Pomegranate’s Forest
Happy Month of Halloween everyone! Each week I’ll be bringing you a scary story written by me during dark times, light times, and times I would rather not remember! My Halloween stories may be fictional, real-life terrors, or eerily familiar. I would like to warn you now that these stories can be uncomfortable, disgusting, and possibly revealing of a darker side of my mind (don’t worry, I did see a psychologist during the course of writing some of these)! The theme of each story is different and shocking. If you ever feel the need to stop reading I encourage you to stop. It is October and I want to write something to get everyone in the spirit of spook! Without further adieu, here is Spook Post One: Pomegranate’s Forest! I hope you enjoy!
⚠️ Content Warning: Depictions of parental death (overdose), neglect, self-harm, and body horror. This story explores grief and trauma through dark, supernatural imagery. Find the full trigger warnings list at the end of the post.
Pomegranate wasn’t a stranger to the woods. Since she was old enough to walk, she’d always been found playing amongst the trees, especially at night, for the darkness was her home. At the tender age of four, she had found her father, dead on the ground with a needle through his veins, her mother crying at his side, as Pomegranate slowly watched as her mother faded away into a darkness. These circumstances of her parents had often left her to entertain herself. Of course, her mother was around, but no one ever really did check up on little Pomegranate.
Each night, after ensuring her mother was passed out, Pomegranate would climb out of her window and wander to the wooden giants she had claimed were her friends. She always took time to bask in the soft green grass and dip her bare toes into the brown lake that led to nowhere. She would always ask the Earth before she took one of its flowers to put in her hair. It was here that she felt true comfort. Pomegranate cared for every tiny creature that she came across, learning each of the bugs’ names and singing songs with the squirrels.
One day at the knowing age of fourteen, as she walked over to the forest, Pomegranate began to get an eerie feeling. Something about her trees was sad and melancholy. She felt sorry for her dear friends, and to cheer them up, she sang songs of life and growth. On her way home that day, she noticed a small needle on her favorite rock. Pomegranate froze in fear. What was this needle doing in her forest? No one else ever came to these woods, and if they did, how would they know to leave something as disgusting as the very thing that killed her father on this rock, her rock? The thought left a shiver down her spine.
Pomegranate had decided to go to the trees earlier the next day to spend more time with her Earth, and in place of the needle, she found a strange, frail man sitting on the rock. He was wearing all black and hunched over. The man looked up at her, and Pomegranate couldn’t make up the strange man’s face. To look in the stranger’s eyes was pain. All Pomegranate could see were blurry features; maybe he looked worried, maybe he looked angry, she couldn’t bear to look at him. Pomegranate, with shielded eyes, walked up to the man and asked if he knew what had been recently sad about the forest. The man responded with an eerie groaning sound with a slight hum. The man didn’t have a voice, just distorted noise that made her tremble in fear. Pomegranate ran away from the man and went further into the woods. She was terrified of him, but she was more concerned for her trees. As she looked up to the earthly giants, she noticed that the tree bark had gotten softer and the leaves were turning white. Pomegranate decided to sing them another song of life and growth, hoping that they would feel better, hoping to heal her friends. Her efforts were left in vain.
As she watched the sun go down on her journey back to her bedroom window, she saw that the man was still on the rock. This time, the man caught Pomegranate’s eyes first. Pomegranate took this as a sign to walk up to the stranger. The man on the rock held out his hand, unfolding each disfigured finger one at a time. The man said something else to her in that horrible humming voice and that disgusting face appeared to have a smile. Pomegranate slowly backed away, the man still holding a smile that Pomegranate could see, even with his distorted face.
Pomegranate escaped back home to search for a sort of comfort, one that maybe a mother would provide. She shook her mother awake, tears staining her face, telling her what she saw. “You have to deal with it, Pomegranate! You have to face it before it takes over you! No one but you! Now leave me be, Pomegranate. I have to face it myself.”
