Entry for Elftown Prose Contest (horror).
Writer: [Gastogh]

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Passing the Time

   It was a rare occasion for any two people to meet in the Vanishing Woods.

   That was the name my people called the place by, for the only ones who ever sought it out were those who were done with the world, whatever their reasons. There were the occasional few who were exiled on account of their crimes, but most of those who sought the paths of no return were the old – the too old, who had seen too much and lost too much, those who had tried uncountable times and been frustrated once too many. In my time with my people, I had never known anyone to speak ill of any who walked the paths of their own accord; some stayed off the paths for millenia, but the burden of years did funny things to a mind. The only thing to do to put an end to that twisted comedy was to set out, as everyone eventually did, barring any earlier mishaps.

   No one on the outside knew what happened to those who came here, of course. Over the years I heard rumors of some who supposedly found a way back, but I dismissed the tales as wishful thinking. Everyone I ever met personally simply wandered aimlessly until they met their end, however long it took. If you knew which roots to grub for, you could survive there indefinitely.

   Over the course of my own long journey I had come across a hundred graves for each living traveler. The graves I came across perhaps once every decade or two... Or maybe only months. Without days or seasons, it was hard to tell.

   But now, I was again pleased to find a compatriot-in-exile. Well, as pleased as one could be under the circumstances, but we were both glad for the company and decided to while away a small slice of the endless night that never peeked in through the black canopy of our unchanging world.

   My companion appeared to be fairly young, but more haggard than most I had met. She was new to the Woods, having only recently been forced to choose between execution and the Long Walk. I asked her what her crime had been, but she was apparently still so ashamed that she wouldn't answer. Not that it mattered to me, but it would have been polite to answer, if only out of principle.

   The girl gave her name as Sfuren, but beyond that, seemed to wish to do little else but brood. I could respect that, having done quite a bit of it in my time. She was at the phase where she was having second thoughts about her final choice in society. "This seems like a fate worse than death," she said. "What's the point of living if there's nothing to live for?"

   I observed that she must still find life preferable, since she had not yet killed herself. She didn't jump in emphatic agreement, but neither did she contest the point. Instead, she asked me what my name was, and why I walked the paths. "What is there here that makes you prefer life to death?" she said.

   "Nothing, really," I answered, which was true. "And I fear that I've forgotten my name. It's been a while."

   She looked somewhat discomfited at that. "But then... Do you remember why you're even here?"

   I chuckled. "Oh, yes. That one'd be a bit harder to forget."

   "Then why are you here, and why do you live if there's nothing here for you?"

   I rolled my shoulders. They made satisfying cricks and cracks. "Well... I suppose I should start by telling you about my people. I come from a place where everyone always reached higher and higher in everything. They'd set themselves to things like solving the mysteries of the universe or perfecting some craft or art, for no other reason than if you weren't the best at something, you were nobody. I might not remember my name, but I remember my title. That was everything to us, you know, the title. Everything we were. I was 'the Strongest Will.' Not a mean thing to boast, you know. I had to jump such hoops to prove it, too...

   "So, anyway... Eventually I got into this disagreement with one of the more powerful mages in our recorded history, this woman with a number of titles. Among other things, she was the reigning mind-mage of our realm, and I forget what else. She was a real piece, too. Used to design nightmare spells and push the limits of the mind with worse and worse horrors – as a hobby, you know. And when some rich idiot felt inspired to give her such a commission.

   "But the point is, the two of us were never on the best of terms, and one day she came up to me, saying she'd perfected her new curse that she called 'the Follower.' She challenged me, saying there was no way I would overcome it. I had to accept to avoid losing my title, of course. Not that I would've refused if I could, I always took any opportunity to make her seem stupid..."

   I trailed off, and Sfuren quirked her mouth. "So you let her put that curse on you, and here you are."

   "Long story short, yeah."

   "So what did the curse do? Transport you here?"

   The girl had no imagination at all. "Nothing that crude."

   "What, then?"

   Some things were still hard to talk about even if they never left you. I stared at young Sfuren hard enough to make her flinch and look away. I sighed and let my gaze drop down to the flames. Not her fault.

   "She'd perfected the curse by using it on others. I only knew of its effect by reputation; the targets took their time, but they all eventually died. I never learned for sure how, but at least the one before me froze to death. As she explained it to me, the way the curse works is simple enough. It can have only one victim at once; the last one to succumb will begin to haunt the new one. The curse moves on to the next target when the first person who sees the corpse of the last victim turns away and looks back at the body."

   "Uhh... looks... back? And what happens then?"

   I drew my tattered cloak tighter about me. "When I first saw my own Follower, he was lying on the floor in a long stone hall, frozen eyes staring up the ceiling. So I went to the door, and, like an idiot, didn't keep walking but looked back..."

   I had to pause before continuing. "At first, there was nothing too horrible about it. I mean, it was just a dead body. It was standing up now and watching me from where it'd been lying. Bluish-white skin, reddish-brown eyes, some black frostburn in its hands and feet, chilly expression, and that was it. I just turned to old Mind-Witch and asked what about it was supposed to scare me our of my mind."

