It's a secret, supposedly. What they get up to up there. No one is supposed to know. But lots of us do. Well. We know the 

Most of the women, and some of the girls. It's whispered behind hands in church, with dark, exchanged glances.

they? I can't pretend I'm unbiased, John and I have tried for 

to have children. With every month that passes, that infernal clock ticks louder, its second hand shaving off generous slices of opportunity. But, still. Even if I had ten kids already, it doesn't alter the morality of it, does it? 

I'd gone to the woods myself to see if I could find any clues that there' might be some truth to the stories. Any truth at all. I could find none. I will say this: it's beautiful, there. So very, very beautiful. It's the only thing remarkable about it, or so I thought.

, natural beauty. There are no fenceposts, no firepits, no plastic bags of dogshit hanging from branches. The paths are ancient and meandering, made by paws rather than people. Some of them have been well trod by nature lovers as well, and lovers in nature. But mostly by children, and the old woman who lives in a cottage right on the edge of it, like something out of a ghastly fairy tale. 

, some call her, though only in whispers, and never to her face, or in front of the men. They say she takes the women up there, and the young girls as well, and does some kind of ritual that purges new life from their bellies. Vile. Evil-looking woman, too. Haggardly, with one milky eye and one droopy, empty socket. 

, the kids call her. She just grins at them, and tells them 

 Truthfully, she scares me more than a little.

I'd be lying if I said I'd put to bed any hopes of getting to the bottom of the rumours. I couldn't even articulate, if you'd pressed me, 

I was so curious, why this thing itched and burned at me. Except that if it 

I watched that little cottage, and what do you know, 

Some old biddy and a young girl visited. They didn't go inside. The witch came out, with that smelly old dog, and took the path that led from her home to the woods. The girl followed, bundled up ludicrously in a thick coat, notable for being completely wrong for the time of year. The little granny stayed behind, arms crossed tight about about her middle, watching them. After a while, she turned and left, and I made a dash for it, hurrying up the track after the pair of them. Hoping I wasn't too late, and praying they wouldn't see me.

 Leaning on a rotting old stile, the last vestige of civilisation before you enter the wood proper. Unless you count the wobbly structures the kids made with sticks, of course. They were talking, but I was too far behind to hear the words. I quickened my pace, trying to stay quiet and hoping they wouldn't glance back. I inched closer, and a breeze carried some snippets back to me.

the girl was saying. Cold lead pooled inside me, the certainty that they were going to do 

The dog took off, like lightning (totally untrained and out of control) and they followed him. The witch was surprisingly nimble-footed and climbed over the stile with ease. I kept my distance, and followed, determined to find out what was going on, and maybe stop it if I could. If the girl was pregnant, as I suspected, I could beg her to keep the baby until birth. 

I'll raise it for you, you irresponsible, ungrateful little wretch! I'd do anything for the privilege you're willfully casting away!

It creeps up on you, the change. You look around, and suddenly there's a different quality to the air. It's thick like the hush of a church, and it smells different. There's a stillness; no birdsong or scurrying paws. And yet, it's not silent. There's rustling, movement, and something like a whisper, right on the edge of hearing. The green is so much greener, and you don't recognise 

 of the trees. You could believe not a single human soul had walked there in thousands of years.

I could feel the trees watching me. In the corner of my eye, I could see one 

I whipped round to get a better look, and he stayed planted, mocking me. Several minutes later, the same thing  happened, and it was the same tree again. 

Deeper and deeper we went, and then the air changed again. It got very cold, and smelled sweetly of decay. I pulled my collar up over my mouth and breathed through my mouth, trying not to heave. 

Gone the springy moss underfoot, replaced by black, black earth. The trees ahead of us were not trees I'd want following me. Where the green walkers in the forest behind me seemed benign, maybe curious, 

were baldly malevolent. The green trees looked a little bit like people if you squinted; you could make out the suggestion of a face or limbs or hair. But 

resembled grotesque skeletons. Naked, black and sharp like knives, but like knives that 

I knew it, even before the wicked pantomime unfolded in front of me. 

This is where they do it. Where they slaughter the little ones. But it's worse than I thought, because they make of them a human sacrifice. The Devil lives here!

I turned my face away when the girl stripped, like a common whore. All her unmentionables out for anyone to see! No shame at all! She wobbled her way to the centre of the clearing, drunk most likely, the wicked girl. My face twisted up in disgust to see it. She sank to her knees, then sank to the ground in the foetal position, 

I put both hands over my mouth to stop the scream. I couldn't tear my eyes away. She turned her face to the sky, and I couldn't understand why she didn't stand, why she didn't run. Coward that I am, I watched, and didn't rush forward to help her.

The witch stood, watching her, and once the girl had vanished from sight into the ground, that milky old eye shifted to those Trees. Time stretched out. It felt like hours, but surely she could never have survived down there so long? At last, the witch strode purposefully into the clearing and knelt down, making a pad out of her long skirt for all the world as if she were going to do some gardening. 

