The Winter Widow

Part One

In the heart of a forest bathed in an ethereal purple glow, an illusion of enchantment cast over the endless expanse. Unbeknownst to the innocent eye, this was no sanctuary of nature’s beauty but a realm where silence reigned with an iron fist. No creature dared to tread, no bird dared to sing, for the snow and ice concealed a coldness far surpassing their touch. It was a sinister place, a cradle of devilry that brooked no disturbance.

Whispers of dread and dark fables wove into the fabric of the land, yet five young men, ignorant of such tales, dared to pierce the forest’s veil. The sun’s rays, a fleeting comfort, heralded the impending dusk.

“Are we walking in circles? That tree looks familiar,” Caele murmured, his voice a mere whisper against the stillness.

“A forest this vast is bound to have twins among its sentinels,” Striger replied, his eyes scanning the treeline.

A shroud of mist clung to the earth, masking the true nature of the ground beneath their feet. The crunch of their steps seemed to echo with a weight beyond that of mere foliage. However, the unnatural vibrancy of the flora captivated Caele, who observed the blue sheen of algae and plants that defied the winter’s embrace.

“It’s clear why he came here; such a forest exists nowhere else,” he mused aloud.

“Yet something feels amiss, as if the very air resists life,” Striger countered, his gaze wary.

“What do you know of life beyond your doorstep?” Caele teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

Malik interjected, “He’s not wrong. These plants should wither in the cold.”

“Nature finds a way. I’ve witnessed stranger things,” Striger retorted.

“Stranger than Warodan rising at dawn?” Caele jested, eliciting laughter from the group.

“How much did you bribe him to join our folly?” Striger chuckled.

“Enough,” Asher interjected, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re here for Valten, not idle banter.”

Caele bit back his concern, his connection to Valten less profound than the others.

“Valten’s fascination with the arcane is no secret, but he’s no fool. His absence weighs on us all,” Warodan spoke, his voice heavy with unspoken guilt.

“This burden is not ours to bear. He dismissed our counsel, choosing solitude in this frozen labyrinth,” Striger said, his words sharp as the ice beneath them.

“I urged him to wait for summer’s warmth,” Malik added.

“But he was deaf to reason,” Striger concluded.

“Enough! Our path lies ahead, not in the past,” Asher commanded, and the group fell into a somber march.

The encroaching night transformed the forest. Trees twisted into grotesque parodies of nature, their roots clawing at the sky. The terrain grew treacherous, and Caele’s curiosity deepened as they ventured closer to the forest’s enigmatic heart.

“You promised our destination was near,” Malik pressed, his patience thinning.

“Here,” Warodan announced, and the forest yielded to a clearing dominated by a solitary, ancient tree. The darkness retreated, allowing the moon’s glow to reveal the tree’s majesty. Caele approached, his eyes drawn to the deep scars marring the bark, a silent testament to the forest’s hidden truths.

“So, this is the object of Valten’s obsession… a mere tree,” Striger scoffed, his voice laced with disappointment.

Caele’s gaze lingered on the towering timber, its presence almost regal in the moonlit clearing. “Warodan, is this the landmark from your map?”

“It seems so. The air is calmer here, less biting. We’ll establish our camp for the night,” Warodan declared, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Here? Amidst these whispering woods?” Striger’s disbelief was palpable.

“The chill of the forest is relentless, but we are not without our defences,” Warodan replied, gesturing to their supplies. “Tarps, fur, and blankets will be our bulwark against the cold.”

“Aye, and a fire will ward off the darkness,” Asher added, his voice steady. “Dawn will be our ally in the search.”

“I’ll gather the firewood,” Striger volunteered, a hint of eagerness to distance himself from the eerie glade.

As Striger ventured into the gnarled embrace of the forest, Caele examined the monolithic tree. The trunk bore strange runes, their meaning elusive, yet their intent seemingly dire. He traced the carvings to the tree’s far side, where a faint melody seemed to emanate from the very wood. A haunting hum, a spectral song that filled the air from all directions. Caele reached out, almost touching the ancient bark, when Warodan’s voice pierced the trance.

