The Woman in the Woods
(available here on Amazon.com)
Chapter 1
I sat in the woods for a long time before I heard it. It wasn’t loud, but I knew what it was in an instant. The faint screech of my mother’s angry voice screaming my name from a distance rattled me. I knew I was in trouble.
I needed an escape, but nothing came to mind. I was a kid with no money and no place to go other than back to the torment, courtesy of my mother, brother, and sister.
If only I had heeded the inner voice that told me not to sass off, to listen and oblige. But enough was enough. I was the family scapegoat, the recipient of their anger and pain, and I was tired of taking it. My father worked more than he was home and didn’t see what my mother, brother, and sister did to me. When I begged him to help me, he wouldn’t. He was too afraid of my mother’s retaliation.
As I stood like a statue in the quiet woods, darting my eyes back and forth, I tried to think. I didn’t want to face my mother’s wrath for something I didn’t do. Again.
My older brother and sister made it their mission to make my life a horrible existence. They called my mother at work and told her I didn’t do my chores and that I yelled and fought with them. The sad thing is I did clean the bathroom only to have them mess it up—they even got dirt from the garden and rubbed it into the tub, making it dirtier than before I cleaned it.
I flipped out! Who wouldn’t? A person can be tormented only so much before they snap. So, I let them have it, with not only my words but my fists, too. When my parents were not home, my siblings taunted me incessantly, and I wasn’t going to take it. Again.
The woods were my sanctuary when life at home was too much. I had a childish hope that a sweet fairy would find me sobbing – and comfort me. She would let me stay with her and take care of me. Then I wouldn’t have to go back home.
Not having time to grab my coat, I was cold, and standing in the peaceful forest, I knew there were no fairies and that I was all alone. Feeling defeated, I felt I had no choice but to go back.
As my feet dragged along the crunching leaves, my mind was elsewhere, as it often was, to a place and time where I was free. I made my way through the woods toward home.
And that’s when I saw her.
She couldn’t have been more than four feet tall and looked ancient, at least to a fourteen-year-old. I saw a basket near her feet. She had gathered something in it.
“Hello,” the stranger spoke in a whispering voice. Her dark, stumped teeth were not a welcoming sight.
Startled, I forced a smile, like the one my mother forced me to do after she screamed at me to wipe a frown off my face or she’d give me something to cry about. I felt the same fear and could not produce any words.
“Just out for a walk to get some pine cones. I’m using them to make decorations for Christmas,” the woman added.
“Oh,” was all I could muster. I thought she must not have much to do since it was only October.
I had never seen her before in the neighborhood, and I knew everyone – if not by name – then definitely by their face. I didn’t miss much and paid close attention to everything around me. I was always on high alert and anxious no matter where I was – except for the woods. I felt calm there. I could think there. I could be myself there.
“Out for a walk to enjoy the woods, too?” the frail woman said, smiled, and walked toward me.
“Uh-huh,” I replied and cringed a little as she got closer to me on the path.
“It’s too chilly to be wearing just a shirt, dear. I thought it would snow today, but the sun wasn’t having any of that.” She chuckled at her wit as she looked up at the blue sky.
“I wasn’t planning on staying out that long.” The wind picked up and sent a cold chill throughout my body, and I craved the comfort of a warm house. “But I’ve got to get home now.”
“What are you going to do, Raphaella?”
I froze, not from the temperature, but because she called me by my name. I turned around to look at her, and she smiled, seemingly unashamed at her bad dental situation. She appeared to almost glow with cheer.
“How do you know my name?” I asked with an unsteady voice.
“I heard someone calling for Raphaella and figured it was you.”
That made sense, so I calmed down a bit.
“I’ve seen you run into these woods crying and always wondered what would make a young girl so sad,” the old woman said, shaking her head.
She seemed harmless, but I didn’t know her or could trust her, so I answered, “Just stuff going on.”
“I know many things, dear, and could see things most people cannot see. You can tell me.” The woman smiled again.
Now more terrified than cold, I began to shiver – teeth chattering, shivering. I didn’t want to go back home, but what was worse? Stay here with a creepy lady and freeze or return to face punishment I didn’t deserve?
“You know it’s not always going be like this.” The woman looked at me with serious eyes.
