Chapter Text
Nick looked into the clearing and saw a ghost.
Well, he didn't seem like a ghost. He was there, very real and alive-looking. He was hunched over an old, giant stump, his thin hands reaching out to gather the small, brown mushrooms that grew around it. He wore dark woolen pants, a pale shirt and a clean, deep yellow cloak that matched the fallen leaves around the clearing. And his black curls lifted gently in the light autumn breeze.
But Charlie Spring had to be dead. He had to be.
He had disappeared a year and a half ago, walked into the woods with just a knapsack and vanished into thin air. Some say he had family problems, or was out of his mind, or had been relentlessly mistreated (Nick, sadly, knew this one to be true) and no longer wanted a part of life in their small, coastal village. Some even said he was a - Nick could barely think the word - a witch, and had gone off into the woods to conjure dark forces and torment the villagers from afar.
When he left, late spring last year, Nick was part of the search parties, of course. He was a lumberman, and though still young he had spent all his time in these woods. Nick knew every glade, every outcropping, everywhere a boy could hide. But no sign of him; Charlie was gone. Still, the search wound down so soon, Nick thought, his parents having given up on him quickly though his sister - Victoria? - continued to trek around the near part of the woods all summer. Nick had kept his eyes open, his ears out, at first in hopes of finding him alive, then maybe a body he could bring back, or, after the winter, perhaps a skeleton or a scrap of clothing.
But now, a whole year and a half later, Charlie was just - there. Gathering mushrooms in a clearing like nothing was amiss.
Nick took a deep breath. He had to say something, had to ask if he was doing well, if he had contacted Victoria, if he needed anything a poor lumberman might bring him. He lifted his heavy boot, took one big step into the clearing and said, "Charlie?"
Charlie leapt back like he had been struck with an arrow. His wicker basket flew over his head, tossing mushrooms into the air and across the leaves and dirt. He fell over backwards, landing on his cloak, and looked like he himself saw a ghost.
Nick continued, "Charlie, are you al-"
"Don't come near me!" Charlie shouted, with terror in his eyes but a steady command in his voice.
Nick stopped walking forwards but couldn't stop talking, "I just, want to know if you're all right? Have you been out here for all this time?"
"Drop the axe."
Nick had forgotten it was in his belt, its metal head shining. He slowly took it out and dropped it on the ground a few feet away, then lifted up his hands to show they were empty.
"Stay there." Charlie was firm but sounded deadly serious, picking himself up slowly off the ground. "You didn't see me. Don't tell anyone I'm here."
"I- I won't," Nick said, and then stood there, a little dumbstruck that this really was Charlie Spring in front of him, in this clearing he'd passed a dozen times. "I can help-"
"I don't need your help, I need you to leave me be." The firmness in Charlie's voice wavered for a moment, just on the last word, like there was something tearful and deep hiding behind it. "I need to know you won't tell anyone. Please."
"Winter is on its way. If there's anything I could bring you, I-"
"No." Charlie backed up slowly and began to bend down to pick up the scattered mushrooms.
Nick took a few steps forward. "Let me help, I scared you."
Charlie moved his hands up then, in a quick, sharp motion, and with ten feet still remaining between them, Nick felt a rush of air throw him backwards, knocking him off his footing. He stumbled back but remained standing, and fell silent.
Maybe they were right, and Charlie was a, a, no, it was surely just a gust of wind.
For a minute, he just looked at this boy, more like a young man now, bent over picking up mushrooms and quickly dropping them in the basket. Charlie only glanced down briefly, otherwise keeping his eyes locked on Nick like he might pounce at any moment.
"I'm sorry I startled you," Nick said, when Charlie had picked up most of the fallen mushrooms. "I saw you and was worried you needed help."
"I don't need your help, Nicholas." So Charlie knew his name - of course he did, Charlie must know the names of all Nick's friends, those who had tormented him those years before he walked out and never returned.
"All right. But if you need anything, I'm in this part of the woods all the time. And I promise I wont tell anyone. I promise."
"Good." Charlie began to half-walk, half-back away, stepping with a feline softness, silent despite the crunchy leaves underfoot. "Don't try to find me."
And with that, he turned past a pine tree, and was gone.
"Be safe," Nick whispered, to no one.