The Woodcutter's Daughter

By W. M. Gee

Two teens are missing and a whole community is in shock. No one can imagine why lovers Samantha and Max might have run away. But one girl knows where to find them.

 

Bits of them anyway.

 

As her family and the police close in around her, what will she confess in the pages of her diary.

 

And how far will she go to avoid being caught?

• Language: English
• Publisher: W. M. Gee
• Release date: Jun 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223489320

W. M. Gee

W. M. Gee is a writer who specialises in teen, horror, fantasy and sci-fi stories. His works often explore real world problems from adolescent perspectives, because — hey — we’ve all been there, right? In his free time, he loves writing poetry, reading sci-fi and painting minis. In 2021 he was awarded the people’s choice Golden Comma Award for his teen novella, "The List."  He published his first teen-horror novella (ebook and print), "The Woodcutter's Daughter" in 2023. He lives in London, England but longs to own a lighthouse and listen to the sounds of the sea. 

Book preview

The Woodcutter's Daughter

W. M. Gee

Published by W. M. Gee, 2023.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

THE WOODCUTTER'S DAUGHTER

First edition. June 11, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 W. M. Gee.

ISBN: 979-8223489320

Written by W. M. Gee.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Woodcutter's Daughter

Dear Diary,

Friday October 1

I bought you to keep a journal of my thoughts and feelings. There’s just so much going on at the moment and I need a place where I can write it all down. Lay it all out and see the patterns in the ink. The Rorschachs in the blood.

Things are pretty crazy at school right now. Everybody is crying. I’ve never seen the place so down. Those kids that everybody pretends they want to be – the empty ones – are all crying or raging like fists and tears are the only solutions to life’s problems.

There are missing posters all around town. We’re a small community out here in the woods. Things like this don’t happen to us. Two kids are missing. Everyone in their class had to speak with the counsellor. They took the girls in first. I don’t know if they think we’re more fragile or what it is, but I know we’re not.

No one knows what’s happened to Sam and Max. No one can find them.

But I know what happened. I know where to find them.

Most of them, anyway...

Things aren’t even normal at home anymore. Mom and Dad have me wrapped in this protective bubble. I can’t say I blame them. Two kids go missing – kids I knew – they’re bound to be worried. But they don’t really know how I knew them. Or how I let them know me. They don’t really know their daughter at all.

My parents, the school, they all think I need protecting from this. But I don’t need protecting from anyone. People need protecting from me. Sam needed... It doesn’t matter anymore.

I need this journal to help work it all out. Like poison. I can feel it’s in me. What I did. What I’ve seen. What I know. Like, if I write it all down it will somehow all come pouring out of me and leave behind... I don’t know what in its wake.

Not me. Not anymore. Something that was always in me though, maybe. Growing up and growing old and growing rotten. Something that should have been pruned or tended or just ripped right out. I’m a weed, a bad apple; I mustn’t be allowed to go to seed.

I’ve read that it’s moments like these that change you. Or maybe they just let you see what you’d been hiding underneath a cheap Hallowe’en mask. A cartoon horror to hide the real one inside. I guess I’m coping. With what I’ve grown into and what I’m and what I’ve found I’m capable of. I can’t even say it. There’s too much in the way that still needs to come out.

The counsellor told us all about trauma. I looked it up. It means ‘wound’. And that’s what I’ve done. I’ve wounded our town. Max would have said that trauma is part of growing up. That everyone goes through it. Like puberty. Sam would have agreed with him. She always does.

Did.

I’m starting to see them more clearly now, Sam and Max. Now I’m forcing myself to write about them. It’s like therapy. But I’m not ready to talk about all of it yet. I loved her so deeply. And she hurt me so much. And the things I’ve done... I just need to know why.

I need to know why I endangered my family so stupidly.

I need to know why I fell in love so easily and so deeply and so wrongly.

I need to know why I had to kill two people so brutally.

And why – before the end of the month – I might have to kill again.

Dear Diary,

Saturday October 2

It all started four weeks ago. I was late for class. Again! I’d been getting better at being on time, but it took me ages to find my favorite orange sweater: the one with the falling-leaf print. I paired it (badly) with my black skirt and black leather-links belt and left the house at about 9:05.

At my school, they lock the gates at 9:00. I’m always getting in late, and I never have a hall pass, so I learned pretty quickly that I could slip in round the back and just go straight to class. Over the fence, and try not to step in the mud or the broken bottles. I tried to be quiet and sneaky, but this time somebody saw me. One of the groundskeepers.

He shouted out and began to chase me. I had a good head start on him, but he had a radio and I could hear him breathing into it, She’s wearing a bright orange sweater... I couldn’t see the person he was talking to, but it was a good bet they were up ahead of me. Waiting to pounce. Waiting for me.

Then I saw her. Sam. She was sitting on a stone bench around the corner, her boots in a pile of cigarette butts and moss. She was the bad girl. She smiled at me. Called me over. She knew my name. There was so much more to that moment then than I realized, but at the time all I could focus on was the funny feeling that it gave me in my stomach that Sam knew my name. A feeling I couldn’t explain. Like knots untying. A release.

I’ve known I didn’t really like boys for a while now. Even before Sara’s sleepover last fall. Everyone was sharing who their crush was and I wanted to say Billie Eilish, but I ended up saying stupid Jungkook like everyone else. I’d never done anything about it. Even in secret. I’d never even held a girl’s hand before. Not since Knowing.

Sam and I could see the groundskeeper and his 250lbs heaving slowly round the corner of the school buildings.

Come with me, she demanded coolly, and took my hand. That knot in my insides released some more. Something like acid burnt in my stomach and I liked the feeling.

I went with her.

She led me into the girls’ bathrooms. We’ll swap, she said, looking at my