The Horned One

“Sedgewick, did you hear that shuffling?” asked Harcore.

The woodsman’s friend did not answer. “Hello, is there anyone out there?” said Harcore. The wood was silent except for the occasional snap of a twig.

Harcore Muller lived in a small German village near the Great Black Forest. Each morning before dawn, he would enter the forest to collect a bundle of wood to sell.

“I have an axe and I know how to use it,” cried the woodsman.

“Good, I was hoping you weren’t here to harvest mushrooms,” came a deep rumbling voice.

“Where is Sedgewick? What have you done with him?” Harcord said.

“Your companion is helping me as we speak. You’ll see him soon enough. I need your services. I’ll pay you in gold,” said the voice.

It was the gold that focused the woodsman’s attention. When anyone offered you gold, it was for something they didn’t want anyone to know about.

“What sort of work?” questioned Harcore.

“Nothing too strenuous, the trimming of a tree,” said the voice.

“I can’t see you, stand in the clear so I can get a good look at you,” the woodsman ordered.

“I prefer to remain here in the shadows. If you wish, you can follow my voice and remain at a distance. “Damn that gold. I should walk away,” muttered Harcore.

“I’ll take you to your friend now. I’ll drop half the payment here on the path, the rest is yours when done,” the voice said.

Harcore walked over to the spot where he saw the coins fall. “Two crowns. I’ll not have to work for a month,” said the woodsman.

“I hope payment is enough?” asked the voice.

“Yes, quite ample indeed,” said Harcore.

The man followed the humming of the voice. It led him to a part of the forest unfamiliar to him. “We’re almost there,” said the voice.

The woodsman crossed over into a small glade with a half dozen trees at its center. “I’ve never seen this type of tree before,” said Harcore.

On the opposite side stood a dark figure, inside the tree line. “The smaller one on the end, see how its limb sticks out like some ragdoll. I need you to trim it,” said the figure.

Harcore walked up to the tree, raised his axe, and cut the limb clean off. The woodsman’s eyes grew large when, instead of tree sap, he saw blood ooze from the tree’s wound.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried Harcore.

“I told you I need your services. Here is the rest of your payment,” said the figure, who then tossed two more crowns at the woodsman’s feet.

Harcore snatched them up. “You said I would see Sedgwick soon. Where is he?” said the man.

“You’re standing right in front of him? See for yourself,” said the figure.

Harcord walked to the tree’s back side and saw his friend engulfed within the trunk. The woodsman scanned the rest of the grove.

“You demon, you’ve transformed people into trees. I’ll get the burgermeister to deal with you,” said Harcore.

“Yes, do that, won’t you? Don’t forget to tell the police where the blood on your axe came from. Also, mention the gold in your pocket,” the figure said.

“You monster, you knew I would take the money and not be able to say a thing,” cried the man.

“Why else would I give you gold for a simple axe swing?” said the figure who now moved into the clearing.

Harcore stumbled backward holding his axe in front of him as if to ward off an attacker. “The Horned One,” cried Harcore, who turned and ran back into the woods.

As the woodsman fled, he could hear the deep laughter of the Horned One. “Damn him, damn him to Hell,” cried Harcore.

Harcore stopped near a stream and cleaned his axe, then continued to his pile of gathered sticks. Securing them to his back, he returned home and said nothing.

The next day, word spread that Sedgwick had not returned from wood gathering. When asked about his friend’s disappearance, Harcore said he had not seen him.

The villagers soon gave up looking. Sedgwick was another victim of a wolf attack.

Harcore left the village sometime later, saying he was tired of the dangerous work.

As the town expanded into the forest. Developers encountered the glade with its grove of trees that resembled human figures.

Believing the trees to be an ancient temple. Later, it became a popular tourist attraction for the curious.

Visitors claim a shadowy drifter lives among the trees. No one has been able to get a photograph of him for the police. The townsfolk care little, feeling it adds to the grove’s attraction to tourists.

For More Fun: https://folksburywoods.com/