Terror

Chapter 1

Voe

I peek out my window, barely moving the curtain aside. The day is dark and gloomy, but then, it always is. That’s the world we live in, overrun with horrors and fear.

The trees are still, their twisted branches curving overhead, making a thick canopy. When the sun shines, there are little windows of light that peek down on the mossy ground. There are no windows today.

A fog settles on the ground, moving around as if it’s living. Obscuring the path that leads from my house and into the dense forest. No one is there, because only the desperate come into the woods. Those willing to risk what may lurk in the shadows and face me.

I turn away, pulling my cloak from the peg by the door, and wrapping it around my shoulders. Fastening it under my neck, I pull the hood over my head, letting it hang low to shroud my face in its dark depths. When they can’t see me, I receive fewer sneers. They still stare, but I can’t feel it when my skin is covered.

Taking my basket in hand, I open the door and step outside. The forest is quiet, but not silent. A rustle through the branches from a cool breeze. Birds in the distance. The crunch of leaves and twigs on the forest floor as animals move through the trees.

Breathing in the forest, I close my eyes. Letting the familiar sounds settle me. I’ve known the dark forest for most of my life. While everyone fears the darkness, it’s been my only friend. My constant companion.

I move down the lane in front of my house until it disappears. Only this one path that exists a hundred feet in front of my door is well traveled. Otherwise, I change my route frequently. I don’t want many paths leading to my house. I would rather remain alone.

For the world is cruel.

The walk from my house to the nearest village takes me about a quarter of the daylight hours this time of year. I don’t hurry but admire the serenity that can be found in the deep solitude. People say the woods are haunted. They say that if you go in, there’s a good chance you may not come out.

There are Terrors in the trees.

I’ve never seen any monsters. Only those who live in the villages.

As I break the tree line, I pause just inside their welcoming shadows to study the town. The sun is still firmly hidden behind gray clouds without a break in the sky. It’s gloomy, suggesting rain. Now that I don’t have the protection of the trees, a cold breeze grabs at me and I hold my cloak a little more securely.

I hate these days. The days I need to visit town for necessities to live. Though I can produce most of what I need, there are some items that I cannot. Clothing and other textiles, primarily. I really need a new blanket. Mine is worn and riddled with holes.

While I sell more than I ever spend, I have enough for even those who overcharge me. I take note of those who do because, without fail, they will seek me out in the forest. In the end, I get my money back and more. No one learns.

Right at the edge of town is the large stone building with a spire reaching into the dark sky. In this particular village, the stone building is not doing well. Not often used. The grout between the stones is crumbling. There are missing stones and structurally unsound walls. One of the colored glass windows has been smashed, and the door is sealed shut.

It’s why I usually choose this village to stop at when necessity makes me leave the comfort of my house. The Order of Ipsom’s hold is weak here. Last time I was here, there wasn’t a Guardian in residence. Thankfully. Though they preach peace and kindness, they’re the cruelest of all.

There are people milling about. Carrying buckets of water as children run around shouting and laughing. There are couples strolling and women gossiping. Shop doors are open. House windows are flung wide.

Taking a breath and making sure my hood is hiding my face, I move forward. As soon as I’m seen, people stop and stare. I’m sure they cannot see my face, but I can feel their loathing. Their disgust. Their judgment.

My steps don’t falter. I’ve been facing their ridicule my entire life. Since I was a child, and I fell into the wheat grinder. While it crushed and mangled my body, I lived. People called it a miracle.

Until they saw what happened to me. Then they called me a curse. With scars and obvious dips in my skin where muscles never grew back correctly, I am deformed. I am—

“So ugly,” one of the women snicker as I walk by.

They can’t actually see me. In fact, I’m sure that no one here has ever seen my face with the long scars and bite marks that never leave me. The way one eyelid is always lower than the other, the muscles having never grown back so that I could open it properly. They’ve never seen that the side of my head where my scalp was ripped clear off, exposing my skull, is always smooth. My hair has never regrown there.

I blink within the veil of my hood and continue through their sneers and snickers. Their glares as they lean into each other and pretend to whisper when I can hear every word.

The women are awful, but the men are worse.

“Vile,” a farmer says, spitting onto the ground in front of me, barely missing my foot as I step. It doesn’t touch me but only because he intentionally missed.

But his actions teach his child that that’s okay and his son spits at me next. This time, his spit lands on my cloak. The man pats his boy’s shoulder proudly, all while glaring at me with hot hatred in his eyes.

My stride never falters as I move into town though I commit both of their faces to memory. They’ll both be at my house one day, begging for a remedy to something. Maybe I’ll provide it. Maybe I’ll just give them dirt, instruct them to eat it, and take their money.

The building I’m heading toward is close to the center of town. I ignore everyone as I go. Ignore the comments and names they throw at me. They’re just words. They stopped hurting a long time ago.

Occasionally a child will be brave as they show off to their friends and throw something tangible. Usually a small rock. Once, I even had a sock thrown at me. Today, it’s an ear of corn. It hits my hip, but I don’t slow.

They laugh and point, acting like their behavior is courageous. Yes, you sure showed me. I turn my head in their direction and their laughter stops. Their eyes grow wide as fear makes them freeze under my stare. They couldn’t see my face, but the stories carry.

Voe can see into your soul.

Voe can cut your life short.

Voe’s eyes will give you nightmares if you look into them.

I continue to look at them as I walk by. One pees his pants. Another trembles so violently that they fall from the wagon they’re sitting on.

When I turn away, they scramble to their feet and run. As they get further away, their courage returns, and they begin calling me nasty things. Pathetic.

