Im Making Soap! Ill Post What The Final Products Look Like In A Bit.

I’m making soap! I’ll post what the final products look like in a bit.

I made a Halloween bracelet!

Also, two things. One, should I use a google site or something similar to post some of my writing (poetry, short stories, etc.)? I just finished a 10 page short story that I don't just want to copy and paste into a post. Two, I seriously can’t believe my silly little rebranding post was seen by @peregrxnans (@A2Ziegler on Twitter). Like, seriously, if you see this, I hope you know how much I love your art; your art style is so awesome!

I will be posting about a new bracelet set, that is pretty relevant to this blog, pretty soon. So, keep an eye out for that if you're interested. Anyways, I hope you have a good day! ~ Nova.

Reminder, you won’t be getting the skins until November 15th. So, if you don’t see them in the hero gallery that’ll be why. 

17 Minutes until Grand Finals! Here are the rewards, make sure to watch now or during the encore!

Epilogue: Does it Make a Sound?

 “This week on Behind the Crime we are covering the Disappearance of the Rosary Valley Photographer,” began Bryan. Zayne raised his eyebrows, “That is very specific.”

“I know, now let me explain. On June 28th, 1961, fourteen-year-old Alastor 'Allie' Lorelai went missing. Allie’s Grandmother, Delilah Lorelai, had found a note that day from Allie saying that they would be back later that night, but they never came back.”

“Did the note say where they were going?” asked Zayne. 

“All it said was that they sold what they could at the market that day and were going out to take photos.” 

“Ohh, so that’s where the photographer part came from.”

“Yes, that’s where it’s from.”

“They didn’t say where they were going?” asked Zayne.

“No, I literally just said what the note said,” Bryan responded, exasperated. 

“Ok, well why wouldn’t they say where they were going?”

“I don’t know, it was like 1961, people just did shit like that! Anyways, all that has been found in relation to the case was the following: a broken white and rainbow polaroid camera, four pictures of a bee laying on a poppy, one undeveloped picture, and a set of emerald earrings. Two boys, Ashur Lake and Jacob Straus, said that the last time they saw of Allie, they were going to be going to take photos in the nearby Green Byerl Growth for an upcoming art contest.”

“So… Allie disappeared in the forest, right?” questioned Zayne.

“We’re pretty sure, yeah.” answered Bryan.

“And the items found were definitely from Allie, right?”

“Yeah. It was their stuff and they planned to take pictures of some bees for Jacob.”

“One, how did they get the items back? And two, it’s Jacob’s fault then, right?”

“I wouldn’t say it was Jacob’s fault,” Bryan laughed, “but people think that a forest spirit took Allie and returned their items as a way to let people know to not come into the Green Byerl Growth.” 

“So, that’s why we’re here,” Zayne groaned.

“Yup,” cheerly replied Bryan, “today we are going to walk around the Green Byerl Growth here in Rosary Valley, North Carolina to investigate our ongoing question of, are ghosts real?” Bryan paused, looked behind him at the overgrown arch, then looked back to Zayne and asked, “Shall we?”

Short Story - If a Tree Falls...

Alright, this is the first short story I've written in a while. I wrote this for my English class and I think it's good enough to share here. The main story and epilogue will not be in one big post, but this post and a reblog because this is pretty long for a single post.

Word Count of Main Story + Epilogue = 3,054 words.

Trigger Warnings (I've never done anything like this, so if there are any other warning you want me to add, let me know and I will):

Violence - I don't explain any injuries in much detail, but part of the climax scene could be a little disturbing as the main character is attacked and briefly gagged.

Death - No one explictly dies, but a dead character is discussed.

Aftermath of attack - Again, this isn't too bad, but the main character ends up passing out.

This isn't a trigger warning, but I would like to mention that the epilogue is a bit of a silly riff on Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural. I was watching it while I was editing and I decided to write an epilogue based on it... Anways, I had a lot of fun writing this and am really happy with it, but if you have some, constructive critism is always welcome. I hope you enjoy! ~ Nova.

If a Tree Falls…   

When I was little, Nana Delilah always told me to never go into the Green Byerl Growth. She said it was infested with things we shouldn’t mess with. She said that the forest could truly come alive, but she would never say exactly what would happen there. I would ask her, “Isn’t the forest already alive?” 