I stood still and couldn’t believe what she was saying. How did she know me or what I was going through? I tried to revert my gaze anywhere else than to her eyes, but they had a mesmerizing quality.
“Here, take this.” She offered me the wool wrap she had draped over her shoulders. I was afraid it would smell like mothballs and some weird ointment older people use, but it didn’t. It had a pleasant fragrance of lavender and patchouli oil, something I’d smelled before in a candle shop that I liked. It felt comforting on my freezing body and warmed me instantly.
“Where do you live?” I asked, now able to withstand the cold air without trembling.
“Over there.” The woman pointed to a blue house in the distance as if unaffected by the cold without her wrap.
I wondered if she just moved in because I didn’t remember ever seeing her before.
“Don’t worry so much, Raphaella. You have a life graced with an amazing purpose, and even though you may not see it now, you will see it soon enough. But tell me, please, why have you stopped singing?”
“When did you hear me singing?” My voice raised, and I took a step back, fearful of her response.
“Oh, dear child, it was magic to my ears. I listened when you sang walking in the woods, but you stopped. Instead, I heard you weeping.”
I hung my head, trying to avoid showing her the tears that filled my eyes. It was no use. They dribbled on my cheeks like a leaky faucet.
“What is causing such a sweet, talented girl to cry?” The stranger looked genuinely concerned about me.
“No one wants to hear me sing. I guess I stink. My brother and sister tell me to shut up all the time. Even my mother tells me to stop singing when I’m in the shower or bedroom. She screams at me that she has a headache and wants silence. I sing walking home from school and get made fun of all the time by the other kids in the neighborhood. The squirrels probably don’t want to hear me singing either.” More tears ensued.
“Raphaella, I am so sorry, dear. The only reason I could think of why people are so mean to you is that they fear your kindness, talent, and creativity. But please hear me when I tell you that you have the voice of an angel, and anyone should feel honored to listen to you sing. Don’t ever stop singing.” The woman walked towards me with open arms.
Oh, no! The word ‘danger’ flashed red in my mind. This situation became too weird even for me, a kid who loved scary books and movies and thrived on dreaming up an alternative universe where I had a loving family and a happy home.
“I… I better get back home now. Thanks for this.” My arm shook as I handed back the blanket thing I had draped over my shoulders.
“Don’t be scared! I want to help you.”
“Thanks, but I have to get home now.” I began to walk away, with my back to her.
“Tonight, it will all be explained in a dream. Remember it. Every detail. Write it down if you must, but remember it!” The woman’s voice grew softer as I got further away.
“Okay, thanks!” I hollered without looking back and ran home to face my punishment.
Chapter 2
I wore a brave face when my mother let out her anger on me, but when it was over, I retreated to the basement to be alone and sobbed for a long while. I didn’t want to leave there when I heard my brother’s menacing voice saying dinner was ready. I had no appetite, let alone wanted to sit at a table with them. But then my father’s voice bellowed down the stairs, and I knew I better move.
To make dinner bearable, I spoke only to my father. “Dad, who lives in the blue house up the street?”
“Nobody. It’s been empty for years. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. I walked past it today and wondered who lives there.” I wasn’t about to say anything about the old woman. I thought maybe she just moved in and my dad didn’t know.
Chapter 3
I went to bed early, and I replayed what the old woman had said when I closed my eyes. How did she know my name or that I stopped singing?
Most of the time, I can’t remember my dreams, but as the old woman had said, I dreamed a weird dream – and I remembered it – but I didn’t understand any of it. I was in an empty lot, and a green ball was moving to and fro from a gust of wind. I reached out to touch it, but it changed into a book with no title, and all the pages were blank. The only thing written on the cover was “… by Raphaella Dosoto.”
I woke. I felt silly and was a bit disappointed to think that the old woman was some angel to help me, to give me a message in a dream, but I was wrong because it made no sense.
Chapter 4
After school that day, I went back to the woods. My brother was on my case about doing the dishes when it was my sister’s day to do them, but I escaped that fate in search of a better one.
I went through the woods, but there was no sign of the woman. I even walked to the blue house, but it looked vacant. There were no curtains on the windows, and when I looked inside, it was empty and in rough shape from years of neglect.
