He spoke to his teachers about the unusual creatures, but of course they didn’t believe him. Nobody ever did, and he knew he would need solid proof. Armed with a dead mouse and a jam jar he set off to get his proof, but unfortunately the creatures had one Hell of a bite. All he walked away with that day was a wound, which soon turned septic and earned him the unflattering nickname of ‘Green Finger Fowler.’
Stuart’s visit to the clearing became an almost daily thing as he became more and more withdrawn from the rest of the village. He kept the insects fed using mice that his granny’s traps had caught, but the supply of fresh cadavers soon ran dry. This is when the dreams began.
The dreams were always the same. Stuart would find himself in the woods feeling safe and appreciated. The branches would part for him, like magic. For the first time since his parents bailed, he felt wanted and loved. The seasons would shift and flicker past in seconds, and soon his feeling of well-being turned into one of crippling hunger. A sonorous, insectoid voice would plead for food. It would promise him everlasting friendship, and every night Stuart would wake in a cold sweat with painful cramps in his guts.
The forest was hungry, that much was certain. But what was Stuart to do? He scoured the village and its surrounding environs for tasty treats, but it was to no avail. The dreams got worse and worse, the pain in his stomach became less bearable with every passing day. He didn’t know what to do. Then, one night, it happened anyway.
He had gone to sleep feeling light-headed from hunger, despite having eaten both dinner and supper. That night, however, he didn’t dream. The next thing he knew was that he was shivering from the cold. Clad only in his Batman pajamas, he was kneeling in the woods. The only light came from a sickly-looking moon, and he gazed down at his hands.
The pale light shining on the sticky substance on his hands made them look black. Before him, in the clearing, lay a canine cadaver that looked suspiciously like Jim. Jim was his neighbor Mr. Carter’s beloved spaniel, and next to the rapidly-devoured animal lay a two-pound hammer. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what must have happened. Soon the body was gone, and so was the feeling of hunger. Horrified by what he must have done, Stuart picked himself up and ran home. He stopped at a small pond to clean his hands first, then he slipped back inside, unnoticed, and quickly fell back to sleep.
The following morning it was as though it had all been a dream. If it wasn’t for the posters announcing Mr. Carter’s missing dog Jim, which were attached to lampposts and flapping in the morning breeze, then he could have imagined it didn’t happen at all. Sadly, it did. His guilt was offset, however, by a great feeling of warmth. Of inner contentment. Of love. His dreams returned to joyful ones, and his stomach returned to normal.
The respite wouldn’t last.
Soon, the forest was hungry again. This time he knew what he needed to do. He started small. A rabbit here, a gerbil there, but it quickly escalated. The neighborhood soon became a fluttering mass of missing posters for beloved cats and dogs. Stuart tried to space his feeding’s out, but the woods were insatiable. They demanded more. Not long after Stuart’s fifteenth birthday they got what they wanted.
* * *
The first one was an accident, as it often is. In the preceding year, against all predictions to the contrary, Stuart had found a friend. Darren was new to the area, and as a result was also shy and awkward. His parents’ concern for his safety bordered on the neurotic, and he was soon bullied for being a ‘mama’s boy.’ Stuart lived across the street, and the two boys quickly bonded over their love of comic books and WWF wrestling.
They were in the woods one day when tragedy struck. They were wrestling together out of the sight of the village, and Darren had Stuart in a tight headlock that was quickly wearing him down. Then, from out of nowhere, Stuart had an unnatural surge of strength. He lifted his friend aloft and dumped him over his shoulder. Stuart’s vision blurred and swam as his friend went up in the air, and as he turned his gut clenched in horror. Darren was rocketing head-first into a pile of stones, like a dart to a board.
Stewart watched as his friend’s cranium was split wide open. He gagged and retched as the viscous concoction of blood and brain fluid poured onto the ground, and it was so much worse than what happened with animals. The metallic stench of blood was overpowering. Stuart shook and rocked on his heels hugging his knees. Darren was dead, killed instantly when his skull met the unforgiving stone.
A strange stillness fell over the woods. Not for one second did Stuart contemplate going for help. An inner voice told him what to do, so he grabbed Darren by the ankles and dragged him deeper into the woods. Once at the clearing he rolled his friend into the center, and looked on icily as the insects got to work. It took them just fifteen minutes to completely eradicate Darren’s corpse. All that was left was some clothes, and some personal items that hadn’t been soiled by bodily fluids. Anything that had been was consumed, even cloth.
Stuart gathered up the remnants and sunk them deep into the mud at the pond. Once his hands were clean he snuck home, quickly changing into clean clothes. It was, by now, right about the time that Darren’s parents usually got home. Stuart sauntered across the street and casually asked
