LatinosUSA

John, a six-year-old child, touched the black door. It was a blackened door that had once been white, leading from his room into the hallway.

As soon as he touched the handle, the door opened of its own accord. Before him lay a vast pine forest. It was unclear whether it was night, or the sudden dawn, or a gray day. A mist hung over the treetops, more like heavy clouds enveloping the branches. A gust of wind broke the forest’s silence and pushed John forward, while the door behind him closed, and did not open again.

As John struggled futilely to pull the handle, something dripped drool onto his back. He froze in place. Was it a predator, a zombie, or a monster? His heart pounded, but his legs refused to move. Perhaps John was still asleep. Perhaps he was simply frightened. There was no longer any wind. The forest seemed frozen, even dead. The narrow, strange tangle of branches began to remind the boy of intertwined human bones. Finally, John slowly turned around after a moment of reflection that felt like an eternity.

“You should never turn and face mortal terror; you should run immediately, or just pinch yourself and close your eyes,” John thought, but there was no time for reflection.

Before him stood a toothless old man, wrapped in a black coat. At first, John was delighted, but then he became wary. Red drool dripped from the corner of the old man’s predatory smile. His fingernails were so long they resembled the claws of a beast, and his cheeks and forehead were covered in sores, some of which bled from time to time.

“This blood-saliva dripped onto my back,” John thought, involuntarily clenching his toes and fingers.

The empty forest erupted in the old man’s laughter, and it seemed as if the forest itself, not the old man, was laughing.

John took a deep breath, and the old man, as if noticing this, instantly rose into the air. His coat began to wriggle, touching the ground with folds of fabric, and crows began to circle the black body.

“Take the eyes of this naughty boy,” the old man ordered the birds, pointing his finger at John, and then burst into louder laughter. With each laugh, the skin slowly peeled away from his face until only his skull remained visible.

The crows instantly released their claws and flew towards John. He covered his eyes with his hands and tried to flee, but the number of birds kept growing. A veritable black, hellish flock knocked John off his feet, and he collapsed to the ground. It seemed even the grass sympathized with him at that moment, trying to whisper something in its inaudible voice.

“Please, let me go, I beg you,” John whispered into the void, curling up and trying to cover his body with his arms and legs.

“Enough!” the old man commanded, and the birds instantly vanished as if they had never been.

The forest froze, along with the old man. John tried to feel his wounds. Blood was pouring in streams through the shreds of his torn clothing.

“Time to grow up,” the old man said sadly, sighing, and vanished after the birds.

The door opened of its own accord, and John barely heard it creak. He struggled to his feet and discovered that all his wounds had healed, and his clothes were safe and sound. Without thinking, he rushed to the open door and returned to his bedroom.

The doors to the forest closed. But the forest remained, waiting, waiting for a new child.

John finally fell asleep in his bed. John is sleeping. John is growing. Tomorrow is his birthday.

“Sleep, fall asleep. And if you don’t sleep, the birds will come and take you to the black forest. These birds will take your eyes, and all day you will feel like you’re dead. Sleep, my son. Close your eyes.”