I step inside the open door of the shop and take a breath. There’s only one person here and therefore, fewer eyes on me. I take a moment to release my irritation before walking further into the room.

The woman in the corner is sewing a long piece of fabric. She looks up at me as I enter but says nothing. Though she watches me as I move around the room, examining the blankets she has. The shirts and skirts. Oh, the shoes are a new addition. I pick one up, examining the soles.

“They’re imported from Deep Ridge,” the woman tells me. “The kind that trappers use when they must scale the sharp mounts to hunt.”

“Have you sold many?” I ask.

I like this woman. She doesn’t hesitate to speak to me. Although I’m sure she judges me, she doesn’t do so visibly. Not my scratchy voice or my barely understandable words. My vocal cords were severely damaged during the accident as a child.

“Almost all of them. There are only two pairs left.” I only see the one and unfortunately, they’re too small for me. When I turn, I see that she’s pulled out the second pair. With a sly smile, she says, “I saved you a pair, Voe.”

Very few people say my name. It’s the name they use at night to threaten their children with.

Ugly Voe will appear in your dreams if you don’t mind yourself. Steal your voice since she no longer has one. She’ll rip it from your body while you scream.

I smile slightly. If only I could steal someone’s voice for my own. Communication would be easier. Not that it really matters since no one listens to me. For all the good a voice would do, I’d still go unheard.

“Thank you,” I tell her, attempting to enunciate each word. I don’t make an effort for most people. But this woman has always been kind to me. I used to be suspicious, but at this point, I don’t even care what her reasons are.

“Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” she asks.

“Warm blanket,” I tell her. “Heavy and thick.”

She smiles. “I have just the thing. Give me a moment.”

I nod as she stands from the stool she’s been in. She takes a moment to stretch, bending her neck and relieving some of the sore muscles. As she leaves the room, I continue to meander through the shop and examine what’s there. She has a handful of blankets that I quite like. I pick one up. It’s smooth to the touch. Lighter than I would like but it feels good in my hands.

I’m still holding onto it when she returns with a large armload of fabric. As I come closer, she splits her load into three.

They’re wonderfully woven and stuffed. Keeping the sleeve of my cloak over my hand, I touch one. I can feel their weight and imagine that they would be perfect.

They will also make my walk home cumbersome, but this is what I came for. “This one,” I tell her. The colors remind me of the forest in late fall. Browns, greens, and a spattering of deep burgundy and bright orange. A touch of yellow here and there. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, Miss Voe,” she says. “Will this be all today?”

I glance at the shoes and the woman smiles. She picks them up and puts them on top of the blanket and then pulls the other one I have in my hand and folds it on top. I watch her as she wraps them expertly and secures a strong cord so that I can put it on my back.

After I fix it to my body, I offer her what she’d like from my basket. There is money, herbs, sweets, tea mixes, and a few baked goods. I even had the occasional tincture, though I tend to keep them close. They bring in money when I’m depleted.

The woman studies what I have and chooses a sweet, a loaf of bread, and a tea mixture. She smiles at me and nods.

“That’s all?” I ask. Though she can’t see it, my brows knit together. Why has she always been kind to me?

“Yes. This will do.”

I bite my lip, feeling the harder skin of the scar that runs across it. I pull out two of the silver coins and a tincture and set them on her counter where my package was. “Thank you,” I tell her.

The woman nods, smiling kindly. Serious kindness, right there. There’s not even a lie in her eyes.

“Voe,” she calls just before I step outside. I glance back. “Be careful on your way home. There was a report of Terrors in the next village.”

I shiver and nod. Thanking her again, I move outside, hearing her say a quiet appeal for my safe journey. I pause again at her words. Keep me safe. Deliver me home unharmed and unhindered.

The woman whose name I don’t know and has always shown me kindness manages to pull a slight smile to my lips. I look at my feet, hidden under my long cloak. Maybe the world isn’t all bad.

Looking up again, I head back down the road with my basket in hand and my purchases on my back. I’m still watched, but the streets are almost empty as people run inside. I glance up at the sky as the clouds coalesce.

Sighing, I head for the trees but don’t move at a pace quicker than I normally would. I’m not afraid of rain. Not in the least.

Though I know that it’s not fear of the rain that runs everyone inside, their doors and shutters closing tight. With the rain comes an invitation for Terrors. Something about the charge in the air and the extra darkness that it ushers in.

My feet move at a steady pace as I ignore the words still being called to me.

Disgusting.

Hideous.

Unsightly.

Repulsive.

I let them wash off me as if it were the rain. In the end, they’ll all come asking me for something. And then we’ll see what words they have.

A streak of lightning moves across the dark sky. Despite my best efforts, I pick up my pace as I head for the trees. I know that the Terrors move within the trees, using their darkness and reach to move across the world and consume the innocent as they do.

But I was confident that the forest was my friend more than theirs. I could get home safely, avoiding the Terrors. Not that I thought they were near. I hope not.

Passing the stone building, I almost pause again. My feet slow as I glimpsed a face in the window above the front door. It was partially obscured, as if there were a veil there. I shiver and turn away as I head beyond the edge of the village.

It had been a long time since I’d seen a Guardian in this village. I really hoped they weren’t moving back. Those places were my least favorite to go.

As I step inside the shadows of the trees, I sigh. My body brakes out in goosebumps and I look around. Taking careful inventory of my surroundings. But the trees were filled with the same quiet sounds. The comforting and welcome atmosphere that I have grown to love.

Behind me, the sky opens and rain pours down as thunder rumbles in the sky. It’s delayed in the forest; but as I walk, thick droplets break through the canopy overhead. I’ll be soaked by the time I get home. I smile at the thought.