“Caele, assist me with the pikes!”

The melody ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and Caele, shaken, joined his brother.

“You seem distant. Are you well?” Warodan inquired, concern etching his features.

“I’m fine. It’s Valten who troubles my thoughts. I had hoped this map would lead us straight to him.”

“As had I,” Warodan confessed. “But he’s a survivor. He must have gleaned what he sought and ventured further.”

Together, they drove the pikes into the frozen earth, creating a framework for their shelter. Malik and Asher enveloped the structure with the tarp, securing it against the encroaching frost. Warodan crowned their efforts with a central pike, ensuring the shelter stood resilient against the weight of the night.

“There, we have forged our bastion against the cold,” Warodan announced, a rare smile gracing his lips.

Yet Malik’s eyes were elsewhere. “A bastion, indeed. But where is Striger? The woods are silent of his return.”

“He’s right. We mustn’t delay,” Caele agreed, urgency rising within him.

“Patience. We’ll grant him half an hour more,” Asher suggested, ever the voice of caution.

But Caele’s resolve was firm. “No, he may be in peril.”

Without awaiting consent, Malik strode into the darkness, Caele at his heels.

“Be wary! This forest is a labyrinth. Retreat at the slightest sign of danger,” Warodan called after them.

Acknowledging with a casual nod, the pair ventured deeper into the forest. The air grew thick with malice once more, the ground a tapestry of jagged stones and luminescent fungi.

“Dry wood is scarce in this cursed place,” Caele observed, his voice low.

“Striger must have sought beyond the immediate shadows,” Malik reasoned.

Their path led them to a grove of trees, each a twisted echo of the one they had left behind, yet none as grand or as foreboding.

Caele pondered aloud, his voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the ominous forest. “What dark curiosity lured Valten into this forsaken place?”

“I fear it was nothing benign. This tree bears the same sinister claw marks as the other,” Malik replied, his eyes scanning the eerie patterns.

As Malik stepped closer, a single red droplet halted his advance. “Caele…” he breathed, a tremor in his voice.

Above them, a morbid sight unfolded; fresh blood dripped from the canopy, revealing Striger’s lifeless form, gruesomely impaled upon the tree, a shard of bark protruding from his neck. Terror seized them, and a chilling sound encroached upon the silence. Click, click, click.

Caele averted his gaze, his heart racing, his mind reeling from the ghastly vision. The surrounding forest was still, save for the haunting melody that once again wove its spell, drawing him toward the unknown.

“What monstrosity could commit such an act?” Malik’s voice reached him, distorted as if through a thick veil.

The clicking grew louder, more insistent. Click, click, click. The once soothing hum now carried a sinister undertone, morphing into disjointed whispers. A voice, hollow and harrowing, issued a plea muffled by an underlying malevolence.

Malik’s grip on Caele’s shoulder snapped him back to reality. His eyes widened in horror as three elongated, grey fingers crept from behind the highest branch. They coiled around the bark, revealing charred hands and a gaunt, fleshless arm. With a violent thrust, the bark drove deeper into flesh and wood, and Striger’s body, followed by his severed head, tumbled to the ground.

For a moment, Caele and Malik’s eyes met, a silent agreement passing between them. Without a word, they turned and fled, their feet pounding against the frozen earth, not daring to glance back at the nightmare that had just unfolded.

Part Two

The forest, for once, seemed to relent in its trickery, allowing Caele and Malik a clear path back to camp. Their hearts pounded in their chests as they ran, the image of Striger’s fate haunting their every step. They paused only when the old tree loomed into view, a grim sentinel in the distance, while the unseen terror seemed to have vanished into the night.

“What was that abomination?” Caele gasped, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air.

“I know not, but we must alert the others. The cold is a mere shadow compared to this new threat,” Malik replied, his voice tinged with urgency.

The disbelief that Striger was gone, possibly sharing the same grim fate as Valten, hung heavy between them. But hope flickered; perhaps Valten had uncovered secrets of this malevolent force.

Bursting through the underbrush, they emerged into the camp clearing. Caele’s relief at seeing Warodan was short-lived.

