With the Woods as My Witness
A flash fiction dark fantasy story about a moonlit forest and an unwanted visitor. Trans themes as always.
In the shadow of an old oak tree, I wait. The flies have long since left me behind in search of better prey beneath the moss and detritus that blankets the earth. The rhythmic breathing of the forest soothes the constant ache in my shoulders from the pull of the binder across my chest.
I listen. What a fine young woman you’ve become. I watch. Excuse me, miss? The ladies’ room is this way. I wait.
Two paths converge a short distance away. Their crossing is marked only by a slice of moonlight and a thick, gnarled root pushing up through the dirt.
Even the shadows cannot remain still for long, and I move in time with their orbit. My hands are twin meteors trailing each other through the darkness.
As the full moon reaches its zenith, he appears. A man in a suit. Devilishly handsome. I tighten my grip on the silver blade in my hand.
The man checks his watch.
I brace myself against the oak tree at my side, grateful for her shelter as I call out, “Slow night?”
Silence slams down like a guillotine. Crickets cut off their song. Bats fold their wings. The trees still their branches and hold their breath.
The man looks up and smiles, revealing pointed teeth. “Ah, my first customer!” He makes a sweeping gesture, as though announcing the entrance of some grand performer beneath a spotlight of twisted moonbeams. “Come into the light. Let us do business.”
The oak tree whispers confidence in my ear as I step out of her shadow. I keep the knife hidden behind my back.
“Well, well,” the man purrs, a menacing glint in his red-rimmed eyes. “What’ll it be? Eternal life? Fame and fortune? Or, perhaps, something a little more interesting… Your wish is my command, young lady.”
A hitch in my breath, a rusted dagger caught in my jugular.
Young lady. I grit my teeth. You’re just confused. I shift my weight. You can’t change what you are. I brandish the knife.
You’ll never be a real boy.
Moonlight flashes across pure silver.
“And if my soul is already spoken for?” My voice is frost upon blue-tinged lips.
The man’s smile falters. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“These woods have quite a lot to say about you.” I advance upon him, blade held out before me. “Is it true,” I say, relishing the way the words melt the ice in my throat, “that you cannot harm your customers before a deal is struck?”
Fear enters his eyes, now. Finally.
A bitter wind throws crackling leaves into the air as I lunge forward.
***
Only when my task is finished does the forest begin to breathe again. My knife glistens red where it protrudes from the root in the ground, right at the center of the two paths’ crossing. As I turn to leave, I pause and rest a hand on the trunk of the oak tree once more. She rustles her leaves in response, scattering moonlight over my skin.
My shoulders no longer ache.
I breathe in time with the forest, and we release a deep sigh in tandem as the layers of dead things coating the ground let out streams of stagnant air.
Thanks as always for reading! I wrote this piece quite some time ago, but I wanted to share it here because it’s one of my favorites. I was inspired by the forests of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and (once again) the ache of gender dysphoria. Playing with the descriptions of the setting and putting together the speculative details all under 1,000 words was a fun challenge!
This piece was originally published in If There’s Anyone Left, Vol. 4 on April 23, 2024.
For more of my published work, check out my website.
Awesome work! Love what you did here with the fantasy and the whole feel of the story itself. Love the personal effect of that the narrator is speaking about. Lovely flow between the mind and the scene playing out. Felt like a mission complete of a Witcher contract.