Page 6 of The Frog Prince

“What are you running from?”

“A g-geist. It was a geist. Wicked and vengeful and born from shadow.”

He could barely get the words out, and Alwin knew better than to scoff at the superstition as his heart froze. He’d seen more creatures than he knew the names of in this forest over the years, and his frogs had heard many a tale more. But Alwin himself had seen the damage a walking shadow could do when wielded.

His eyes cast toward the makeshift graves of his people, before he tightened his jaw.

“A geist,” he repeated serenely, taking a squelching step along. “And you thought it best to lead it here? Not only an uninvited guest, but with his friends in tow. Am I supposed to accommodate you both?”

“No! Please…it killed everyone. It took my ear. I ran before it killed me too,” he explained, spitting and blubbering. “I didn’t know where I was going, I swear it.”

Alwin’s heart continued to hammer as death played behind his eyes. A frog jumped out to land next to the man. He screamed in fright and shrank away again, kicking out at it viciously.

Alwin let out a deep croak of anger that shook the boughs and had the man falling to his backside, whimpering and searching for the source.

“Tell me,” Alwin growled. “Why is a geist after you?”

The man fidgeted with guilt, his eyes darting. “I…”

Alwin read every line of his body. “What could a person have done to garner the ire of a vengeful spirit, I wonder?”

“I…I…”

“I suppose it’s none of my business,” Alwin said airily, continuing on his path past the willows. “Though you failed to consider one thing…”

He appeared from around the side of the curtain slowly, finally stepping out into view.

“That there might be scarier things than geists in these woods.”

The man’s scream echoed through the forest. He stared wide-eyed and terrified at Alwin’s face for a moment, before tripping over himself to get away. He left Alwin behind, clinging to his shadows, bitter bile rising in his throat at the realization that he truly was a living, breathing nightmare.

Two

Otto

Disorientation set in on day three. The suffocating canopy overhead blocked any real sunlight from peeking through, making every hour that passed look the same. Murky and drab and colored green. It made it hard to tell whether it was night or day. Made it hard to keep track of the passage of time. Made it feel like he was lost in a space outside of reality.

He gave up counting seconds and minutes and hours after day three. He kept losing count and questioning his calculations as to how long he had been away from home. Arguing with his own mind and realizing it only made everything worse.

He rested when he felt like he couldn’t take another step, leaning against rough bark and allowing sleep to pull him underfor just minutes at a time. It fogged his brain and lengthened every shadow. Every breath he took became louder, like he was announcing his presence to the entire forest and waiting for whoever or whatever heard him to take interest in the intruder.

He tried talking to himself under his breath when the silence became too much, but he found soon enough that he wasn’t interesting company to keep. All he did was voice his worst nightmares out loud, allowing them to take shape.

He abandoned that activity when he made his own heart thunder in his chest by wondering if the wolves he could sometimes hear howling liked the taste of human flesh.

It felt like the forest had taken him and changed him in the handful of days he’d spent wrapped in its darkness. He wondered who he’d be once he finally went back home. If there’d be a shred of his own self left anymore.

The Otto he knew took pride in being levelheaded. His entire life, he’d been the reasonable one. The responsible one. The one people went to for sage advice and calm consideration of all options.

So why was he here? Why had he opted to go mad in this grave of wild nature? Why had he decided to allow a friend to become a foe? Because the nature he knew was healing, nurturing, protective. This place was none of those things. This felt vindictive and threatening. So why was this the best his mind could conjure after so much time spent mulling it over?

He knew the answer.

It wasn’t the best.

It wasn’t even good.

What it was, was the only option he had left. The desperate scream of a drowning man before the waves swallowed him. His final hope to keep the most important thing in his life.