“You took your time. Where’s Striger?” Warodan’s question cut through the tense air.

“He’s dead. We found him… it was like a grotesque mockery of a crucifixion,” Caele blurted out, the words tumbling from him in a torrent of horror.

“You jest,” Warodan’s voice was a mix of disbelief and dread.

“Why would I lie about this?” Caele’s eyes bore into his brother’s, pleading for understanding.

“It’s true,” Malik affirmed, his presence lending weight to the grim news.

Warodan, usually so adept at discerning falsehoods, found no deception in Caele’s tone. He stepped closer, offering a silent plea for the full tale.

“The trees… they were like this one, but smaller. Striger was pinned against the trunk, as if by some dark ritual,” Caele recounted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Witchcraft,” Malik interjected, his eyes haunted.

Asher’s impatience broke the sombre recounting. “Did you gather the firewood?”

Caele’s expression darkened, frustration and fear mingling in his gaze. “Firewood? Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

Asher’s gaze hardened, his resolve unyielding. “I’ve heard, but dwelling on what’s already done won’t bring Striger back. We need to focus on what we can control: staying warm and alert. The fire will keep us safe, at least for tonight.”

“We saw something… something vile, skulking among the branches. It was almost human, yet so very far from it… the firewood was the least of our concerns,” Caele explained, his voice trembling.

“It’s too perilous to venture home now. We need to gather dry wood and fortify our position here,” Warodan reasoned, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his resolve.

The allure of the forest’s mysteries had evaporated for Caele, replaced by a visceral terror and a deep mourning for their fallen comrade. Asher, too, was succumbing to the fear, his eyes darting about, searching the shadows for any sign of the witchcraft Malik had mentioned.

“We shall light a fire and stand united against the night,” Warodan decided, his tone brooking no argument.

“No, I refuse to stay!” Asher’s scream shattered the fragile calm. “Safety lies only in our homes, far from this accursed wood.”

He snatched up his bag and turned his back on the group, his decision made.

“Wait! Together, we stand a better chance!” Caele pleaded, desperation lacing his words.

“I’ll not linger and share Valten or Striger’s fate,” Asher retorted, his figure receding into the darkness.

Warodan’s gaze followed Asher, seeing past his flaws. “I must go after him. You two seek refuge in the tent.”

“But you said we’re stronger together,” Caele protested, his voice laced with fear.

“Let him go. It’s better this way,” Malik muttered, his eyes cold.

Warodan offered a wry smile. “If there’s danger out there, I cannot allow him to face it alone. And we still need firewood.”

With a final, reassuring look at Caele, Warodan disappeared into the night.

Caele and Malik stood alone, the moon’s light now obscured by clouds, the stars hidden from sight. The tent seemed a sanctuary, however meagre.

“I’m not pleased he’s gone, but the tent is our best hope now.”

Malik lifted the tarp, allowing Caele to slip inside the makeshift sanctuary. They sat in silence, the weight of their dread as palpable as the cold that seeped through the fabric walls. The distant hoot of an owl pierced the stillness, a stark reminder that life—and death—stirred within the forest’s depths.

“Do you think Warodan has reached him?” Malik’s voice was barely audible, a whisper in the dark.

“Perhaps. He’s likely trying to reason with Asher,” Caele replied, his thoughts clouded with doubt.

“He should have let Asher flee… He showed no concern for Striger’s fate,” Malik muttered, a hint of accusation in his tone.

Caele remained silent, his fear a vice around his heart. Both men struggled to control their breathing, but Malik seemed oblivious to the danger of drawing unwanted attention.

“Why would Valten lead us here if he knew of this creature’s presence?” Malik pondered aloud.

“It’s a question for another time. We must remain quiet now,” Caele urged, his voice tense.

The familiar crunching noise from their earlier trek returned, yet neither man moved. Then, the sinister clicking echoed through the trees. Click, click, click. A high-pitched screech followed, sending shivers down Caele’s spine.

Peering through a gap in the tent, Caele’s eyes searched the darkness. A shadow moved on four legs, its form obscured, save for a horse-like head and jagged bones jutting out at odd angles. It was a fleeting glimpse of a nightmare made flesh, a creature belonging to another realm.