A weed is only a flower growing in the wrong place.

I thought perhaps my heart would break, then. The little flower had been uprooted, before ever she got a chance to bloom. 

The hag pulled the girl from the ground, and I realised that in a moment they'd be coming right towards me! I hid behind a nearby tree, and crouched, making myself small. An urge came over me to pat it, like a dog or a cat. I hesitated, but who would see me after all? No one that counted.

 The pair hurried right passed me and away, the little slapper still as naked as the day she was born.

I waited until I was sure they must be truly gone, and then stood and stepped out of my hiding place. I turned towards the black trees, and took a few paces, mustering courage.

"Please," I said again, not knowing I was going to do this until I did it, "Please help me."

The muttering and clicking of their branches sounded like sniggering.

~thenbringusababy. bringusanoakwithanacorninside.

Would they really do that? Would they really ask that of me? Why am I talking to these wicked creatures?

"I- I can't. That would be... that would be murder."

Supreme unbotheredness radiated off them and hit me like a slap.

"You're a forest, aren't you? Isn't that what you do? Give life?"

~weneedthelifetofeedthegreenchildren. wecannotgiveittoyou. 

Despair sounded like the empty wind in the branches, saying nothing at all. 

I wiped away the tears that had started falling, and choked out "Th-thank you."

The Trees waved me off in heartless silence.

I don't know how I found my way home. I think the forest made sure of it. Maybe, if I'd stayed very still, it would've rearranged itself around me, and spat me out. Like an oyster spitting a pearl.

The nightmares started. Night after night, 

I put a baby in the glade and watched it sink into the black dirt, it's muffled screams following me long after waking.

I was a wicked, wicked woman in my sleep. Sinful, prideful, selfish, without shame. One night, 

I saw that little tart again, not a stitch on her, belly swollen and breasts dripping. I forced her to her knees and begged the Trees to take her, and give me what she hadn't wanted

These are thoughts I'd never entertain in the daytime. Another time, 

I led a long line of children into the clearing, like the Pied Piper. Instead of sinking into the ground, a hole opened up and they tumbled in, one by one, like lemmings. Yet the hole stayed empty. The Trees laughed. 

that clock stood in the middle of the grove, its pendulum as nasty and sharp as I imagined, dripping something sticky. It's tick was insidious.

I stayed on the look-out for "PETS FOR SALE" signs. I bought a puppy, set it free in the woods, and followed it, until the atmosphere and the greenery shifted around us. I let him stumble further and further away on his clumsy little paws, and trusted that the black trees would take him.

Gripped by a terrible mad hope, I hassled John for a lot of sex, but still, my womb stayed empty.

I saw an advert, "KITTENS, FREE TO GOOD HOME". I took the entire litter. I packed the five little ginger, white and tortoiseshell cats into my knapsack, pulled the buckles tight, and hiked back into the forest late at night. This time I walked to the middle of the clearing before I let them out, stepping right over my fear and dread to do it. To be completely sure the thing was done. The soil started folding over their paws very quickly, while my feet sat atop the ground. It was an absurd and disturbing sight, as if it were my feet that were disobeying natural laws. 

I shook my head to clear it of the blasphemous thought, and hurried to the edge to the glade, back over the invisible boundary to where the treefolk felt friendlier. I turned back just in time to see the last one sinking out of sight.

Remembering what the trees had hissed about "an acorn within an oak", I stole Mr Barnham's prize bitch, Nell. She was expected to whelp any day now. I picked the lock on the kennel, tied a string to her collar, and took her to the woods. I would much rather not have seen her desperate fight to free herself, but her terrified yelps drew my gaze back over my shoulder, and I couldn't look away. 

I thought hard in her direction, gulping down bile. 

My baby is more important than you and your puppies.

"I can't give you anything else!" I shouted back. "Will it 

me!" I screamed, the harsh wind whipping my hair, and my eyes streaming. I pressed my lips into a thin line, tired of crying.

"Do you mean the wit- the old woman? With one eye?"

My heart sank to the soles of my shoes. Would I really do this thing, this thing I hated so much?

The Trees' clicked their branches together like this, 

I fled, their clacking laughter dogging my steps. They knew the answer before I did.

Here's your content warning: termination of pregnancy, derogatory terms, mild peril, yes the dog dies

That Infernal Clock

My fourth entry to the Whispering Woods challenge. They are interconnected, but can be enjoyed as standalone stories. These will be linked in the comments. There is a content warning at the end of the story if you need it. Disclaimer: I try and get inside the head of my character; it's no commentary on whether I agree with their views or not.

It's a secret, supposedly. What they get up to up there. No one is supposed to know. But lots of us do. Well. We know the what, if not the how. Most of the women, and some of the girls. It's whispered behind hands in church, with dark, exchanged glances.



That Infernal Clock

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That Infernal Clock

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