RP Haunted, Hallowed

[illirica]

Faith, for me, has always been a very lost and found thing.

It started early, as it always does - playground questions, not so innocent: Do you believe in God? My family was not particularly prone to religion, and I did not have a pre-formed opinion on the matter, but an introduction to the concept of mythology in my younger elementary years led to wondering why that God and none of the others, which naturally led to such thoughts as: Really, either all of them must exist or none of them.

Such was my first foray into atheism. In retrospect, perhaps I should have dwelled more on the first half of that thought as something other than a setup for the second, but what can I say? I was seven or eight and hardly a master of philosophy.

So lost: found would come years later, and perhaps that is where we should begin. It was perhaps a few weeks after my grandmother had died, and the house had been full up of gloom and sadness and forced cheer and strangers-and-relatives and strange relatives and a steady stream of people bringing questionable casseroles, which we were then obligated to eat.

My brother and I were naturally eager to get out of the house, and set out on an adventure to build a boat.

Now, at our age, we had no idea how to build a boat, but I think that mattered very little, because even if we had managed to do such a thing, there was no river on which to float it - there was a stream, but at best it managed a foot in depth after it had been raining a lot, most of the time it was barely a few inches, and in the heat of summer it tended to dry up entirely - but it was something to do and something to discuss, and it gave us something to talk about, all those grand adventures we would have, going to far off places and meeting all manner of strange people.

We were, in a way, exactly right.

David followed in his brother's footsteps. People often asked him if he was going to, which was very strange, as there was only a year between them and his brother hadn't actually accomplished anything of note other than one more year of school than David, but this was a more literal manner than that. The ground was damp and some parts of it were squishy and squelched up under their shoes, slippery if it had cause to be, and so David followed carefully, placing each booted foot firmly in the track that had already been made, or, if there was no track but rather a great slide of mud, somewhat to the side.

They were going out on an another adventure. It wasn't their first, and he didn't think it was going to be their last, but that was what they did when it was decent outside and they didn't have school or chores - they went on adventures. David was old enough to be vaguely aware that some time that would probably stop, and the idea of adventures would be outgrown and be replaced by - he didn't know, girls or taxes or politics or one of the other things that seemed to fascinate adults, but for the moment it was just the two of them and their adventures.

He was glad to be gone from the house, glad to be away from their parents, who didn't know what to do with them but felt obligated to pretend they did, just in case someone came around. David and his brother were old enough to fend for themselves, mostly, and when they hadn't been, it had been their grandmother who had done most of the doing.

And now she was gone, and their parents were trying to take her place, which he supposed was supposed to be their place anyway, but it still felt wrong. Their mother had told them earlier that all grandma's little magics were just superstitions, and it wasn't like she hadn't told them that before, but this time grandma wasn't here to say otherwise, and it was... just too soon, and it felt empty, and mom had gone through and gotten rid of all the little bundles of twigs and string and feathers that grandmother had said would protect them, because she'd always hated having them lying around cluttering up the place. Maybe she was right and they were nothing magical, but they had been grandma's, and that had been magic enough.

 

[Katpride]

Your grandmother could weave magic from anything. That’s what you always thought, anyway. She never agreed with you, when you called it magic; she always said that she was doing what she did for the spirits. To help them pass on, or to protect the living from them, or to protect them from the living.

When you were young, you didn’t know enough to see that as strange. You don’t think you really knew what she meant, when she’d talk about spirits. Why would you? Death wasn’t something you thought about, not really. It was something that existed, sure, and happened to other people, sometimes, but it had never touched you.

So, no, you weren’t sure that you would ever be able to see the world the way that she did, but when she spoke you listened. You always listened. Back when there were more good days than bad, she would take you to the trees at the edge of the woods and point out twigs or leaves that she wanted you to pick for her, and you would spend hours in the dappled shade running around gathering things. Then you’d sit beside her on the porch swing and she would lay your findings carefully on her lap, sorting them and eventually binding them into little bundles with short lengths of twine.

You would ask questions, then, things like, why don’t you use rubber bands? or why don’t you put that one in the bundle?, and she would explain, in her soft-but-strong voice, why each little bit mattered. Rubber bands would be quicker, she would say, holding the string down so that you could practice tying the knot. But some of the spirits are very old, and might be confused by them.

That twig is just a little too long, she might say, or it doesn’t have the right energy. You weren’t always sure what she meant, when she said stuff like that. How could a twig have any kind of energy? It was a twig! But you would nod, and when you had exhausted your questions you would leave her to her crafting and go muck around in the woods with your brother, or do your homework, or get dragged into doing chores for your parents.