As quickly as it appeared, the entity vanished into the night. Caele turned to Malik, his voice a hushed breath. “It’s gone.”

“Which direction?” Malik asked, his body rigid with fear.

A distant cry shattered the brief respite, a sound unmistakably human. “They went that way. It could be Warodan. I must know,” Caele said, resolve hardening in his voice.

“I won’t step outside,” Malik declared, his fear undisguised.

“You’ll be safe here. I’ll return shortly,” Caele promised, though his assurance did little to quell the dread that gripped them both.

Rising, Caele braced himself against the chill as he lifted the tarp. Malik’s voice stopped him. “If you find Warodan alone, come back immediately.”

“Five minutes,” Caele repeated, stepping into the icy embrace of the forest.

Alone, Caele’s thoughts raced with prayers for his brother’s safety. The terror of the creature loomed over him, but the need to find Warodan propelled him forward into the unknown.

Part Three

The fog rose like a living thing, a creeping shroud that blanketed the forest floor and clung to the underbrush. With each step, Caele’s surroundings warped, the path twisting into unfamiliar shapes, the trees behind him morphing into silent spectres. The air grew thick, each breath a struggle against the oppressive atmosphere that sought to smother his resolve. He pressed on, driven by a primal fear that ensnared him like a fly in a spider’s web.

Time had lost its meaning to Caele, but he was certain that over five minutes had slipped away. The promise to Malik weighed on him, yet the bond of brotherhood pulled him deeper into the forest’s heart. Memories of Warodan, led astray by Valten’s influence, surfaced; days of hunger on the streets, nights of illicit deeds shrouded in secrecy. A nagging suspicion about Valten’s role in this nightmare gnawed at him, but a more immediate horror quickly overshadowed it.

Stumbling upon Asher’s backpack, torn and half-buried, Caele’s dread intensified. A misstep sent him crashing to the earth, the mist resisting his fall with an unnatural density. As he scrambled to his feet, the fog parted briefly, revealing a macabre tapestry of bones and blood—a testament to countless unseen tragedies.

Caele’s heart raced, his mind a whirlwind of terror and questions. What kind of creature could wreak such havoc? A familiar voice cut his silent inquiry short.

“Caele!” Warodan’s call brought a surge of relief. His brother appeared breathless and concerned.

“I’m fine,” Caele assured him, though his eyes betrayed his fear. “But Asher… I found his pack.”

Warodan moved past him, his gaze fixed on the grim discovery. “We must leave this place,” he declared, his voice laced with urgency.

Caele nodded, but his thoughts lingered on Asher’s fate. “And Malik? He’s alone now.”

“You left him,” Warodan countered, his focus on retrieving Asher’s belongings.

In the silence that followed, a haunting melody filled the air, a twisted version of the song that had plagued them before. Caele’s eyes glimpsed a figure, motionless and hunched, in the periphery.

“Asher!” Warodan’s cry went unanswered.

The figure turned, revealing a visage of horror—Asher’s face stripped of life, his jaw hanging grotesquely. Behind him, a spectral form took shape, a woman with a scarred face and a malevolent smile, her skin a stark white against the darkness of her tattered dress.

The fog, now a sinister entity, swirled around Asher’s paralyzed form. Warodan’s resolve wavered, torn between the urge to save his friend and the instinct to flee from the abomination that held him captive. “We must act,” he declared, but his courage faltered as the woman unleashed a piercing shriek that seemed to slice through the very air.

Her decrepit hand, a grotesque mockery of human touch, plunged into Asher’s chest with a sickening precision, clutching his still-beating heart. Caele’s hand shot out, a silent plea for his brother to retreat as the woman discarded Asher’s lifeless body into the mist like a broken puppet.

“We must escape this nightmare!” Caele’s voice was a mix of command and desperation. Together, they ran, casting terrified glances behind them. The woman pursued, her pace unhurried, as if savouring the hunt.

