The Ivy's Hold

A Horror Story

My friend Ian and I set forth from the cacophony of city life, seeking solitude within the tranquil embrace of nature.

He resided within a picturesque abode, its facade adorned with ivy that seemed to have forged a symbiotic alliance with the very stones it clung to. The tendrils of green, an organic tapestry, wove their way around windows and over the eaves, a tangible testament to the harmonious coexistence of man and Mother Nature.

Ian had been getting on at me to get out of the sooty city for a while now. The city is alive all day and night since the introduction of gas streetlights. Truth be told, I wanted to be there, in the thick of it all. I had a fear of missing out.

‘You’ve been missing out your entire adult life,’ started Ian, ‘shut away in this box with all the other ants.’

‘Yes, yes. I’ve heard all of this before.’

He pinned me with a stare.

‘All right,’ I raised my hands in mock surrender. ‘I can resist no longer. I’ll pack some things.’

Ian clapped his hands. ‘Wonderful news.’ He was always ready for an adventure. The items in his everyday carry could see him through a long weekend in the woods quite comfortably.

I on the other hand had no idea what I’d need to pack. But with the expert assistance of Ian, I was packed in no time. To my surprise, I was looking forward to seeing the great outdoors. I would finally see what I had gone so long without.

With an eager spirit and packs laden with provisions, my companion and I ventured beyond the limits of urban life. We boarded the train at the colossal Violshire Central Station and travelled north for a little over an hour.

The shades of city grey slowly faded as the landscape came into view. Rolling hills covered with green grass and livestock flashed by as the locomotive dragged us farther from my comfort zone and into the wild.

We got off the train in a small village and were soon climbing up a packhorse track. We turned onto a dirt trail and headed into the heart of an untouched forest, a realm where I could imagine ancient trees whispering tales of forgotten eras and where the symphony of rustling leaves seemed like an invitation to uncover secrets long concealed.

As arrows of daylight pierced through the canopy, casting intricate patterns of shadow and light, it bathed parts of the forest floor in golden hues. A sense of serenity enveloped us, the harmony of shimmering leaves and chirping birds beckoned with an allure both mesmerising and unsettling. Yet, we let the sounds of nature carry us further from civilisation, and closer to an unknown wilderness.

‘You know what all this is?’ Ian asked, guiding my gaze to a carpet of green leaves with little white flowers.

‘Never seen it,’ I shrugged.

‘Wild garlic.’ He bent down and picked some. He distressed the leaf somewhat and held it under my nose. ‘Smell.’

I inhaled and was blown away by the strength of the garlic fragrance that emanated from it. I couldn’t contain a smile.

‘Good, no?’ Ian asked to get a response.

‘Good.’

He patted me on the back and we carried on, but even in the company of a trusted friend, nature had a way of isolating one's thoughts. As the sun's warm embrace began to wane, I required a moment of solitude when a pressing urge to urinate befell me. With a good-natured smile and an understanding nod, I ventured behind a thicket of densely clustered trees for privacy, leaving Ian to wait in the open.

I began to relieve myself when a fly of some description buzzed around my head. It circled my body and descended just above the ground between my feet. I briefly thought about catching it in my flow if it tried to sting or bite, but it went on its way without bothering me further. ‘Are the flies in here venomous?’ I asked. ‘I don’t want poisoning.’ As I came from behind the thicket, nobody was there to answer me. ‘Ian?’ I called.

There was no sign of him. Instead, I was met with the music of wildlife and foliage and the mysterious dance of light and shadow. Unease began to take root within me as though unseen eyes watched from the heart of the forest, and those whispers of forgotten folklore known only to the trees danced upon the edges of my consciousness. The breeze carried an otherworldly message, a reminder of the forest's ancient wisdom and untamed power.

With each measured step, I penetrated deeper into the forest's embrace, guided by both curiosity and the hope of reuniting with my companion. My senses were attuned to every nuance of my surroundings.

I became aware that my supplies were dwindling. I had all of my reliance on Ian and his experience surviving alone in remote settings. Without him, my chances of survival were low.

