Sarah never thought she would be sorting through and packaging her grandmother's earthly possessions on a Tuesday afternoon. Not that she ever planned it to happen another day of the week, but any part of death is unexpected to an extent; including the day of the week it happens. 

Her grandmother lived in a house that had preceded the forest, with a rickety old wooden fence separating the trees from her backyard. Above the porch, she had hung some wind chimes, clunky and odd with feathers and swirls etched into them; a rocking chair beneath. The chair was always facing the trees, but she had to move it for the sake of packing. Sarah could still remember the one time when she was six and tried to move the chair so she could stare at the street instead; her grandmother had scolded her fiercely, and her eyes were filled with something Sarah couldn't understand then. She couldn't fully understand it now— but if she had to describe it, she would call it something "wild". 

The wind chimes clattered against each other as a breeze ran through her hair. Stacks of packages littered the porch, and Sarah shivered as the wind blew down her spine. She glanced up at the forest. Dark shadows illuminated by the splatterings of sunlight greeted her, with littered shades of green dotting the trees. It reminded her of the old picture book drawings her grandmother would show her, with descriptions of how their ancestors watched as seemingly overnight the forest had pushed through the soil and claimed land. Sarah never fully believed that story, but when she stared at the trees long enough, she liked to imagine it happening before her eyes. 

Eventually, the sun was swallowed by the trees, and the moon rose above to shine silver through Sarah's window. Her chest tightened as she curled up in her bed in an empty room, in an empty house. She thought— if she stretched her ears enough— she might still hear her grandmother's voice reading from the Bible before bed. 

The trees groaned outside with the wind. For a moment, the moon seemed brighter than before, and when she peeked out the window she thought she saw a glowing stag. 

No, a doe. No, she squinted and rubbed at her eyes, a wolf.

But the longer she stared, the more the shape twisted in on itself. The dim glow from its skin burned against the shadows surrounding it and she faintly registered the sound of the wind chimes ringing instead of clunking. 

Her heart beat against her chest with heavy thuds. Surely, if she looked away from the window, away from the glowing fox in the yard— on the edge of the forest— it would vanish. 

Surely she was dreaming.

Yet with every new pump of her heart...it didn't move. Sarah finally took in a breath before scrabbling down the stairs and snagging her grandfather's old hunting rifle from atop the fireplace. She peered out the kitchen window. 

The coyote had moved. It stood further from the trees, within the short stretch of grassy field between the forest and the fenced-off backyard. She risked glancing away from it to peer at the wind chimes, eyes straining because the porch light had long since burnt out and her grandmother never bothered to fix it. Despite the clear ringing like steel bells, the chimes remained stubbornly wooden to her heavy eyes. If she blinked enough, the carvings glowed with the elk outside. 

Sarah wondered if glowing blobs of light that could change shape could jump over fences. Or worse— through them. 

The creature took another step forward, the grass flattening beneath its foot. She watched, blood rushing in her ears, as it crawled up to the fence gate. Despite it not having any distinct eyes, Sarah felt as though it were staring right at her through the window. She shut the curtains before making her way to the sliding door and stepping out onto the porch.

A faint buzzing reached her ears as she stared at it, arms trembling as she raised the rifle. "Whatever you are," her voice cracked, "you're not welcome here." The creature flickered but didn't move from the gate. It didn't open it either. 

The buzzing got louder, and her ears itched. A faint screeching could be heard from within the forest and Sarah rested her finger on the trigger.

"You look like the previous." 

Her heart stuttered. 

Its hummed words hung in the air as she stared at it. "Evelyn. Anne. Marque. James. Marie." The blood roared louder in her ears as it concluded, "Same face." 

"What are you?" 

The wind ruffled her hair and the edges of its twisting shape. Sarah could see the trees behind it, looming and dark in their shadowed branches and fluffed leaves. A small fox darted out and then back around into the dense underbrush. Moonlight rested on her cheeks as she returned to focus on the creature. It seemed to be staring at her still. No, she realized, not at her. 

At the house.

The buzzing faded into a low hum. "I am the forest." It flickered, like a candle, as the wind blew once more. Behind her, she could hear the wind chimes singing. A cloud crossed the moon. "I was here before you," although which ‘you' she wasn't certain of, "and you were here before me." 

"And why are you here?" She gripped the rifle tighter and the barrel quivered. 

Its humming keened, and before she could flinch, her sight of the creature faded. In the next breath, Sarah became the forest. She was the trees, the bushes; the paws thundering across the ground, the twigs snapping under feet; the fish in the river water, and the birds singing. She could see— feel— know— everything. Her uneven gasps were the wind. Sarah was the forest. 

How could she be anything else?

Distantly, she saw herself crumple to the ground. The rifle slipped from her slack hands and rolled across the grass. Her head crushed something. 

Sarah was herself. Her ears were ringing, and no matter how much she gasped she couldn't fill her lungs with air. There was never enough air. Her vision, dimmed and swimming, caught onto the bright light that was the creature, and she understood. She sobbed into the soil. 

The rocking chair creaked in the wind as the Forest looked at her. It shook its furry head and a smile curled along its mouth. 

"You look like the previous," it repeated. 

Something warm carded through her hair as she cried. The Forest stayed with her as the stars and moon glittered above them, dragging across the sky as the sun peaked up over the edges of the Earth. Sarah watched as it became translucent at the gate with the sun's rays. It didn't have eyes, but she knew it was looking right at her, at the house behind her. The wind chimes clunked together with the quiet creaking of the rocking chair. The Forest faded in time to her shaky breaths, and only when her eyes were straining to even see its outline did it finally say, 

"Don't forget."

Sarah didn't know how long she had lay there but the sun was burning her cheeks and her head was pounding as she gripped the fence. Standing in the yard, she felt something smush under her foot. Swallowing, she dragged her gaze around her, taking in the ring of mushrooms that she stood in, only broken in two places. She turned back to look at the ground where the creature had stood, and there in the fluffed grass were more mushrooms, with a trail of them leading back to the forest before her. Her mouth was dry as she stumbled back to the house and collapsed into the rocking chair. It squeaked a bit from the sudden weight. The wind chimes clattered against each other and she inched the chair to face the forest.