Marten Murphy
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Marten was attending a state school in West Virginia, studying environmental science. The young man was working on his bachelor's thesis, prepared to turn in his work at the end of his final senior semester later in the winter. Marten was focused on native plant reintroduction and soil amendment, in hopes that his restoration efforts would reverse the degradation of the Appalachian forest region he had always called home.
The mountain range and deep forests had always been a haven for the man. The woodlands held a great mixture of beauty and an enigmatic aura. In his early life, Marten had grew to love the wooded area at the edge of his trailer park. It held an intrigue of mystery, whimsy, escapism. Not having much in the way of money, his family often would hike or camp as a form of vacationing away from their cramped portion of the world. It was cheap or free, and that was all fine with Marten. He heavily resonated with the wildlife of the forests, all the moreso with the diverse plants that flourished there.
Unfortunately, Marten was thrust into fostercare in his preteens. A horrible accident resulted in him having to be removed from that delapidated trailer park, and the forest he used to roam as a child. Distanced from the trees he used to climb, and the imaginary friends and crows he used to run with to the small waterfall about a mile out.
A rocky teenagehood of bouncing around to different homes, Marten finally managed to secure a scholarship and take out some loans to attend a local university. Marten would do well in most of his classes, maintaining his own apartment with a roommate during his studies. After almost a decade of living in the urban Charleston, Marten was prepared to focus on the delicate ecosystems he had played amongst as a child in the less populated regions of the state. Thus, Marten was eventually brought back to his childhood trailer park. At least, what was left of it. The formerly small town nearby had begun to spread out, engulfing the one outskirting modular home neighborhoods. Several strip malls and fast food establishments had popped up along the once cracked and potholed streets.
The forest's edges remained predominantly untouched, a weak mesh fence blocking it from being easily entered behind the shopping centers. It was clear that with the sudden expansion, it was only a matter of time before it, too, would be torn down for human consumerism.
Despite the aforementioned distaste towards the corporate greed pushing the suburban growth, Marten found himself visiting the area he used to live one evening on the way back from research studies deeper within the state. Stopping for a latte at the local Starbucks, Marten clutched his warm beverage in an attempt to keep himself awake and warm on his long drive back to his apartment. However, the nearness of what was once his old home brought the young man to the fencing that divided the pavement and paint from the dark pines and swirl of leaves not yet having fallen due to the crisp late Autumn weather.
Marten had half-climbed, half-stumbled over a partially bent piece of the flimsy wiring. His green denim pants, already slightly dusty from the day’s work, snagged on a loose piece near his feet, tearing slightly in the process. Cursing and balancing himself ungracefully, Marten managed to righten himself without spilling his beverage. Creeping towards the treeline, which now held hints of human garbage, a hint of twilight was dimmed all the more by the overcast sky. Nevertheless, this did nothing to cure Marten’s retrospective curiosity as his boots crunched against the fallen leaves and pine nettles that covered the ground.
Weaving through the familiar portion of woods, paths that had since grown in, others maintained by wildlife, made it a mixture of familiar and new. Intriguing, and a bit thrilling, with the addition of the darkening sky enhancing the feeling. Marten casually sipped his coffee, savoring the milky flavor as it coated his tongue. Marten figured he would hike his way to the waterfall he used to love as a child, despite the darkening sky and cooling air. Perhaps he would see some owls, deer, or other nighttime creatures of the Appalachian woods.
Marten’s strawberry-blond colored hair, slightly too long and needing a trim, blew slightly as a breeze cut through the partially covered woods. Marten pulled his sweater tighter around his neck, in an attempt to maintain his bodily warmth. However, he was beginning to feel… oodd. Uneasy. As if he were being watched. This was not entirely an uncommon feeling. There were times when he felt this, especially when alone in the woods, all the more towards nightfall. He had mainly felt it as a child, something he’d not thought of in years, many times as a child. Feelings he had mainly felt in these very woods. That he was not truly alone.
The young man sped his pace up, determined to at least close in towards his destination before turning back. But the unsettled feeling forced him to scan around the vicinity as he walked. The outline of the trees surrounding him were getting more difficult to make out with his pale green eyes. He attempted to narrow and widen them to gain more perspective.
Rushing his pace along, Marten finally heard the faint roar of the small waterfall off in the distance, indicating he had remembered his internal directions well. However, the college student decided that with the dark, it definitely would be more difficult to navigate his way back to his sedan in the coffee shop parking lot. Draining the last few sips of his latte, Marten turned on foot to retrace his steps. And with that, he was soon met with an ugly face. Unsure of what had happened to make him fall asleep when he finally awoke.
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Marten eventually came to, uncertain of where he was. The vicinity was forest-themed, like how an elaborate renaissance festival might attempt. Except, it was far more intricate than what a human would carve out for an annual event. The jailcell Marten found himself was framed with wooden poles. Almost too decorative, vines wrapping around overhead. Peculiarly, the empty Starbucks cup was set next to him, also transported to this odd place.
An ugly face approached Marten from outside the cell. A large, hooked nose, almost touching the humanoid’s chin was startling. Warts and bumps decorated her face like the freckles of Marten’s skin. She wore minimal clothing, mainly dull greens and dark beiges, like that of a log with moss covering its bark.
Despite Marten’s extreme disorientation, he did not feel harmed physically. Unfortunately, the squeaky-voiced fairy, as Marten had come to discover was her identity, did not answer his questions much beyond the ordinary. Like her name; Pirch. Upon the following afternoon of what Marten had assumed was his first night in the confines of the cell, Pirch gagged the boy with a swatch of fabric. Despite her twiggy arms, even the forearms almost as thin as Marten’s wrists, the woman escorted the boy quietly out of the dwelling with a great grip.
Somehow Marten had managed to wrap his brain around the oddities of his current predicament, until he was led to giant toads. Toads that were large enough to put thoroughbred horses to shame on stature. Marten let out a muffled scream, swallowed up by the fabric nestled between his teeth. After being scolded, and forced to hop in front of Pirch atop the toad’s saddle, Marten was left to ponder the reality of his situation. He actually quite liked frogs, but he was not used to them being the side of a small shed. Or riding them.
At some point on the long journey, Pirch finally released the gag from Marten’s mouth, now that there was no one nearby to hear him. Lovely thought. He considered trying to dive off the side of the toad, but realized he had no idea where he would go. He had no idea where they were, the destination they were headed, and they had long since left behind the forest dwellings they had passed. Any true prospect of aid from his kidnapping. Marten resided to his unknown fate as the two journeyed towards an isolated dwelling in the distance, far from where they had started atop the lumbering toad.
Upon closing in on the house, Pirch hopped off the warty mount, making sure to maintain a grip on the reins of the steed. Marten sighed dejectedly, staring down as Pirch went to knock against the door with her knobby fist.
