanks to Yves-Michel/1001fonts.com

  ISBN: 978-0-578-70122-6

  Contents

  Copyright

  Songs We Keep in the Forest

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Songs We Keep in the Forest

  A Novel

  Keagan Guy

  Prologue

  It could be heard far above the ground floor, in the canopy of oaks, red maples, pines, ash, and aspens. It could be heard through the roots and in the dirt. It could even be heard within the caverns of moles and beetles.

  A swallow, lost for the first time, investigated its new surroundings. It found the forest as an ideal spot to live, mate, and eventually die. A canary sang a song on the higher branch of the willow. The grey squirrel family rustled through their nest on the branch of the walnut. The mother just had a litter of kits. They seemed to constantly yelp with hunger.

  An owl, a native to the forest, opened its eyes to the setting sun. It noticed her first field mouse below, a perfect breakfast for such a twilight. Its deep hoot filled the air.

  The sound began at dusk as the owl finished its first hoot. It grew louder in the thicket of trees. The winds picked up speed and carried the noise across the branches. Below, a young stag on his daily gallop, is stunned by the toll as it rushed down from the canopy. The woodland creatures, both nocturnal and otherwise, became rooted by the triumphant sound ringing through the forest. Not one creature dared to move nor dared to make a peep. All became silent and all were still. The stillness was just for a moment, just long enough for any inquisition of fear to dissipate from the far reaches of the forest. A wisp of wind glided through the trees and all the creatures rejoiced as a symphony and the forest became as it was, alive.

  Two bell towers stood at each end of the forest. Rarely seen, but always heard. Every creature in the woods owed its life to these towers for they kept the peace for well over two hundred years. Not just the creatures but the spirit of the forest itself. Made from the ones who came before. From the ones who gathered and protected the heartbeat that remained hidden under the canopy. From the ones who rang the bells and played nocturnes when darkness claimed the sky. Spirits and songs kept the forest protected from the world beyond its edge.

  The forest was dark by nature, but held more life than any mountain or sea. Mountains were ladders to other worlds and seas were graveyards that held souls of the lost. Forests, on the other hand, were always home to those who needed it. Unfortunately, humans began to take from wooden forests to build their false homes. Still, a chosen few humans remained as keepers to the woods. They were given keys to unlock doors of mystery and instruments to fight those who came knocking.

  The owl caught its first meal that night and brought it back to its tree. The tree that always belonged to that one owl. It sat content in its home one night, until it was blinded by a foreign light. It came from the ground. The owl saw the flickering white torch below, through the branches.

  “It has to be this way,” whispered a young man. “I think we passed that stump when we first entered the forest.”

  “You’ve said that an hour ago about a different stump,” whined an accompanied young woman. “Admit it James. We’re lost in this forest.” The young woman threw down her pack. “Now point that flashlight over here so I can find a place to sit.” The young man pointed the torch towards the base of the owl's tree. She then rested herself at its roots.

  “I don’t get it, the GPS is moving all over the place." He tapped on his yellow plastic electronic device. It repeatedly chimed before losing its power. The young man reached into an interior pocket of his backpack. He pulled out an old brass compass, sighed, then opened it. He shook his head in frustration. "Even my grandfather’s compass seems to be broken. It's constantly spinning like we’re right on top of the North Pole.” The young man shoved the compass back into his backpack, threw it down on the ground, and took a defeated seat next to the young woman.

  “There aren’t any magnetic poles in Virginia, James." A moment of silence surrounded the couple before the young woman continued, "I can’t believe you talked me into a hiking trip this weekend." The young man remained silent as she grunted, "you said it was just a small trail.”

  Suddenly, a gust of wind swept over the fallen leaves on the ground. The condensed gust weaved through the trees, almost as if it were dancing with them, and made its way up to the young couple. They noticed the strange anomaly coming towards them. It was invisible, just wind, but it ran to them as if it were an assassin, sent to them.

  “What the hell is that?” cried out the young woman. The gust of wind stopped only a few yards away from them. Scared, the couple jumped to their feet. The gust hovered there, like a small stagnant tornado.

  “Get behind me!” Yelled the young man as he pulled his girlfriend behind him. The gust slowly approached them like a cat hunting its prey. It stopped right in front of them and then teetered side-to-side. Fear rushed over the couple as they stared into the invisible whirlwind. Only the dust and leaves that had collected in its winds gave the couple something to stare at. They stood there in awe, as if they were witnessing an act from God himself. The gust took another stride towards them. With their backs pressed up against the owl's tree, they could not escape the invisible force that was before them. It climbed up their bodies, as if it were an animal. It went around their jeans and through their shirts. Its touch did not hurt them, it was just wind. The young woman’s hair blew up over her head and the gust disappeared into both of their ears.

  “AAHH! WHAT’S THAT SOUND?!” They fell down on their hands and knees from the deafening sound of the wind. “Make it stop, James. Make it stop.”