   And she had explained it, yes she had, as I now did to young Sfuren. Every time I looked behind me, it would get closer, and when it reached me, I would lose. I didn't know how many times I could turn, back then, and didn't care. I tested it around town: no one else could see it except I and the old bitch, you couldn't see it in a mirror – every test suggested that it was only in my mind. I should be able to oust it eventually. If not right away, then after putting some effort into it.

   But more than simply coming nearer, the specter seemed to somehow gain in presence. After a week of tests and boasts it had come within maybe twenty steps of me. I could hear footsteps behind me when it was quiet, and if I turned, there it was. I would feel a brush on my shoulder, or hear the voice of a friend calling me, turn to answer – and there it was, a step closer. Every time it did, the air grew colder and colder, and my conviction that the curse was stronger than I grew just as inevitably.

   Eventually, after many uncomfortable years, I had swallowed my pride and sought help from the abjurers to remove it, but had been turned down because the witch bitch had intimidated everyone into staying out of it. When the distance was down to a dozen steps, I had humbled myself enough to go to my rival herself and ask her to lift the curse in exchange for my title.

   She refused. I remember her laugh as she suggested that I head back the way I came. Out of spite, I did and stormed out. Nine steps.

   It was growing harder and harder to do anything or go anywhere. When I was down to seven steps, I left for good and came to the Woods. This was the only place I knew where I could run away, always forward, and never run out of land or time.

   Sfuren said nothing for a time. "H... H-how many steps do you have left now?" she asked quietly, wide-eyed.

   "One more to spare, I think. That, or none."

   "A-and... are you sure it's – that it's not just a trick? Some... some sick bluff of hers?"

   I could not muster the will to be angry. "Trust me, I've formed quite a few theories about it, and tried to practice my abjurations and mindcraft on my own... Didn't work. Where did you think all those steps went?"

   Sfuren said nothing, so after a while I went on. "The last time was the worst. I can always sense it nearby these days, you know. The steps, the sounds, the movement of cold air like someone breathing on my neck... But one day years and years ago, there was nothing. I waited a while – I don't know how long – and there was nothing. I figured that either the curse had worn out or the witch had died and the spell with her, so I turned around... And there it was. Within the reach of my arm, and it wailed this unholy scream, its mouth gaping open like it was going to bite me, arms outstretched so that it missed touching me by a hair's breadth."

   For an instant I had been sure that I was a dead man. I had cried out and fallen back. And then I had run, tripping over my heels because I could swear there was someone stepping on them, scarcely able to breathe...

   "Even now it's right behind me, you know. I can―"

   Sfuren let out a nasty laugh. My eyes snapped up. The voice was odd, but I would never forget that cadence. I jumped to my feet.

   It was her.

   "Bravo," she said, letting the glamor fall. She clapped her hands slowly, mocking.

   I resisted the urge to jump her immediately, suspecting she had to have some trick up her sleeve to show herself thus. But I stayed on my guard, ready to go for it. "Bold of you, to come yourself and not even send a puppet in your stead. An experiment gone wrong, is it? Ended up here against your will?"

   She made a dismissive gesture, smiling dangerously. "The world's changed. I know of no one left from the old days except you and I. Once I learned that you were still around, I figured, why not seek you out? You know, for old times' sake?"

   Right. "What do you want?"

   Oh, she was exactly as I remembered. In my life I had hated nothing so much as that smirk of hers that took the whole world for a tired joke and everything in it for a plaything, something to pull the legs off of. "I came to offer you a deal."

   I said nothing.

   "I'll lift your curse."

   "Like hell."

   That sure delighted her. "Oh, yes. I figure the message must have sunk in by now, so why not let you off the hook? It's certainly been boring these past few years, so... How about it?"

   I didn't trust her. I wasn't quite that addled. But seeing her had kindled a spark of my old self, a defiant streak that would choose recklessness over caution just because.

   "Do your worst."

   She smiled. "Tempting, but this will be my best."

   She rose up and moved to circle behind me. I felt compelled to intercept her, to use my crude stone knife on her before she could plant her steel one in my back. I fought the impulse down. In fact, I would welcome the knife. In our little contest, that would mean a win for me. So I stood still, following her only with my eyes as she slowly sauntered outside my vision. Behind me. I heard her breathing, and an icy hand grasped me gently by the neck. I felt nothing else.

   And then the hand went away, and she said, "It is done." I felt the cold recede, gone like it had never been.

   Oh, I wanted to turn so badly. Perhaps I could keep my eyes closed and somehow manage to kill her before she got me. Maybe I could then put my eyes out and somehow find my way out of this endless, black forest. Probably I should just keep walking.

   But maybe, just maybe...

   She snickered. Oh, but I hated her more than thoughts or words could express.

   "So," she drawled. "What will you do now, Mharen?"

   I trembled with rage. Even if it cost me my life, even if the Follower was still there, even if were to reach me, I would have turned around if I could have been sure that I could first wrap my hands around her neck and twist her head off.

   I felt her breath at the back of my neck. Teasing. Cold.

   I sprang into movement without intent or awareness. I saw nothing after the first step, but her scream-like laughter resounded in my ears an age after I had run myself to exhaustion.