“Technically, it is,” she would say, “but you’ve never seen it truly alive. Alive in a way that would make you never want to leave the house again. Alive in a way that would lead to you never getting a wink of sleep again. It’d scare you so much that you’d forever feel like it was watching you.”

“How do you know that, Nana?”

“I had to learn that because of your father.” The conversations would always end like that. I’ve always wondered what he was like, my father that is. Nana never has any photos of him around our cottage, the ash walls barren and the granite countertops empty, but she said I looked a lot like him with the field of freckles across my face and my short cinnamon brown hair that, unwashed, would look like a bird’s nest. That would be all she ever commented on though, she would never mention where I got my emerald eyes or lanky limbs from. I assume it's from my mother, but I think Nana would rather die than talk about her. All she would ever say about my mom is, “Your mother is the reason you’re stuck with me.”

I wish she had told me what that really meant (it would have saved me a lot of confusion). 

-------------

It was a sunny day on June 28th, 1961 which was quite normal. The weather was always nice in Rosary Valley, no matter the season. It was our paradise sitting in a little pocket of North Carolina. You could grow pretty much anything you wanted here, but cypress trees happened to especially love the area. They permeated through the entire town and surrounding area mixed in with yew and wych elm trees. Nana and I grew a lot of plants in the area around our house. We mainly grew crops, but I loved our flowers. My favorites were the hyacinths, chrysanthemums, and lilies. Our plants always grew a little faster than normal, always looking brighter and more alive than usual, but they made good money for us so I would never ask about it (I should have). From what I could remember, Nana never got along with people that actually lived in town. That’s why I was the person to set up my white plywood cart in the center of town, selling whatever we harvested from our small fields or garden that day along with whatever photos I had recently taken. 

I won a polaroid camera by playing Mama Said by The Shirelles on my guitar at a school talent show. The camera was a light cream color, like the color that coffee turns to with enough milk, with a rainbow stripe right down the middle and a bright red button. I had been using it a lot since the school year had ended, taking photos of things I found in our garden. People had really loved the pictures I had taken of butterflies. I found a Pearl Crescent resting on a Blazing Star, a Black Swallowtail perched on a Bloodroot, an American Lady on a beautiful Eastern Blue Star, and a Mourning Cloak laying on some Foxglove Beardtongue.  I had also taken some photos of the three churches in town, each very different looking with walls of gilded blackstone, colored cinder blocks, and stained glass. I got paid a good amount for those photos. The churches also bought me more film to take pictures from the town’s post office once I had finished with their pictures. 

On that day, I had 12 photos for sale. Three were of the town’s broken clock tower at dusk the night before, four were images of a melanistic herd of deer in one of our broccoli patches, six were of a late clear night when I saw a myriad of fireflies, one was of a discolored midnight black rose, and one was of a Carolina Swamp Snake that was sunning itself contently on a rock near the Green Byerl Growth. I was able to sell most of them except the pictures of the rose and snake. While I was rearranging the remaining flowers I had, Ashur and a younger boy stolled over to my stand.

“Hey Allie, this is Jacob. I’m watching him for Mrs. Straus. Anyways, what are you going to be submitting to the art show next week?” Ashur asked. Ashur was one of my few friends. We went to school together and shared a love of being outside, but he was alway busy with work or babysitting. So, we never hung out much aside from during school, but people still thought we were siblings with how tall both of us were. Sighing, I replied, “I’m probably just going to bring some of my butterfly pictures. Or maybe I’ll bring these.” I handed them my remaining photos. 

“Oh, but that’s boring!” Jacob squawked as he shuffled between the pictures before handing them back to me. Humming, I took the photos, “What do you think I should bring then?”

“You should bring a photo of that rock in Poppy Acres!”

“No!” “What?” Ashur and I simultaneously said. Jacob leaned over one of the handles of my cart and continued, “You know that Poppy Acres is in the center of the Growth.” Ashur and I nodded.

“Well,” continued Jacob, “there’s a big rock in the center of the Poppy Acres that has some type of writing on it that no one has ever been able to read. You should take a picture of that for the art show, you’d win for— ”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason no one has ever read it,” Ashur interrupted harshly. He ran his hands through his wavy caramel hair, “Poppy Acres is in the middle of the Growth and doesn’t your grandma like, never want you to go in there?” 