  The young man staggered to his feet. He grabbed his girlfriend's arm, raised her from the dirt, and they began to run through the forest. They jumped over a fallen tree trunk, grasping their ears. The sound wouldn’t let up. It was a piercing knife in their eardrums. As they continued running through the dark forest since they left their packs and flashlight behind. They knocked into trees and tripped over roots. The moon peered out from behind the cloud, it was just enough light for the couple to see a few feet ahead of them as they ran. They dodged through the dimly lit trees until they came to a small stream. The young man tried to reach out to grab his girlfriend again, but had to grab his own head out of pain.

  Paralyzed by fear and pain, the young couple knelt down by the stream, grasping their heads. A second small tornado, only a few feet tall, came rushing towards them from the darkness. It hit them both in the chest and they fell into the water. The sound then left their ears and the wind subsided.

  The couple had burst themselves out from the water, finding themselves sitting only in a shallow stream. The young man inhaled then exhaled screaming, “let’s get the hell out of here!” He then stood
to his feet and grabbed his girlfriend’s arm to pull her up. They crossed the water to the other side and found themselves positioned by their car.

  “How did… How did we get here?” The young woman gasped for air and tried to grasp reality.

  “Who the fuck cares! Get in the car,” he screamed in terror. They stumbled a few times making their way up the bank and into their car before they drove off in a frenzy.

  The owl watched from its tree the entire time, for it could see far from its home. As they drove off into the night, the owl looked back down towards the bottom of its tree. A woman, dressed in a black lace dress, stood there. She lowered her instrument from her shoulder as she looked up. The owl and her locked eyes as if they knew each other. The woman smiled and the owl flew off to hunt again. With a heavy breath, the woman in black fainted.

  Chapter 1

  He Would Always Remember the Sound

  The Woodward house sat only a couple of blocks away from Main Street. It was the first house built in Berk, a small town in Virginia that somewhat recently celebrated its bicentennial. Berk’s skyline was defined by two things; the church’s steeple and the Woodward house. More specifically, the bell tower of the Woodward house. Not many could say that they lived in a house with a functioning bell tower, not even in Berk. Just Kel's house and his late grandmother's house which was just on the other side of the forest.

  Berk had been home to the Woodwards, since they migrated from Scotland. There was no through-traffic or major highway near the town. Though the residents thrived in their small community, the town remained somewhat encapsulated from the rest of the world.

  The Woodward house stood strong, in part due to Pete Edgar, a carpenter. He had married Lisa Woodward in the late 1980s and had their first child, Kel, in 1995. As the newest caretaker and owner of the historic house, Pete took pride in its restoration. Though, Lisa and her family had kept it functioning and updated long before Pete came into the family.

  The Woodard house was the only home Kel had known. He went to college for a year but had to return home after his mother grew ill. The house sat by the Jasmine River that separated the humble backyard with the Duist Forest that bordered Berk. The forest was federally protected, as was the Jasmine River, which was really a shallow stream that even a child could wade through. Kel and his sister were never to enter the indigenous woods alone as children. Even as adults, their family forbade them from entering the dark forest unless accompanied by one of the older members.

  He would always remember the sound.

  First was the creaking of the swing. The plastic seat was still damp from that morning’s light rain. Kel kept his shoulders down with his back hunched over. His feet were rooted flat on the ground as he gracefully swayed. The chained swing had been in his backyard since it was gifted to him by his father on his twelfth birthday. Nearly thirteen years later, the same swing set still stood behind the Woodward house. It had turned mostly into rust over the years. As Kel nudged himself back and forth, the chains produced a loud monotone screech. It was somewhat soothing to Kel's ears as it nearly made a perfect G-major shrill pitch.

  He would always remember the sound.

  Kel then heard the clacking of women's high heel shoes as they approached him from the driveway.

  "I'll be praying for you, dear," Kathy, the local reverend’s wife said. Kel never took his eyes off his shoes.

  Another lady, a stranger of the small town, reached to touch Kel's shoulders. "Oh, sweety, you hang in there," she said.

  Kel thought to himself, how dumb are they?

  He stayed perched on the damp plastic seat with his eyes down. The two ladies left Kel to his grief and entered the Woodward house through the back door. Their heels clacking the whole way. Kel looked up at his full house and sighed. Then the winds changed from the east and trees of the forest began to creak along with the swing set.

  He would always remember the sound.

  Kel's neighbors kept their dog chained up outside. The dog sat next to the chain-link fence that separated the two backyards. The dog never barked at Kel or the rest of his family but strangers triggered the mutt to yelp at the top of its lungs. The barking began as soon as people started showing up to their house, at roughly 4:35 p.m. Kel never understood why anyone would have a dog and keep it chained up outside. He always wanted a dog but his father always complained about how he was allergic. After about an hour of strangers coming and going from the Woodward house, the dog's bark turned into a rough hoarse shrill. Suddenly, the stream deemed "Jasmine River" began to trickle faster, as if it were filling up with more water.

