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The moon was nearly full, casting the wild forest in a blue-white glow, and providing nearly enough light to walk through the trees without tripping over fifty different roots and branches. It was also just barely enough to write and draw by. Wilson took full advantage as he stood in the clearing, tongue sticking out, as he tried to get the shading just right on the final mushroom. The moon’s light wasn’t the best to do this by, it was too slight and inconsistent, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to find this place again come morning. This forest pulsated with a crazed energy, swirling and turning on itself with its own untrimmed claws, and reminding humans that this place was not where they were meant to stay.
Wilson, naturally, ignored all those warnings, in favor of being close to the unnatural environment. His thirst for understanding had hit a wall when he tried to learn more about this forest. Many people recommended he leave it be, told him tales of disappearances, warned him that the last person to stay there had gone missing long ago, but he was never the type for superstitions- especially not when science was involved. Satisfied with his drawing, he began to write underneath it, pen breaking the muttered silence of the forest with its scratching on his journal.
I have found a perfect circle of mushrooms, deep within the forest. It is located in a circular clearing of trees, and nearby I can hear a stream. It is perhaps thirty minutes’ walk northeast of the edge of the old forest fire. The moon is bright overhead, and from the center of it, I can almost see as if day. The mushrooms themselves are very strange, swollen blue things that I-
“And what are you doing here, if I may ask?”
Wilson glanced up from his journal. A man was standing across from him, a good bit taller and older than him, and wearing a strange black suit. An unusual sight to see in the middle of a forest at midnight, but then again, Wilson knew his appearance had made a child cry once when he’d forgone shaving too long. He was sure the man had his reasons to be here. “Oh, just note-taking,” he said, already looking back to his writing. “Science, you know.”
-I have never seen before this night! The strangest part by far is this- I believe I have walked by this place before, and I saw no such mushrooms! It was not long ago, nor are there many places I believe I could have mistook this for- so where did this strange circle originate from?
“I see,” the man said. “And may I have your name?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Wilson said, looking up from his notes again. “Wilson P. Higgsbury, gentleman scientist.” He shook the man’s outstretched hand, and then returned to writing, completely oblivious to the look on the other’s face, as if he couldn’t believe that this had been so damn easy.
Of course, I see now where the stories everyone told me came from- faery circles are a common superstition. However, I am absolutely certain that these are some natural occurrence. I’ve never met a fae, and as time goes on, I find it increasingly unlikely that they really do exist.
Wilson.
Wilson jumped. A noise, but not one at all, soundless, but echoing through his entire being, electrifying his blood and chilling his lungs, calling him to some unknown attention. “What? Yes?” He stood, frozen, for a moment, before looking to the other man. “Oh, did you say something?”
The man stared at him still, black eyes wide with disbelief. “I… yes. I wondered if you would walk with me?”
“Oh, yes!” Wilson said, smiling. “It is a nice night for a walk, isn’t it- um, I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name?”
The man’s lips contorted themselves, tilting up at the ends, revealing the slightest flash of perfect white teeth. It would have been a smile, were it not so devoid of warmth. “You may call me Maxwell. Now, walk with me.”
Wilson nodded, and walked with the man, still looking down at his journal. His parents had always tried to stop him from reading while walking, but he’d never broken the habit, and had even learned to write as he walked as pacing became commonplace to him. He flipped back a few sections, to where he’d taken notes on the local fae lore. It was mostly in accordance with the traditional beliefs, most of which Wilson scoffed at- honestly, his parents had thought he was a changeling when he was five, why would he buy into these superstitions- but there were a few notable things. For one, apparently, more than one person had gone missing in the forest without a trace. Three or four in the town’s memory, not counting the kind woman who had been swept up in some mysterious romance and vanished in 1906. Personally, Wilson thought she had just run off with the unknown lover, but people insisted she’d been stolen away to Faeryland.
Sure enough, there had been some discussion of faery circles, he thought he’d remembered that, but there had only been discussions of ones with red and green mushrooms. He’d seen a few of the red ones, and had studied them accordingly- even had a few mushrooms at home, in the middle of being tested. Wilson was hoping they’d turn out to be edible. He’d thought he’d seen a green mushroom circle a few days ago, but when he turned back around to look closer, it was as if they had disappeared. Maybe it was that the sun had set, and they were hidden by shadow, or that he’d gotten turned around in the dark, but he’d come back in daylight and not seen them either. This circle, though, was the first sign of blue mushrooms, that he’d heard or seen.
Interestingly, a man approached me in the circle, and we talked a bit. He says his name is Maxwell, and he asked me to walk with him. I would be worried he was some kind of danger to me, if not for his incredibly put-together appearance. Really, no axe murderer wears a three-piece. I hope to talk with him further- if he, too, lives in this forest, then maybe he will know things I do not.
Wilson closed his journal, and looked back up at Maxwell. The man was staring back at him as they walked, and was now slightly frowning. Wilson gave him another look, just to make sure he hadn’t gone with an axe murderer. He still looked very well put together, although at another glance, he looked extremely put together. His suit was almost iridescent in the moon’s bright blue light, edges shimmering purple. He was also very tall, moreso than Wilson thought. Maxwell towered over him. Had he always been twice his height?
