The heart of the woods T h a n o s K a l a m i d a s The hearT of The woods The hearT of The woods Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book The heart of the woods The heart of the woods Thanos Kalamidas Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The heart of the woods T he sound of the espresso machine whirring behind the counter was drowned out by the relentless buzz of customers chatting, phones ringing, and footsteps shuffling through the store. Nils stood at the register, his polite smile plastered on as he scanned items for the hundredth time that day. his boss, Göran, waddled up with the air of someone about to deliver life-altering news. Nils hoped, for a moment, that it was about the promotion he’d been promised for years. “Nils,” Göran began, leaning in conspiratorially, “You’re one of the most... consistent employees we’ve got.” “Thank you,” Nils said, straightening up slightly. Thanos Kalamidas “so,” Göran continued, adjusting his tie that barely reached his stomach, “I’ve decided to promote Mikael.” Nils blinked. “Mikael? The intern who spilled an entire pallet of pickled herring last week?” “exactly,” Göran said with a grin. “shows he’s willing to take risks. anyway, I’m counting on you to train him.” The rest of the day passed in a haze of barely suppressed rage and a growing sense of despair. By the time his shift ended, Nils wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cry or throw a jar of herring at Göran’s shiny bald head. That night, Nils sat in his cramped apartment, staring at the stack of unpaid bills on the coffee table. The radiator clanked and hissed in the corner, barely keeping the chill away. his ex-wife’s voice echoed in his head: “You’re just too... predictable, Nils. Life with you is like eating plain porridge every day.” he ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed. The TV, still stuck on some mindless cooking show, droned in the background. he wasn’t even watching it. his eyes drifted to an old wooden box on the shelf, something he hadn’t opened in years. The heart of the woods Curiosity mixed with the desperation for distraction. he pulled it down, dusted it off, and flipped it open. Inside was a collection of odds and ends: a faded photograph of his grandfather, an old compass, and a rolled-up piece of parchment. The parchment turned out to be the deed to a cabin, deep in a forest just outside stockholm. his grandfather had left it to him years ago, but he’d never thought much of it. who had time for cabins in the woods when you were working 60-hour weeks for a company that valued spilled herring over loyalty? But now, staring at the deed, an idea took root. It wasn’t just an idea, it was a lifeline. The next day, Nils strode into work with a spring in his step. Göran noticed immediately. “feeling chipper today, Nils? That’s the spirit!” “oh, I’m better than chipper, Göran,” Nils said, leaning against the counter. “I’m quitting.” Göran froze, his smile faltering. “Quitting? You can’t quit! You’re... you’re the glue holding this place together!” “well, Göran, if I’m the glue, then this place is Thanos Kalamidas a house of cards, and frankly, I’m tired of sticking around.” with that, Nils handed over his name tag, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door. It was the most exhilarating thing he’d done in years. The drive to the cabin was both liberating and nerve-wracking. as the cityscape gave way to dense forests, Nils felt the weight of his old life slowly lifting. The car radio sputtered into static, and he turned it off, preferring the hum of the engine and the occasional bird call. when he finally arrived, the cabin was... not exactly as he’d pictured it. The roof sagged like a defeated man’s shoulders, the windows were coated in grime, and a family of squirrels had claimed squatter’s rights. The door creaked ominously as he pushed it open, revealing a dusty interior that smelled like mildew and old wood. “well,” Nils muttered to himself, “it’s not the ritz, but at least Göran isn’t here.” he spent the next few hours sweeping out leaves, chasing out squirrels, and patching holes in the walls. The fireplace, mercifully, still worked, and The heart of the woods he managed to get a fire going with some old logs stacked in the corner. By the time night fell, he was exhausted but oddly content. The first night in the forest was anything but peaceful. as Nils lay on a creaky cot, every sound seemed amplified in the darkness. The hoot of an owl felt like a foghorn; the rustle of leaves might as well have been a marching band. at one point, he was convinced he heard growling outside the window, only to realize it was his own stomach. “Get a grip, Nils,” he muttered, pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself. around midnight, a loud crash jolted him awake. heart pounding, he grabbed the nearest weapon-like object, a broom and tiptoed to the window. Peering out, he saw nothing but shadows and trees. The crash turned out to be a broken shelf in the pantry, which had given up under the weight of decades-old canned goods. one can of what he thought might have been soup was labelled in a language he didn’t recognize. “well, at least I won’t starve,” Nils said, holding the Thanos Kalamidas