Midnight Sonata

So many of my favorite things! Music, forests, and night.

Strips of leather lay suspended from a spiral of barbed wire. At the end of the coil lay a black taped bar that resembled a handle. The unconventional wind catcher encircled the patio of a solitary cabin, numbering close to twenty. Despite the disturbing ornaments, the building resembled a home. The chimney puffed, the windows glowed behind quaint curtains, and an assortment of wildlife had taken to the niche between the support beams and the roof. The sole other eccentricity, that could be observed from the outside anyhow, was the dissonant notes that leaked between the logs each dusk.

Conflicting harmonies reunited in the trees; coiling around leaves, dissipating in the cool air, pooling in underground hollows. More bizarre than the resigned melodies were the resounding cries of the forest. Squirrels darted about trees with directed squeaks that foretold the dreaded onset of impending death. Rabbits scrambled from nesting burrows and set themselves just outside before unlatching an unprecedented joint in their jaw to release a long, deliberate scream. Even the dignified stag lowered his antlers to the snow to push at hidden demons like a spooked fawn.

The process took place daily to bridge sunset to twilight. The consistency offset its anomalous nature. The neighboring village resting two kilometers away had various accounts of the event, but none broke the comforting mirror of deception by treading within that glade. Not a single foot rested on that patio until time had justified the peculiar pattern as tradition. Due to the reluctant acceptance of the villagers, an assortment of rumors ranging from ludicrous to eerily plausible hugged the fringes of its lore. The most notorious rumor described not only the interior of the cabin, but a lurking beast that was responsible for the chilling nightly melodies.

The beast uniquely manifested within each that heard the tale by morphing to fit their crevice of fear. Someone afraid of snakes would perhaps envision a body with various snake like appendages. Someone with a phobia of the dark would perhaps picture something as unreasonable as an undulating entity of darkness. As a result of such intimately rooted fear, no one ever explored around that glade, or even accidentally meander towards the forsaken location. Even strangers hiking nearby, it was rumored, would instinctively lead their trails astray to prevent intersection.

There came a night; however, that the forest fell silent. Thus instigating an investigation from a local adventurer whom was equally brave and reckless. He kept a journal in suit of all great explorers, and set out the following dawn, claiming that the tradition instilled stability in all neighboring lands, and must be remedied at once. He left, and like many great explorers before him, he didn’t return. The forest cried that night with extra fervor as if to denote mischief. A squad was released in search of the man, but a body was not recovered. The journal though, was seized. The last entry read simply.

The cabin is inhabited by a single creature just like the lore. Or at least from what I can view in the shadows of the windows. The shape is most peculiar . . . It seems to shift. As if all the conflicting fears have meshed together to make them both true and false. The forest is still. The time has come. I am to approach this here door like any civil being. If it can respectably live in a home, surely it can accept a cordial visit. Though I will leave this journal pinned to the tree in the event that . . . well. It is time to go.

Yet another face had been seized.

Reviews

[Stephanie Baker]

Hi your an amazing writer and the description is incredible.