Then, Wilson’s gaze fell on the area around them. This didn’t look like a part of the forest he’d been in before. In fact, it didn’t look like the forest at all- it was an empty plain, ground solid sheets of rock and dust. In the distance and to the- east?, he could see some kind of grassy area. To the west, strange, spiked trees filled the dark horizon. He looked behind him. They’d left behind the protective roof of leaves long ago. He hadn’t noticed a thing.
“Um, excuse me,” he said, breaking the silence. “But… where exactly are we? Is this the forest?”
Maxwell stopped walking, and Wilson followed suit. He clutched his journal close to his chest, nerves getting the best of him. He looked back again, and realized he couldn’t see any sign of his home. Even the sculpture of the landscape was different, far flatter than it had been. He didn’t know where he was at all.
“Does this look like the forest to you?” Maxwell’s voice flowed, the low rumble of an avalanche, the growl of a wolf. It was heavy and powerful, and Wilson shivered, the sound dripping down his flesh like freezing rain.
“No, it… it looks like a mountain, maybe. Is this a different part of the forest?”
“We’re somewhere new, yes.”
“Do… you still know where we are?”
“Oh, yes,” Maxwell said, grinning, the moonlight making his teeth seem to glow. “I know every aspect of this land intimately. Follow me, we’ll be there soon.”
Wilson nodded, held his notebook tighter, and followed. Now, he was looking around. The world was empty, devoid of life. He heard some strange, guttural scream in the distance. The pungent scent of flowers hit his nose, making him reel. A feeling of uneasiness rose in his stomach, and he looked up, nervous. The sky was lit a cool blue, the full moon almost too bright. There were no stars.
He gulped, and hurried to walk closer to Maxwell. This new part of the land was even more wild than the last, heathen in its defiance to the laws of nature. He could feel malevolence oozing from every inch of the world, even the air, even Maxwell made some deep, primal fear rise up in him, making his skin crawl.
And it was that moment that Wilson realized he didn’t know where he was going. Maxwell said they would be “there” soon- but where was “there”? Why was he going with him in the first place? He couldn’t even tell how long they had been walking, he felt like day should be coming soon, but he saw no sign of sunrise on the horizon. He shouldn’t have followed Maxwell, now he was probably going to lose the-
Wilson stopped. The faery circle. He was going to lose the faery circle, that Maxwell approached him in, that he’d walked into , and he’d- he’d-
“I gave you my name,” he said, voice just above a whisper.
Maxwell just laughed. “Ah, so now you notice, eh, pal? You know, for a scientist, you’re remarkably unobservant. I’ve come across ten year olds who were better at guarding their name.”
“Give it back! ” He threw his journal to the ground in anger, at being tricked, at being made to wander into some cursed, wicked branch of the forest. He’d just given away his name to one of the fae, and although he never paid enough attention to truly understand what that meant, he knew he needed it. If he’d paid more attention, he probably would have known not to lose ones’ temper with the fae.
Maxwell smirked at him, pure white teeth gleaming, mocking him. “No, I don’t think I will. You will continue to accompany me.”
Wilson spit at his feet. “Like hell I will! I’ll be going home, thank you very much-“
Wilson.
He froze. An icy, clawed hand rose up in his stomach, gripped his guts like a leash, and gave them a teasing tug. He flinched, one hand going to his chest, but his feet were stuck in the ground.
Walk.
Wilson wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to bend down and pick his notebook back up. He wanted to tear Maxwell’s face to shreds. He wanted to rip his chest apart so he couldn’t do whatever it was this monster wanted from him. He wanted to shatter his own skull.
Wilson walked, following Maxwell.
He was aware, furious. His chest was alight with pure rage, boiling with it. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. But through it all, his feet carried him after Maxwell, step after step after step. Slowly, the rage began to fade into an anguished, resigned frustration. So. He had been tricked by a fae. Now what would he do?
He’d simply have to find a way out. And reclaim his name. Which… both sounded fairly impossible. Why couldn’t he have paid more attention to fae lore? Even if he was frustrated at the mere concept because of his parents, he could have stood to just have the knowledge, couldn’t he? Wouldn’t it have been worth knowing? Wouldn’t it have been enough-
Wilson tripped. Over what, he wasn’t entirely certain, but he tripped and fell, rolling a few times down a slight hill before landing solidly on his back. He winced at the pain, head having taken a nasty beating from some rock hidden in the hillside. But now, it rested on grass, and his eyes were shut, vision glowing red with the sun that must have been shining now. When had it risen? How long had he walked in anger?
A shadow, over his face, over his body. Someone was standing over him.
“Say, pal,” Maxwell taunted, “you don’t look so good.”
Wilson opened his eyes to glare at the man. Maxwell just grinned, as his pupils expanded to fill his eyes with pitch black. The cigar in his hand lit, and began to smoke- how long had that been there? A bright red poppy budded and bloomed on his lapel in the span of a single breath.
“Better find something to eat before night comes,” he said. And then, Maxwell fell into the ground, disappearing in a puff of shadows.
Wilson blinked, and shakily rose to his feet, finding his body entirely within his own control again. He was now alone in Faeryland.
And he had no earthly idea as to how to escape.