Leaving into the cool night air, I skated my way from my grandma's house to the old street bridge, a familiar landmark halfway between her place and my mother's. Beneath the bridge lay a forgotten park, a relic of the past, where time and gravity had conspired to reclaim the land. The ground was really steep, and the sandboxes under the swings looked like they were tilted at a crazy angle. Overhead, the bridge's underside bore the brilliance and emotions of countless graffiti artists. The letters and symbols drawn were glowing psychedelic swirls of intense colors.

At the park's edge, remnants of an old stone wall stubbornly hang on to its existence. Eroded by nature, weather, and the ceaseless activity of countless children, it was amazing that any of it stood. Half of a stone archway leaned against a decaying wooden post. "A curious kind of marriage between the structures,” I thought.

Passing through the opening, a small patch of gravel and grass made a clearing that led to a series of broad, flat stones leading down a slope to an aged iron gate. The gate was only a few feet high and meant to keep trespassers out, but the bushes surrounding the entrance were donned with the finest colored green leaves and white blooms. You would think they were waving enchantingly at you in the breeze—a beckoning hand, inviting anyone that came here a soft nudge forward.

I ventured ahead into the forest. I watched the moon drain the sky of any remaining blue to feed its glow. Only the eerie light of an autumn moon in a cold and cloudless expanse remained. The shadows of nature seemed to pulse and breathe with a life of their own.

“My grandmother’s lantern would easily destroy these shadows.” I thought confidently when I first started to notice it.

Strangely enough, I felt safe on this path, even with my inner monologue chattering with anxiety. The voice was trying to remind me that this “Was false confidence.” Also, I didn't have my grandma's magic lantern. Only a flashlight, firecrackers, and a pocket knife. The things I always kept in my messenger bag. Thankfully, with it being Halloween, I was carrying a wooden sword my uncle had made me as a kid. It matches my Robin Hood-esque costume, so it wasn’t out of place as I walked. I'm unsure exactly when I pulled it out of the straps on my bag, but I was holding it in my hand in preparation for anything that wanted to jump and take a shot at me. Some part of me had realized that having out wasn’t a bad idea.

“I could handle this. I have my flashlight, and it wasn't even that late anyway. Plus, anything I see right now isn’t real; it’s just a figment of my chemically designed circumstance.”

This section of the forest is specifically what my grandma called ‘Shadow Wood’ since, at one point, you could get into the forest directly from her house. The land had been cleared and houses built, so this pathway was much easier than sneaking through people’s backyards. The park had dozens of trails carved out from old roads; Forest Rangers and hikers made the hundreds of others to every lookout and waterfall they could find.

"Getting to the watchtower won’t take long, and I can still even see the lights from town. So, everything was fine." I said in an attempt to calm the anxiety down.

The path leading to the watchtower was just a short distance from the gate. It mainly consisted of old stones serving as steps for a short distance. Towards the road's end, there's a brief dirt path branching off from the town and rising up a small hill to an open area. My grandma dubbed this the 'secret path' in her books. Despite being at the road's terminus, a couple of other connected trails offered scenic vistas. But also, to find the 'secret path' required you to crawl under a couple of fallen trees to see it. “So thus ‘Secret Path’ get it?” I said to the wind.

Arriving at the clearing where the watchtower stood always brought me a sense of calm. The meadow sprawled across at least 50 acres, scattered with tree stumps, fallen trees, and occasional new growth. Surrounding the clearing, the boundary was marked by towering fir trees lining the edge of my trail. The watchtower itself was built from a distinct local stone known as 'Arcadia stone,’ characterized by its dark gray and purple hues, common in our area across the mountain ranges and surrounding fjords.

With this being on the developed side of town, it seemed there was more light here. It made me feel shielded from the encroaching shadows. Though I was familiar with navigating dark paths, here I felt untouched by them, even though my grandmother had always warned me about venturing into 'Shadow Wood' after dark. "Honestly, anywhere after dark." She emphasized the importance of always carrying the lantern for protection.

Having the lantern might not have been a bad idea, superstitious or not. I remembered countless conversations with her, reminding me of the stories. Scare tactics and childhood fables were how the world told us to see them. I always believed in the natural boundary between imagination and reality.

The old watchtower, as we called it, was a stack of blocks, a supposed remnant of the original tower. It tilted slightly northeast, and if you caught the time right, the moon would seem to sit on top of it. The lone pillar stood in the center of an island of rubble, parts of the wall that it was once connected to, as well as the rest of what seemed to have been a rather large watchtower. Most of the stones were large enough to sit on, so it was a nice place to hang out and look at the stars. Plus, the last thing I needed to do right now was be in front of anyone. Everything's quiet and safe here inside my head.

I lay down on one of the larger stones, and I could feel the coolness of its smooth surface, sending a shiver through me. My body temperature had to be at least 100 degrees right now. Thankfully, it wasn't like the flu, so I could feel the warmth, and surprisingly enough, my older sister's tights were pretty warm.

I could relax and let my thoughts stretch their legs; visions of my dreams were flooding in now. I had this particular dream over and over again. It was strange because it was a mix of my grandma's story and the real albeit imaginary adventures she’d taken me on.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Instead of the trail in this park, our adventures unfolded in her backyard. The watchtower was in my grandma’s books down a path in her backyard. When she would take me on her imaginative escapades to develop more of the story, we’d wander down the trail through her garden, leading to her writing studio. It was a charming cottage adorned with a sizable wooden door and a window to the left, inside dozens of bookshelves and a desk that overlooked the fruit trees and flower boxes outside. During the rainy season, a small creek would meander through her property, and she'd even created a pond where she placed a single yellow rowboat, all decked out to further my make-believe journeys.

