Don’t wake the woods.

My girlfriend thinks I should write this down somewhere, and she suggested here. I honestly don’t really use Reddit outside of dredging up solutions to prehistoric but annoyingly relevant problems. 

I guess that’s what this is, though. An old problem.

Part of me is missing, and I think it’s time I shared that empty space.

I live in the north of the UK. My first time drinking was in a clearing in the woods. There were six of us that night. Me, Patrick, Josh, Sarah, Stuart and Ellie. With the help of shitty YouTube videos we’d made a crude rock enclosure for tinder and branches. The wood we’d found was dry and Josh had brought lighter fluid. So yeah, we’d brute forced a bonfire. 

We were underage at the time, still with a great sense of pride me and Patrick had picked up a few 2L bottles of the kind of booze you’d associate with societal degeneracy. We’d taken a train to the next town over, found a corner shop with the equivalent of medical lighting and beaten up shelves that screamed lax security, it was still a terrifying experience. I’d actually ended up “helping” by picking out some booze and inconspicuous extras, then gave Patrick some encouragement and…waited outside.

Pat was good like that. Reliable. He’d bail you out one minute, then refuse to let you live it down for the rest of the night. 

Celebrated as heroes, me and Patrick were having a fantastic evening. The sun dipped and darkness replaced it, the fire spreading a warm glow across the clearing. Dead leaves spread out underneath us, making for a pretty soft place to sit and marvel at how drunk we were. It’s funny how your first time compares to getting actually shitfaced, sitting in a uni dorm shower, trying and failing to grasp at who you are past a conscious effort to remember what respiration is. 

Sarah burst out from the treeline with Stuart in tow, no doubt something had happened between the two of them. Made even more obvious by Stuart’s smug dumb strut. That wasn’t what I was focused on though, it was what was in Sarah’s hand.

“What’s that?” I said.

She giggled “Stuart fell over and whilst I was helping him up we found these!” 

She held in front of her some gnarled musical pipes, the light brown wood was grained with mud. Where each pipe should have been cut off cleanly instead curled like snapped twigs. It was a strange design, and a stranger thing to find in the woods.

“Have you played it yet?” I asked.

I couldn’t understand why I asked that. A need to know whether they’d tried it. Something about the pipes made me feel…off. 

“Ew, no that’s gross Phil, looks weird though doesn’t it.” Sarah chastised me.

I nodded and she threw it down near the fire. I swore in that moment that the fire actually recoiled, the flames shrugging away from where the pipes sunk slightly into the ground. 

I took a swig of the backroom's yellow booze and shifted my eyes away from the pipes. The night continued from there, I was avoiding looking at Ellie trying my best to channel my mysterious side. In reality I was quiet and uninteresting. Josh had noticed the change in atmosphere as things had died down a bit, he was a handsome lad, full of confidence. The type of guy that you want to hate, but can’t help but like. And so he announced in a loud voice. 

“Who’s up for some truth or dare?”

It wasn’t really a question, more just a declaration. I hated truth and dare, my risk averse nature couldn’t grasp the social equivalent of head butting a wasp nest or kicking it instead. I’d assumed this was coming though.

So, I’d just pick truth…and lie.

I was pretty fucking fond of my comfort zone, it was a nice place to ride out my adolescence. 

We all got in a circle, the bonfire sending out waves of heat behind us. Sarah went first: Truth. Yes, she’d just snuck away with Stuart to make out. She seemed pretty proud. Good for her. Her and Ellie laughed with one another, Sarah pointed at me. Then it was my turn: Truth.

“Dare.” Josh said sharply.

“Wha-“ 

“You always pick truth, I think you should do a dare.” Josh replied. 

I was trapped, still I could probably work my way out of it right? Nope, Patrick decided he’d twist the knife.

“Yeah man, I mean you didn’t even stay in the shop with me when we got the drinks.” he said, kind of proudly.

I mouthed “Pause” at him.

Pat rolled his eyes, but he nodded.

