The Forest Spirits
An old man and his grandson take a stroll through the woods. A guest article for the Phantastic Monday.
This story was originally published for the Phantastic Monday.
“Grandpa, did you dress up?”
The old man flinched, as if caught in the act.
“Oh, is it that obvious?”
“You’re wearing a suit, you’re freshly shaved, and… is that cologne I smell?”
He paused buttering the picnic sandwiches and tilted his head. Then he smiled and said, “Well, ever since my favourite grandson got this new job, we unfortunately donât get to go into the woods together that often. When you were a kid, we used to go out nearly every day. Now it’s maybe once a month.”
I lowered my head.
“Yeah, sorry, Grandpa. Iâd love to come more often, but…”
He placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled.
“Boy, that wasnât a complaint. Especially considering youâre the only one in the family who still comes with me into the woods. No matter how far the walk is.”
Our walk wasnât very far today. Years ago, Grandpa had bought a house right on the edge of the forest. He wanted to see âhisâ woods every day.
We walked slowly down the forest path.
“You do know that, with your diabetes, you’re supposed to wear shoes, right?”
I pointed at his feet, which, as always during our outings, were bare.
“The doctor told me that too. A foot injury could get infected more easily. But as I always tell you: this forest will never hurt me. Friends donât hurt each other. I donât harm the forest â and it doesnât harm me.”
The sun was already low when we came to a clearing. We sat down on a bench and helped ourselves from the picnic basket.
“These days I usually picnic with Mr. and Mrs. Blackbird and the Deer family.”
“You always address animals so formally. Iâd really like to see one day how the animals actually sit with you,” I said and took a bite of my sandwich.
“The thing is, it takes a long time before the forest trusts someone. And who could blame it? With the way people treat nature, itâs a miracle the forest trusts me at all.”
I washed down my sandwich with a sip of tea and replied:
“Thatâs not the problem, Grandpa. The problem is that people think youâre crazy because you say the animals are your friends and have no fear of you, but no oneâs ever actually seen that.”
“A truth remains a truth, even if no one can testify to it. Do you believe me?”
“What?” I asked. “That the forest and the animals are your friends because you once helped a forest spirit save a few trees?”
“Yes,” Grandpa answered calmly.
I thought for a long time. Then I cleared my throat and said:
“I believe you love this forest. And I believe you did a lot for it, back then, as a conservationist. I love the forest too. But I donât believe in forest spirits.”
We both went quiet. Eventually, Grandpa said:
“Iâve signed the house over to you.”
I looked at him with wide eyes.
“The papers are with the notary. You can sign them tomorrow, and then itâll be yours.”
“But… why?” I stammered.
“The only affection I still get from the rest of the family lasts as long as the inheritance. The vultures are already circling, just waiting for me to die. But I want to make sure that you get the house. You, and only you. And all I ask in return is this: look after the forest. Make sure no one levels this patch of land to build a parking lot. Will you promise me that?”
My mouth opened and closed, and then I nodded. “I promise.”
Dusk was settling in, and the full moon was already visible in the sky. I frowned.
“Isnât⊠isnât that the old oak tree over there?”
“Yes.”
“Didnât you always say we should avoid the clearing near the old oak on full moon nights?”
“Correct, boy. Do you remember why?”
I twisted my fingers.
“How could I forget? You drilled that into us so hard as kids I used to have nightmares about it. You said that on full moon nights the forest spirits gather in that clearing. And we mustnât disturb them.”
“Make sure you tell your children that, if you ever have any.”
“And⊠why are we here tonight then?”
My grandfather looked at me with soft eyes and said:
“Tonight⊠is an exception, my boy.”
Dusk deepened into night, and the sky turned black. There were no clouds, and we could see a blanket of stars above us. The moon lit the clearing beautifully. Though it was night, I could see everything clearly from where I sat.
I waited until dawn to call the ambulance. I told the paramedics that the night walk had been my grandfatherâs final wish. Thatâs why he had that peaceful smile on his face. And why he wasnât wearing shoes.
I didnât tell them about the procession I saw that night. How the clearing filled with forest spirits who looked like children, all barefoot. And how he took their hands and danced with them in a circle. How with each turn he became younger and younger, until he was a little boy again, who at dawn lifted his hand and smiled at me one last time. I lifted mine as well â and then they were gone.
I waited until the rescue team had left and I was alone again on the clearing. Then I took off my shoes and socks and walked a few steps. The ground felt like velvet. And the pebbles under my feet felt like soft sponges.
A squirrel scurried down from a tree and darted toward me. In a flash, it climbed my pant leg and circled around my torso until it reached my shoulder.
I gave it the last egg from the picnic basket and said:
“I think itâs time to go home, Mr. Squirrel.”
