The Forest, Never To Return, Part 1

March came in like a lion And never let up, not really The children, Markie and Stu, spent most of their day outside Except, as usual, for a quick lunch and a quicker hug In the country, the darkness is like a blanket It covers our house, and our heads Like some foreboding cloud, or storm Ready to swallow us, and move on, to the next farm The children seem to relish the large, empty fields And thick, virgin forest that lies just beyond a small, dilapidated fence Which surrounds our property, and is otherwise... antiquated At best Judging by the children, our move has been a great success Reggie and I, however, are surprised by the lack of sunshine... And warmth From the locals Sometimes, when the wind howls at night The darkness itself comes alive The children feel it too, but don't mind Not like Reggie and I Our world extends to the nearby forest Where the children have created . . . A perfect world for themselves -- Isolated, alone Sometimes, when everyone is comfortably in bed And sleeping well A loud knock, knock, knocking is heard Terrifying, to say the least We seem to be a frequent stopover for strangers Seeking directions Some friendly, some not But, desperately, on the run . . . My name is Jean, Jean Decker And this is my story... As I said, my husband Reggie, and children, Markie and Stu Purchased an old country home, located on 16 private acres The surrounding countryside, much like we imagined Is green and gorgeous, in every respect Most of the property consists of large fields, in every direction Which eventually fade into a small, nearby forest It is there that the kids are most likely to be found Cutting through the fresh, surrounding pasture grass And disappearing, quickly, into the nearby trees An extraordinary childhood playground Lately, however, I've noticed in the children A certain aloofness Like a candle, once flaming, burning Now extinguished When the children come home, for supper They return, later every night Exhausted, irritable, tight-lipped Ready for bed, and an early rise Outside, the darkness falls, like a mysterious hand Smothering our house, crushing us Suffocating, exhausting Frightening us Often, in the dead of night When all are sleeping We are startled awake By the aforementioned rapping From someone, or something Breaking down our door Ready to take us, devour us Tear us apart Like some dark and demonic force Not of this world But from some realm of terror In the blackness beyond Inducing, nearly, a heart attack In the case of Reggie and I But, strangely, not the children Who laugh and laugh with delight And the knocking continues Until Reggie, armed with a baseball bat Approaches the front door Trembling, shaking And every second, the rapping grows louder Penetrating our minds Our nervous systems Our souls But we know, despite our terror That the rapping sound will not stop Until we open the door And face . . . the monster At the same time, the children Are laughing with glee As if it were a game of chess And we, the parents, are the pawns