We had this stupid thing from when I’d got Time Splitters 2 and he would come round and annihilate me in multiplayer. I got so mad one time I had actually shouted  “Pause” and almost snapped a controller in half. Pat thought that was funnier than my death ratio.

After that “Pause” meant stop. No ifs. No buts. 

They knew I liked Ellie, so what, was this it? Get dared to kiss her, back out and live the rest of my school life in shame? Then Stuart gestured at me before anyone could say anything. 

“Play the pipes, Phil.” Stuart smirked. 

I tried my best to hide the sigh of relief, and instead I hammed up the reluctance and I laid it on thick.

“Really Stuart, it’s covered in dirt. But fine, I guess I have to, right?” I exclaimed.

“Right.” Josh beamed at me.

So I got up and walked over to the fire. It took me a little while to find them, they sat further towards the treeline. Someone must have moved them, I don’t know who. I picked them up, and whilst in the middle of the circle, brushed off as much dirt as I could, raised them to my mouth and blew. 

It was odd, the noise that came out. It didn’t sound eerie like I’d assumed it would, it was just the octave didn’t feel right. Too low, the sound carried too far, like it was calling out to something and somehow disappointed nothing called back. Then, a sharp crack in the distance.

“There, you happy now?” I said.

It was quiet for a second and I was surprised when Ellie was the one to break the silence. She laughed, she actually laughed.

“Phil, you are such a drama queen.” she’d grinned whilst saying it and I couldn’t help but laugh back.

Soon everyone else was chuckling and Patrick walked up behind me and clapped me hard on my back, giving me a wink. And so the game continued, and it was fun to me. At some point I stopped putting the pipes down. I couldn’t remember feeling this confident in a long time. We shared stories we’d all heard multiple times and nodded along with newfound enthusiasm. My fingers had never left the pipes for a second.

The silence after the first tune became unbearable, so I played. Josh made more of an effort to chat to me and so I found a new melody. The notes still felt at times otherworldly but the music seemed to just come to me, I played it haphazardly that evening. The conversations stopped. All my friends stood looking silently out into the trees as I played. Then Ellie clapped, another song rang out, and their voices returned to the clearing.

It could have been the drink, maybe not, but I do remember feeling like there was a score I was following. Like I was a passenger to the music, taken on too many back roads and now I was stranded. The last note came shortly before everyone agreed to kill the fire and make the walk back. 

The pipes dropped from my hands to the floor and for a moment I felt an absurd sense of loss, my fingers reaching out for a split second.

“Oh my god Phil, I thought you’d never stop playing.” Sarah joked.

Ellie moved alongside me.

“Don’t worry about her,” Ellie said quietly to me“She’s just jealous of your musical talent.”

She got up on her tip toes and pecked me on the cheek. I can’t recall how that felt, I just know she did.

“See you at school tomorrow.” she said quickly.

I couldn’t believe it, grinned like a fool. I watched her hurriedly go join Josh and the rest. They’d be walking back the other way, the exit there leading out to near their streets. Me and Patrick on the other hand would be walking the opposite direction, crossing over the stream and the stepping stones there. 

“Where were we going again?” Patrick asked.

“Back the way we came, you can’t be that drunk.” I laughed.

He had a look of confusion, then as quickly as it came his face smoothed and he nodded back at me. 

“I can’t believe Ellie kissed you man, lucky bastard.” Patrick said.

I said something back, embarrassed. 

We were deep in the woods, I pulled out my dad’s 9 billion lumen flashlight, something like that, that he’d insisted I take with me. The battery must have been low though, the light barely cut through the dark. 

“Phil, we’re going the wrong way.” Patrick said after a while.

He was right, we’d turned off at some point. Going further into the woods, it was odd though I’d sworn we’d just been walking the exact same way we’d got here. Not a big deal, we could cut over the crumbled stone wall and get back on the path. Still I couldn’t shake this weird feeling.

Have you ever returned to your hometown and it’s all memorable, but there’s subtle changes that make it feel like you don’t belong there anymore? Well that’s how it felt when we found the path again. The grass was overgrown. Where footfall should have worn the path into the ground, moss now grew over it. It was like looking at the back of someone else's hand. 

