Page 3 of Just Right
There. I signed away the next twenty-one days, for better or for worse.
Let’s just hope that I didn’t sign awaymylife with it.
CHAPTER 1
MAGIC
It’s early autumn, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the trees. Each one is full, the leaves in varying shades of greens instead of yellows and reds and oranges like they were just beginning to change over back home. That’s the best part of living in New Jersey and commuting into the city to go to work. I experience all the seasons, even if I prefer spending most of my time indoors.
I’m realizing just how much of a homebody I am as I take my first few steps into the woods. I can’t tell you the last time I willingly spent time outdoors, and here I am: ready to spend twenty-one days there. It’s like I’ve signed up for my very own version of Survivor, and now it’s up to me to figure out what to eat, where to sleep, and how I’m going to protect myself.
I severely underestimated just how daunting it would be. Once I’d signed the contract, Sandy eased some of my concerns. The berries and fruits in the forest are edible. The water in the rivers and streams are safe to drink so long as the water is running and clear. And, most importantly, previous visitors—some whose contract stipulated they had to stay longer than my three weeks, others who decided tostay… like Charlotte maybe—have built shelters. If I find one and can claim it, it could be mine.
That’s my plan. Considering all I have is this black slip of a dress that Sandra and Gunnar gave me before they walked me out to the woods, plus a pair of black heels that make walking a bitch, squatting in some pre-built shelter is the best I can hope for for now.
My contract made it clear. I have to spend three full weeks inside of Blackmoor. On day twenty-two, I can leave and know I’ve earned my prize: five grand, a plane ticket home, and, supposedly, awish. Leave a moment sooner and I’ll be lucky if I can have the luggage I left behind at the hostel.
The dress is cut short, barely reaching my knees. I thought it was a joke when they offered stockings only for them to be fishnets. It’s about seventy degrees fahrenheit now, mid-day, and I’m comfortable. With the temperature dropping down to near fifty overnight, I won’t be.
So. Right.
Shelter.
It’s been about two hours already that I’ve walked aimlessly around the woods, searching. As I go, the trees seem to lean toward me, the light shifting, throwing shadows everywhere. Time seems to slow. Todrag. I don’t have my phone or a watch, so I don’t know how much has really passed, and I only hope I’ll be able to find some way to keep track of my days.
I’d like to think I’m following a path. There’s a small gap in front of me, narrowing and widening as it sees fit, but though itcouldbe leading me somewhere, I go because the idea of stepping off of it twists my stomach.
Somewhere over my head, a bird calls. A raven, maybe, because the caw is distinct enough to send shivers down my spine. Off to my right, something large yet unseen rustles in thedistance. The trees whisper as a slight breeze dances through their branches, shaking their leaves.
Once or twice, I get the feeling that I’m being watched. Being followed.
Being stalked.
The forest isn’t empty, I think, swallowing back my nerves. It’s not empty, but it is waiting.
For me?
I really hope not.
I believe in magic,but I don’t want to accept that monsters are real.
So far, I haven’t laid eyes on another creature. I’ve heard them, yes, but not even a stray chipmunk has scampered across my path, let alone some red-eyed demon haunting the dark forest. I try to convince myself that my biggest threat is tripping over my heels and breaking an ankle. Monsters? No, that was just the villagers poking fun at the ignorant American who thought it would be a good idea to cross the world and talk of magic and wishes and lost friends.
When I’m not ambushed by a werewolf or a yeti, I almost want to snort. Sandy and Gunnar’s final warnings to keep clear of the monsters who would have their way with me given the chance seem all the more over the top as a few more frustrating hours pass and I’m still alone. In fact, the loneliness is probably the worst part of this. By myself, I can’t tell if I’m just walking to my doom, destined to get lost in the woods and sacrifice it all, just like I promised I would when I signed that contract.
The loneliness, and the fact that—apart from two shiny red apples that I plucked from a tree—I haven’t found anything elseto break up the ominous forest. No water. No shelter. I rubbed the apples on the short skirt of my dress, ate one, then saved the other for when I got peckish an hour later. With both apples gone, I regret not grabbing more since that’s the only fruit tree I’ve found.
I’m still on the same path when the most unexpected thing happens.
Bees.
I get chased by bees.
I didn’t even realize how strange it was that, in a forest of this size, I didn’t notice any insects, either, until one bee buzzes right past my ear. Out of instinct, I swat at it, and that might be what sets off the others. At least twenty angry bees swarm around my head, and though I’m not allergic to their stings like Charlotte is, that doesn’t mean that I want to be stung.
So I ran. Without even caring where I was going, I flapped my hands around my head, trying to knock the bees away with minimal damage. I do get stung at least once, maybe twice, but as I fly through a much narrower gap between the trees, the rest of the swarm gives up.
I’m panting. I lost one heel in my flight, kicking off the other before I overbalanced and landed in the dirt. Now I’m in my stockinged feet, my hair is a wild mess of curls bouncing around my shoulders, and my skirt rode up so high, I feel like my ass is on display.
