Beware the box of Barglefest! - A terrifying tale for greedy children...
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Once apron a time, there was a little boy, just like you, who, like many little boys your age, loved to go and play in the woods. After the work was done, all the little children in the village went out to the woods, to frolic amongst the golden dappled light of evening filtering through the emerald leaves of the canopy in summer to the music of little birds, or forage among the brambles for blackberries and play in heaps of crisp and orange leaves in the cool light of autumn. The creatures of the forest were not afraid of the children, as they knew they meant them no harm. That is, save for one. This is the little boy I mentioned at the start of our little tale. He loved nothing better than to shoot the little birds with the ones so sweet to gobble up for his supper, or to come out of work or classes early to devour all the blackberries before all the other children could share them out. In short, he did not care who suffered only for his greed to be sated, a long as it was not himself.
One evening, after being kept in by his parents, the little boy was feeling awfully angry with them. How dare they keep him in when there were birds to be shot and blackberries to be pilfered! And so, the moment his parent’s backs were turned, he sneaked out of the back door, and out into the evening. Winter was coming, and the air was bitterly cold. A gale was picking up , howling like the baleful cries of starving wolves. A last, brown leaf was torn from the twig where it had clung, leaving the tree bare as bone when the boy stormed past it with all the anger of the wind that howled. If only he had listened to his parents, he would have found out why there would be no other children in the woods that evening, and why all the doors in the village were closed, and the windows lightless. All the other children knew, that tonight was the night of Barglefest.
He indignantly picked his way through the grey, skeletal trees, crushing the grey husks of leaves under his feet, and peering around the trees for any little birds to shoot with his bow and arrow. The little creatures of the forest, though, knew him well, well enough to hide as he drew near. As he saw no birds to shoot, he grew more and more agitated, and he stomped further into the forest, cursing the little birds as he went. He felt like they were mocking him, hiding behind every tree in fits of laughter. Even the wind was laughing, as it swept through the lifeless trees. The path wound deeper and deeper into the woods, twisting round and round, till the forest edge could no longer be seen, but still he stamped on, believing that the birds were hiding deeper in. Just then, a dove hiding in amongst the bare branches of a tree stretched it's wings, and the boy noticed a feather against the now dark grey air. An arrow twanged from the bow, just missing, and the dove took flight, circling once around the boy's head, before disappearing into the woods. Now in fits of rage, the boy hotly pursued, off the path, and deeper into the woods, where the trees became dense, the light dim, and the floor covered with the grey pine needles and claw shaped fallen branches, that reached out to snag his clothing. In his anger, the little boy stopped and loosed his last arrow arrow, which missed completely, lodging itself in the trunk of a tree high up. The dove cooed once more, before disappearing above the trees and out of sight.
The boy's rage was calming now, and he turned around to see the way he had come. The trees were so dense though, and he couldn't see where he had come. He looked back forward, completely lost. As he had chased the dove, a thick fog had set in, and the wind subsided. He could only just see the cold moonlight filter through the fog, strangely illuminating the silhouettes of the dark trees, and grasping branches. Utterly alone and hungry, the boy staggered the only way he could think to go: forwards. Stumbling over the contours of gentle hills and jagged rocks, the boy looked wildly left and right, with the terrified look of a pursued animal glinting in his dark eyes. Oh the hunger! He fancied he could hear the moans of other creatures in this accursed wood, also condemned to an eternity of hunger. But there were no blackberries here, nor little birds to shoot. But what there was was a little boy, lost and in need, staggering through the forest.
But what was this! An orange glint in the distance, cutting through the cruel gray of the forest. It was his hunger that drew him closer to the fire. What he found there, was indeed a fire, burning in a circle of small jagged rocks. Placed next to it was an old and weathered wooden box, from whence came delicious aromas of food. Collapsing next to it, the boy fumbled with the rusty catch of the box, and opened it to find, yes, food! He clawed at the loaves of bread, gripping them and stuffing them down his throat, the slabs of meat he ripped with his teeth, devouring them, all this time, the low moans of hunger continued through the fog. He looked up for a moment, and noticed a hunched over figure disturbing the fog, which seemed to bow aside infront of it, though there was not a breath of wind. As it drew closer, darkly silhouetted by the cold moon, he saw that it was an old woman, with skin as grey as the forest, wearing stony clothing, and leaning heavily on a staff of gnarled grey wood. The figure brought no comfort to him. "What a nice little box you have there, little boy". He took no notice, occupied guzzling a fruitcake. "You must be ever so hungry ...". She sat down by the fire, watching the boy with icy eyes. "My creatures of the woods are hungry too. If you strain your hearing, you can hear their wails...". Indeed he could - cries of "sooo hungryyyyy..." whispered through the fog and the trees."Can they share some of your food? We are sooo hungry... Surely you could give ussss sssomthing...", she whispered, as dark and lonely shapes appeared from the trees. Rich, dark gravy dripped down his chin, as he tore into a leg of chicken. Come... Feed ussss...