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I think something bad happened to her there and she doesn’t want me to get hurt.” Something also happened to Dad there, but I doubt she’d tell me that. Jacob groaned and shook his head, “But it’d be so cool! You're the best photographer in town, so you could make it look really awesome and you’d win like $150!”

“I would?” “She would?” We asked Jacob simultaneously and he nodded his head. $150 would be a lot of money to win by just taking some cool pictures, I could get some really nice equipment with that money. 

“Allie, you can’t do it,” Ashur pleads. 

“How did you know I was thinking about doing it?” 

“Because you get a certain look in your eyes when you are contemplating doing something stupid.” 

“It wouldn’t be stupid!” Jacob roared. He spun around to look at the clock tower, “If you left now, you could go there and back before sunset.”

“You think so?” I asked. Jacob nodded enthusiastically, “I’d be awesome! Also, if you go, could you take some photos of bees for me? I heard there’s really friendly bees in the Growth and I want some proof so I can get my Mom to let me go in there.”

“You’re ten Jacob. Your mom isn’t going to let you go anywhere near the Growth until you’re older,” Ashur bluntly stated. 

“Well, then I want to go home! Take me home Ashur and let me know if you get the bee photos Allie!” Jacob exclaimed. 

“Okay! I’ll let you know when I get them Jacob,” I chuckled while Jacob started pulling Ashur away. Ashur started following Jacob with a frown painted across his face, he yelled back to me, “If you’re going, be careful Allie. I don’t want to lose my best friend to a stupid art contest.” I hollered back, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine!” And with that, I started packing up my cart. They disappeared behind a corner and suddenly, I was alone.

From there, I quickly packed everything up, pulled it along the red brick road home, and placed it back in its spot under a weeping willow that guards the front of Nana’s house. She wasn’t inside, she was probably out picking peaches since they were in season. I left a note saying, 

“I sold everything I could at the town center. I’m going to go take some photos outside for the art show since I don’t have anything I want to submit right now. I’ll be back before dark. 

Love you,

Allie.” 

Once the note was placed on her desk, underneath a green crystal paper weight, I grabbed my polaroid camera and placed it in my sage green backpack. I put my lucky emerald earrings on which were supposedly from my mom and I headed northeast, towards the Green Byerl Growth. 

It was just after 2 o’clock when I reached the entrance to the Growth. It was made of two flint colored columns, connected by an overgrown gold arch that had the words, “The light awakens the Ovlumber when the sun reaches the earth” engraved into it, though it took me a few minutes to figure out what it said. As I passed through the gate, I felt a sudden sense of guilt. I was doing the one thing that Nana had told me to never do… But it didn’t matter (at the time), I was going to make a shit ton of money off of these pictures (no, I wasn’t). She’d see that it was worth it when we’d be able to buy more camera equipment and whatever gardening related items she wanted. It’d be worth it. So, I continued on the cobblestone and coarse dirt pathway that never seemed to end, surrounded by the dense (impenetrable, really) forest made of sky-scraping redwoods, yews that held their hands out to you, wych elms with green hair, and oddly well-groomed cypresses. 

I walked and walked, moving further (too far) into the thicket when I finally reached the edge of Poppy Acres. It was odd (it was a sign), the unruly flora forming an almost perfect circle around the blanket of poppies which surrounded the aforementioned rock with only the dirt path leading up to the stone acting as a disturbance to the symmetry. It felt daunting to walk on the small path up to the stone (I should have just turned back), so I chose to look around the field first, avoiding the inevitable, and I realized a few things. One, it was much later than it should have been which meant I had been walking for longer than I intended to. It looked like the sun had fallen over, leaving a bloody trail of light on the upcoming night sky. Two, I don’t know if I found the bees that Jacob was talking about, but I did take some pictures of a bee sleeping in a poppy. Three, since it was definitely too late for me to be out alone in the middle of the Green Byerl Growth, I needed to hurry the hell up and take a picture of the rock.

