I was probably the first to spot them; in any case, I had already been staring at them for a good minute before I heard Mark’s sharp gasp behind me. Then we both watched the immobile men who sat cross-legged and silent, ringing the edge of the forest clearing. There were about a dozen of them, each eerily still at the base of a tree, twelve trees with twelve men like idols left as offerings to the forest. Even as we gazed on them we had to struggle to maintain our vision; the pre-dawn light was dim, and moreover the motionless men were covered in mud, sap and bark, camouflaging them to any casual observer—if one existed this deep in the Brown Woods. We only knew to look from the stories we’d heard whispered through town.

As the sun broke, the clearing was slowly illuminated, spurring the men to rise just as slowly. Despite the tranquility of the scene, the men’s movement made Mark and I tense, and we shrank lower behind our clump of ferns. Suddenly from the tops of the towering trees came an eagle shriek, simultaneously making us recoil and the now-standing men begin to dance. It was a strange dance. Each man stayed in place, in front of his tree, and stomped his right foot. They all stood the same; their backs slightly arched forward, their eyes closed, their right feet beating up and down like brown pistons into the grass and dry leaves (all in unison). Next to me, Mark had begun to murmur incoherently and shake, but I was mesmerized, and couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. I realized my head was bobbing to the beat of the men’s feet, and stopped myself at once.

A light breeze began to pulse through the forest, tickling our necks and sifting through the lush forest underbrush. As though waiting for this, the men slowly moved forward to close their ring, still beating their feet in an even rhythm. By now Mark was hissing in my ear, demanding that we leave. From his voice I knew I had to comply so, careful to remain low, we backed off. But before we could get away completely, I made Mark halt—the men had suddenly stopped stomping. They stood still, eyes closed. For a few fragile seconds, the entire thicket—Mark and I included—was absolutely still and silent. Then suddenly the men formed a line, their backs to us, and marched single-file into the forest, into the side of the clearing furthest from us. We began to hear forest sounds again; the cricket chirps and small-bird whistles that had been inexplicably absent during the entire dance. Mark and I emerged from our crouch, and silently made our way back through the forest to town.

Part One of a short story I am writing. Stay tuned...