The next day in the forest, there were no moans of hunger drifting through the trees. The fire and the box were gone. And that evening, the little birds of the wood had no fear to reveal themselves in the cold, bright evening - no arrows would shoot them now...
And so, my child, since you ask me if you may eat from my box, and warm your cold, lost self infront of my fire, be my guest...
One evening, after being kept in by his parents, the little boy was feeling awfully angry with them. How dare they keep him in when there were birds to be shot and blackberries to be pilfered! And so, the moment his parent’s backs were turned, he sneaked out of the back door, and out into the evening. Winter was coming, and the air was bitterly cold. A gale was picking up , howling like the baleful cries of starving wolves. A last, brown leaf was torn from the twig where it had clung, leaving the tree bare as bone when the boy stormed past it with all the anger of the wind that howled. If only he had listened to his parents, he would have found out why there would be no other children in the woods that evening, and why all the doors in the village were closed, and the windows lightless. All the other children knew, that tonight was the night of Barglefest.
He indignantly picked his way through the grey, skeletal trees, crushing the grey husks of leaves under his feet, and peering around the trees for any little birds to shoot with his bow and arrow. The little creatures of the forest, though, knew him well, well enough to hide as he drew near. As he saw no birds to shoot, he grew more and more agitated, and he stomped further into the forest, cursing the little birds as he went. He felt like they were mocking him, hiding behind every tree in fits of laughter. Even the wind was laughing, as it swept through the lifeless trees. The path wound deeper and deeper into the woods, twisting round and round, till the forest edge could no longer be seen, but still he stamped on, believing that the birds were hiding deeper in. Just then, a dove hiding in amongst the bare branches of a tree stretched it's wings, and the boy noticed a feather against the now dark grey air. An arrow twanged from the bow, just missing, and the dove took flight, circling once around the boy's head, before disappearing into the woods. Now in fits of rage, the boy hotly pursued, off the path, and deeper into the woods, where the trees became dense, the light dim, and the floor covered with the grey pine needles and claw shaped fallen branches, that reached out to snag his clothing. In his anger, the little boy stopped and loosed his last arrow arrow, which missed completely, lodging itself in the trunk of a tree high up. The dove cooed once more, before disappearing above the trees and out of sight.
The boy's rage was calming now, and he turned around to see the way he had come. The trees were so dense though, and he couldn't see where he had come. He looked back forward, completely lost. As he had chased the dove, a thick fog had set in, and the wind subsided. He could only just see the cold moonlight filter through the fog, strangely illuminating the silhouettes of the dark trees, and grasping branches. Utterly alone and hungry, the boy staggered the only way he could think to go: forwards. Stumbling over the contours of gentle hills and jagged rocks, the boy looked wildly left and right, with the terrified look of a pursued animal glinting in his dark eyes. Oh the hunger! He fancied he could hear the moans of other creatures in this accursed wood, also condemned to an eternity of hunger. But there were no blackberries here, nor little birds to shoot. But what there was was a little boy, lost and in need, staggering through the forest.
But what was this! An orange glint in the distance, cutting through the cruel gray of the forest. It was his hunger that drew him closer to the fire. What he found there, was indeed a fire, burning in a circle of small jagged rocks. Placed next to it was an old and weathered wooden box, from whence came delicious aromas of food. Collapsing next to it, the boy fumbled with the rusty catch of the box, and opened it to find, yes, food! He clawed at the loaves of bread, gripping them and stuffing them down his throat, the slabs of meat he ripped with his teeth, devouring them, all this time, the low moans of hunger continued through the fog. He looked up for a moment, and noticed a hunched over figure disturbing the fog, which seemed to bow aside infront of it, though there was not a breath of wind. As it drew closer, darkly silhouetted by the cold moon, he saw that it was an old woman, with skin as grey as the forest, wearing stony clothing, and leaning heavily on a staff of gnarled grey wood. The figure brought no comfort to him. "What a nice little box you have there, little boy". He took no notice, occupied guzzling a fruitcake. "You must be ever so hungry ...". She sat down by the fire, watching the boy with icy eyes. "My creatures of the woods are hungry too. If you strain your hearing, you can hear their wails...". Indeed he could - cries of "sooo hungryyyyy..." whispered through the fog and the trees."Can they share some of your food? We are sooo hungry... Surely you could give ussss sssomthing...", she whispered, as dark and lonely shapes appeared from the trees. Rich, dark gravy dripped down his chin, as he tore into a leg of chicken. Come... Feed ussss...
The next day in the forest, there were no moans of hunger drifting through the trees. The fire and the box were gone. And that evening, the little birds of the wood had no fear to reveal themselves in the cold, bright evening - no arrows would shoot them now...
And so, my child, since you ask me if you may eat from my box, and warm your cold, lost self infront of my fire, be my guest...
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