Still, I knocked and waited for an answer, believing the woman lived there in squalor. After a few minutes, I gave up. As I began to leave the overgrown yard, a fierce wind blew at me and hit me like a football linebacker, and I fell hard to the ground.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but a sweet voice woke me.
“Raphaella! Raphaella! Are you okay?” It was a familiar face. She reached out her hand to help me up.
“Mrs. Martin, what happened? How did I get here?”
“Dear, you must have fallen and got knocked out. I saw you in the yard and came over.”
“I was here to see the old lady who lives here.” I pointed to the house and then brushed off my pants.
“Oh, honey, no one has lived here for years. It’s an eyesore if you ask me. I wish someone would knock it down.”
“But I saw her yesterday in the woods. She said she lived here.”
“How hard did you hit your head, dear? Mrs. Martin examined my head for a wound.
“I really did see her!” I answered in a defiant tone. “She was a short old lady and wore this funky cape thingy and had awful teeth that looked like rotten corn kernels.”
Mrs. Martin looked pale.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Well, there was an old woman who lived here many years ago who looked like that description, but she’s been gone almost ten years now.”
I shook my head as if wondering if I had just imagined meeting the woman in the woods. Then I felt the pain, and I rubbed the spot on the back of my head where I hit the ground, and thankfully, there was no blood. “Oh, I must have hit my head too hard. I need to get back home.”
“Why is there mail in the mailbox?” Mrs. Martin walked past me as if in a trance, stepped carefully onto the porch, and pulled out a yellow envelope from the box. “It’s addressed to you.” She turned to me, breathing heavily, her face void of color.
“What? What do you mean? My house isn’t even near here. And why do you look like you just went into a haunted house, and the chainsaw guy followed you?” I grabbed the envelope from her shaking hand.
The dainty cursive handwriting looked like something my grandmother would write. Curious, I opened it – wanting to have a witness in case it was something terrible.
Inside, there was a pretty hardcover blank journal and a note that read:
“Raphaella – for you – write what you know, and all will be fine.”
It was the same blank book from my dream with my name etched on the front cover. “This must be a joke! I don’t want this thing!” I tossed it on the ground like it was on fire.
“What is it? Mrs. Martin’s eyes focused on the book. She reached down and picked it up.
“Why did it you throw this? It’s just a personalized journal. Just delivered to the wrong address. It happens all the time to me.”
“I… I… guess I… don’t… I have no idea.” Words escaped me.
“Do you mind if I see the note?”
I shook my head.
Mrs. Martin reached down and picked it up. Her eyes grew twice their size as she read them. She added with a shaky voice, “Come over to my house. I need to check something.”
We hurried across the street and entered her home. She hurriedly moved to a kitchen desk and took out a recipe binder. “I want to check the handwriting.”
“Compared to what?”
“But that’s impossible,” Mrs. Martin whispered, looking pale and weak as she handed me the note and recipe.
The handwriting looked similar. The hairs on my body stood at attention.
“Her name was Mary Stevens,” Mrs. Martin said as she sat down and had a faraway glare in her eyes. She continued, “She was a kind woman who gave me a Christmas present every year and shared her garden crop in the summer. She died the year I got my new car; that’s how I remember it so well. I could still hear her voice telling me what a fancy car I had, and she joked about taking her for a ride. So, the next day, I went over to get her to go to the store with me, but there was no answer at the door. I looked in her window and saw her and knew something was wrong. I called 911. After the EMTs settled her into an ambulance, one of the guys told me it looked like she died peacefully.”
Chapter 5
Mrs. Martin cried, and even though I barely knew the old woman, I couldn’t hold back my tears.
“Then how did I see her in the woods? She talked to me! Even knew my name! I was like four when she died! It makes no sense!”
“I don’t know… this is all so upsetting and weird. But the handwriting looks exactly like hers. Maybe someone is playing a terrible prank on you, dear girl, but the handwriting is so similar. It’s as if she wants you to write.” Mrs. Martin rubbed her forehead.
I shook my head and was afraid even to touch the blank book. It seemed like it was possessed or something.
“Take it and write in it. What’s the harm? If this is really from Mary, which I can’t even believe I’m saying, you don’t need to be frightened. She was a kind woman.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it seems like someone wants you to have this and went through the trouble of getting your name put on it.”