So, I mustered up the courage and started drifting over to the stone, but I realized that it just wasn’t just some engraved stone in the middle of the forest. It was a tombstone. It was a pearly white marble with streaks of gold and light orange covered by vines and weeds that made it look eroded and decayed. It was cold to the touch which was strange considering the past few day’s high temperature. Gently, I moved some of its greenery aside to read what was carved into it and what it said sent a shiver down my spine, “Here forever rests Damien Alexander Lorelai - You made the forest weep.” I repeated the name over and over and over (he had my last name). I finally understood what Nana meant when she talked about Dad. I let out a wet breath, I needed to take the photo and leave. I shakily stepped back, making sure I had a good 50 feet between myself and the tombstone. Kneeling down, I held my camera to my eye, angling the lens to capture the entire gravestone of my late father. With a quick flash of light, the photo was taken, and Nana’s stories all came true.

The surrounding trees burst into action, unrooting themselves and closing in around me, using their branches to drag themselves closer, creating deep gashes in the ground. The poppies at my feet tried to pull me to the ground, winding themselves around my ankles, similar to how tomatoes wrap around their cages. I shot up and swiftly stumbled towards the center of the field (towards the gravestone), ripping up the red flowers as I went, creating a path of crimson red petals. My vision became blurry as I panicked. Unable to control my rapid breathing, I bumped into the tombstone, my back hitting the cold hard marble. Immediately, the previously unanimated flora that encircled the stone, reached around my neck and chest, securing me against the only reminder of where my father had been laid to rest. I began screaming and shouting for Nana, Ashur, Jacob, anybody that could help me (but it wouldn’t have really done anything in the end). I kept yelling and I would have continued until I was hoarse if a vine hadn’t shoved itself into my mouth, effectively stopping my desperate pleas for another person. Once I was muffled, I began crying. As tears dripped down my face, I silently hoped that if the forest killed me it would, at the very least, make it quick. Branches wrapped around my arms and legs, rough bark cutting my skin, and the vines’ flowers wrapped themselves around my face.

As my vision began to fade and I began to sink into absolute nothingness, a voice yelled, “ENOUGH!” With that only word, the trees and flowers returned to their homes of dirt, their roots sinking themselves back into their places, leaving Poppy Acres the way it was before I took that godforsaken picture. All that remained was me and a tall woman, who I assumed to be my savior, quietly staring at each other as I panted loudly. That was until she asked, with a honeyed voice, “Where did you get those earrings from?” I couldn’t remember what I was wearing, after the whole ‘almost being killed by fucking trees’ thing, so I took my earrings out then whispered, “My mom, I think.”

“You think?” the woman tilted her head. I shook my head and slowly stood up, “That’s what my grandma told me. I’ve never met either of my parents. Well, I’ve never met them alive at least.” She stepped closer to me as my legs shook like a fawn’s. My savior held her hands out and let me sink into their gentle embrace (there’s another reason I immediately felt so safe).

“What do you mean by that?” I emitted a shaky sigh and pointed to the gravestone, “I think that’s my father’s grave.” She let out a quiet, “Oh,” and hugged me. So many thoughts were racing through my head, but they all became foggy. I didn’t want her to let go, but I needed to go home. 

“What time is it?” I asked, looking right into her glowing emerald eyes.

“Very late.”

“I need to get home.” The woman hummed, “Alright, I’ll take you home, Alastor.” I didn’t remember telling her my name (I didn’t need to), but I trusted her. 

“Ok,” I replied, “can I sleep?” The woman picked me up, slipping her arms around my legs while I put my arms around her neck, “Yes, go to sleep, honey.” With that, I let the darkness which now draped itself around me like a soft blanket, take over. I fell asleep. 

Epilogue: Does it Make a Sound?

 “This week on Behind the Crime we are covering the Disappearance of the Rosary Valley Photographer,” began Bryan. Zayne raised his eyebrows, “That is very specific.”

“I know, now let me explain. On June 28th, 1961, fourteen-year-old Alastor “Allie” Lorelai went missing. Allie’s Grandmother, Delilah Lorelai, had found a note that day from Allie saying that they would be back later that night, but they never came back.”

“Did the note say where they were going?” asked Zayne. 

“All it said was that they sold what they could at the market that day and were going out to take photos.” 

“Ohh, so that’s where the photographer part came from.”

