January 18th, 2009
President Molly Bear trotted down the dark path, the many hairs of his silver coat electric with anticipation. The full moon glowed brightly overhead, but tangled pine, oak, and maple arches blotted out the sky and cast heavy shadows ahead. This was Atropa’s domain. The animals called this the “Black Wood” because of the cold and lurking presence of death and the many horrific stories about it passed down through generations. Something moved in the dark with the hint of a whisper and then there was nothing. The president could feel the forest’s awareness of his presence; a slow, slithering consciousness twisting around and through him. It was an unfriendly consciousness. He knew he was not among friends.
He pushed ahead. The dry leaves crackled beneath his hooves, the whisper of death. All around came the moaning and creaking of the trees from some impalpable breeze. Some said these trees could howl like the wolves and that they lured many of the pure creatures here to be devoured with such tricks. Ordinarily, The President wouldn’t have given such ridiculous notions a second thought, but there was something sinister hanging on the air, something thin and bitter that set him on edge. With a flash of pain in his head, The President was on the ground. The darkness was so thick, he had missed a branch and had run into hard enough to raise a welt on his brow. With a great “hmmph” he planted his spindly legs beneath him, and with a searing pain in his left knee, he was back on his feet. He would have to proceed slowly now, because even with his above average sight, his great brown eyes were powerless here. Step, step, branch. Step, step, step, branch. Step, branch. Even ducking his head as low to the ground as he could, nearly dragging his chin on the Earth, he would not be able to penetrate much deeper. His next step crushed something smooth with a delicate pop. Picking up his hoof to his nose, he identified the sweet viscous juice as that of the nightshade berry. Atropa was playing with him, leaving him wicked breadcrumbs straight into the witch’s oven.
“I tire of this game, Atropa: reveal yourself!” he bellowed, shattering the silence into a million tiny echos. There was nothing. “Atropa, this is not a game! You and I both know you have lost your battle, and your petty torments cannot change that now.” He stood there, indignant puffs of breath freezing in the ever cooler night air. This deep in the forest the air had taken on a damp chill which penetrated to The President’s old bones, sending pains all through his rheumatic frame. He jumped as the invisible trees nearest him creaked like a laughing crone, and the oppressive air around him seemed to thin. One tentative step revealed the branches had moved out of his way and that the path before him was clear of obstruction. Two steps later, a faint sweet aroma mixed with the cool air. She was close now. If he got his chance, though such a high dose might kill him, he would snatch Atropa up by her deadly blossoms and grind her to bits between his teeth. He would rid the world of this this wicked witch, even if it was his very last act.
“Why President Molly Bear, how kind of you to come on such short notice.” The cold insincerity of that statement was blanketed by the luscious velvet of her voice. “I was rather expecting you to refuse me at such a late hour, but you are braver than I thought.”
“What is this about?” he barked with unmasked harshness. “I don’t like you hiding where I can’t see you, Atropa. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but this is no way for a queen to comport herself.”
A deep throaty laugh hit the president from all sides. “Is that all that’s got you upset, dear President?” A terrible snapping of wood wrenching and breaking burst forth like thunder, accompanied by the sound of a million leaves shriveling and dropping at the same moment. A moment later, Atropa stood a few yards before him bathed in moonlight. “You know my associates, Thorn Apple and Foxglove.” she said, gesturing to the plants on either side of her. “I have brought you here, dear sir, to appeal to your reason one last time. We have our differences of opinion, that is true, but I dare say that our case has not been given a fair hearing.” The President grunted. “You know as well as I that there is no reason in your law books why your motion should pass, in fact, it seems nearly criminal. Your trick rallying the sheep was cheap and beneath you.” She floated closer without a sound, an imploring expression drawn across the warm inviting canvas of her face. “You are a politician, and you played your hand well. But this is no game; the rights of my people are being trod on like so many of our grassy brethren. I ask you as a good horse, a horse of character and integrity, to repeal the motion. You are a wise horse, you may explain that decision as you will and I will never contradict you. All I ask is that you do what is good and just.” Her blooms glowed a deep crimson; her beauty magnified in the moonlight was perfectly entrancing.
She glided up to his muzzle, and caressed his cheek, gazing deeply into his eyes. His mind was blank. So close, her beauty was ravishing. Hot molten streams of desire welled up in his consciousness and spilled down his back into his loins. His stomach gurgled, his heart beat out a gay march. The moonlight became a sparkling crown on Atropa’s head, giving her the air of an angel. Her gown of leaves split, and her plump black berries, so swollen with juice they bent their stalks deeply. A red mist of nectar issued from her, through his nose and into his soul.
The President shook his head violently. “No! No tricks, witch!” Atropa’s gown snapped shut like the gates of a castle against invasion and her halo fizzled out. “I have done what is right for the people, and your sorcery will not change my mind! If you have only brought me here to charm me, I shall take my leave and see you at the barn tomorrow!” He may not be able to get close enough to rip her from the Earth as he had planned, but he would be damned if her cheap magic was going to get the best of him.
“I’m sorry to hear that, President.” Her charm had dried up and fallen off. She stood before him, not the temptress she had been a few moments ago, but an Amazonian of imposing stature and brutal strength. Her blossoms twisted shut tightly and fell to her sides. Her leaves shot up behind her. She was ready for war. “While I am not surprised I am rather disappointed. I was hoping time would dispatch you from this Earth, but I sometimes find that he cannot be trusted to do things quickly enough, don’t you Thorn Apple?” Thorn Apple stepped forward, brandishing her spiked seed pods, perfectly ghoulish in the cold light. The President started to turn about, only to find the huge trees lining the road had blocked it off in a coarse web of branches and roots. Turning back toward Atropa, his eyes bulging in terror, he muttered, “you wouldn’t, Atropa; you’re not a murderer.”
“Come, President, you must have been expecting this. I find my reputation precedes me.” With one final haunting look, she pitched two berries into his eyes, their juices bursting out and filling them full. Instantly, the world went awash, out of focus, and blazing from the moonlight. A terrible shot of pain came as the spikes of Thorn Berry’s seed pod tore into his flesh and ripped it to shreds. His blood spilled out over his muzzle and onto the forest floor in a steady stream of punctuated plops. There was mad, swirling color of all types as Atropa’s form expanded into the sky, ten times higher than the barn. She towered over him and burst into flame, her wicked laugh exploding in balls of hire. His heart began to slow and a terrible weakness dropped him to his knees. The stream of blood on his face slowed and the forest began to spin. The President felt the cold creeping inside him, stealing his life. Atropa’s cackled took on the aspect of broken glass, hitting him in jagged, piercing waves of pain. “Good night my dear President.” And then there was nothing.
Posted in Stories, Writing Exercises, story ideas | No Comments »
Burlington
64°