The Boy from the Forest
written by jaron summers (c) 2025
Once upon a time, in a village hidden deep within the Black Forest, there lived a young couple, Hans and Liesel. They were poor but happy, filling their days with laughter and dreams of a future unburdened by hardship.
One autumn evening, under the golden glow of the harvest moon, they made a wish for their love to last forever.
But fate has sharp teeth.
Hans and Liesel were children of an upright, uptight society—one where sex education had long been outlawed, banned by nervous lawmakers who believed that innocence must be protected, even from itself.
Words like “pregnancy” and “conception” were never spoken in schoolhouses or kitchens, leaving young lovers to navigate their bodies and desires in the dark.
So when weeks passed and Liesel began to change—when her belly swelled and whispers spread through the village like ivy creeping over stone—neither of them understood.
“A child,” the old women murmured.
“A blessing,” said the baker’s wife.
But Hans and Liesel felt only dread.
“We did nothing wrong,” Hans insisted, voice trembling with sincerity. “This… this must be the child’s doing.”
“Yes,” Liesel agreed, her eyes wide with fear. “It bewitched us. A trickster spirit! How else could this have happened?”
From that day on, they spoke of the child as if it were a wicked thing, a creature born not of love but of deceit.
The blame they cast upon it grew so heavy that it took shape, coiling around their hearts like a viper from hell.
When the baby was born, the midwife gasped. “A fine boy, strong as oak,” she said.
Hans saw only mischief in his son’s bright blue eyes. Liesel clutched her child but did not smile.
As the years passed, the boy grew tall, his laughter echoing through the woods. Yet Hans and Liesel never let go of their fear.
They told the villagers of the child’s cursed nature, whispering that he had caused their misfortunes, their hunger, their sorrow.
And the village believed them, for fear is easier to hold than joy.
One night, the boy stood at the edge of the forest, staring at the moonlit path that led beyond the trees. He did not cry, nor did he look back when he stepped forward and disappeared into the dark.
And so, Hans and Liesel were free. But the air in their cottage grew colder, the walls creaked with a sorrow they could not name, and the laughter that once filled their home was gone forever.
For strange times do not create curses.
Only people do.