The forest’s illusions ceased their torment, allowing the brothers a clear path back to the campsite. Yet, the sight that greeted them was one of desolation—the tarp collapsed, the tent in tatters, and Malik nowhere to be found.

“Malik, we must depart this cursed place!” Warodan’s voice echoed with a hollow urgency. But their search revealed only the grim remnants of their camp and the bloodied stake that now served as a grotesque marker for Malik’s severed head.

Despair gripped Caele, the reality of their dwindling numbers a crushing weight. “We are doomed... our numbers went from five to two in mere hours,” he lamented.

Warodan, ever the protector, rallied his spirit. “Remember, it preys on the solitary. Together, we stand a chance. I’ll guard you, and you’ll guard me.”

Caele, grappling with his sorrow, found solace in his brother’s presence. “Forward, then. There must be an end to this forest, an end to our terror.”

With Warodan leading, they ventured once more into the treacherous woods, hope and fear intertwined with each step they took towards an uncertain salvation.

Part Four

With long, hurried strides, the brothers traversed the desolate woodland, leaving behind the gnarled trees for the vibrant, untwisted flora that marked the forest’s entrance. The air grew clearer, the oppressive fog lifting, igniting a flicker of hope in Caele’s heart. Yet, the spectre of the creature and the enigma of Valten’s map haunted his thoughts.

“Is this our atonement?” Caele pondered the past, the weight of their misdeeds heavy upon him. “For all that transpired… with Valten?”

Warodan dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. “We’ve settled our debts. That beast’s hunger is for flesh, not justice.”

Caele remained unconvinced. “There’s a purpose to this hunt; she could have ended us at any moment.”

“Reasons matter not when survival is at stake,” Warodan retorted, quickening his pace. “We must focus on escape.”

Ahead, the ground shimmered with an ethereal blue light, distinct from the fungi they’d encountered before. Caele knelt, parting the mist to reveal symbols scorched into the earth—a path etched in fire and mystery.

“Could this be Valten’s doing? A guide to freedom?” Caele mused.

“Scribbling runes is hardly a priority when fleeing for one’s life,” Warodan countered, eyeing the unnatural glow with suspicion.

Ignoring the symbols’ cryptic nature, they pressed on, the creature’s haunting cry spurring them forward. The blue light led them to a clearing where fresh snow lay untouched, and there, amidst the barren expanse, stood a solitary cabin.

“Perhaps this is the respite we desperately seek,” Caele whispered, a mix of hope and caution in his voice.

“Listen,” Warodan urged, and for a moment, there was only silence—then the unmistakable sound of their pursuer. Click, click, click.

Caele’s heart raced, each beat a drum echoing the creature’s sinister melody. He scanned the treeline, but it was Warodan who spotted the danger first.

“Look out!” His brother’s warning came just in time.

Caele hit the ground hard, catching only a fleeting glimpse of the beast. Then he saw Warodan’s face, frozen in terror, as the creature’s clawed hand descended. With brutal swiftness, it ripped away the lower half of Warodan’s face, leaving a gruesome spectacle of blood and bone.

Before Caele could react, the creature’s talons sank into Warodan’s back, dragging him into the treetops.

“Brother!” Caele’s cry was a mix of grief and rage. Paralyzed by the loss, he knew rescue was futile. Shaking off the shock, he sprinted toward the cabin, the promise of safety urging him on.

The snow deepened as he neared the hill, the chirping of birds and the warmth of the rising sun a stark contrast to the horror behind him. Climbing the wooden steps to the porch, Caele dared one last glance back. The forest lay quiet; the creature hidden within its depths, leaving only the space between him and the unknown sanctuary of the cabin.

The cabin door, splintered and ajar, groaned a haunting welcome as Caele nudged it open. Inside, shadows clung to the corners of the room, shrouding much of the space in darkness. He attempted to secure the door, but the latch was beyond repair. A tall dresser stood sentinel nearby; with haste, he shoved it across the wooden floor, a makeshift barricade against the horrors outside.

Two candles flickered on the left side of the room, their light casting an eerie glow on a desk cluttered with the tools of a scholar. The flames danced atop a candelabra, their wax tears still warm, hinting at recent company. Caele’s heart raced with questions—who could have lit these candles, and why?

