The Black Forest - Flash Fiction
By the time you read
this, I will be no more. Let this by my warning to humanity. Enduring mankind’s
dominion, they gaze at us from the periphery of our cities, waiting to reclaim
what was once theirs.
It was in the summer when I received the letter telling
me of my father’s passing. I never knew the man, but the message still came as
a shock. A key to a cabin and the deed to a plot in Maine were enclosed.
Putting in the time necessary, I left the world of academia to pursue this
latest acquisition. After hours of driving, kept awake only by anticipation, I
arrived outside the cabin. The door moaned ominously as I entered. Inside, the
walls were covered in odd pictographs from an ancient and forgotten culture, no
doubt. Further inspecting the interior, I found a map of the property; I noted a
nebulous patch of territory in the center.
The next day, with all the provisions necessary, I set
out on a hike. After an hour, I reached the mysterious patch of territory and
beheld a sight most peculiar. They were unlike any Birch I had ever studied;
their bark was the color of coal. Smooth to the touch, it was as if they had
just grown. Sampling the sap, it was thick and bitter. That’s when I first
heard it: the whispers. Looking around frantically, I lost my footing and fell
into oblivion.
I woke up hours later and night had fallen much to my
dismay. I quickly rummaged through my sack for the torch. With torch in hand, I
was baffled as I observed the black trees pulsating. The whispers returned in a
language I couldn’t discern. Sensing anger, I fled into the night. During my
flight, I felt the ground beneath me change, becoming hard. I saw two lights,
like eyes, fast approaching.
I awoke, finding myself hooked up to a monitor in a
hospital. I had been hit by a truck. My terrifying account was dismissed as
nothing more than the result of a concussion. The nights that followed were
hellish, as I recall; I continued to hear whispers. On nights where I could
sleep, I was plagued with visions of a man. His body was held erect by several
plant-like appendages, while a thousand claws, seemingly branches, pulled him
apart. I did not get a good look at his face, but I’m sure I knew him. When I
was released, I sought the cabin, but found only the black trees. With no sign
of my lodging, I was driven away by the approaching sound of whispers. My
closest friend, an astronomy professor, indulged my tale, but his skepticism
was apparent. I proposed the concept of panspermia; that those trees were not
of this world. I was met only with raucous laughter.
Now, penniless and alone, I write these words. I can hear
them coming; the window upstairs has shattered. It’s scrambling down the
stairs. Those branches…