I decided to start with Pat. She lived nearby, literally next door. But that is only if you go directly through Fall Forest, and quite few do. Truth to be told, nobody goes there. More specifically, no one returns. In general, with Fall Forest, it’s all about saying, not going.
For example, they say it’s always fall there and there is not a single green leaf on the trees. That the vines there end with a sliding loop that is rarely empty. That the hanged men of Fall Forest turn into dry leaves when they decay… That half the leaves lying in the Forest on the ground or falling from the trees are former people. They also say that when the wind rises, these leaves whisper in a wayfarer’s ear the words that make him stay in the Forest forever. First, swaying on a branch, then falling down onto the ground with the other dry leaves – to wait for the wind and another wayfarer. In a word, it’s such a cool place that only a real fool would miss the opportunity to visit it. Of course, I didn’t miss it.
Well, I have never regretted it. Very beautiful, for real. Ground, sky, air – everything there is filled with dry leaves: yellow, red, ginger and all that. And yes, the wind crafts them into eerie, walking figures. Like people or animals or something – all done from dry leaves, all ragged, spotted and falling apart at each step. And yes, they talk – getting after you like hell and whispering things into your ear. What things? Well, the things they believe will drive you mad. The time you wasted, the people you failed to save, the chances you missed… everything like that. But what could they say to a twelve-year-old boy who, moreover, does not mature? They could say nothing. So they did.
True, when I already was leaving the Forest, they called out to me once again. These two looked a bit more solid than the others, but still, there was sun shining through their bodies, and there was mold and rot and soil on them here and there. For all that, it was difficult not to recognize them. Father and mother, who else. They said they love me. Well, I love them too. They said they miss me. No problem, same with me. They asked me to stay with them.
«Sure,» I answered like I always did with them. «Another time!»
Then, of course, they started to coax me and that is such a bore, that I took out my cigarettes – just mechanically – and lit one. The leafy parents shut up at once and took to staring at me wide-eyed. The forest kids, you know. Going green, healthy lifestyle and all that. Then I see that I played the fool and I quickly spat out that cigarette.
My parents always told me that smoking was hazardous but I never took that seriously. Well, they were right and I was not. But then, it was too dry there. That forest with all its leaves blazed up in fire, and it was gone in a split second, like some damned dandelion. Once and for all. So, if you were planning a trip to Fall Forest, just forget it. It’s not there anymore.
All in all, this may well be for the better: each poet that failed to hang himself is adding up to a number of living poets, and the living poets adorn our life or, at least, I was taught to believe so. True, the minuses were there too. I was smeared in soot, I burnt all the hairs I had on my body and I stank. The girls do not like that, and Pat, with all due respect, was a girl.
However, when I got to where she was, all this nonsense flew out of my head at once. Pat’s house was not there anymore. In its place on the hill now stood a huge medieval castle. The castle was clean, tidy and quite brand-new. It was disgustingly white, with countless small, silly turrets, and it was just asking for trouble, like to be destroyed or at least besieged. I limited myself to just spitting on the nearest wall and kicking it.
It was a bad idea, I admit it, as the wall at once fell. Falling, it slammed against one of the turrets, and that turret hit another wall, and then things moved on, and in a minute there was not a trace of the castle on the hill – only me and the clouds of settling dust. I felt a little bit ill at ease, because I had no idea how much medieval castles cost nowadays. Not that it really mattered, as I had no money at all. «Now, Siri, this is a problem,» I said to myself.
There was still a small hope that I would be able to fix it before the owner saw, so I started to raise the walls, propping up them with the towers, but that was no good. The damned castle was jerry-rigged with cardboard and was not going to be restored that easily. So, I was standing all alone in the middle of the ruins, holding a piece of cardboard in each hand, trying to combine them somehow, when someone exclaimed right behind my back:
