To survive in the forest, know this: the monster enjoys riddles.
This prompt was found on the subreddit r/writingprompts, here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/g6gtb6/sp_to_survive_in_the_forest_know_this_the_monster/
At first I thought the sign was a joke; I had to get through the forest to get to the market, so I pressed on without another thought. But as I continued down the dark, lonely path, I began to wonder if it was real after all.
It does seem like the sort of forest I monster would live in, I thought.
The trees were dense, and their leaves shrouded most of the sunlight. The dirt beneath me had become softer from the rain last night, and the air smelled of the rain so much I could feel it seeping into my skin. Apart from my footsteps, there was only the sound of a few birds chirping.
The sun was still ahead of me, so I knew I had a ways yet to go before I reached the end of the path and left the forest.
What kind of monster loves riddles? I wondered.
I imagined one of the monsters from a story my mother used to tell, about a boy and his dog that went into the forest alone one night to pick a rare flower for a girl he liked. In the end, the boy and his dog were eaten by a ferocious animal. I learned two lessons from it: never go into the forest at night, and no girl is worth dying over.
At least, that’s what I thought at the time; now I knew what the second lesson had really been about. I passed by a cluster of wildflowers, and the image of a boy one winter older than me came to mind.
I should ask him if he likes flowers, I decided.
Not long after seeing the wildflowers, I began to hear a new noise from the path ahead; something was growling and pacing about in the undergrowth just off the path. I tried my best to swallow my growing fear, and pressed on. My hands were clenched and stuffed into the pockets of my worn coat as I walked faster.
It won’t see me. I’ll walk right past it.
It won’t see me.
It won’t see me.
It won’t –
The something I heard scurried past me, right in front of my feet. I yelped and swallowed a scream. By the time I had jumped back and gotten my bearings again, it was gone.
The weight lifted from my chest, and I breathed slowly. I unclenched my fists and started off again.
Not but ten more paces, and two yellow eyes peered out at me from a hole in a fallen tree in front of my path. I froze and stared at it.
“Shoo!” I said.
I hoped it sounded convincing enough, but the creature didn’t move. It blinked and poked its head out.
The creature had unusually large eyes, and a large pair of pointed ears to match. The ears twitched and moved, seemingly out of its own control. It had a small nose, and from what I could see of its body from the hole in the tree, it seemed to have four legs.
“I don’t know any riddles,” I said finally.
The creature’s eyes lit up, and its face turned into something resembling a smile – or perhaps a smirk.
“Human knows riddles; human must. That is price,” it said.
Its voice did not match its small appearance; it was as if it had stolen some other creature’s voice. It was not very deep, but it still kept me frozen with fear.
“I don’t know any,” I repeated.
The creature turned its head to one side. It crawled the rest of the way out of the tree, and I saw plainly that it was no bigger than the cats that lived in my barn. I had never seen a coat like this one before; it had fur all over, but there were also small quills that were smoothed down into the fur. It had paws like a cat’s, and moved not unlike one, its tail flicking about in a similar manner to its ears. It sat in front of me on its haunches, and wrapped its tail around its legs.
“Riddles – speak them now,” it demanded.
I racked my brain for a riddle; where had I heard one last? Had father ever told riddles? Mother?
The market! I thought, last week!
I cleared my throat, and wished I’d had the sense to bring a waterskin.
“Uh… a box… without hinges, key or-“
The creature hissed as if I had thrown hot water on it.
“Heard that one before, we has!” it said, “Another!”
They were coming back to me now, the riddles I’d heard at the contest in the market last week.
“What is more useful when it is-“
Again the creature hissed.
“Eggs-riddle, again?” said the creature.
It scowled at me as if I had insulted it.
“Stupid human, must be,” it said, waving its paw in my direction, “only know eggs-riddle!”
My face turned red, but I managed to hide the hurt in my voice:
“I know others! It’s hard to think of riddles off the top of your head, you ever thought of that?”
The creature squinted at me.
“Good riddle. Tell now,” it said.
I couldn’t concentrate with it staring at me like that. Its yellow eyes bore their way into me. I racked my brain again until finally I thought of one.
“Amazing creature am I — I vacillate my voice:
sometimes I bark like a dog;
sometimes I bleat like a goat;
sometimes I honk like a goose;
sometimes I screech like a hawk;
sometimes I imitate the ashen eagle,
the cry of warlike birds;
sometimes the voice of the kite
is ready in my mouth;
sometimes the gull’s song
where I perch happily -“
“What am I?” I said.
The creature snorted and squinted hard at me. Its tail drew and withdrew from around its legs over and over as it thought.
Then its eyes glinted as it thought of an answer – the smirk returned to its face.
“Magpie,” it answered.
I slumped onto the ground and sat only a few paces from it.
“I don’t have anymore riddles,” I said.
It made a noise in its throat, and seemed to consider this.
The sun was right above my head now, and a few rays broke through the trees and landed right on my neck. I was tired, my stomach was demanding to be fed, and my feet ached.
“Why do you even like riddles?” I demanded.
Its eyes returned to their normal, curiously large shape. It turned its head to one side.
“What’s the point of it?” I said, “You, you wait around in the woods for people to pass by, just to hear riddles? Where’s the fun in that?”
I had had enough. I got up and brushed the dirt from my trousers. I took a step forward, determined to force my way past the monster –
when it began to laugh.
Or at least, something that resembled a laugh; it came out in a squeaky, hoarse tone as it snickered at me. It grew into a louder noise, until finally it rolled onto its side and kept laughing.
“Where is fun in riddles, it asks?” said the creature. “Only fun there is!”
I rolled my eyes and walked past it, just as it settled down from its laughter.
“Magpie-riddle good,” it said, “human pass.”
I made a noise of agreement and kept on, but I could hear it following me. I could only stand it for a few paces before I turned back around.
“What do you want?” I demanded. “I gave you a good riddle, go back to your home!”
It shook its head.
“Magpie-riddle good. Never hear before. Only human to tell good-riddle,” it said.
It walked in front of me and smiled up at me, this time without any hint of a smirk.
“We follow,” it said.
I blinked at it.
“You what?” I said.
“We. Follow,” it repeated, “Human-“
It paused and seemed to be thinking very hard.
“Int-er-est…ing,” it said, taking great pains to sound out the word.
It nodded.
“So we follow. Never sees human with good-riddle-knowings,” it said.
“Is that what the point was,” I said, “to find someone who’d tell you a good riddle?”
It shook its head.
“Riddles best-thing, always. Good human? We never sees before – so we follow,” it said.
I stared at it, dumbfounded, for a moment. Then I sighed.
It’s not some ferocious beast, I realized, it’s just lonely. And bored.
I nodded and continued on my way.
“Come on then,” I said.
The creature made a noise like a chirp and followed at my side, all the way to the market.
Author’s note: the “Magpie” riddle is from the Exeter Book, a tenth-century book of riddles. The other riddles are well-known ones; I didn’t write any of the riddles, but I did write the rest of this story.
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