Chapter Text
Somewhere lost in the fumes of history was a place seen by few. Guided through the mist, by the pale light of the moon, the burdens of a distant past and the fading memory of mere spring echoes mingled with the sounds of small, rhythmic footsteps of worn shoes. The dense, whitish air danced between the twisting branches of ancient, dark trees, leaving a trail of sharp hisses.
“Peanut, Albert, Toast, Salami, Steve…”
“Aaron.” Andrew tried to keep up with his brother's fast pace through the dense forest paths, surrounded by the low, cold fog that laid in the wooded area.
“…but I think the worst name for my fox is–”
“ Shh! Aaron…” Andrew placed one of his hands near Aaron's mouth, close enough for him to stop his rambling “…where are we?”
The singing of owls and the chirping of bats reverberated in the hollow interior of the dry, twisted oaks. Andrew tried to silently stifle the panic brought on by his perception of space and time, specially due to the fact that, given the situation, they were unaware of the nature of both.
“In the woods?” Aaron's answer sounded more like a question, as if Andrew was testing him “We're going home.”
Something was wrong. Andrew's memory faltered, for the first time in his life, to provide an explanation. He looked at his twin, dressed in trousers held up by suspenders and a small kettle that was being worn as a hat, although it wasn't very practical. The little fox stood out against the gray backdrop, supporting its weight on its torso and placing it in Aaron's little arms, being carried without complaint.
“We got lost.” Andrew clutched the sides of his cloak and adjusted his large, pointy red hat to reassure himself. He looked back for footprints, in vain. “We got lost and didn’t even leave a trace.”
“I have candy. I can spread it out to make a trail.” Aaron took a handful of well-packaged chocolates and candies of various flavors from the front pockets of his pants and scattered them on the floor.
“Did you hear that?” Andrew looked away from Aaron, who continued to pull sweets out of his pockets as if they were bottomless.
The muffled, turbulent noise became clearer and more precise as the twins approached. The steel of a nearly dull axe struck the barbed, crooked wood repeatedly, until it finally gave way and fell beneath the feet of a tall man with dark clothes and dark hair — which, when hit by the milk-white light of the moon, appeared to show grayness in its roots. Andrew was certain that it was not safe to approach a stranger, especially if the stranger in question carried an axe and dressed like a soul reaper. Aaron, on the other hand, thought the opposite.
“We should call for help.” Aaron put one of his legs on the large oak root they were hiding behind to watch the woodcutter, prevented by Andrew from putting the other one right after.
“Great idea if you plan on getting us murdered. We won't ask for help.”
“But—”
“Shh.” Andrew gestured with the hand he wasn't using to hold the hem of Aaron's pants “I'm older, so I decide.”
“But I'm taller! And don't shush me!”
The rustling of dry leaves piqued both of their curiosity to reveal a woodcutter already out of their sight. Andrew wondered, for half a second, if Aaron's idea was that bad, but he wouldn't admit out loud that his brother was right. The twins’ identical faces had different expressions. Andrew’s was slightly vexed, evidenced by his furrowed brows, while Aaron’s was sullen, as if the pout his mouth formed was to contain his clear displeasure. It wasn’t long before the different expressions merged to transform slowly into one, accompanied by a unison sigh, as they heard a voice almost identical to their own in pitch.
“Maybe I can help.”
They looked around. There were no other children in sight.
“Up here.” The voice belonged to a little bird with mixed, orange and bluish, plumage. Not bigger than six inches, supposedly “You're lost, aren't you?”
“What's going on?” Aaron rubbed his eyelids a few times.
“You’re rubbing your eyes.” Andrew’s expression had returned to its usual dull state.
“Birds don't have brains big enough to develop cognitive language! There's no way they—”
Aaron's thoughts were interrupted by a loud protest from the little bird.
“That's not what I meant—”
A bright, yellowish light hit the twins' skin, too stimulating for their eyes to adjust to in such a short space of time, partially blocked by the tall, dark shadow of the woodsman. As they got closer, they could see the effects of time and fatigue on the man's face — the dark circles under his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead showed years of loneliness and hard work. If his intention wasn't to kill them, it definitely did not look like it.
“What is the meaning of that? Explain yourselves immediately!” The man carried a large basket of firewood on his back, along with the axe and a lit lantern.
“We just want to go home! With arms and legs attached to our bodies if possible!” Aaron spoke quickly, nearly stumbling over his own words. He raised one hand to show disarmament and held the fox with the other, who tried to escape with barely any effort.
The woodcutter's long, irritated sigh sent more goosebumps across Andrew's skin than the cold, murky forest air, despite his long sleeves and closed cloak.
“This is no place for children, don't you know that the beast is on the loose?” Before either of the twins could open their mouths to object, the man continued to speak in the same serious and imposing tone as before “You are in the unknown, boys. You are more lost than you think.”
Next to them, the oaks wept and regurgitated a viscous, blackish liquid.
“I found this abandoned cabin a few years ago.” The woodcutter banged one stone against another in front of the logs gathered in a green-colored fireplace “It serves its purpose. It will keep you and your brother warm and safe while I work.”
The sparks from the friction of the stones started small fires all over the internal surroundings of the fireplace, feeding on each other and merging into a single, warm, glowing figure. In the background, Aaron scattered more sweets across the cold floorboards.
“What… exactly… Do you do?” Andrew asked. Not out of curiosity in the man, but in the nature of the place.
“We all have a torch to keep burning.” The man, who had been looking at Andrew, turned to the fire and rested his hand on the lamp beside him. “This is mine. I cut and macerate the trees of this forest to make oil for my lantern. It is my lifelong burden.”
