Last Saturday, the Watson clan got together at my uncle's house for the weekend and, as part of our long-running tradition, we fired up the BBQ and showed our good friend, Jack Daniel's, some love.
Not too much, mind you.
Responsible parenting and all that.
Anyway, by the time the evening swung around, the whisky bottles ran drier than Gandhi's flip-flops, and it wasn't long until the age-old proverb was uttered:
"The hooch won't refill itself," my grandad said.
We all glanced at each other for a second, waiting, watching for the other to do the honest thing.
Nobody did.
Either they didn't want to traverse the small patch of unlit woodland nestled between my uncle's home and the shop…
Or they didn't want everyone to see the moths that resided in their wallets.
🤷♂️
"I'll do it!" I groaned, climbing to my feet.
The proclamation was met with rapturous applause and a clap on my shoulder.
Buoyed by their reaction, I grabbed my gilet and trainers, and made my way to the woods at the back of the house where I found myself quickly swallowed by the darkness that languished inside.
No exaggerating…
I had to stand there for a few good minutes for my eyes to adjust, which wasn't helped by already being half-cut.
And, of course, the woodland waits for night to descend over the world before "coming alive."
By that, I mean all the usual suspects:
Twigs snapping…
Birds or small mammals leaping from trees unseen…
Shrubs rustling from Lord-knows-what.
Yet, still, I pressed on.
Still, I did not yield.
Our livers demanded so.
It's no more than a four-minute walk during the day, but let me tell you, in the thick of night with a hundred invisible eyes watching you…
It felt more like a half-hour!
There's no question in my mind that our aversion to roaming woodland (especially during the night) can be found in the bones of our first ancestors.
It's baked into our DNA.
And its purpose is remarkably simple:
To keep us safe.
Fortunately (and unfortunately), the UK has been cleared of all its dangerous fauna and predators, meaning I could take some measure of comfort knowing I wasn't about to become steak tartare for a hungry wolf or big cat.
That didn't mean I enjoyed it.
No way, José.
For all I knew, there could have been a psychopath in there looking to make a Netflix documentary about me.
Thankfully, aside from encountering a random white cat, the walk was almost entirely uneventful. But it didn't stop me from walking back the long and lit way.
Trekking a dark, secluded path of woods is definitely not for the faint-hearted — and neither is the Forbidden Forest in The Divided Region.
In fact, it is so treacherous, I dedicated an entire novel to this notorious expanse of wilderness.
You can read all about it (if you dare) here:
https://djjwatsonstore.com/products/Forbidden-Forest
Or if you'd prefer to grab it at your favourite retailer, go here:
https://books2read.com/ForbiddenForest
DJJW