Among the quills and ink-stained papers, a red journal lay coated in dust. With trepidation, Caele opened its pages, seeking answers within. The entries, dated 1813, spoke of a world beyond comprehension, a realm of nightmares where twisted beings roamed amidst unfathomable structures.

The journal’s words, once penned with meticulous care, devolved into frantic scrawls, the author’s descent into madness palpable. Among the sketches, one image struck a chord of recognition—a tall woman in black, her skin as pale as death. The Winter Widow, the journal named her, a once-mortal woman now bound to an eldritch entity from a realm beyond gods and demons.

“Forgive her, for the Winter Widow is but a vessel,” the passage read. “Controlled by a force incomprehensible, her will enslaved. Yet, within her remains a spark of humanity. Speak her true name, Lady Thorn, and she shall falter.”

As Caele pondered the words, the crunch of snow signaled her approach—the Winter Widow, her grin wide with malice. It was then that a voice shattered the silence.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Valten emerged from the shadows, his presence as unsettling as the creature outside.

Caele recoiled, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Valten! I feared you lost to the snow…”

“Lost? No, I am very much present,” Valten replied, his tone enigmatic.

“Why lead us to this forsaken place?” Caele demanded, his suspicion growing.

“I merely charted the path; your own curiosity drew you here,” Valten retorted, his figure obscured by darkness. “You forget, I warned against this journey.”

Caele’s frustration boiled over. “We sought to warn you! This place… what is it?”

“You’ve read the journal. A realm beyond deities and devils,” Valten said, his voice distant. “Your questions are endless.”

“You owe us answers! Our friends, my brother—they perished seeking you!” Caele’s grief was raw, and his plea for understanding fell on deaf ears.

The Winter Widow’s presence loomed ever closer, her steps measured, her intent clear. Caele knew he must confront the horror, armed with nothing but a name—Lady Thorn—and the faint hope that it might grant him a reprieve.

In the cabin’s dim light, the silence stretched between Caele and the shadowy figure of Valten, a silence so thick it seemed to pulse with the tension of the unsaid and the unseen. Outside, the Winter Widow’s approach was a silent promise of doom, her every step a measured prelude to the end.

“And you’re next…” Valten’s voice was a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a death sentence.

“We must find a way out, or she will claim us both,” Caele urged, his voice tinged with desperation.

“How do you slay that which has already transcended death?” Valten’s question hung in the air, unanswered, as his form undulated grotesquely. Caele’s eyes widened in terror as Valten’s skin blistered and burst, spilling blood in a crimson cascade. Organs slumped into a pool of viscera, leaving behind nothing but the echo of a man who once was.

The illusion of Valten dissipated, revealing a ghastly spectre draped in black, its skin cracked and leering. “I am your eternal nightmare,” it hissed. “Your flesh will feed her hunger, but your consciousness will belong to me.”

The door flew open with a violent force, ushering in a gale that howled like the cries of the damned. There, on the threshold, stood the Winter Widow, her presence a chilling harbinger of the end.

“Lady Thorn! That is your name, isn’t it? Please, hear my plea! The blood of an innocent will not quench your thirst for vengeance!” Caele’s voice broke as he beseeched the creature, his words a futile shield against the inevitable.

In an instant, the Winter Widow vanished, only to re-emerge as a monstrous apparition, her form now that of a beast with jagged bones and a head reminiscent of a twisted equine nightmare.

Caele’s scream tore through the silence, a sound so primal and full of terror that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the cabin. But his scream was short-lived. The creature pounced, its maw wide, its hunger insatiable. Caele’s last vision was the cloaked figure’s sinister grin as it melded into the darkness, a silent witness to the gruesome feast.

The Winter Widow tore into Caele with a savage frenzy, rending flesh from bone, and organs spilled out like macabre offerings. It consumed his body, but something dragged his mind into an abyss from which there was no return — a realm of ceaseless torment, forever ensnared by the eldritch entity that had claimed him. 

Written by J.T. Barker

Leave a Review!