The moon emerges from the mountains a monstrous, swollen apparition; gleaming and pulsing like an ember.
The souls surface from darkness behind the mountains, their bodies the deepest midnight blue, yet translucent, and full of stars. They transcend downhill toward the ominous outline of forest beyond my house. They seem weightless like they are walking on air.
One caught me watching once; lifted its strange face dappled with muted moonlight, and stared at me with its wide vacuous indigo eyes. A shiver had run down my spine and for a moment my heart was frozen. Solid. Ice. Piercing in my chest. I was drowning in their indigo emptiness. The entirety of it. But the moment dissolved quickly, along with the figure, becoming only another shimmering shadow swallowed by the mangled trees.
Others enter the forest; soft-featured girls with long blond hair and men with large rifles and dogs with gleaming teeth. They enter the forest when sun is high in the sky, casting golden rays to glitter like sprinkled fairy dust on the leaves, dispersing the darkness, pushing it aside to wait its turn. They are under the illusion that is safer then. They aren’t aware of how fast darkness can surround you.
I never see their faces again. The forest swallows them.
Sometimes I see other faces, peering out from the silver birches, from between the brambles, and blackberry thickets; wisps of women, green with flowing leafy hair and fingers stained in crimson blood. Faces thick with pelts of dark fur and wide, aquamarine eyes. So quick to disappear again that most of the time I am not sure of whether I imagined them or not. I wonder when I will enter the forest. If I will ever come back.