  He would always remember the sound.

  Someone opened the back door again. The blinds on its window would bang against the glass. The banging of the blinds had a decaying pounding sound.

  CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.

  Another person opened the door and slammed it behind them. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.

  They lit up their cigarette on the back porch, looked at Kel, and gave him a worried smile, their way of giving their condolences to the young man. The blinds continued to bang up against the glass until they lost their momentum.

  As a child, Kel’s father would yell at him and his sister for leaving the back door open in the summertime. "Y'all letting the damn air out!"

  On this particular day, many people were rotating in and out of that door, almost continually. Still the creaking of the swing and trees remained.

  The door opened once more CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. “Kel, come in and get something to eat,” his father, Pete, yelled at him from the back door.

  Kel got up from the swing and made his way through the cigarette smoke that hovered by the backdoor. A howl from the forest erupted. Kel turned to look back and a flock of blackbirds burst from the trees and flew over the Woodward house. He stood at the doorway and looked into the crowded house. A sea of people filled his home. All dressed in their Sunday-finest black suits and dresses. Some faces he recognized, but some were strangers.

  Through the doorway, on the other side of the living room, stood a large gold picture frame encased by tacky blue carnations that looked to be plucked from a girl’s prom corsage from 1986. Kel had no doubt that the reverend’s wife picked out those flowers. The frame sat in front of the television, which was blaring WVQV, channel 19 local news. Kel’s great-uncle sat next to the picture of Kel’s mother with the television remote in his hand, fixated on the TV.

  “Mom would’ve hated this,” Kel mumbled under his breath.

  “What was that, son?” Pete asked in a harsh tone.

  “Look at Uncle Ronnie! He’s watching TV at mom’s funeral.” Kel snapped.

  “He doesn’t know any better,” Kel’s sister, Lav, said as she walked into the kitchen. "Plus, mom would’ve hated this because it’s her funeral.”

  “Shut your mouth Lav. And shut your mouth too, Kel,” their father snapped at them. “We have guests here and it’s your mother’s fucking funeral. So act like adult human beings for one moment, eat, and shut your mouths.”

  Kel’s aunt Rosie, his recently deceased mother’s sister, dropped a stack full of plates into the sink. “Watch your mouth Pete, the reverend is in the next room.” Rosie had always lived with Lisa, even after she married Pete and had Kel and Lav.

  “Another reason why mom would hate this,” Kel said. “She never believed in God.”

  “Did mom believe in anything?” Lav asked as if to make a statement. "And why are there so many strangers here? I thought we knew everyone that Mom knew in this small town."

  “It doesn’t matter,” Pete said then turned to Kel who was still standing in the doorway. “Shut the damn door, Kel! How many times do I have to tell you?”

  Kel reached for the doorknob and he heard it all again; the creaking swing, the howling of the trees, the hoarse bark of the dog, and the clacking of the blinds. Before he closed the door completely, he heard something else. Kel stopped cold and he felt a rush fill him that paralyze
d him. It wasn’t the rusted chain, the dog, trees, stream, nor the blinds. Still, it was a familiar tone. Then it became a familiar melody.

  He looked out into the yard, passed the smokers on the back porch, he saw nothing. Kel looked over at the neighbors dog, who was still barking. Suddenly, he could only hear the muffled melody. He no longer could hear the swing set and the strangers became muffled all around him. He looked back at the dog, saw it barking but no sound coming from its jowls. He looked down at the blinds that were banging on the glass, but nothing, not a sound.

  The melody grew louder and more clear in his ears. He looked passed the yard, passed the stream, into the dark forest. He fixed his eyes on the treeline. The dense wall of living wood, painted in moss and algae, stood as a border between reality and mystery. The sound was coming from inside the woods. It was a familiar melody that he couldn't distinguish, perhaps played on a piano, though he couldn't discern. The woods seemed to have produced a song, a song he knew but could not name.

  “I said, ‘shut the door!’” His father yelled.

  Pete grabbed the door from Kel's hands and slammed it closed. The song dissipated and the noises of this horrible day resumed as normal.

  “Did you hear that aunt Rosie?” Kel asked as Rosie came over to him and put her heavy arm around him.

  “You can’t hear yourself think over that damn dog,” she said. “Here, I made you a plate of food, you haven’t eaten all day.”

  “I heard something from the woods. Did you hear it Lav?”

  Before Lav could answer, Kel’s dad intervened, “Get your food and do something productive. Get in there to thank all those people for coming.”

  Kel and Lav, now both with a plate of food in their hands, walked into the living room together. “You didn’t hear it? It was like a song coming from the woods,” Kel said quietly as they entered the crowded room.