Red Path

 “It’s forbidden to go down that path.” Once more, the storyteller repeated what he had been telling the children for weeks; weeks that had simply made their eight-year-old minds ever more curious.

“Pleeeeaaaaaaaseeeeeeee,” the four of them begged, putting on their best puppy-dog faces.

Hesitation. That was what flickered across his face. Hesitation and an almost yearning to give in to their relentless pleading, once and for all. He knew the dangers, the risks that came along with going down the forbidden path. Or, rather, he had heard about them in stories. The same stories he was now telling. And yet…

“Alright…just this once.” He replied, pushing off the rocking chair.

Cheers erupted. Smiles gracing the kid’s faces as they excitedly hopped to their feet. Was there a bit of fear? Of course, but the excitement they felt far outweighed any fear they felt about the situation.

“Just stay close to me.” His gaze met those of each kid, making sure that each of them would take his words to heart. “The woods are pretty big and I don’t want anyone wandering off on their own, do I make myself clear?”

Each one nodded, but it was evident that they were far more focused on getting on their merry way. One of the boys took the lead, bolting towards the front door and out it before the rest of them. The other three were rather quick to follow with the storyteller taking up the rear, a hefty sigh finding its way through his lips. Regret washed over him briefly, but he did his best to quell it as he caught up with the children.

“You go first, if you’re so brave,” he heard one of the girls say to the boy who had run out ahead of everyone.

All of them had come to a halt at the beginning of the path that led into the woods. It was mid-afternoon, the time when the sun would’ve been highest in the sky, but today the clouds obscured it from view. Patches of blue sky could be seen in the distance, but it was evident that their main source of light would not be making an appearance in their area any time soon. Despite the lack of sun, it was still a relatively warm day. A bit of a breeze at times, but thankfully it wasn’t a cold one.

“Follow me.” The storyteller said, pushing through the line they had formed at the entrance. “Stay close. There’ll be no running off like that once we get in there, alright?”

There were murmurs of agreement from the children as they scurried after him, staying close to the older man’s side. Trees stretched along either side of the path they were on. Some were short. Some were tall. Some were green as an emerald and some were rather bare. Bushes stretched across both sides, some that had an assortment of berries and some simply covered with leaves.

But that wasn’t what most people paid attention to when walking this particular path.

The ‘Red Path’ was the nickname given to this particular path. Not because of the red flowers that grew along the sides of it or the red berries that grew on some of the bushes, but for the unusual shade of red that the path itself was. There was no explanation for it. No logical answer for why it was the shade it was. Sure, people had come up with all sorts of theories for it— hence the stories that had been passed down over generations—but there wasn’t an actual answer for it. And, perhaps, there never would be. Most people would simply avoid the ‘Red Path,’ unless they truly needed to go on it. Given how long it stretched on for into the woods, it was nearly impossible to not stumble across it at some point. It was practically inevitable.

In the event of coming upon it, those who heard the tales would find another way around. Those who hadn’t heard the stories…well, they were the reason there were so many stories about the path.

“What—what is that?” It was one of the girls who had spoken up in a frightened voice.

They had been walking for some time and the part they were on currently was one of the wider parts of the path. Bushes, much higher than the ones at the beginning of the path, stretched along either side.

Nature was silent. The trees were still. While eerie, that was not what caused the group to be so unnerved. It was the growls and the snapping of the twigs coming from the bushes on their right side that had triggered the uneasiness. The storyteller, especially, was on edge. He had told the children some of the tales over the years, but there were those he had always elected to not speak of.

With another snap of a twig, this time on the left side in the bushes, the storyteller had reached his breaking point.

Without warning, without uttering a single word, the storyteller turned on his heel and took off in the direction they had just come. He didn’t even bother looking back to see if the children had elected to follow him. He simply ran without a single thought in the world…except to get back to the cabin.

The children stared after him until he was no longer in their line of vision, fear rooting them to their spots. It wasn’t until the growls in the bushes seemed to somehow grow closer that they finally got their feet to move. They weren’t fast enough to catch up with the storyteller on the path. By the time they got back to the cabin, however, he was already there. On the stairs. His shirt was torn to shreds and blood was cascading down his body on to the steps beneath him. Giant claw marks were the best explanation for the wounds he sustained. Fear was etched across his features as his gaze stared at the woods they had all just come running out of.

Raising his hand, he pointed his index finger towards the trees and uttered one, single word just as the children’s parents arrived to pick them up and before succumbing to death, “Run.”