“Fine … I do like to write, and I want to be a writer when I grow up.” I gave Mrs. Martin a thoughtful look. “Thanks for your help when I fell and for being there when I got this.” I looked down at the blank book.
“You’re welcome, dear.” She led me to the door.
That night, I wrote in secrecy in the notebook with a flashlight under my covers so my sister wouldn’t see and tell on me. A story formed from words I didn’t even know I had in my head. It was about a young woman and her guardian angel. I wrote when I had privacy and filled the whole book. Writing took my mind off the reality around me, and I began to feel a sense of peace, like I was able to control something in my life. I had not felt like that ever before.
Chapter 6
One night, I had a vivid dream about an old woman in the woods picking pine cones again. She told me to believe in myself, write about it, and show people my book.
I awoke feeling weird, like I had been sleeping but still awake. The blank book was on my nightstand, hidden under a copy of Alice in Wonderland. I couldn’t take the chance of my brother or sister finding it, reading it, and then making fun of me. They constantly belittled me and made me feel like I didn’t deserve anything good.
I picked up the journal, and my eyes felt like they would pop out of my head when I saw the cover. Imprinted on the front was the title Finding My Way by Raphaella Dosoto. I didn’t know who I could trust to share what had happened. I wanted to run to Mrs. Martin and show her, but I thought she had had enough stress from this situation. I shoved the book into the bottom drawer of my dresser. I didn’t want to see it! But I couldn’t seem to throw it away either.
The last thought I had in bed that night was, who could’ve snuck into my room and had the title etched on the front cover while I slept? That night, sleep wouldn’t come to me. I tossed and turned, hoping a sweet spot on my pillow would lull me to dreamland, but nothing worked.
I crept over to the drawer and took out the blank book. My sister was asleep on her bed in the same room, and I used a flashlight to see in the dark. I stared at the book for a few seconds before I opened it, and a handwritten note fell in the same handwriting as the other note. I dropped the book out of my hands as if it were scalding hot. The note lay on the carpet, so I moved my flashlight over it and read the words:
“Believe in yourself when no one else does. No matter how things look now, believe in a better future, and it will come to pass. See it in your mind each day. Someone out there needs to read your story to feel better about their life. You need to share your story with the world. And you need to sing! People need to hear your voice!”
The next day, I packed the journal book away in a box in the attic with things I had saved, and I never looked at it again.
Part 2
Chapter 7 – Seventy Years Later
“Mommy, look what I found! It was Grandma’s. It has her name on it.” Ten-year-old Kelsey Schuler handed an aged hard-cover journal to her mother, who was sorting through her mother Raphaella’s things a few weeks after her funeral.
Sara Schuler stared at the etched cover for a few seconds. Then she rubbed her fingers over the words Finding My Way by Raphaella Dosoto. She opened the book, read a few pages quickly, and couldn’t stop the gush of tears streaming down her cheeks. She spoke out loud to the book as if her mother were still there with her, “Oh, Mom, why didn’t you show me you could write like this? Why did you live such a quiet life when you had this gift?”
Kelsey watched in silence and let her mother sob like she had done every day since her grandmother, Raphaella, died. She couldn’t stand her mother being so sad, “Mom, it’s going to be okay. I miss Grandma, too, but she doesn’t want us to cry so much. We need to smile like she used to smile.” Kelsey looked at the book, “Can I read it, too?”
“Of course.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Kelsey asked.
“I’m going to do what she didn’t. I’m going to make sure this gets published. She always spoke about wanting to be a writer – to earn a living writing – but she never tried. I think she just didn’t believe enough in herself, in the gifts she had, and now she’s gone. What a waste…”
Chapter 8 – Five Years Later
The crowd outside ABC’s Good Morning America studio in New York City waved when the camera panned to them. Sara Schuler’s nerves got the best of her, despite the fact it was her mother’s words she was promoting. All she did was get it published so the world could read her mother’s beautiful words.
“You ready, Ms. Schuler?” The host of the show asked.
“Yes.”
“The book Finding My Way by Raphaella Dosoto has been on The New York Times Best Sellers list for six weeks now, and there’s a heartfelt story we’d like to share about it. The author’s daughter, Sara Schuler, is here to tell the story.”