“Hey Patrick, do you remember the path being this wild?” I asked.

“Oh, err, what? I don’t know, do you hear that?” 

“You good? I don’t hear anything.”

“Nah, like stop walking for a second Phil.” 

So I did, we both stumbled to a stop. The sole of my foot skidded across a rocky outcrop and I almost fell. I was about to laugh it off when I heard something. If Patrick hadn't said anything I don’t think I’d have noticed it, but as it was, I did. It was our footsteps, we were standing still. Like someone a moment later had stepped into my place, faint sounds of crunching boots echoing uncomfortably close.

“Well that’s fucking weird.” I said. 

“Must be like echoing off the trees or something.” Patrick said.

I know I thought that was a mental statement to make at the time, but I agreed. Any explanation was better than nothing for me, so I happily shut off the part of my brain that was trying to rationalise the situation and took what Patrick suggested as gospel. 

Birds somewhere started calling out and then nothing. The bird call would start again, I was getting a sense of Déjà vu when their chirps would cut off suddenly. I almost didn’t realise they stopped, my mind started filling in the gaps only noticing the silence when it became too loud in my ears.

“Pat, do you hear the birds?” I asked.

“If I’m honest Phil, I can’t hear anything over you humming.”

“I’m not humming.”

Patrick turned to stare at me, I could just about see his cheeks going bright red, something they always did when he got annoyed, I used to take the piss out of him for it. But I’d stopped after he’d kicked me in the shin and we didn’t speak for a week.

“You are Phil” He said “Don’t do that shit right now.”

We stepped over a rotting log that was in the path, the trees around arching above us. Little bits of dark purple sky cut between the branches that barely moved. I felt claustrophobic, I vividly remember the pin pricks on my back where I’d started to sweat. Patrick grabbed me by the shoulder, I’d still been looking up and I almost tripped. We stepped over a rotting log that was in the path.

“Phil, seriously just stop. We’ve passed by here already.” Patrick complained. 

“Really?” I asked. 

Genuinely too, I couldn’t remember. I was going through the motions, the stepping stones had to be close by now. I knew we were going the right way, there was a big mossy rock that sat at an angle, a small stream passing by it down to the water. It’s funny, because I can bring stuff like that back, the feeling of bracing my leg against it and pushing off to save getting my feet wet. But I can’t remember what Patrick’s face looks like, or if I can it’s not his.

“You gotta stop doing that.” Patrick said.

I didn’t reply, he’d been acting weird since we’d started walking. I couldn’t tell if he was afraid or just pissed off at me for leaving him behind in the corner shop earlier.

A scream rang out across the forest, we thought it was just the others messing with us. Stupid pranks that kids liked to play on each other, we were already on edge though. Patrick kept shuffling behind me, I had to pull him along multiple times. He just kept muttering. I kept muttering. One of us was muttering something. His thin jacket pulled tight as I dragged him along till it felt like pulling stubborn roots. Turning to him, he was staring at something out in the trees, arms slack down at his side, exhausted.

“I don’t think we were meant to come here tonight.” Patrick said, no emotion just understanding.

“Look man, I don’t get what’s wrong with you. We’re doing fine.” I was upset at him.

“Phil…you’re scaring me. Look at your hands for fucks sake, you’re hurting yourself.” Patrick said quietly, unsure how to approach it.

“Pause.” he said firmly.

One word and I forced myself to look down, bits of bark and mud were stuck underneath my nails. A splinter jutting out awkwardly in my thumb. Blood. My fingertips started to feel pretty raw.

“You keep making us stop, digging through the mud, scratching things into the bark. If you’re trying to freak me out, you win. L-let’s just go home.” he pleaded.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…when?” I stuttered.

Patrick was my best mate, I couldn’t understand why he was saying this. But I knew when to back down, he looked a little relieved. 

