Tale As Old As Time

Fyn. 

Ever since he was young, Fyn knew the forest is a terrifying place.

And if he were being honest with himself, he, together with the other townsfolk of Gashea, feared almost everything.

The forest of Gashea was large, dark, and primal. Cottonwood, oak, and rowan marked its canopy, their crowns so lush and thick that even short beams of light had a hard time to descend for bright saplings to burst from the boulder-covered grounds below. Curling climbing plants drooped from many trees. There were neither flowers nor trees that bear fruit, there were only just thorny vines and poisonous herbs. Added to the sounds of the occasional splashes of frogs jumping in the nearby lake during the night, foraging beasts, those of which brought fear to the townsfolk caused a cacophony of animal noises.

On the light side of a forest was the small, quiet town of Gashea. The township itself looks rough. With its metal shingle rooftops, gloomy wooden walls, and overgrown gardens. The settlement wasn't situated beside the foreboding forest by accident. It had always been there from the start. Surrounding the small island of Gashea were enormous bodies of water, the end of the horizon for which they could never see. As much as the townsfolk wanted to leave, they fear the things lurking beyond the depths of the vast ocean.

And farthest away from the forest was a small hut owned by Fyn.

It didn't matter that he was far away from the others. It didn't matter that he was alone most days. None of it mattered. As long as he was safe, he was happy. As long as he had nothing to fear, he could survive the creeping feeling of loneliness that had always surrounded him.

Because it wasn't the large trees that blocked the light from ever reaching the floor of the forest grounds that were eliciting fear to the townsfolk of Gashea. It was neither the waves of the enormous ocean that would seem to swallow them whole if they ever tried to leave.

No. It was far worse than those combined.

Deep within the trees lies something dark, cursed, and wicked.

Fyn always remembers the tales that seemed to run around the town whenever nightfall reached them. Tales about why the forests always sounded like a woman had been screaming inside there all night long. There were also cautionary tales about what might happen if an individual who had no business walking there would stumble upon the entrance of Gashea's forest.

The tales say that in absolute darkness, two deep red eyes would stare at the poor soul who would be left behind in the forest at nightfall. First, there would be a loud rumbling growl. A growl that would shake the very soil of the earth. The growl is a warning, a challenge. The next was the scent. A flicker in the mist, and suddenly one would be confronted with a putrid scent of smoke and death.

"Ugh," Fyn muttered, clenching his basket full of herbs closer to himself. He had already promised himself that he would at least pretend to be brave outside the safety of his hut. Most of the men in town were already making fun of him for acting like a scared pussycat. He reprimands himself, "Stop it, Fyn."

Like a mantra, he kept repeating the nursery rhyme, One for sorrow. The countdown always brought him comfort, despite the song sounding eerie and morbid.

Sighing, he looked at his basket again, a frown crossing his features. Winter was near, which meant that crops would soon disappear as well. Not that he made much to begin with. During spring, his crops had been abundant. The river was just behind his house, which meant that he could easily fish for food.

Or at least, that was how it was at first.  

Now, there were more corpses instead of fishes by the river.

The scent of decaying corpses would always reach his hut by dawn. Despite him placing bowls full of tons of a mixture of dried petals and spices, the stench would always wake him up. For as long as he could remember, there would always be a corpse being taken by the river's current.

He couldn't pretend to not see them. It was the demon's brides.

When he had been young, the village chief, together with other well-bodied men, would grab the bodies and place them in proper burial places. Now that he was older, it seemed like they had just grown tired. Now, as Fyn stood straighter, he followed the line of the river until he reached the end.

By the mouth of the river were dozens of stacked up bodies, all blue and bulging. From a distance, Fyn could pretend they were just humongous blueberries. Even though he knew they were nothing but. Bowing his head, he places one of his hands on his chest and uttered a silent prayer.

Eternal rest grant unto them, he mused. Let perpetual light shine upon them. Rest in peace.

In Gashea, there was a ritual. Every single morning, they would offer a bride to the demon that lurked within the forest. In return, the demon would keep its powers at bay and not bring upon intense drought, disease, and famine to the small town. This had been going on since Fyn had been but a child. This had gone on since he became an orphan.

