My aunt lives on the edge of the forest I died in.
Sometimes at dusk, she will come and sit on the edge of the woods. She will watch the shadows of the trees grow long and fill in the world, and when she peers into the darkness, she will see me. We talk. No one else knows I’m here. She knows my parents would come in to look for me if they knew.
Sometimes she leaves me an apple or some sunflower seeds. I can only eat what is offered to me. On my birthday, she bakes me a pie.
It is easy to keep people out of the woods in the winter because the forest is so dense. No hunting is allowed. The hiking trails are always iced over. She puts up signs about trespassing and warnings about the ice. When the weather is warm, she sits at the trailhead with a BB gun and threatens tourists. Usually, a little ping is enough to scare them off. Sometimes they call the cops. Locals know not to come near the woods. They talk gently to the tourists like they're skittish horses. They tell them about better trails. More scenic routes. Nothing much to see in those woods. They tell them. I always knew that wasn’t true.
One morning, a woman with an ancient golden retriever stood in her pale blue hiking pants and sunflower yellow tank top and pointed into the forest. She pointed like she was spotting something incredible and impossible, and unacceptable.
“If no one is allowed in, what is he doing in there?” she demanded, a hand pointing, the other balled into a fist at her side. Her face was all red and twisted and fussy. I just smiled at her. Come in. I beckoned silently.
My aunt shot off a BB. It plinked against a dented old sign. The dog emitted a high-pitched whine and tried to run in the other direction. He tugged with all his failing strength against his candy-striped harness. It wasn’t the BB that spooked him.
I can only go as far as the shadows of the trees extend. When my Aunt comes to see me at dusk, she's sure to return to her cabin before night falls. Sometimes, when it gets dark, I will follow her inside and sit at her table. She will offer me a cup of tea and I will accept. I don’t drink it, but I like the hot steam on my fingertips. I am weak there, even so close to the forest.
“Do you remember anything?”
My aunt has been curious about the woods for as long as I can remember. I know the secrets now, but I will never tell her. It wouldn’t be fair. If she wants to know so badly, she has to find out the same way I did.