Unknown Location “The Smell of the Woods”

“The woods by my home are strangely lacking in myths and legends. Whereas the streets are full of all manner of monsters and mysteries, the woods are a location that is strangely absent from most of the tales that are told over a drink or whispered in uncomfortable company.

But there is one story I've heard, added to the few accounts I am aware of concerning strange occurrences going on in the woods. This one, and only this one, is of note in that not only is it one that does not involve any of the regular agents one would think of when you think of Wellington Street, but it also can be easily verified as truth.

I know it, because it is my story.

The event occurred three years ago.

The woods by my home are strange, even by the normal standards of this place. Though people don't often talk about it, there are all sorts of strange things to be found there that can make you immediately feel ill at ease, and desire to find your exit as soon as possible.

Trees grow in odd manners, some twisting about, around, and sometimes between one another. Stone patterns are found buried deep within the soil, sometimes unearthed after a heavy rain.

But what caught my attention was the foul odor that lingers on the petals of flowers and underneath the bark of some of the more sickly trees. For years people have simply attributed this to a localized blight that returns year after year, and it is perhaps not surprising that many of the trees and flowers that have this smell die soon after.

A few times I tried to get a sample of whatever was there, but when I had it looked at there was no evidence of anything being the cause.

The flowers simply came up as being flowers, no residue being found at all, even with the smell lingering. The trees, and more specifically the segments of bark, simply were wood and whatever normal sorts of creatures and fluids that one would attribute to a healthy tree.

This smell became my obsession, and it was not uncommon for me to awaken from sleep with the smell sitting within my nose.

Psychosomatic I figure, but it only made me search all the more for the source.

Why did I ever imagine that it would lead me anywhere good? Nothing here that is worth investigating ever ends well for those involved. And I think I knew that.

But that didn't stop me.

One day, I resolved that I would do a more proper investigation. During the spring, I would go out into the woods and go in search of plants affected by the smell. I would take notes, take pictures, and retrieve fresh samples that I would place in vacuum sealed bags. I was ready to crack the mystery wide open, to finally bring closure to one of the odd occurrences. I was ready to be out there for up to a week.

But I didn't make it a night.

Everything had gone so well at first. The sample process was something that I had done early in the day and well into the evening, and I set up camp with the intention of going back out as soon as light would allow.

I sat around the fire, feeling satisfied for the first time in a long time. I felt like I was doing something important, that I would be able to find the cause with such fresh samples. The samples were so pungent that I presumed that it was not odd that as I sat by the fire, the smell sat around me. It was stronger than even the smell of smoke, and I soon began to feel ill.

I went about double bagging the samples, assuming that they were the issue, but as I picked up the first bag, I sniffed it hesitantly, but I detected nothing but the smell of plastic.

Something moved in the periphery of my vision.

I felt the sound before I even seemed to hear it, and I vomited the moment my eyes locked onto its form. It looked at me with eyes yellowed with rot, its skin clinging to gummy muscles by black, tar like substances. A tooth fell from its mouth as it went to speak.

But the flesh wanted to fall off.

It couldn't speak. Not at all.

There was not enough left of a mouth to talk.

But there was enough to move.

Enough to get close.

Close enough to know the smell in a way I never thought I could...

Its been years now.

That thing was a victim, same as me.

But I got my evidence.

You can know what I am saying is true. You know I am not lying.

You can smell it on the paper. It lingers on everything in my home.

I smell it on my skin.”

The letter came with samples of some kind, though it was clear that whatever had been found inside had long since broken down, the bags sticky with wet dust, stored I suspect somewhere damp. There were pictures as well, and these did make note of particular patches of discolored sap and blackened bark.

I am not a biologist, so I sent it to one of the people involved in processing to find what they could.

But I couldn't detect the scent of anything. If anything, it all smelled terribly ordinary, which was odd due to a number of strange colored stains on the paper. I had assumed that these stains may have a smell, like spilled coffee or the like, but quite the opposite was true.

They had no smell of their own.

Or maybe they did once and now it has passed.

I tried talking to Eric about it, looking to get some sort of conversation going. I have been working with him for almost a year now, and I am frustrated by the fact he seems to be avoiding me. I see him talking to other people, looking in my direction and whispering manically.

No one is willing to tell me what he says, but it seems to upset them.

On a better note, Naomi and I got takeout the other day. She always seems so thin, so I figured that I would grab her a meal. I am not sure how professional that is, but she seemed to appreciate it. I have gotten her to open up about her work. Her art I mean. She paints in her free time, and I can see why she went to school for it.

She has quite a talent, but and I almost laughed when I saw her interpretations of some of the creatures that exist here. They were gruesome and dark, as I imagine someone unfamiliar with them would imagine it.

Like I said, she has a real talent for it. Just distorts things a bit more than I'd like. There isn't really solid evidence of things that lurk here, but those people who know they have seen something never really forget what they look like.

Her paintings seem more like dreams than reality.

At least as far as I can tell. I haven't dreamed in so long.

I remember when I was little I would walk home from school, cutting across the playground set on the far end of a park. There is a statue there, and I would often sit and stare at it for minutes at a time, taking in the details as they shifted under the light filtering through the leaves.

It is supposed to be of a devil of some sort, but I have to wonder...

Did the artist simply create what they thought was real, or did they know?

Did they guess at how it looked, or did they use first hand experience?