Your grandmother is gone, now. You can’t really believe it. You keep expecting to turn and find her sitting on the porch swing, working on her bundles or watching the trees. You still find yourself picking up twigs whenever you walk into the woods, filling your pockets with detritus from the forest floor that your parents will grouse about when it comes time to do the laundry.

Grandma wouldn’t mind the dirt. She would understand, you think. She would always smile, when you brought her twigs without being asked. But your parents never understood. They never listened to her, and so they never learned to see the magic. They just saw dirty twigs and dried leaves. At least you were smart enough to save your favorite bundle - the one with the lavender sprigs and the blue feather - and squirrel it away before they could throw it in the trash with the rest of your grandmother’s magic.

It made your blood boil, honestly, to see those little bundles of twigs disappear under coffee grounds and napkins and everything else, but you knew that raising your voice would only get you grounded and reprimanded for not being a good example for your little brother. So you said nothing, did nothing, and left for the woods with the first half-decent idea that crossed your mind.

The ground was still wet from the storm that had rolled through just the other day. The mud sucked at the soles of Oliver’s sneakers whenever he took a step, so that each time he lifted his foot it was accompanied by a kind of muddy squelch-pop, but he wasn’t one to let a little thing like that stop him.

He and his brother were going to build a boat, and they were going to put it in the river, and they were going to sail away. The mud wasn’t going to stop them. The mud was a good sign, in fact; it meant that the river should still have plenty of water in it. Which they would need, if they were going to have any hope of staying afloat.

He hadn’t really told David about that part of the plan, now that he thought about it. It seemed like the kind of thing that could be picked up on, though, and David was very good at picking up on things. That was why he brought his brother along on adventures like this. Well, that and the fact that he was his little brother, and it was the sort of thing that big brothers were supposed to do. He couldn’t just leave him behind, he’d complain to-

Oliver missed a step, and his shoe nearly got yanked off his foot as the other skidded off to the side. He recovered quickly, one palm finding an island of grass to catch himself as he slammed his heel back into the sneaker. He was back on his feet almost immediately, dusting waterlogged grass off of his palms. When he looked up, he was glad to see the river lay just in front of them. He would’ve walked right into it if he hadn’t tripped.

“See, I told you it was a shortcut,” he said, setting his hands on his hips proudly. The boast was, unfortunately, necessary. It wasn’t the first time they’d made the trek to the river, but the woods had a way of making unwary travelers lose their way. There could be no other explanation; Oliver had an excellent sense of direction.

“Now to get some logs,” he added, mostly to himself. He turned to survey the woods, scanning the ground at the treeline. There were lots of potentially good twigs, most unfortunately drowned in mud, but no conveniently fallen trees in sight. Hmm. They’d have to make do with branches.

He rolled up his sleeves, then leaned down to drag a large branch out of the muck. It was about as long as his arm, and seemed sturdy enough. He smacked it against his palm a couple of times to see if it was rotten. Didn’t seem like it. “Maybe the mud can act like glue, if we pack it in.”

 

[illirica]

"Oliverrr." It wasn't quite a whisper, and it wasn't sibilant enough to be a hiss - no, it was just sibling, the long-exasperated tone: hushed, petulant, maybe just a little bit whiny. David was trying to grow out of whiny, but there were times that warranted a little bit of it. "We're not allowed near the river."

The woods, yes, the field, yes, the little near-dry creek that had led them here, yes - but not the river. Grandma said rivers were for moving things. Sometimes it was sticks or fish or willful ducks, but sometimes it was people. Sometimes, that was if they meant to. Sometimes, that was if they didn't. The current could be stronger than you think, Grandma had said. She'd also said there was more to work at the river than just the current and that the ghosts out here were strong, old spirits tied to the water and just as restless, searching, eager to bring something with them and not too caring of whether or not it wanted to get caught up in the flow.

David felt like that sometimes, with his brother. Oliver was always going somewhere, doing something, with one grand idea after another. He'd have jumped into the river headfirst just to see the fish, David thought sometimes. And that - that was why David always got swept along with him. Someone had to fasten a rope and make sure he got pulled out again.

Still, the river made him nervous - or maybe that was just a facet of Oliver's latest idea and the old soggy stick he was holding, as if it were going to carry them across the river.

Arguing about the river wasn't going to get them anywhere, and David knew enough to know that if he didn't help, Oliver would just do it himself, and that would be even worse somehow. He sighed, and shook his head. "Mud's just going to get wet and fall to pieces. We can tie it together with twine, or some ivy maybe. And I think you want dry wood, so it floats better." He wasn't sure about the last, but it sounded right. Actually, he was pretty sure that the wood was supposed to be seasoned and coated with something to keep it dry, but he'd never been particularly clear on what that substance was made of.