It was in my search that I stumbled upon a cabin, a structure nestled amidst the verdant wilderness. The cabin's exterior was adorned with ivy so vibrant and alive that it seemed as if the very essence of the forest had embraced the dwelling. I couldn’t help but imagine it as a wild counterpart of Ian’s house and the ivy that covered it.

On the porch, a figure cloaked in humble attire diligently swept the ground, a rhythmic back-and-forth that seemed almost hypnotic. A sense of caution gripped me, a primal instinct urging me to assess the cabin's inhabitant before making my presence known. If I startled him I might find myself on the wrong end of his rifle that I spotted leaning against the doorframe. Unlike the busy city, it’d be really easy to make a body disappear out here.

Relief surged within me as my companion emerged from the foliage beside the cabin. The figure on the porch was pointing his rifle at Ian with the speed of a trained marksman.

Ian raised his hands to show he meant no threat. ‘Good day to you,’ he said with his hands still raised. I was crouched behind the bracken, on a bed of ivy about thirty feet away and could just make out their voices.

‘That’s close enough,’ said the man on the porch with the cadence of an elderly person.

‘I appear to have been separated from my friend.’

‘Easy to get lost if you don’t take care.’ The man must have judged Ian to be of no threat and lowered his weapon. He welcomed Ian onto the porch of his rustic woodland home, directing him to a wooden chair by the ivy. Then he found himself offered a humble repast, a bowl of stew whose aroma mingled with the intoxicating scent of the surrounding flora.

‘Very kind of you.’

‘So,’ began my friend's host. ‘You’re not alone?’ he asked, scanning the forest. Something in his eye made me wait before revealing myself.

‘You haven’t seen anyone else, have you? My friend isn’t very experienced in the outdoors.’

‘I have not.’ The man on the porch paused before he spoke again. ‘I don’t expect to either.’

‘And why is that?’ concern growing in Ian’s voice.

‘It’s the woods.’

‘What of it?’ Ian pried.

‘I’ve never seen it behave the way it has been lately.’

‘Looks like a normal forest to me.’

‘There’s an old folk tale in these parts.’ The man took out a pipe and packed the bowl with tobacco. The brightness of the flame from the match he struck made me realise we were losing daylight.

‘Go on,’ said Ian, setting the spoon down in the bowl, disinterested in the meal.

‘The rate the ivy has grown here is worrying. It’s spreading fast,’ he said with a grave look at the ivy on the outer wall of his cabin, the intertwining branches forming a natural wall. ‘In the night, I can almost hear it moving. The folk tale is as follows:

Amidst the woods, where shadows coil,

In nature's heart, where secrets toil,

Ivy's fingers writhe and creep,

A horror tale in silence steep.

Beneath the boughs, a sinister grace,

An ivy shroud in this secluded space,

Its emerald tendrils whisper soft,

But darker deeds, aloft, aloft.

A hiker's step, a wanderer's tread,

Into the forest's depths they're led,

Unaware of the ivy's cruel art,

The trap that lies beneath its part.

With every rustling, every sound,

The ivy's grip begins to bound,

Around the ankles, a snaring vice,

A trap that isn't kind, but precise.

It climbs with stealth, a silent wraith,

A nightmare born of leaf and scathe,

The forest's beauty turned askew,

As ivy wraps what it construes.

In terror's clutch, the hiker thrashes,

The ivy's hold, his struggle clashes,

But strength gives way to creeping dread,

As foliage consumes, the forest's dread.

A silent scream in twilight's haze,

As ivy's fingers tighten, craze,

Nature's harmony, now a dirge,

As the forest claims another surge.

So heed this tale when woods allure,

Beware the ivy's lethal lure,

For beauty hides a horror stark,

In nature's grip, the forest's mark.’

With the tale's conclusion came a shift in the air, a palpable shift in energy that hung like a veil between reality and the arcane.

‘Do you believe that?’ quizzed Ian.

The old man's words wove an unfathomable story that stirred both awe and trepidation. A story has grown into the very fabric of the forest's mythology. The weathered man looked deep in thought before he responded. ‘I do.’