“Yes, that’s where it’s from.”

“They didn’t say where they were going?” asked Zayne.

“No, I literally just said what the note said,” Bryan responded, exasperated. 

“Ok, well why wouldn’t they say where they were going?”

“I don’t know, it was like 1961, people just did shit like that! Anyways, all that has been found in relation to the case was the following: a broken white and rainbow polaroid camera, four pictures of a bee laying on a poppy, one undeveloped picture, and a set of emerald earrings. Two boys, Ashur Lake and Jacob Straus, said that the last time they saw of Allie, they were going to be going to take photos in the nearby Green Byerl Growth for an upcoming art contest.”

“So… Allie disappeared in the forest, right?” questioned Zayne.

“We’re pretty sure, yeah.” answered Bryan.

“And the items found were definitely from Allie, right?”

“Yeah. It was their stuff and they planned to take pictures of some bees for Jacob.”

“One, how did they get the items back? And two, it’s Jacob’s fault then, right?”

“I wouldn’t say it was Jacob’s fault,” Bryan laughed, “but people think that a forest spirit took Allie and returned their items as a way to let people know to not come into the Green Byerl Growth.” 

“So, that’s why we’re here,” Zayne groaned.

“Yup,” cheerly replied Bryan, “today we are going to walk around the Green Byerl Growth here in Rosary Valley, North Carolina to investigate our ongoing question of, are ghosts real?” Bryan paused, looked behind him at the overgrown arch, then looked back to Zayne and asked, “Shall we?”

Yo!!!!! Not Mauga, but still pretty cool!

Short Story - If a Tree Falls...

Alright, this is the first short story I've written in a while. I wrote this for my English class and I think it's good enough to share here. The main story and epilogue will not be in one big post, but this post and a reblog because this is pretty long for a single post.

Word Count of Main Story + Epilogue = 3,054 words.

Trigger Warnings (I've never done anything like this, so if there are any other warning you want me to add, let me know and I will):

Violence - I don't explain any injuries in much detail, but part of the climax scene could be a little disturbing as the main character is attacked and briefly gagged.

Death - No one explictly dies, but a dead character is discussed.

Aftermath of attack - Again, this isn't too bad, but the main character ends up passing out.

This isn't a trigger warning, but I would like to mention that the epilogue is a bit of a silly riff on Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural. I was watching it while I was editing and I decided to write an epilogue based on it... Anways, I had a lot of fun writing this and am really happy with it, but if you have some, constructive critism is always welcome. I hope you enjoy! ~ Nova.

If a Tree Falls…   

When I was little, Nana Delilah always told me to never go into the Green Byerl Growth. She said it was infested with things we shouldn’t mess with. She said that the forest could truly come alive, but she would never say exactly what would happen there. I would ask her, “Isn’t the forest already alive?” 

“Technically, it is,” she would say, “but you’ve never seen it truly alive. Alive in a way that would make you never want to leave the house again. Alive in a way that would lead to you never getting a wink of sleep again. It’d scare you so much that you’d forever feel like it was watching you.”

“How do you know that, Nana?”

“I had to learn that because of your father.” The conversations would always end like that. I’ve always wondered what he was like, my father that is. Nana never has any photos of him around our cottage, the ash walls barren and the granite countertops empty, but she said I looked a lot like him with the field of freckles across my face and my short cinnamon brown hair that, unwashed, would look like a bird’s nest. That would be all she ever commented on though, she would never mention where I got my emerald eyes or lanky limbs from. I assume it's from my mother, but I think Nana would rather die than talk about her. All she would ever say about my mom is, “Your mother is the reason you’re stuck with me.”

I wish she had told me what that really meant (it would have saved me a lot of confusion). 

-------------

It was a sunny day on June 28th, 1961 which was quite normal. The weather was always nice in Rosary Valley, no matter the season. It was our paradise sitting in a little pocket of North Carolina. You could grow pretty much anything you wanted here, but cypress trees happened to especially love the area. They permeated through the entire town and surrounding area mixed in with yew and wych elm trees. Nana and I grew a lot of plants in the area around our house. We mainly grew crops, but I loved our flowers. My favorites were the hyacinths, chrysanthemums, and lilies. Our plants always grew a little faster than normal, always looking brighter and more alive than usual, but they made good money for us so I would never ask about it (I should have). From what I could remember, Nana never got along with people that actually lived in town. That’s why I was the person to set up my white plywood cart in the center of town, selling whatever we harvested from our small fields or garden that day along with whatever photos I had recently taken. 

