The first time I followed my mom to her farm, the path leading there wasn’t developed. It was just a small trail cutting through a thick forest, with huge trees towering over us and all sorts of sounds coming from the bushes. You could hear birds hooting and animals making strange noises, and honestly, it was both scary and incredibly cool.
Back then, I loved the feeling of having such a natural reserve so close by. It felt like stepping into another world. I hated it when they eventually started clearing the forest and chopping down those huge trees. The place lost something after that.
But before the path became what it is today, there was a little cottage nestled a short distance inside the forest. You could see it from the path if you looked carefully, although it was partly hidden by the trees and bushes and there was always a lantern glowing inside.
I remember one particular morning when I had this terrible urge to go closer and see what was inside. Terrible because, as much as I was curious, I was also terrified of black magic. I had heard stories about people using forests for all sorts of things, and the last thing I wanted was for somebody to see me wandering around and decide to use me for some mysterious nonsense.
So I did what any sensible but extremely curious person would do and I went through the bushes.
I walked as quietly as I could, pushing aside ferns and leaves so I could get a better glimpse of the place without being noticed. When I finally got close enough, I noticed something strange. The area around the cottage was swept completely clean. Someone took great care of the little patch of land, even though the cottage itself looked like it had been abandoned for decades. The walls plastered with clay were cracked, the roof sagged in places, and the wooden door looked really old.
Then suddenly, the door creaked open and a woman stepped out. She was tiny and appeared incredibly old, carrying what looked like a bowl of porridge in her hands. She ignored the terrible creaking of the door and walked over to a small wooden chair outside the cottage where she sat down quietly.
Behind her, the lantern was still glowing as she left the door slightly open.
It was early in the morning, and there was still a little fog hanging between the trees. For some reason, the whole scene gave me the sweetest feeling. It didn’t look that frightening anymore. If anything, I suddenly wanted to walk out of the bushes, sit beside her and ask what she was doing there. Which was hilarious, considering I had spent the last few minutes hiding from the woman because I was convinced she might be involved in some kind of forest witchcraft.
But I didn’t go out. I eventually crawled back through the bushes and returned to the path, hoping she hadn’t seen me.
The strange thing is, one of the days I came by my parents house, my mom told me the old woman had mysteriously disappeared from the cottage this was even before the forest was cleared. One day she was there, sitting outside her tumble-down cottage with her little bowl of porridge and her glowing lantern and then she wasn’t.
I sometimes wonder where they took her. Or maybe she simply packed up and disappeared into another part of the forest. Honestly, with the way that place used to feel, I wouldn’t be surprised.
My response to the Freewriters daily prompt