He should have read more books, or - no, he'd pretty much read all the books he'd gotten his hands on, but David couldn't help but feel like if he'd gotten his hands on different books, he might have the answer. It wasn't like they'd had a lot of time to prepare for this, though. That was the thing about Oliver's ideas - he wasn't often the sort to want to sit around while someone worked out the logistics. Oliver just... jumped in and trusted that things would work out.

They usually did, it was just that David wasn't sure how much of that was his doing, and so he didn't dare let Oliver go off without him. It wasn't because he liked the adventure or anything.

"I think if we move under the trees more, we might find some wood that's not half buried."

 

[Katpride]

It was a fine line to walk, between being too pushy - “Why would you drag your brother into that?” - and not convincing enough - “He wants to play with you, Oliver, you can’t just leave him!” - but Oliver, after a sidelong glance at his brother, decided that he was probably fine. David wasn’t bleeding even a little bit, and they weren’t in any real danger. It was just a river. Admittedly, it was a river they weren’t technically supposed to get too close to, but they both knew how to swim. They’d be fine.

He still wasn’t going to give David any leverage, though, not even a ‘what our parents don’t know won’t hurt them’, because although he did like his brother, sometimes, - okay, most of the time, - he had the unfortunate tendency to be a bit of a scaredy cat. He wasn’t complaining his way out of this one, though. Not today.

“Hmm, good point,” he acceded, like the magnanimous sibling he was. They wanted to keep the water out of their boat, after all. It wouldn’t do to give the river a head start by using wood that was already wet.

Since they weren’t using it, he gave the branch he’d picked up one last smack and then tossed it into the river. The splash was satisfactory, but nothing to write home about. He’d probably get better results from something heavier, like a rock. Oliver seemed to have a point, though. The branch, heavy with mud, sank rather quickly, and only barely broke the surface a few times as it was washed away.

“Alright, then. Keep an eye out for logs, maybe we’ll find a big one,” he suggested, after a moment, as he turned and started up the gentle slope that would lead deeper into the forest. It got a bit steeper as he neared the top of the slope, but he grabbed a low-hanging branch and pulled himself up the rest of the way, turning automatically to offer a hand to David once he had solid footing.

The forest floor was pretty nice to walk on. It was a lot less muddy than the riverside, at least, and definitely more interesting than the old creek. It was odd to be out of the sun, though. It was still midday, but if he didn’t know any better Oliver might’ve thought it was later; the trees blocked the sun, their branches interlacing like so many clasped hands, allowing only the occasional, dim sunbeam to pierce through.

It was still bright enough to see by, and that was what really mattered. Bright enough to see that there weren’t any decently-sized branches lying about, he thought with a frown. They’d have to venture deeper.

That was fine. The river was right there; he could still hear it and everything. And if he knew where the river was, they could follow it back to the creek, and then follow the creek back to the house. He had this navigation thing totally on lock.

“Do you think any trees fell in the storm?” he asked, to pass the time. Oh, there was a nice twig on the ground. Without breaking stride, he bent and scooped it into his pocket. “It sounded pretty gnarly.”

 

[illirica]

The log fell into the river and sunk, much like David's hope of getting out of this one easily. He raised a hand to shade his eyes, watching it as it bobbed up a time or two, floating off down the river, presumably on to better - or at least wetter - things.

He should probably suggest that they go back home. David thought about that for a moment, thought about the house that didn't have grandma in it, where all the little bundles of sticks were gone and it seemed empty and wrong, and then shrugged and followed his brother into the woods, accepting a hand up even though he could have done it himself, if he'd wanted to.

The woods were nice, though. David liked the woods. There were all sorts of interesting things in there, especially if you turned over rocks or logs. Sometimes he could get Oliver to help him move a big one and they'd crouch down and see what was there. Usually worms, ants, centipedes, but sometimes a frog, once or twice a spotted salamander. There weren't any of the really big logs to roll here, though. Those were the good ones, the ones that had been there long enough for things to make homes in them.

They'd have to go in deeper.

He noticed Oliver picking up a twig, and wondered if Grandma would have said it was a good one. David had never quite gotten the knack of what made them good. He'd tried for a long time - he had an entire notebook full of drawings of twigs with measurements and notes about whether she'd liked it or not. The drawings had gotten a lot better, over time. He hadn't been able to figure out a pattern, but he'd been looking through the notebook a lot lately, when no one was looking. He didn't want people thinking he was a crybaby.

"I dunno," he answered the question, peering around to see if there was a whole tree fallen over that he somehow hadn't noticed. That would be neat, if there were. Fallen trees were good for climbing on. "I guess we can look. I bet there will be at least some big branches down, anyway."