I won a polaroid camera by playing Mama Said by The Shirelles on my guitar at a school talent show. The camera was a light cream color, like the color that coffee turns to with enough milk, with a rainbow stripe right down the middle and a bright red button. I had been using it a lot since the school year had ended, taking photos of things I found in our garden. People had really loved the pictures I had taken of butterflies. I found a Pearl Crescent resting on a Blazing Star, a Black Swallowtail perched on a Bloodroot, an American Lady on a beautiful Eastern Blue Star, and a Mourning Cloak laying on some Foxglove Beardtongue.  I had also taken some photos of the three churches in town, each very different looking with walls of gilded blackstone, colored cinder blocks, and stained glass. I got paid a good amount for those photos. The churches also bought me more film to take pictures from the town’s post office once I had finished with their pictures. 

On that day, I had 12 photos for sale. Three were of the town’s broken clock tower at dusk the night before, four were images of a melanistic herd of deer in one of our broccoli patches, six were of a late clear night when I saw a myriad of fireflies, one was of a discolored midnight black rose, and one was of a Carolina Swamp Snake that was sunning itself contently on a rock near the Green Byerl Growth. I was able to sell most of them except the pictures of the rose and snake. While I was rearranging the remaining flowers I had, Ashur and a younger boy stolled over to my stand.

“Hey Allie, this is Jacob. I’m watching him for Mrs. Straus. Anyways, what are you going to be submitting to the art show next week?” Ashur asked. Ashur was one of my few friends. We went to school together and shared a love of being outside, but he was alway busy with work or babysitting. So, we never hung out much aside from during school, but people still thought we were siblings with how tall both of us were. Sighing, I replied, “I’m probably just going to bring some of my butterfly pictures. Or maybe I’ll bring these.” I handed them my remaining photos. 

“Oh, but that’s boring!” Jacob squawked as he shuffled between the pictures before handing them back to me. Humming, I took the photos, “What do you think I should bring then?”

“You should bring a photo of that rock in Poppy Acres!”

“No!” “What?” Ashur and I simultaneously said. Jacob leaned over one of the handles of my cart and continued, “You know that Poppy Acres is in the center of the Growth.” Ashur and I nodded.

“Well,” continued Jacob, “there’s a big rock in the center of the Poppy Acres that has some type of writing on it that no one has ever been able to read. You should take a picture of that for the art show, you’d win for— ”

“Yeah, but there’s a reason no one has ever read it,” Ashur interrupted harshly. He ran his hands through his wavy caramel hair, “Poppy Acres is in the middle of the Growth and doesn’t your grandma like, never want you to go in there?” 

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I think something bad happened to her there and she doesn’t want me to get hurt.” Something also happened to Dad there, but I doubt she’d tell me that. Jacob groaned and shook his head, “But it’d be so cool! You're the best photographer in town, so you could make it look really awesome and you’d win like $150!”

“I would?” “She would?” We asked Jacob simultaneously and he nodded his head. $150 would be a lot of money to win by just taking some cool pictures, I could get some really nice equipment with that money. 

“Allie, you can’t do it,” Ashur pleads. 

“How did you know I was thinking about doing it?” 

“Because you get a certain look in your eyes when you are contemplating doing something stupid.” 

“It wouldn’t be stupid!” Jacob roared. He spun around to look at the clock tower, “If you left now, you could go there and back before sunset.”

“You think so?” I asked. Jacob nodded enthusiastically, “I’d be awesome! Also, if you go, could you take some photos of bees for me? I heard there’s really friendly bees in the Growth and I want some proof so I can get my Mom to let me go in there.”

“You’re ten Jacob. Your mom isn’t going to let you go anywhere near the Growth until you’re older,” Ashur bluntly stated. 

“Well, then I want to go home! Take me home Ashur and let me know if you get the bee photos Allie!” Jacob exclaimed. 