That's where these magical tales came to life long before I knew this watchtower was a landmark… in a park… in my hometown. Since then, my dreams and imagination have gone incredibly dark. The once playful shadows of my childhood were now distorted and grotesque; even the air felt like death.

I would close my eyes, and suddenly, I would be breathing hard and running. Not a jog or exercise running, but a grasping my grandmother's hand and sprinting for dear life kind of running. The light was the next thing I recognized about my surroundings. The lantern showed us the path as it hovered above her head like magic.

“Even when it’s grim or dark and scary. Follow its light, and have faith that you're guided.” She had explained. I felt this was just emotion attached to the physical lantern, maybe a little sentimental token of her writings. In this dream, it proved to be so much more. It was a magical barrier, a shield. The shadows we hunted as a child would either run from its light or bounce off the force field.

She and I were the only ones that could see it. She had told me the only reason that I could see it was because it was mine. And when the time was right, I would have it, but something happened that wasn’t in the book and only in my dreams.

“A new shadow appeared,” I said.

A phantom with rags hanging off of bone arms, no legs to speak of, only a strange mist evaporating behind him as he moved. Its hood was filled with a ghostly dark smoke glowing gently, exposing two small glowing slits where its eyes would be. Somewhere inside, a spirit or something was illuminating this thing that was now towering over us. It was huge, three or four times the size of my grandmother. And even in the dream, I could feel the cold sweat of fear in her hands as we ran.

The dream also differed from the stories when we got to the backyard; my grandmother knew it. “Get inside the house,” she said, fear in her voice. They could never get in the yard before, but somehow, that no longer seemed accurate.

"I knew I'd find you here," a monotone voice said as a face appeared over the top of mine.

"Holy shit,” I gasped, even though I realized it was Yaj's face.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean to startle you, but I figured this was the best way," he said, laughing.

"Dude, I am freaking out right now. I feel like my heart just exploded in my chest," I confessed.

"Well, your mouth exploded, so that was awesome," Yaj said, bringing me back to reality.

"I know, man. I don't know if it's the change in adolescence or something inside of me. I feel like I'm going to freak out. And I know it sounds crazy," I continued, trying to find the words in my scattered brain to explain.

"Hey man, you don't have to explain anything to me. I believe in all kinds of things and have felt the presence of things before. But I'm sure the drugs aren't helping you either,"

"Okay, I'm not a crackhead getting high all the time," I said, defending myself.

“Can we argue about this on the walk back to town? Everyone is meeting at hulio’s to go trick-or-treating. I drew the short straw and was responsible for finding you."

"I'm not ready to go yet. You can go ahead and go back to them. I'm going to lay here a little longer," I said, using my messenger bag as a makeshift pillow.

"Well, you know how I feel about social settings. Between your mom and Melina, I have enough snacks to last me until they're stale." Yaj said, holding up a king-sized pillowcase over half full. "So, we'll stay as long as you want. My mom's closing the bookstore at 9:00, so we can always get a ride home with her."

“You know, when autumn sets in, the darkness of night makes it feel endless. I didn’t even realize it was still not 9:00. Sucks it gets dark so fast; it’s just you, the dark, and your thoughts running wild until the spark of dawn peeks up.”

Knowing we had a ride was comforting, not that I’d be in any shape to be social, but I could cross that bridge when needed.

I was angry at myself because I swore at my grandma. Growing up in a religious home, swearing, in general, is frowned upon. But I learned pretty fast that most of the things adults say, they don't do. And the "do as I say, not as I do" is a cliche for a reason.

“I have had these dreams and visions for quite a while now. What started as sporadic is now a constant. It wasn't the drugs either, don’t get me wrong, it seemed to help mask the problem, but that wasn't working as well anymore.” I said to my friend.

"Ever read the Tales of a SysOp?" Yaj inquired.

I'd given it a cursory glance, recognizing it as one of Yaj's favorites. Yet, I hadn't quite grasped its allure. "You probably have a more intimate relationship with every book on earth than I do, my friend," I replied.

"It's this notion that everything aligns, you know? As in the seven deadly sins, seven pieces of God's armor, and seven chakras." Yaj elaborated, weaving them together in his explanation.

"And you're familiar with the concept. The comparison between the armor of God and the chakras," Yaj continued. "The helm of salvation mirrors the crown chakra. It's about the helm—a crown, a hat, your head, your mind.”

"These energies seem real, but it's all about perspective, right? How we view the universe," I responded. The notion lingered in my mind, fitting perfectly as I observed the stars twinkling in the night sky.

"Perhaps you're starting to see things differently now," Yaj mentioned, settling onto a nearby rock. A part of me felt like I had embraced something that didn't quite match my expectations.

"I need to take a little walk. Up for it?" I proposed.

"Do you plan on looping back, or should I lug around my sack of candy?"

"We can circle back here. I was thinking about exploring the trail a bit. Head over to Storybook Land," I suggested.

"I could've guessed that," Yaj chuckled.

“If you're going to embark on a psychedelic journey, why not cap it off with a visit to an abandoned fairy tale park?" I quipped.

The problem with my grandmother’s lie was, I guess… I felt like a fool. Like I believed something and nobody else did. And I don't understand enough about my spirituality yet to know if I'm even doing this right. But something's out there in the dark, and I could feel it trying to find me.