The winner of the 2019 Writing Across Communities Contest for High School Writers is Coda Barger from Bloomington High School South. Here is the winning story, “Into the Woods.”
Irene’s car sputters to a stop thirteen miles away from the city, the outline of the sun barely noticeable behind the treetops. “Dammit not now!” she curses as the check engine light illuminates the car. She forcefully shuts off her car and pushes the door open. She pulls out her phone only to realize there’s no signal. A small town sits in front of her, but the houses and stores are brown and bleak, windows broken and rooftops torn. It doesn’t even look like it would have a gas station, much less a mechanic. A flicker of light comes from somewhere deep in the town. ‘At least there are people,’ she thinks and enters the town.
Irene walks down the worn-out roads. Cracks and potholes cover the terrain, and she swears the curtains move when she walks past them.
She comes to a stop in front of a small hotel, the light still flickering. The door creaks open when Irene enters. A frail, older woman sits at the welcome desk. An old copy of a newspaper lays in front of her, her pen scratching against the crossword.
“25 for a room,” the lady mumbles.
“I’m looking for help, my car broke down and I need –”
“25 for the night,” she interrupts and reaches for a pair of room keys on the wall. “Don’t want to be out in these conditions,” she says. Irene huffs, but passes over a twenty and a five.
“Down the hall, room three,” the woman says and points down the dark hallway. “Close your curtains,” she adds and jingles the keys in front of Irene. “Don’t listen to what they tell you,” the woman whispers.
‘What does that even mean?’ Irene thinks as she reaches to take the keys, but the woman takes her hand in a tight grip. “Leave in the morning and drive far away. Do not come back,” she warns.
Irene stumbles backward and walks towards the entrances of the hallway while the old woman watches her. ‘What a weird town,’ she thinks
The hotel looks clean, Irene observes, but the air smells musty and rotten. Secrets hide in the floorboards and walls that Irene doesn’t want to know. They come to stop at a red door, paint chipped and old. The door isn’t even locked when she opens it and won’t even lock when she closes it. Irene faces towards the windows overlooking the fields and forest. She shields herself with the green, outdated curtains as she falls asleep.
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The room is dark when Irene startles awake, a forgotten nightmare on the top of the goosebumps that dot her arms. She turns on the desk lamp and drags her hands down her face. She looks around the room. The TV’s only channel is the local news, which isn’t much. A ripped telephone book sits in the drawers, every number covered by black lines. No way to call and no way to leave.
I..ne, a voice whispers. Irene jumps and scans the room, finding nothing but the ugly interior. The curtains swish. Follow, it says. The desk lady’s advice comes into Irene’s mind, but what is she supposed to do? Stay in the room where she’s going crazy?
“Ridiculous,” she says out loud and tucks her feet into her shoes. ‘A waste of time and waste of money, guess I’ll sleep in the car,’ she thinks. The hotel is creepier later at night, the only light being at both ends of the hallway. Irene feels like someone is watching her from the shadows in the corners.
Follow… I..ne, the voice says again, a lot closer and louder than before. “I’m going insane. This is it, this is where I lose it. In this stupid little town with its stupid cryptid people,” Irene complains aloud. The desk lady from before has disappeared. The only trace of her presence is the half-finished crossword. “That’s it I’m leaving,” Irene says and opens the hotel door.
The woods, Irene, the woods… the voice whispers directly in her ear, and Irene jumps from the sudden clarity and loudness the voice now has. Into the woods… it says again, and a small light appears in front of the woods, like a guiding lamp into whatever lies between the trees. Into the woods, into the woods, into the woods a thousand voices repeat. Irene covers her ears, but the booming sound still managing to reach her — into the woods, into the woods, into the woods.
“Stop!” Irene screams.
Into the woods
“Stop it!”
Into the woods, into the woods, into the woods.
‘I can’t take this anymore,’ Irene thinks and sprints towards that guiding light.
Into the woods, into the woods, into the woods… the whispers fade out.
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Irene comes to a stop in a small, round clearing. The voices finally stop their onslaught of commands. It’s dark, the only light now from the moon shining directly above the clearing. There are no flowers, no leaves, no grass, just dried dirt and a formation of rocks. Without the voices, there’s no sound. Just the ringing in Irene’s ears. The Earth seems to breathe under Irene’s feet. The dirt rising up and down with every step she takes.
“Is anybody there?” she asks, but she knows the answer.
Nobody is with her in the small clearing.
But something is.
A fog settles over the rocks. Shadows form in between the stones, creating a small circle of shadow people around Irene.
“What are you?” she whispers to a figure in front of her. The creature doesn’t answer, only looks down to the dirt below her. The Earth begins to cave in, her feet are slowly buried, then her knees, then her hips. No one hears her scream.
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It’s dark beneath the dirt. She can’t move or hear or touch or smell, but she can see. She sees the others. She can speak.
Into the woods, into the woods, into the woods, she whispers with them.
root and branch literary magazine 