text: They killed them. They killed mummy and daddy and big sis and little sis. Little sis always looked like a pig with that nose of hers and she squealed like one too when they split open her tummy. She tumbled over and looked right at Marcus, but not at him. Through him, like he was a ghost or not even there at all. And then big sis was dragged by her feet into the stable and she screamed and screamed and screamed. *I couldn’t stop them. I was afraid.* Marcus would have died too if daddy didn’t get in the way of an arrow. It struck him in the neck. He gargled blood and spattered all over him. But he told him to run. So he ran, the bad men yelling after him. He had always liked running. But where to run? To get to the nearest village he would have had to run through the bad men. He couldn’t go back that way, he would die. So he ran to the forest. The forbidden forest. The forest he was told to never enter. The forest was death. He had always padded the waters though; running along the tree line and picking up branches for the hearth back at home. It didn’t seem that scary. Peaceful if anything. But if he turned back he was dead. How bad could a forbidden forest be? The air was strange in the forest. The canopy was thick and light struggled to get through. Tree roots and shrubs and vines snaked along the forest floor so he had to watch his every step. He slowed down just a little, but still kept pace, running as fast as his feet could carry him. A scream in the distance. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, looking every which way. A scream in that direction, and then that one. Screams of pain and horror. But he couldn’t see anything. Nothing but trees. “Are they your friends, child?” The voice echoed inside his head, hollow and ethereal. He looked around once more, up and down, left and right, searching for someone. “Speak. There is... no reason to be afraid.” He felt dizzy, tired, thirsty, and hungry all at the same time. The air felt hot against his skin and his sweat ran cold, yet he spoke with a calmness he had never felt before. “No. They are not my friends. They killed them. Killed them all.” More screams in the distance. “Who did they kill?” “My family. Mummy and daddy and big sis and little sis! The bad men killed them!” “Is that so?” An apparition appeared out of thin air. It was tall, and ghostly at first but it quickly gained corporealness. It looked human and talked human, though it talked funny. It wore no clothes; its body was wreathed in twigs, roots, and leaves in intricate swirls and patterns. Marcus couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. “We have all lost much to bad men.” “Yes. All my life I have been picked on by bad men who are bigger than me. I’m sick of it!” The thing paused for a moment, it’s face absent of all emotion, the blood curdling screams ever present in the background, then spoke again, “What if I helped you?” “Helped me? With what?” It half smiled to reveal a row of razer teeth. “To get revenge.” The forest sprung into life. Trees rocked back and forth as vines whipped across the sky. Something wet and sticky splashed against Marcus’ face, and then all was calm. In front of him were three men, wrapped in vines, hanging suspended upside down a few feet above the ground. Their skins were split and crisscrossed with cuts, the muscles cut away from the bone and hanging loose. Entrails drooped freely from the belly of the middle man who choked on his own bile and excrement. A thin vine was wrapped around each of their necks, taut enough to prevent them making anymore screams, but, from the sounds of their exasperated breaths, not enough to suffocate them. The thing stepped forward with wild eyes and a mad grin. It spread its arms out wide. “Revenge, served freely.” It handed Marcus a dagger carved from bone. He took it almost without noticing, his eyes transfixed on the men in front of him. “Do it, Marcus. Vengeance is sweet. Sweet like honey.” *I can’t. I... can’t kill these people, Can I?* Images raced through his head. Of playing with big sis and little sis in the sun. How they teased him for always getting the muddiest and getting the most hurt. How his mother would always tuck him under the covers before bed. His father who was not the strongest, but always tried the hardest. And then the memories were washed away in waves of blood and fire. His home alight, smoke billowing into the air. The laughter of the bad men echoed in his mind, over and over, louder and louder, until he felt his skull cracking. *No! Make it stop!* His knuckles were white as he gripped the dagger. With a roar he stabbed the men. In the neck. In the face. The chest. As high up as he could reach, everywhere he could stab he stabbed. The vines loosened as he did so; the men shrieking cries of despair. They fell silent. His rage spent, Marcus’ fell to his knees and bawled and wailed. The thing put a finger to his chin and tilted his head and peered into his eyes. Its eyes, black but sparkling like the night sky, were mesmerising. “You have blessed and watered these grounds with the blood of your-” he stopped himself, “no, our enemies. Please, accept my invitation.” “Invitation?” his voice was croaky and distorted. “To meet my kin.” Marcus nodded and stood up. He followed the thing further into the forest, leaving the men behind. *The forest is death. But not for me.