Chapter 5: The Story of the Woods

I don’t care about the winter cold. It doesn’t stop me from spending nights on the roof right outside my bedroom window after dinner time. I bundle up in the fuzziest coat I have and a blanket I wrap around me for extra warmth. I also bring a pillow to sit on to avoid the roof’s freezing surface temperature on my legs. I know it may seem strange, but I do this all to look at the stars, admire their beauty, and take in Connecticut’s open air. Well, very cold open air.

Upon moving here, I never told my parents about this secret roof access. It was for me, and me only. My space to think and envelop the little town, this little neighborhood. Quiet—for the most part, calm, and one with the woods that’s connected to the neighborhood playground.

I kept this secret going for a few years before Mom found me on my special roof when I was twelve. With some convincing, the best convincing a twelve-year-old could possibly do, my parents told me it was fine for me to sit on the roof, just as long as I don’t do anything stupid.

I was not like those human kids that jump off swings despite the dangers of it. Yet, I used my magic in public to help someone, which could have put my whole kind in danger, so I guess that’s the Mystic version of jumping off a swing, or something. Perhaps even the Mystics that appear the least human make human-sized mistakes.

I move my plants aside and open the window, enough for me to crawl through. I shut it, cutting off the chill from entering my bedroom, and settle. Place down my pillow and immerse myself in a nice blanket burrito.

There’s no wind tonight, the temperature a bit more bearable than it would be otherwise.

Is there a Mystic that is invisible to the cold? Maybe one that can manipulate ice or fire. Wouldn’t that be nice? To never feel the cold or extreme heat? I know enchanting clothes is possible for Druids by using a specifically crafted potion, so when I’m older, I might not have to worry about weather. Or people seeing the icicle points of my ears.

It must be more difficult for animal Mystics and other non-human appearing Mystics. I can’t imagine how hard it is for them to fit in, mask as human for the sake of their safety. I realize now that I’m fortunate and the magic that I possess can fix everything—to an extent, anyway.

***

After moving here, kids would spread rumors about the woods in Sacred Pines. It was gossip on the school playgrounds and stories passed down from parent to child. Sometimes, there were news segments about it. I don’t really believe it; it’s just made up stuff to prevent kids from going into the woods.

The woods surrounding the neighbor playground is said to be a maze—people walk in and never come out. So, like every other kid in town, I avoided the woods despite the disbelief and doubt because there was always that slim chance that maybe it was true. I was, and still am curious if those stories aren’t just stories.

I first heard about the dangers of the woods in my seventh grade math class. A few other kids that I didn’t really know were whispering about it in the back of the classroom instead of doing their math worksheets. Of course, being a row or so away from the back, I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. I still remember pieces of it:

“One time, a kid went into the woods and he wasn’t found until a few days later. He thought he was only in the woods for half an hour. Time works weird there.”

“One time, I tried to step into the woods and something pushed me out. I still don’t know what it was.”

“One time, while at the playground, a kid saw some sparkling stuff in the woods. It kinda looked like glitter. When he touched it, his whole hand disappeared!”

“No way,” they all said in unison.

I glanced over my shoulder at them. “What are you talking about?”

“The woods at Sacred Pines playground,” a girl answered. “It’s haunted.”

“That sounds dumb.” I rolled my eyes and continued working.

And I never thought about it since then, at least, until now. Kids are kids, and they make up stories to look cool or get attention more than they actually focus on what’s real, what’s right in front of them. They won’t ever know that that day, they had a conversation with someone who had magic soaring through their veins, someone who wasn’t human at all. I mean, if they did know, I wouldn’t be here right now.

I’m a part of a group of people that are pure magic and wonders, and yet, here I am, not believing in the woods that could be magical itself, or haunted. Ghost Mystics—Mystics that die and are brought back as invisible entities to finish fulfilling their purpose—do exist, but they don’t haunt and scare children.

Who knows? Human ghosts exist too.