can up. “Unless this is bear bait, in which case, I’ll die very full.” By morning, the forest seemed less ominous. sunlight filtered through the trees, birds chirped cheerfully, and Nils felt a cautious optimism. he spent the day exploring his surroundings, stumbling over roots and marvelling at the sheer size of the trees. at one point, he tripped and landed face-first in a patch of moss. “Graceful as ever,” he muttered, brushing himself off. despite the setbacks, there was a strange joy in the simplicity of it all. No deadlines, no angry customers, no Göran. Just the forest, the cabin, and himself. as he sat by the fire that evening, eating a questionable can of stew, Nils realized he hadn’t felt this alive in years. sure, he had no idea what he was doing. sure, the cabin might collapse at any moment. But for the first time in a long time, Nils felt free. and as he drifted off to sleep, he could have sworn he heard his grandfather’s voice in the crackle of the fire: “You’re tougher than you think, Nils. The forest will show you.” The heart of the woods ii. The forest greeted Nils like an old friend with a mysterious past, silent but full of whispers. his car had barely made it down the rugged, overgrown path before sputtering to a halt in front of the cabin. as he stepped out, his breath fogging in the crisp air, Nils got his first proper look at the place. The cabin sagged against the weight of time, its wood darkened to charcoal by decades of weather. shutters hung at odd angles, a door hinge screeched ominously in the wind, and moss clung to the stone chimney like an overzealous parasite. “home sweet home,” Nils muttered. he fumbled with the old iron key, which turned with a reluctant groan. Thanos Kalamidas Inside, it was worse. dust coated every surface, cobwebs draped from the rafters, and something darted out of sight as he stepped in. It might have been a rat or a squirrel with a gym membership, judging by the speed. “well,” Nils said, his voice echoing in the silence, “at least it’s bigger than Göran’s ego.” he began cleaning with the determination of a man who’d just quit his job and burned his last bridge. every sweep of the broom kicked up clouds of dust that threatened to choke him. By the time he managed to clear a path to the fireplace, he looked like he’d just emerged from a coal mine. Nils found an old journal tucked in a drawer, its leather cover cracked but still holding together. Inside were handwritten notes, his grandfather’s thoughts and ramblings. one entry caught his eye: “The forest isn’t just trees. It’s alive in ways most won’t understand. Respect it, and it might let you stay.” he closed the journal, a faint smile tugging at his lips. his grandfather had always been a bit eccentric, prone to telling tall tales about the woods. Nils remembered summers spent here as a boy, his The heart of the woods grandfather teaching him to fish, forage, and build fires. Those memories had faded over the years, buried under the monotony of city life. “Guess we’ll see if I’ve still got it,” Nils said to himself. Night fell quickly in the forest, the sky a patchwork of deep blues and blacks. Nils lit an old oil lamp he found on the mantel and settled down with a can of soup he’d brought from the city. as the fire crackled, shadows danced on the walls, giving the cabin a ghostly feel. he tried to ignore the sounds outside: the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves, and a noise that could have been a branch snapping or something heavier. “Probably just a deer,” he said aloud, though his grip on the spoon tightened. his nerves weren’t helped by the sudden crash from the pantry. he leapt up, brandishing the broom like a weapon, and inched toward the source of the noise. swinging the pantry door open, he found himself face-to-face with a raccoon. “seriously?” Nils exclaimed. Thanos Kalamidas The raccoon looked unimpressed, its eyes glinting in the lamplight as it held a jar of honey in its tiny paws. Before Nils could react, the raccoon bolted past him, knocking over a stack of cans. “well, at least someone’s enjoying the amenities,” Nils muttered, picking up the scattered cans. The next morning, Nils woke to a beam of sunlight slicing through the grime-coated window. he stretched, his muscles aching from the previous day’s efforts. outside, the forest was alive with the sounds of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. he decided to explore the area, armed with his grandfather’s old hunting knife and a notebook for sketching a rough map. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, a welcome change from the stale scent of the city. as he ventured deeper into the woods, Nils marvelled at the sheer scale of the trees. They towered above him, their gnarled branches intertwining like ancient guardians. he stumbled upon a creek, its water crystal clear, and made a mental note to test its portability later. The serenity was short-lived. a sudden rustling in the underbrush made him freeze. slowly, he turned, The heart of the woods half-expecting to see the raccoon again. Instead, a massive boar emerged, its tusks gleaming and eyes fixed on him. Nils felt his heart hammering in his chest. he had no weapon aside from the knife, which felt woefully inadequate against something that looked like it could bench-press him. “Nice piggy,” he said, backing away slowly. The boar snorted and pawed the ground. Nils did the only thing he could think of ...he climbed the nearest tree. scrambling up like a desperate squirrel, he reached a sturdy branch just as the boar charged. It rammed the tree trunk with a force that made the entire tree shudder. “okay, you win! The forest is yours!” Nils shouted down. The boar eventually lost interest and trotted off, leaving Nils clinging to the branch like a terrified sloth. By the time he returned to the cabin, Nils was scraped, bruised, and thoroughly humbled. as he lit the fire that evening, he couldn’t help but laugh at Thanos Kalamidas the absurdity of it all. here he was, a man who used to complain about the coffee machine at work, now dodging wild boars and evicting raccoons. despite the hardships or perhaps because of them, Nils felt a strange sense of accomplishment. The forest was already testing him, but he was still standing. “well, Grandpa,” he said, raising a mug of creek water in a mock toast, “I think I’m starting to get it.” as the fire crackled and the night closed in around the cabin, Nils felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in years: hope. The heart of the woods iii. The first lesson Nils learned in the forest was that nature doesn’t care about your plans or your dignity. he discovered this on his second day, when his attempt at boiling water resulted in a blackened pot, no water left to drink, and a cabin filled with so much smoke it attracted every mosquito in a three- kilometre radius. “Great start, Nils,” he muttered, swatting at a particularly aggressive bug. “at least the mosquitoes appreciate me.” determined to improve, Nils turned to his grandfather’s journal for guidance. It contained notes on everything from building traps to identifying edible plants. while his grandfather’s handwriting resembled an ancient form of chicken-scratch hieroglyphics, it provided just enough clarity to inspire confidence—and a little recklessness. Thanos Kalamidas step one to surviving in the wilderness: find water. Nils remembered a creek he’d spotted the day before, and with a jerry can in hand, he made his way back. The water was clear, running over smooth stones that glinted in the sunlight. It looked perfect. “You’re supposed to boil it first,” Nils reminded himself. But after the first failed attempt at boiling, he decided one sip couldn’t hurt. Ten minutes later, he was sprinting back to the cabin. his stomach gurgled ominously, and he spent the next hour in the outhouse, cursing his impatience. Lesson learned: appearances can be deceiving. after recovering from the creek debacle, Nils decided to tackle food. he scoured the journal, which included detailed sketches of berries and mushrooms. Unfortunately, his grandfather’s art skills were only slightly better than his penmanship. he set out into the woods armed with a basket and a vague sense of what not to eat. his first haul included a handful of wild blueberries, some dubious red berries, and a mushroom that looked like it might double as a murder weapon. Back at the cabin, Nils double-checked the journal. The heart of the woods The mushroom was described as “potentially deadly unless boiled twice.” “Yeah, no thanks,” Nils said, tossing it outside. despite his cautious selection, his foraged meal was underwhelming. The berries were tart enough to make his eyes water, and without sugar or seasoning, they tasted more like survival than satisfaction. “well, at least it’s organic,” he quipped, chewing through the bitterness. The next project was setting traps for small game. Nils found a section in the journal dedicated to crafting snares, complete with step-by-step instructions and diagrams. after hours of fumbling with knots and nearly strangling himself with the cord, he managed to set his first trap near a game trail. Pleased with his handiwork, he decided to check the trap the following morning. To his astonishment, it had caught something, a rabbit, its soft fur twitching as it struggled. Nils froze. The excitement of success quickly faded into guilt as he approached. he knew this was part of surviving, but the rabbit’s wide, frightened eyes made his stomach churn. Thanos Kalamidas “sorry, buddy,” Nils muttered, trying to steel himself. as he reached for the trap, the rabbit kicked wildly, and the trap’s release mechanism snapped back—on Nils’ hand. “son of a—!” he yelped, clutching his throbbing fingers. The rabbit, apparently unimpressed by his suffering, bolted into the underbrush. Lesson learned: survival is harder when your dinner has better reflexes than you. Nils’ most harrowing encounter came late one afternoon while collecting firewood. he was stacking logs when a low, guttural grunt froze him in place. slowly, he turned to see a massive boar staring him down, its tusks gleaming and its body bristling with hostility. “Uh, nice piggy?” Nils tried, his voice trembling. The boar snorted, pawed the ground, and charged. Nils did the only logical thing ...he ran. Unfortunately, the forest floor was a minefield of roots and rocks, and within seconds, he tripped spectacularly, landing face-first in a pile of leaves.