Sara smiled into the camera and cleared her throat before speaking, “My mother was a kind woman who praised everyone but herself. She had an amazing imagination and told me wonderful stories when I was a child and then continued doing it with my daughter. She had told me once that when she was young, she wanted to be an author but never thought she was good enough to do it. She got married, had me, and left her dreams to wither away. She made sure everyone was taken care of except for herself. I would imagine she died with a broken heart for not living her dream.”
Then Sara spoke with her head down as she continued, “My mother worked at low-paying jobs she didn’t like at all. Said they paid the bills, but I knew she was unhappy.” Sara raised her head and looked at the host,” When I asked my mom why she wouldn’t pursue writing as a career, she expressed how hard it was to get published and earn a decent living and that she heard from too many people, mostly her mother, that she could never earn money from it. As far as I knew, she didn’t write.” Sara continued, trying to hold back the tears building up, “So, she allowed the negativity to win. My mother never believed in her writing talent and yet she wrote this inspirational book, Finding My Way, when she was just a teenager that is so uplifting and encouraging. It breaks my heart that she didn’t heed her own words.”
Sara wiped her tears and took a deep breath before continuing, “The saddest part is that she never took a chance to see her words published. Since finding this book and reading it many times, I’ve taken my mother’s words to heart. I followed my dream of opening a restaurant, and everyone I talk to who has read this book has told me the same thing– that they followed their hearts and made their dreams come true – they found their way.” Sara paused, forced a smile through her tears, and continued. “It’s such a precious book, and I wished my mother would have taken her advice and lived the life she always wanted to live. She was just too afraid to try. That’s what happens when we listen to others instead of ourselves.” Sara broke down in tears and covered her face with her hands.
“So, let this be a lesson for everyone out there…” The show host wiped a tear from her eye. She opened the book to the last few pages and read it aloud to the audience.
“We only have one life to live. And we only have so much time to live it. Be fearless and go after what you truly want. Only we can make ourselves happy. We don’t need fairies or magical beings to guide us – everything we need to know is already inside us. We need to listen to that quiet voice in us and follow our hearts. We can be or do anything we want when we believe in who we are and love that part of us. Quiet the naysayers and negativity that doesn’t belong to you, and you’ll find your way. ”
“Raphaella Dosoto wrote those words when she was just fourteen years old. She never wrote another thing like this. I can only imagine what kind of life she would have lived if she just took her advice,” the host added.
The cameraman signaled the end of the segment. Sara got up and shook the host’s hand. “Thank you for having me and saying what you did. My mother would have liked that. She was a very gracious woman and believed so much in the good of everyone else.”
Sara walked off the set towards the door that led to the dressing rooms. There was an old woman in the hall. She was frail and barely able to stand. Sara smiled at her and nodded. The old woman stared at Sara with eyes that seemed to penetrate through her.
“Are you on the show next?”
“No, dear, I came here to thank you.”
Sara’s rosy cheeks faded in color, and her voice was weak, “Why are you thanking me?”
“For doing what your mother could not. I only wanted her to share her gifts with the world.”
“You knew my mother?” Sara crossed her arms around her as if she just got a chill.
“Yes, a long time ago. It’s a shame that your mother believed the lies she heard from her family and others that she was never good enough. She was the angel, and it’s a shame people couldn’t see past their insecurities and jealousy. I tried to show her that there was a better way, but she was too beaten down to believe me, and she focused on fear and pain instead of happiness. I know those who read her words now will find their way too, as you did.
I don’t know why some people have a hard time dealing with those who are different, creative, and talented and try to keep them down, dim their light, and break them somehow, so they fail. Breaking someone’s spirit is the worst thing a person could do to another. Raphaella heard so much negativity from her family that she couldn’t do it, her dream wasn’t practical, and she wasn’t good enough – couldn’t make money from a hobby – and she succumbed to the lies, as many do. There was no one in her life willing to lift her, only those who wanted to keep her down so they could have control of her. I wanted to help her but her beliefs were too tied to the wrong messages she heard repeatedly.
I wish I were a fairy, like she had hoped for, and saved her soul, but we have to save ourselves. It might be challenging and take a long time, but we are worth the effort. Happiness is worth the effort.”
Sara wiped the tears and let her head hang. When she raised her head, the woman had vanished.
The End
The Woman in the Woods