She cried herself asleep that night. This man was destroying everything she had in this world. Pomegranate racked her brain trying to figure out what she could have done for the trees and the grass and the flowers and the bugs to deserve all this pain. She had to do all that she could to save her forest.
As Pomegranate walked to the forest the next day, she was met again by the sinister stranger. The worried, distorted face and the hum of his sinister throat filled her with rage, but Pomegranate didn’t have time to talk, she ran into the trees and to her grass. The deeper she walked, the more she noticed that the grass was fading. It was gray and rough. This wasn’t the forest that Pomegranate knew. The singing alone wasn’t working, so she decided to sing and dance in the wind around the Earth. She danced a dance of vitality and strength. She pushed her healing energy through the air, as the trees taught her, and fought to save them. After giving all the good energy she could, she decided that it was time to go back home.
The man was still sitting on that rock, only this time he had her father’s watch on the ground in front of him. Pomegranate was reminded of her father’s voice, uttering “Thank you for this day.” every time the sun went down. He would check the time and mark down when the sun was setting for each day. He was the one who taught her to love her Earth. But he couldn’t love the Earth if he was always trying to get away from it, she thought. She pushed aside those thoughts that have never served her.
There, again on the stranger’s face was a smile, a knowing one, a smile that Pomegranate won’t ever forget. Again, Pomegranate ran home, but this time she had to come up with a plan.
Before bed that night, Pomegranate swiped a small steak knife from the kitchen, rationality had escaped her. She had to save her forest, for she didn’t know who she was without it.
That morning at the forest, Pomegranate ran towards up to the stranger with her knife tucked in her sleeve. She summoned all of the power that was left of the forest as a warrior cry escaped her throat. She felt the power through her lungs, bold and unwavering, until she began to choke. The sinister stranger took away her voice. The power of her sounds had been consumed by this horrid man. Pomegranate’s warrior cry soon turned into that distorted hum. That hum that she had learned to despise, had now become a part of her. That made her absolutely sick with fear. She fell unto her knees.
As soon as she dropped, the trees began to fall, the grass became sand, and the flowers shriveled up into dust. The man slowly stood with a cracking and popping sound and hobbled over to Pomegranate as she crawled backwards, trying to escape his aura. The man slowly reached down and grabbed her by the chin, his grotesque nails grabbing into her flesh. He stroked her cheek, almost lovingly, slowly moving upwards until he reached in her eye socket. He reached inside and stole her right to see things clearly. Pomegranate tried her best to scream but her hum only sent a small message of discomfort. The now blind girl remembered the knife in her sleeve. She held the knife firmly in her hand and without truly knowing the position of anything, only knowing she wanted to escape, jammed it into what she thought was the stranger. A loud distorted cry escaped her lungs as she slowly pulled the knife out of her own stomach. Warm blood dripping out of her new orifice. She went to feel the hole but the feeling of her blood on her fingers made her faint. Lurking around her almost lifeless body, the stranger took all of his heavy, dark power and cloaked it over Pomegranate’s weakening energy. And then, he was her.
Pomegranate’s Forest holds a special place in my heart. I have rewritten this story about three or four times, each time making it even scarier than the last. This is my most recent version and definitely my favorite. To me, this story speaks to the dangers of never processing traumatic events and how they can slowly consume your life. No matter how abundant and fruitful your life is unchecked pain and unresolved feelings can always creep up. I invite you to interpret the story for yourself and explore any themes that may resonate with you. Leave any comments of your personal thoughts on this story, I would love to hear what you think. I hope you enjoy this spooky festive little thing I’m doing for my little blog and as always, Stay Alive, and Be All Over.
Trigger Warnings:
- Parental neglect and substance abuse
- Death of a parent (overdose)
- Child witnessing traumatic events
- Psychological horror
- Body horror (eye injury, self-inflicted wound)
- Violence / self-harm (stabbing)
- Themes of grief, trauma, and identity loss
- Disturbing imagery / supernatural elements