The Forest Bride – Untitled Bigfoot Project (217/224)

Friday

Last Night


The Forest Bride

A creature, by far the biggest and the strongest of all in their village, rises before the rest of the creatures. It crawls from its hut, the largest of all the huts, large enough to fit three nests within its grassy walls, and walks heavily to the center of the village. It steps on many a’hand and many a’foot, many a’head and many a’chest, but it does not step on any of the lesser creatures’ junk. To have the big foot of the biggest and the strongest in all the creatures’ village pulverize a creature’s junk would be a fate far worse than death, mayhap even worse than the fate the creatures delivered unto the forest bride.

Ah, the forest bride. The creature strokes its puffy face with its rough and scratchy hand, licks at the dry blood crusted to the holes where her pretty eyes once were. So pretty, she was, so fun to dance with. So soft… he grabs her… so plump and so soft… he presses against her… the noise, the squishing of her soft innards, the dark bile which pours from her welcoming crevice… it’s grunting, its junk is swollen and throbbing, swollen and aching, swollen and so so swollen and it cannot contain… cannot control itself… grunting… breathing heavily… the forest bride does her dance for it now, she dances for it alone… the others dance with her when the sun shines through the trees, but it is still dark now. The biggest and the strongest always wakes during the dark. It falls asleep during the dark and it wakes during the dark, it watches the light come and go, and in that way it knows the truth.

The biggest and the strongest dances faster with the forest bride. It can almost hear her screams and wails, the noises ring in its ears. It only makes it dance with her harder.

Darkness is the truth. There is no light in this world, not like there is darkness. The light comes and goes, the darkness is forever. They were born into darkness, the creatures, all of them large and shaggy, all of them with junk between their legs. They are not like the forest bride, none of them could ever be like her. The forest bride had junk on her chest, but they tore that off so she could be like them. But still she was not like them. Still she was different.

The forest bride jiggles and shakes with the rhythm of the dance. The others are beginning to wake now, to gather around to watch the biggest and the strongest dance with the forest bride, just like they do every morning.

They were born in a terrible darkness, the creatures, into a hollow between the trees, and there were two like them there. One awful and skinny and resplendent in cloths of white, the other terrible and vile and deserving of pain and merciless Death. Deserving of mutilation and violence and hate and slaughter, one deserving to dance like the forest bride.

The forest bride. The forest bride. She is so different, the forest bride. She was born different, she wanted to be different. She did not want to be like the creatures. She flaunted her differences so proudly, so infuriatingly loudly.

Dance, creature. Dance with her. Rip putrid flesh from her corpse and dance.

She wanted to be different, but the creatures wanted her to be the same. They wanted her to be like them. She had junk on her chest, so they ripped the junk off and consumed it, swallowed it down without chewing. She screamed, then, almost as though she did not want to be the same as the creatures. As though she wanted to be different. So they let her be different, because she did not want to be the same.

Taste the brown blood, creature. Squeeze her till she dribbles.

She did not have junk between her legs, she had only a hole. All creatures have a hole below their waist, but for the creatures the hole is in the back. The hole is for shit, and the forest bride too has a hole for shit, but she also has a hole between her legs. She has no junk there, only a hole between her legs, and that hole is what makes the forest bride different. That hole is emptiness. That hole must be filled. So the creatures filled it ‘til it ripped, ‘till it became wider, its appetite was insatiable, it ripped wider and wider and only craved more and more and so they gave it more and more. Two, three, five at a time the creatures filled the forest bride’s gaping bloody hole, ripped it wider and wider. She screamed at first. She stopped screaming at last.

The forest bride screams in the creature’s ear as they dance, it can hear her so perfectly clearly. The others cannot but the biggest and the strongest can, and it only makes it dance the dance harder.

The forest bride stopped screaming before the creatures hung her up. She stopped screaming during one of their dances. She did not seem to want to dance anymore, she seemed to be too tired. So they hung her from the tree to keep her upright so she would continue to dance with them whenever they wanted, because the creatures knew she always wanted to dance. She has a hole between her legs, a hole that needs to be filled, so why would she not want to dance?

Dance with her, vile creature, the biggest and the strongest. Dance with your rotting forest bride.

But she would not close her eyes. When she screamed her eyes would close and they would not be forced to look at her. But when she stopped screaming her eyes stayed open, stayed staring into the eyes of the creatures. The creatures did not like to be stared at. To be watched. To be seen. The creatures punched her and slapped her and bit great chunks of flesh from her body, but still the forest bride stared at them as they danced, stared unblinkingly and without mercy. The biggest and the strongest hated her for that. It hated her for being different, hated her for her beauty, for being everything it could not. For being small and fragile, so precious and perfect. Hated her for the way she let them dance, as though she was powerless to stop them.

So it gouged out her eyes and crushed them in its hand, licked the fingers clean. She didn’t stare at them any more after that.

Dance, you foul cretin, dance and pull and shred. Break her bones with your grip. Hear her slowly rip and tear.

The forest bride.

The forest bride.

The biggest and the strongest loves its forest bride.

It lets the others dance with her, but the forest bride belongs to it.

The forest bride.

The forest bride.

The biggest and strongest dances with her best.

The others are all gathered around now, watching with wide and unblinking eyes, just like the forest bride before the biggest and the strongest plucked the pretty eyes from her pretty head.

The forest bride.

The forest bride.

But the creatures’ eyes are not pretty.

They are not the forest bride. They have junk between their legs. They wish to dance with her now.

The forest bride.

The forest bride.

The lovely forest bride.

After an untold number of moons spent dancing with the carnal creatures, the forest bride shall dance no more. Where her breasts once were are now only holes, ravines as deep as the one between her legs. Her ribs are broken, her backbone crumbled, and her organs are spilling out. Her legs are too heavy, too tired from all the dancing, and with an awful wet rip they fall to the ground. The biggest and the strongest backs away, shame and fear in its face, and stares into the eyeless horror that is the forest bride. She doesn’t look very pretty without her body, just arms and a head like that. She won’t be able to dance anymore.

The forest bride.

The forest bride.

The wretched forest bride.

The biggest and the strongest screams. Bloody fists annihilate what’s left of the forest bride’s hanging body, freeing her forever from their village. The rest of the creatures watch in shock, some covering their eyes, some unable to look away. Some not wanting to look away. The battered hands of the biggest and the strongest resemble that which lies at its feet: a pulp of bone and meat stained with rotten, blackened blood. It tastes the rot on its hands and vomits, then tastes and vomits again. It returns to its hut, by far the largest of all the huts, and sits alone in the darkness.

The darkness.

The truthful darkness.

The loving, forgiving darkness.


This has been the first subchapter of the last chapter of The Face of Fear, a novel about bigfoot written by the writer in Untitled Bigfoot Project. Here is everything you need to know about it:

Untitled Bigfoot Project

I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.

The Hillside Commons has a Facebook page. Here’s that.

If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~

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