Bump in the Night

You’re on a path in the woods. The moon peeks through the trees and casts shadows along the road, and the sounds of nature singing and hiding and hunting mix with your footsteps. The coyotes howling in the distance tell you that you shouldn’t be here. The cool wind whispering through the trees beckons you onward.

The dirt road continues for another mile or so, but even out in the middle of nowhere it feels too public. The visible lights of those few remaining houses smother you, crowd you. You want to be alone, utterly and completely.

So you turn right, down a side road too narrow for more than a single car. Not that you’d see even that – it’s well past midnight, and there are maybe two houses along this stretch, nestled at the end of long, winding driveways. It’s as close to solitude as you can get without letting the forest envelope you entirely.

The canopy grows thicker above you, blocking out more and more of what little ambient light the night provides. But the darkness of the woods holds no fear for you – you grew up here. It’s not that their warnings fell on deaf ears, no, but there are no monsters lurking, only nature, and there is no terror in what is known. You know how to make yourself appear larger if a bear comes your way, and to make eye contact and aim for the face if a mountain lion approaches and you want to remain attached to your scalp. You know which bugs and berries are full of poison, and which plants will hurt you with just a touch.

The woods are predictable. Why would you be afraid of that?

The coyotes are still yipping and howling in the distance, and the sound of crickets echoes through the late spring air. It’s not silence, but it’s a type of noise that doesn’t count. Ambience. Peace. There is a boulder on the side of the road, just past the first driveway, and you climb atop it to sit like you’ve done a dozen times before. You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them – the days have been warmer, but it’s still cold enough at night to elicit a shiver.

You raise your eyes to the sky above you, or what you can make out between the trees. Pin pricks of starlight glimmer between the branches, each one disappearing and reappearing at the whims of the wind through the trees. This feeling is what brings you back here, why you pop out your window screen and sneak away when you should be home in your bed. The woods make you feel small, but not in the way the rest of the world does. The subtle sounds of nature drown out the noise in your head.

Snap.

You scramble to your feet as a twig breaks behind you under something heavy. From the top of the boulder, you’re bigger than any wild thing that may be approaching, and the confidence you find in that is enough to keep your voice steady as you shout, “Who’s there?”

You expect to hear the retreat of some four-legged creature, a bear or coyote or maybe even a stray dog that lost its way. Instead a flashlight shines directly into your eyes, and you fall backwards off the rock, landing on the dusty ground with a thud.

You think about stammering out an apology for trespassing, but the footsteps are growing closer, and you can’t see whoever has the flashlight in hand. They saw you fall, but they don’t ask if you’re okay. They don’t even admonish you for being on their property, or for being out alone suspiciously late. They say nothing, but they’re still coming closer.

You run.

The darkness that had blanketed you in comfort moments before now suffocates you. You know these roads like muscle memory, but the footsteps behind you have quickened as well, and they have the advantage of light. The dirt roads out here are neglected and full of potholes; it will only take one wrong step to go from hunted to captured prey.

If you can make it to the main dirt road, you have a chance. You yearn for the houses that once felt too close, for the safety of fences and porch lights. How far did you journey away from that small shield of society? The side road comes to an eventual end, but under the cover of the trees it’s impossible to see how much distance you’ve made. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you panic. Did you even turn the right way? Or are you going deeper into the forest?

Your foot catches, and you tumble forward, your knees scraping against the dirt and gravel. The footsteps behind you are clearer now that you don’t hear your own, and they’re close. But the beam of light from the flashlight is nowhere to be seen.

Your body aching, you crawl as quietly as you can to the side of the road and squeeze yourself between a large tree trunk and a salal berry bush, hoping desperately that without the light to catch you the predator might lose your trail. You lean your head back against the bark and fight to slow your breath. The footsteps continue, steadily, and you fear that your heartbeat echoing through the night will give away your hiding spot.

And then they pass you, heavy and deliberate. You let out a shaky breath and pull yourself back to your feet as they vanish, but the question remains – what do you do now? If you hide until morning, your family will wake up and find you missing. If you try to walk home now, you could still be hunted down by…who? The uncertainty terrifies you.

A new sound jolts you out of your thoughts – tires. By some miracle, someone who lives on this narrow woodland road is on their way home, and that gives you a third option. You limp out of the bushes as their headlights turn the corner towards you, still distant. You’re covered in dirt from your falls, and your hair is tangled with debris from the bushes. You look like you need help; you only need them to see you.

You put one foot back onto the dirt road as you emerge, their headlights almost reaching you. But as you step forward with the other foot, you feel a thick hand cover your mouth and yank you backwards. You fall to the ground again, the bushes shaking and snapping around you on your way down. The car headlights that would have been your salvation pass by, illuminating where your hands and knees had scraped the dirt as you crawled into hiding just minutes ago. The disturbed bushes likely looked like nothing more than a fleeing animal as they drove on.

You try to get to your feet again, but the butt of a flashlight strikes your head one, two, three times. Everything goes dark, the last visible scraps of light fading as you do.

You never see his face, but now you know. Your parents lied to you. There are monsters in the woods, and they are always looking for the next hunt.