Andrew turned to his brother, covered his lips with one hand, and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“I don't trust him.”
“Apart from the scary aura and the fact that he could kill us at any given moment, I don't see why we shouldn't trust him.” The sarcastic smile that laid on the corner of Aaron's mouth was the physical manifestation of his annoyance. Sarcasm wasn't his thing, so it just meant he was imitating Andrew to irritate him for earlier.
The boards creaked as the woodcutter stood up.
“What's the whispering about?”
“We’re planning to run away.” Aaron replied, on impulse, being reprimanded by Andrew's narrowed eyes “No– I mean, to stay… Wait! I mean–”
“Go if you want. I won't stop you.” The lantern shone a little brighter because of the man's readjustment. “But remember, boys: The beast haunts these woods. I have work to do at the mill, but I'll help in any way I can, if you're still here when I get back.”
The woodcutter slammed the door behind him, leaving the two boys with nothing but Aaron's candies and the furniture warmed by the newly lit fireplace. Andrew laid down on a loveseat next to the fire — his chest burned with the strange sensation that had often kept him awake at night. The unknown did not scare him, it was a familiar sensation: it lived under his skin, it settled in the nerves of his cranium like the kiss his mother planted every day before bed.
“Do you think there's really a monster out there?” Aaron inspected the logs stacked on the andirons, followed by the little fox's snout, tracing small fingers over the cracked, rough bark of the wood.
Andrew didn't answer. He didn’t know — monsters are people, after all. And people are everywhere. He let out a low, unassuming grunt anyway.
“Oh, where's my fox?” Andrew's attention turned to the twin, who was crouched down with his hands resting on his knees, as if searching for an insect. “I'll be right back, okay? Then we focus on your plan to escape.”
Aaron turned the doorknob and walked through the door, moving his head from side to side, looking for the little animal. Andrew considered following him, but as long as there was a sound — Aaron’s sweets crunching against the grass, his laughter as he surveyed the landscape, his hands moving against the water that flowed in the windmill in a cyclical motion — he had no reason to worry. Andrew enjoyed the soft warmth of the fire that brushed his cheeks with a faint, tender pink shade of color. It reminded him of home, Bee's kisses on his scraped knees, the red curls of—
And then silence. The scream that followed was sickening and visceral, as if it were cutting through Andrew's skin until blood ran down his entire body length. He didn't know when he had begun running, the primal instinct to protect made his legs move as if they had a life of their own. The barrels that had previously rested near the mill were scattered across the grass, marked by vixen claws and crushed chocolate wrappers. His surroundings — or perhaps it was Andrew’s field of vision — shrank and lost its consistency. Only the barrels, a black outline of space at the periphery of Andrew’s vision, and the suffocating fear for his brother were solid. Not just solid — it was dense and heavy, crushing his heart as if a black hole were forming in its place.
Andrew didn't hear his own voice, but felt the strong vibration that burned in his throat as he screamed Aaron's name. When his ears finally began to capture sound again, it was already too late to notice the shrill croaking coming from the shadow-drowned forest. The darkness took on forms, even if it didn't reveal itself sufficiently for Andrew to recognize it, it was possible to see a red light bleed into the gloom and disappear completely in half a second. When the light returned, the talons of a crow three times Andrew’s size were already flying towards his neck. The run to the cabin was a blur of sights and sounds, and Andrew struggled to piece together the scatterings of reality so they could make sense, his vision and hearing betraying him. The bang that the door emitted restored part of his senses, but the other half only arrived when he saw the trace of his brother's blond hair, carried unconscious along with the fox in one of the big woodcutter's arms. Unconscious, but alive and whole.
Andrew had always been a good runner. He began a mental countdown between one gasp and the next. One to check Aaron’s safety. Two to steal the axe from the woodsman’s waist. Three for his muscles to adjust to the weight — though the adrenaline did most of the work. Between four and five, Andrew lifted and lodged the axe crosswise into the raven’s eyes. The tissue beneath its feathers and eye socket stuck on the axe — the attempt to remove it only made the steel and the bird's skin fuse even more — and splash crimson everywhere. Andrew left the beast to agonize outside the house and turned to his brother, still smothered by the crow's pained grunt from behind the wooden walls and his twin's rhythmic breath as he slept.
Andrew didn't quite know what to say, but he knew that whatever he said would come out almost as a sigh.
“Your axe.” He turned to the woodcutter. He was adjusting a thin blanket over Aaron, the lantern still at his side. “The beast… took it.”
“That wasn’t the beast.” He crossed his strong arms, but didn’t turn to Andrew as he spoke. “The beast lurks like the night, waiting for your vulnerability to leak through the skin to sink its claws into your chest. It steals the ones you love and leaves behind only an empty space filled with pain.”
Grief weighed heavily on the woodcutter's deep voice and the shadows created by the corners that the light could not reach evidenced lines etched into his face, which now carried a new meaning: mourning and longing. The woodcutter's expression made Andrew turn back to Aaron. Thankfully, his eyes were half open and fixed on the fox nestled beside him.
“We won't stay.” He said, both to his brother and the woodcutter. “We need to find our way home.”
The woodcutter's sigh would’ve been enough as an answer, but the expression — almost tender, almost affectionate — formed on his face came with it.
“Be careful then.”
On their way out, as Aaron clutched the hem of his cloak, Andrew noticed two names carved into the wall inside of the cabin — “Wymack + Abby” — as if they weren’t there before.
Aaron headed toward the trail as Andrew closed the door behind him, leaving the woodcutter and the small wooden mark behind.