It was Josephine who led Annie into the forest, walking as though she were in a trance with her chest unmoving and her eyes glazed over with a faint, white glow, just as Annie had seen in the buck. Her skin had become a veil, the pale color transparent and revealing strange, spotted markings beneath, like maps of distant islands.
Annie let go of her sister’s hand but Josephine reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to her side as the trail closed behind them and all that surrounded the pair were those towering emerald trees.
“Let go of me,” Annie muttered.
Josephine eyed her, the glow in her eyes growing faintly stronger. But the jarring change of her appearance belied her expression, as it was soft and caring and still sickly, which made Annie grit her teeth and blow air out through her nose as thoughts of the truth entered her head.
Her sister tightened her grip on Annie’s wrist and shook her head without a word.
Josephine’s words seemed to have left with all other sounds of the forest. It was quiet now, quieter than before, just as Annie had heard back on Earth when the forest sensed a predator was lurking within and all living beings silenced themselves for survival.
She took a trembling breath but picked up her pace, keeping her eyes fixed on the trail.
“Usually there’s a deer that comes with me,” she whispered.
The whisper echoed within the shadows like a summer song of cicadas. It echoed again, then again, then once more, and Annie looked at her feet.
“A deer?” Came Josephine’s voice, sweet the way she’d heard it back at home.
She looked towards the woman at her side.
Josephine didn’t look at her.
“Yeah,” Annie continued, “a stag. He— he’s…”
“Dead?”
Josephine’s mouth did not move.
The sound had come from behind her, yet it was still her sister’s voice.
Annie turned to find herself face to face with a younger, healthier version of her sister. This woman had a healthy amount of fat and muscle on her bones, her cheeks were rosy with the blood of life and her hair glistened brightly in the dim light like it had in the sun so long ago, her blue eyes were lit up and alert and she offered Annie an honest, true smile, like there was nothing to be hidden and nothing that had to be hidden.
“I’ve seen my fair share of dead deer around here.” The new Josephine tilted her head and watched Annie curiously. “The stag comes and goes. He doesn’t do much to keep me company, though.”
“Josephine?” Annie blinked.
“That’s my name.”
Annie spun to look at the woman who had been walking alongside her. The sickly blonde had stopped and turned and stood trembling, flexing her fingers, closing and opening her eyes, moving her lips in silent mutterings.
“Annie…” she whispered, her voice raspy.
“Annie.” The voice was relieved, certain, and Annie felt a lump rise in her throat. She faced the healthier Josephine, and the rosy-cheeked woman stepped forward, her voice lowering as she clasped her hand around Annie’s. “That isn’t me.”
“Josephine.” Annie’s voice was low. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’ll be all right. Just—”
“Don’t let it talk to you.” A cold hand clasped her shoulder and pulled her away. She was moving again. They were both moving again, and the new Josephine was left standing on the edge of the trail, the shadows licking at her sides like fire.
“It? That— that was Josephine! The real Josephine!” Annie thrashed against her grip, digging her heels into the ground. “I don’t know what you are! Let go!”
“Annie, stop!”
“Don’t. I— I need—” —she glanced down the trail— “I need to find Levond. I need to bring that one to Levond, not you!”
From Josephine’s left there came another figure, stalking over to the pair with the skilled silence of a cat, its hands extending to the elder sister’s shoulders and sliding along her back. Josephine shuddered and let go of Annie, spinning to face the new woman.
Annie looked up and found that Josephine was face to face with another version of herself. She resembled the one before, she still had that full look, but her eyes carried bags and the corners of her lips seemed permanently downturned, barely moving as she leaned forward to whisper to the woman Annie had thought, and wanted to think, was her sister.
Annie couldn’t hear what was said but the Josephine that had been leading her pulled her away and they were walking once more.
“Don’t look back at it, Annie.” She muttered.
“How do I know what’s real and what isn’t?”
“How do you ever know in a place like this?” Josephine whispered. “How are you supposed to tell what’s real and what isn’t? When you’re dreaming and when you’re awake? How do you know when you’ve died and when you’re living?” The woman eyed her. “You don’t. Not really.”
“I mean,” Annie breathed, “how do I know which one of you is real? What— what are you?”
“Which one do you think was real?”
Annie pursed her lips and thought, glancing back. The first Josephine had looked healthy. She looked like she did in pictures, she looked like summer and spring and she looked like carefree living, like better days.
“You want to say the first one.” The woman looked at her with faint, glowing eyes, her mouth twitching and her lungs not expanding and not deflating.
“That was how I remember her. And you’re not human.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything out here.”
“I would if you would tell me.” She glared.
“Have a little faith in me, Annie.”
She stared at her, parting her lips.
Darting from the forest like a pair of wild cats, Raymond and Martin suddenly came reeling through, stumbling into Annie and sending her to the ground. Josephine skittered away like a frightened horse, bracing herself on the trunk of a tree as the two boys wrestled each other to the ground, Raymond gaining the upper hand and pinning Martin by the shoulders with a scowl.
Annie looked at the woman beside her.
“They used to fight like this when they were younger,” she whispered, “when—”
“I know.” Josephine tilted her head in acknowledgment. “You got caught up in one of their scuffles one time. Nearly broke your wrist.”
“Why are…why are they here?”
She tilted her head and pulled Annie closer as the boys rose to their feet, brushing themselves off.
“Josephine?” Raymond blinked. “You look a little different. You—” —he was interrupted by a wheezing breath— “you— you said…” he stopped, breaking into a coughing fit and doubling over, wiping blood from his mouth. Martin came up beside him, resting one of his hands on his twin brother’s back, watching in silence as he struggled.
“Come on.” Annie was pulled away.
“What— what’s wrong with him? They don’t look like that now. They’ve grown up a bit.”
“It’s not them, Annie.” Josephine grit her teeth. Behind them came a long, drawn-out scream. “I told you to stay out of the forest. But it’s fine, it’s fine. We’re just going around— we’re gonna go around. Find another way. We’ll find another way.”
Annie pulled her hand away, and the woman pulled it back, her eyes dancing around the forest manically. Her fingers clenched around Annie’s and she began to breathe again, out, in, out, in, faster now, as if the air around her wasn’t enough and the forest was closing in.
Annie tried to pull away again when she felt the speed of her pulse increase. She backed herself into a tree, and this time Josephine let go, not bothering to look at her younger sister. Her eyes still danced swiftly across the forest.
“Annie—”
“You’re going crazy, Josie,” Annie whispered, bringing her hands to her silver necklace, running her fingers over the chain. “Or whoever you are. Whoever you were. Doesn’t matter, I guess. Levond will have answers.”
“Annie.”
“Just keep walking. Just— don’t touch me.”
“Annie, the forest. I don’t— oh my gosh, I shouldn’t have let you— let you…” Josephine looked up at the canopy.
Annie turned away from the tree she had backed herself up against and looked at the trail up ahead. The trees on either side were moving closer, the ones behind them had closed up the exit, and up ahead, the trail was growing narrower.
It’s trapping us. Annie realized, her eyes flaring.
She looked to Josephine for help and found that she was staring down the trail. Annie followed her gaze and watched as a silhouetted figure ran towards them, nimbly moving sideways to slip between the trunks as they closed in on him, then barely making it out in time to stumble into Josephine.
He wordlessly grabbed her by the shoulders and began to pull her back with him, though the trail had closed up and he was only leading her to the dark void between the trunks. It was hardly shadow, just pure darkness, and Annie fixated on it as a moth fixates on a flame.
“L-Levond?” Josephine stammered, stopping to look at him. “Levond?”