And he knew it would continue until he reached death.

Even though the demon often killed its brides, the townsfolk still continued doing what it wanted.

Fear was truly a curious thing, Fyn thought. It made people go to far greater lengths, even if the path was not a noble one. He knew they were all basically accomplices to murder.

Still, for as long as the demon lived, the deaths of innocent women will continue.

I wish it was dead, Fyn gave one long look at the stacked bodies by the mouth of the river. He tried to burn the image into his memory. Then he turned around and made his way back to his hut.

That was how his day usually went. He would look for herbs around his hut, check if he could see any fishes or clams or mussels that he could bring back for food. With the upcoming winter, foraging had been hard. Not to mention the taxes had also increased. He had been months behind. He knew the only reason the village chief hadn't made him sleep with the fishes yet is that his hut was too far for them to travel to.

And like the universe had listened to him, he stopped in his tracks.

His breath became erratic as he stared at the three men standing just outside his hut. They were wearing the same thing as he was. The same white shirt with long loose sleeves, the same pair of brown harem pants. The only difference was theirs seemed much newer than the ones he was wearing. They also didn't have a black stained sash tied around their waists. Not to mention the loose maroon tasseled belt.

For some reason, it made him flush. He had never been embarrassed about his choice of clothing before. However, with how the men, and upon closer inspection, the village chief, were looking at him now, he wanted to slap himself. He should have opted to wear manlier clothes.

"What I tell you?" Fyn heard one of the men say to the chief, who was still currently looking at him with an odd expression on his face, "He looks like one, don't he?"

Fyn cleared his throat, walking closer to them. As expected, they towered over him. "Is this about the taxes?"

One of the men surprised him by walking into his space, boldly caressing his cheeks with his knuckles. Flushing, Fyn took a step back, almost stumbling as he did. Shakily, he placed his basket in front of him, made it seem like some sort of shield against them. They were acting oddly. It didn't help that the chief was still looking him over.

The man who had just touched him chuckled darkly, "Fyn, are you really a man?"

"What?" Fyn fumed. "What kind of question is that?"

"It's just you look so... feminine," The other man said. The chief still hasn't said one word as the two men with him looked at Fyn with hungry glances. It made him feel disgusting. "You could be my wife."

Fyn ignored the comment. Instead, he walked towards the chief, "Chief, if this is about the unpaid taxes, I'm sure I could check if I still have any valuables with me. My apologies if it took this long-"

"No," The chief said, finality in his voice. "Money is not what we need from you, Fyn."

Fyn blinked, a grin forming on his face, "Really, sir?"

He felt an enormous weight being lifted from his shoulders. Finally! Something good has happened to him.

But then the chief's words dawn on Fyn's mind, the vagueness of them all. And he found himself asking, softly, slowly, "What do you need from me then, Chief?"

The chief sighed, "There is a ritual tomorrow, Fyn."

The choosing of the demon's bride, Fyn thought.

"Yes," Fyn quaked, "Is my presence needed, Chief?"

Attendance for the choosing ritual hadn't always been mandatory. Still, Fyn had been away from civilization for as long as he could remember. Maybe the ritual has changed since then. And it wasn't like he would tell the village chief no. He would do anything as long as they would forget all the taxes he owed.

"Yes," The chief then gave a meaningful look to the two burly men beside him. "In fact, you could say we won't be able to do the ritual without you."

Fyn blinked in confusion, laughing nervously. He gripped his basket towards his chest again, hugging it tightly against him. He stammered, "I'm... I'm sorry?"

"The demon needs a bride," One of the men said, stepping closer to him. "A bride he shall get."

"I'm a man," Fyn pointed out.

The man who touched him chuckled as if Fyn had made a joke, "We only said the demon needed a bride, ain't no law state it needed to be a woman."

And before Fyn knew it, one of them had seized him, pushing a piece of cloth directly to his nose. The scent was intoxicating, and like how he usually did when he was anxious, he repeated the rhyme one for sorrow. The countdown had always brought him comfort. Fyn counted until the darkness consumed him... Eleven for health, Twelve for wealth, Thirteen beware it's the devil himself.