“Okay! I’ll let you know when I get them Jacob,” I chuckled while Jacob started pulling Ashur away. Ashur started following Jacob with a frown painted across his face, he yelled back to me, “If you’re going, be careful Allie. I don’t want to lose my best friend to a stupid art contest.” I hollered back, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine!” And with that, I started packing up my cart. They disappeared behind a corner and suddenly, I was alone.

From there, I quickly packed everything up, pulled it along the red brick road home, and placed it back in its spot under a weeping willow that guards the front of Nana’s house. She wasn’t inside, she was probably out picking peaches since they were in season. I left a note saying, 

“I sold everything I could at the town center. I’m going to go take some photos outside for the art show since I don’t have anything I want to submit right now. I’ll be back before dark. 

Love you,

Allie.” 

Once the note was placed on her desk, underneath a green crystal paper weight, I grabbed my polaroid camera and placed it in my sage green backpack. I put my lucky emerald earrings on which were supposedly from my mom and I headed northeast, towards the Green Byerl Growth. 

It was just after 2 o’clock when I reached the entrance to the Growth. It was made of two flint colored columns, connected by an overgrown gold arch that had the words, “The light awakens the Ovlumber when the sun reaches the earth” engraved into it, though it took me a few minutes to figure out what it said. As I passed through the gate, I felt a sudden sense of guilt. I was doing the one thing that Nana had told me to never do… But it didn’t matter (at the time), I was going to make a shit ton of money off of these pictures (no, I wasn’t). She’d see that it was worth it when we’d be able to buy more camera equipment and whatever gardening related items she wanted. It’d be worth it. So, I continued on the cobblestone and coarse dirt pathway that never seemed to end, surrounded by the dense (impenetrable, really) forest made of sky-scraping redwoods, yews that held their hands out to you, wych elms with green hair, and oddly well-groomed cypresses. 

I walked and walked, moving further (too far) into the thicket when I finally reached the edge of Poppy Acres. It was odd (it was a sign), the unruly flora forming an almost perfect circle around the blanket of poppies which surrounded the aforementioned rock with only the dirt path leading up to the stone acting as a disturbance to the symmetry. It felt daunting to walk on the small path up to the stone (I should have just turned back), so I chose to look around the field first, avoiding the inevitable, and I realized a few things. One, it was much later than it should have been which meant I had been walking for longer than I intended to. It looked like the sun had fallen over, leaving a bloody trail of light on the upcoming night sky. Two, I don’t know if I found the bees that Jacob was talking about, but I did take some pictures of a bee sleeping in a poppy. Three, since it was definitely too late for me to be out alone in the middle of the Green Byerl Growth, I needed to hurry the hell up and take a picture of the rock.

So, I mustered up the courage and started drifting over to the stone, but I realized that it just wasn’t just some engraved stone in the middle of the forest. It was a tombstone. It was a pearly white marble with streaks of gold and light orange covered by vines and weeds that made it look eroded and decayed. It was cold to the touch which was strange considering the past few day’s high temperature. Gently, I moved some of its greenery aside to read what was carved into it and what it said sent a shiver down my spine, “Here forever rests Damien Alexander Lorelai - You made the forest weep.” I repeated the name over and over and over (he had my last name). I finally understood what Nana meant when she talked about Dad. I let out a wet breath, I needed to take the photo and leave. I shakily stepped back, making sure I had a good 50 feet between myself and the tombstone. Kneeling down, I held my camera to my eye, angling the lens to capture the entire gravestone of my late father. With a quick flash of light, the photo was taken, and Nana’s stories all came true.

The surrounding trees burst into action, unrooting themselves and closing in around me, using their branches to drag themselves closer, creating deep gashes in the ground. The poppies at my feet tried to pull me to the ground, winding themselves around my ankles, similar to how tomatoes wrap around their cages. I shot up and swiftly stumbled towards the center of the field (towards the gravestone), ripping up the red flowers as I went, creating a path of crimson red petals. My vision became blurry as I panicked. Unable to control my rapid breathing, I bumped into the tombstone, my back hitting the cold hard marble. Immediately, the previously unanimated flora that encircled the stone, reached around my neck and chest, securing me against the only reminder of where my father had been laid to rest. I began screaming and shouting for Nana, Ashur, Jacob, anybody that could help me (but it wouldn’t have really done anything in the end). I kept yelling and I would have continued until I was hoarse if a vine hadn’t shoved itself into my mouth, effectively stopping my desperate pleas for another person. Once I was muffled, I began crying. As tears dripped down my face, I silently hoped that if the forest killed me it would, at the very least, make it quick. Branches wrapped around my arms and legs, rough bark cutting my skin, and the vines’ flowers wrapped themselves around my face.

