“Sorry to bother you, I know you just returned,” I said.

  “It’s ok, what are you here for?”

  “I came seeking any information you might have about the Mystic Woodlands.” His face rather fell after I had announced that, but he calmly invited me in.

  After we were seated with drinks in hand, he said, “You will not be the first to hear that I know almost nothing about the Mystic Woodlands. All I have learned about it, I have gathered from the legends that people have told. They all agree that it lies in the Darkwood, which lies in the Misty valley. But you will be the first to hear that I have journeyed to that valley myself to seek my father.” That statement took my breath away. I had finally found someone who had searched for and returned from the valley.

  “Go on,” I said intrigued by what was to come. His story went like this.

  After making his usual rounds selling goods, he decided it was time to see if the legends were true; although, no two stories ever lined up. Finally, the time had come. Rumors were that the Misty Valley lay only a two-days walk from the town he was in. No other towns lay on that route. Mason gathered the necessary supplies, while the whole time he was being pestered by the townsfolk begging him not to go. But he had made up his mind. He left the next morning. Two days later, he arrived at the valley.

  The valley spread out before him like a blanket of clouds in the sky, but it was in fact, a blanket of thick fog that filled the valley almost up to its brim. The valley spread out far in every direction, and you could just see the Darkwood in its center. From Mason’s vantage point, it looked like a twisted and tangled ball of black yarn. He almost gave up then, but the desire to seek his father took over, or did it? He seemed drawn toward the wood more by his own desire of curiosity. He wanted to discover the mysteries. Were the legends true?

  He traveled into the valley, and soon he was enveloped in the blanket of fog. He traveled on, trying to keep going straight in the direction that he had entered the valley, but he couldn’t tell if he was still going the right direction. After hours of walking, a dark mass loomed through the fog. He had found the Darkwood.

  As he got closer, he could make out the shapes of tall, dark trees looming overhead. The trees had few leaves, but the ones it had were such a dark shade of green, that they almost looked black. The trees themselves were black with branches twisting and turning throughout the forest and tangled together with other tree’s branches. Beneath the giant black trees were small dark brown wooded trees with huge dark green leaves. The wood had very little light due to the huge leaves and the twisted trees. But from the light that there was, he could make out broken pieces of pottery lying all over the ground, as if all the abandoned pottery of the civilized world had been thrown down upon the ground of the forest. This made it difficult to walk.

  He stumbled upon former campsites of others who had journeyed to the wood, but he only found broken supplies, more smashed pottery, and bones. He couldn’t tell if they were human, but he hoped not. Darkness set in even more, and this scared him. He knew he didn’t want to stop, for fear of his campsite looking like the others. For fear, that his bones would litter the ground. The only problem was that the forest was already so dark. If the fog didn’t clear and if night set in, he wouldn’t be able to see. And there was no way he could find his way back.

  Finally, he gave up hope of making through the night, let alone ever finding the Mystic Woodlands. He wished that he was out of the forest and living a peaceful life. He had given up the search for the mysterious paradise that they in the center of this wood. He dreamed of having a family of his own. He wished that this place was only of his imagination. Then something happened. The sky grew brighter, the air grew warmer, and best of all, he felt no fog around him. Mason opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized that they had been closed.

  There he stood, at the top of the ridge overlooking where he had seen the Misty Valley. Had it all been a dream? he thought. He wasn’t sure, but deep down he felt that it hadn’t been a dream. No, he didn’t just feel it, he knew it. The forest and valley were real, and he was the first person that had even left the Darkwood alive. Now he knew why. You had to give up hope of finding its center and wish you had a better life. The others must have been too driven by curiosity.

  He traveled back to the village, and he told them he hadn’t found it. He did find that he had been gone five days, which meant that he had spent a day in the valley. He knew now that he would never find his father, so he traveled home. And that was the end of his tale.

  “Thank you,” I said, “I hope you live on well. As for me, I will think on what I shall do.”

  “Your welcome, but I do hope you decide not to go, but I suppose I have made it harder for you to do that. Good day to you,” he said, and I left his house. I walked the streets back to by house, pondering all he said. I couldn’t decide if I should search for the wood or not.

  I have written down all this for you, so that the truth may be known. I hope all those legends may be discarded and this truth be told. I am now tired, and my tale is near its end. My decision will not be liked by many I fear, but It’s a shame. Looking back, it seems that I have forgotten to tell you my name. That information I will tell. My name is James Stell. I will search for the wood, for I shall not rest until my eyes see the Darkwood.


  I wrote this for ziggy like stardust's 900 subscriber contest. My inspiration was from the first image. If you want to read more about the Mystic Woodland, check out the backstory to by skin Mystic- The Living Woodlands.

Enjoy!