My gaze wandered to the ivy-laden walls, and for the briefest of moments, I fancied I saw movement, a subtle stirring within the foliage that adorned the cabin. The ivy, once an inert companion to the cabin's ageing facade, was moving.

I had been so preoccupied that I failed to notice the carpet of ivy beneath my feet had come alive, closing around my body and legs. In an instant, I was ensnared in the prison of ivy tendrils that seemed to possess a consciousness all their own. I yelled as I was dragged to the ground. No matter how much I struggled, I could not break free. Then, Ian and the old man were above me, hacking and pulling. The grip of the ivy loosened, and I was free. I rummaged around my pack that Ian had meticulously packed and found the handle of a hatchet. The other two were still going at the sentient arms and I joined them with haste.

‘Back to the cabin!’ the man yelled. ‘Back to a solid surface.’

We hurried to the cabin, swinging the hatchet at anything green that moved in the breeze, or by its own volition. Our boots gave gentle thuds on the three wooden steps as we made our way onto the deck of the cabin. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ I said. ‘What is out there?’

The three of us turned to face into the forest, the vast and mysterious land that had tried to claim me.

‘How long had you been out there?’ the old man said.

I walked to the handrail at the front of the deck and leaned on it. ‘Just before Ian arrived. Didn’t want to startle you so I waited.’ As I spoke, my gaze was fixed on the forest, and then something wet splattered against the back of my neck. I reached around and felt the substance. Upon inspection, my fingers were stained red.

Ian’s mouth hung open when I turned back to face the two men. He pointed a shaky finger at the old man. A gaping hole leading to somewhere unknown had opened up in the ivy-covered wall of the cabin, a green hue emanating from it. Ivy and vines climbed and reached out of it. One had shot through the back of the old man’s head and out of his mouth. Deep green started to coarse through his veins and a trail of blood ran from his mouth, dripping off his chin. The pointed end of the vine protruding from his mouth sprouted ivy leaves that grew and flourished before our eyes.

More terrible tendrils came from behind him, tracing their way around his entire body. They lifted him into the air and as he was suspended there was motion from within the hole. It twisted and contorted, a living entity that seemed to pulse with an energy born of the very forest itself. And then, from within this verdant symphony, emerged a green man – a humanoid being of leaves and shadows, eyes deep dark chasms with an ancient and ineffable intelligence.

We watched in silent horror as the old man was drawn into the other realm with flashes of green lightning blustering wind circling him, a macabre dance that culminated in his absorption into the ivy within the very walls of the cabin. The green man held our eyes as he seeped away after him.

The leaves fluttered in a gust generated from within the realm of the green man and the hole began to close behind him. The leaves shimmered and folded over one another as the opening shrank smaller, and smaller still until it was gone, replaced by the original wall of ivy.

The silence that settled upon the cabin was broken only by the flickering of the fire inside and the hushed breaths of myself and Ian. As the fire crackled and cast its flickering light upon time-worn walls, I felt a wave of realisation wash over me – that the forest, despite its beauty, held within its heart a tapestry of mysteries that transcended human understanding. Ian made his way inside the cabin, ignoring my protests and reappeared with a piece of firewood. ‘We’re burning it down and leaving,’ he said. We set the cabin ablaze both inside and out. Then we fled.

As we retraced Ian’s path through the forest, a mixture of emotions churned within me – awe at the unfathomable forces that governed the natural world and a sense of humility in the face of mysteries that dwell just beyond the surface. The forest has a darker underbelly, a realm where the boundaries between life and death, nature and the arcane, were irrevocably blurred.

Upon Ian’s return home, the ivy had spread over the roof and down the rear wall. It had penetrated the windows and grew inside. He sold the property without ever going back inside. He moved into the city to live a life away from the outdoors, much like my own life. He was able to rest in the polluted city with high crime because he could explain and understand these things.

Our experience was a narrative of intertwined fates and a reminder of the profound interconnectedness of all life. As the years passed, the memory of that fateful encounter would become a haunting echo, a reverberation of the time when we dared to tread upon the threshold of the unknown – and found ourselves entangled within the embrace of a forest that held secrets beyond imagining. A testament to the boundless wonders – and terrors – that lay hidden beneath the veil of the untamed world.