As my vision began to fade and I began to sink into absolute nothingness, a voice yelled, “ENOUGH!” With that only word, the trees and flowers returned to their homes of dirt, their roots sinking themselves back into their places, leaving Poppy Acres the way it was before I took that godforsaken picture. All that remained was me and a tall woman, who I assumed to be my savior, quietly staring at each other as I panted loudly. That was until she asked, with a honeyed voice, “Where did you get those earrings from?” I couldn’t remember what I was wearing, after the whole ‘almost being killed by fucking trees’ thing, so I took my earrings out then whispered, “My mom, I think.”

“You think?” the woman tilted her head. I shook my head and slowly stood up, “That’s what my grandma told me. I’ve never met either of my parents. Well, I’ve never met them alive at least.” She stepped closer to me as my legs shook like a fawn’s. My savior held her hands out and let me sink into their gentle embrace (there’s another reason I immediately felt so safe).

“What do you mean by that?” I emitted a shaky sigh and pointed to the gravestone, “I think that’s my father’s grave.” She let out a quiet, “Oh,” and hugged me. So many thoughts were racing through my head, but they all became foggy. I didn’t want her to let go, but I needed to go home. 

“What time is it?” I asked, looking right into her glowing emerald eyes.

“Very late.”

“I need to get home.” The woman hummed, “Alright, I’ll take you home, Alastor.” I didn’t remember telling her my name (I didn’t need to), but I trusted her. 

“Ok,” I replied, “can I sleep?” The woman picked me up, slipping her arms around my legs while I put my arms around her neck, “Yes, go to sleep, honey.” With that, I let the darkness which now draped itself around me like a soft blanket, take over. I fell asleep. 

Epilogue: Does it Make a Sound?

 “This week on Behind the Crime we are covering the Disappearance of the Rosary Valley Photographer,” began Bryan. Zayne raised his eyebrows, “That is very specific.”

“I know, now let me explain. On June 28th, 1961, fourteen-year-old Alastor “Allie” Lorelai went missing. Allie’s Grandmother, Delilah Lorelai, had found a note that day from Allie saying that they would be back later that night, but they never came back.”

“Did the note say where they were going?” asked Zayne. 

“All it said was that they sold what they could at the market that day and were going out to take photos.” 

“Ohh, so that’s where the photographer part came from.”

“Yes, that’s where it’s from.”

“They didn’t say where they were going?” asked Zayne.

“No, I literally just said what the note said,” Bryan responded, exasperated. 

“Ok, well why wouldn’t they say where they were going?”

“I don’t know, it was like 1961, people just did shit like that! Anyways, all that has been found in relation to the case was the following: a broken white and rainbow polaroid camera, four pictures of a bee laying on a poppy, one undeveloped picture, and a set of emerald earrings. Two boys, Ashur Lake and Jacob Straus, said that the last time they saw of Allie, they were going to be going to take photos in the nearby Green Byerl Growth for an upcoming art contest.”

“So… Allie disappeared in the forest, right?” questioned Zayne.

“We’re pretty sure, yeah.” answered Bryan.

“And the items found were definitely from Allie, right?”

“Yeah. It was their stuff and they planned to take pictures of some bees for Jacob.”

“One, how did they get the items back? And two, it’s Jacob’s fault then, right?”

“I wouldn’t say it was Jacob’s fault,” Bryan laughed, “but people think that a forest spirit took Allie and returned their items as a way to let people know to not come into the Green Byerl Growth.” 

“So, that’s why we’re here,” Zayne groaned.

“Yup,” cheerly replied Bryan, “today we are going to walk around the Green Byerl Growth here in Rosary Valley, North Carolina to investigate our ongoing question of, are ghosts real?” Bryan paused, looked behind him at the overgrown arch, then looked back to Zayne and asked, “Shall we?”