“Look dude, I’m just gonna go ahead a little.” He said. “Give me the light and I’ll be back in a sec. I think you might have drunk too much.” 

He was trying to reassure me that we’d get home tonight.

I think he was also partly happy I wasn’t just charging ahead again. Giving him time to think about what to do next. I handed him the flashlight and sat down on the least sodden part of a rotting log in the path. The light bobbed off into the distance, I was picking at the bits of jagged wood under my nails. I hummed the final beats of a tune I heard earlier that night, not quite lullaby but not quite uplifting either. Somewhere in between. It was a mistake.

The light slowly turned, casting sickly pale light over the ground. I thought he was coming back, then the light just toppled to the floor. The flashlight bounced once, then twice, and immediately became brighter. The stark cone of light pointing in the direction Patrick had been walking.

Except Patrick was gone.

“Pat! That’s not funny. Pause.” I said.

No reply.

“Pause.” I said again, louder this time.

Nothing.

He’d never not answered a pause.

I stood up suddenly and shook my head, looking around before instinctively snapping back the way I’d just turned, convinced I’d missed something in the lapse of my vision. I stared helpless down the path, flanked by looming trunks. I could make out shadows prominent and unrealistic which were fading fast. I tried to walk forward to search for him, but my boots caught in the moss, a tangled web of purple-green over my laces. I was still crying out for him when I tore myself free. 

There was no way he could have gotten that far, so I started to look frantically. I noticed scratch marks in trees, they were vaguely recognizable. I walked back towards where I was sitting, I looked down at the set of shoe prints in the ground. Just one set. Devastated and confused, I sat back down, my eyes drifting to wet bloodied rips in the wood. Tally marks. Eleven. We’d been here eleven fucking times. I had to get home, call the police on the landline. Something.

The running water stung against my hands where I’d tripped over the stepping stones. I scrabbled to my feet, there was someone that was with me. Patrick, he’d been right there beside me. I forced myself to catalogue that fact.  A strong gust had begun to die down, I hadn’t noticed up until that moment. The trees shuddered, and the wind fell away.

I’d made my way back home, up the grassy hill, past the gate and long muddy tunnel of bush and dead branches that led up onto the street. From there I wandered towards my house, this time I knew exactly where to go, but I’d never felt so lost, dumbly looking at wild patterns on the pavement, where the fluorescent streetlights poured over it.

I’d called the police. They’d called me back, told me to stop wasting their time, that his parents said everything was “fine”.

Patrick didn’t turn up at school the next day, nor the week after. The worst part is, he didn’t seem to turn up in conversation either. My friends thought I was being strange, or had an imaginary friend I hadn’t told any of them about, then they settled on it being a funny joke that I’d “kept up” for a week. I didn’t talk about Patrick at school again after that.

The next time we’d gone to a house party they’d asked me to buy the drinks again, I tried to tell them it wasn’t me who bought them the first time. They’d laughed, something about my confident alter ego Patrick. It broke my heart. 

My school life was easier after, my friends quick to laugh at my jokes. I’d felt more confident, Ellie said she liked how “Reliable” I was. Doors kept opening up, but I felt uneasy. Like I wasn’t quite me, like I’d managed to hold onto little bits of Patrick that night, small parts grafted into me.

I’m older now, me and Ellie are together. We get along really well, she’s sad I won’t go back to where she’d kissed me the first time. Thinks I’m fucking with her when I open up to her about that night, makes me feel like I am. It wouldn’t really feel like anything to me anyway, I know it happened, I don’t remember it. Everything good that happened to me that night just feels like an undeserved haze.

No one remembers him. 

I visited his parents a few years ago before they died. Pretended I was there to check their gas readings. They’d been so happy, they’d been getting ready to go on holiday together. Suitcases half packed in the living room.

Not a single memory of him anywhere in that house, just old photo frames with blank gloss inside.

I won’t forget him. I’ll carry that weight.

It’s my responsibility.

I suppose it’s yours now, too. 

So remember this, I beg you, don’t play the song, don’t wake the woods. 

Because it keeps what it takes.