Cataracts

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Iris relished in the illusion of warmth the tiny pocket of light afforded, absently extinguishing the match in her rain cold hand as she peered out the nearly opaque pane. She’d been lucky to find this place when she did, she thought ruefully, sluicing water and sweat from her arms, a crack of thunder punctuating the action. She shivered as she slung the hydration pack from her shoulders, setting it on the ground just next to the desk rather than risk the inch of dust on its top. She gazed around the room, noting its musty smell and the darkened corners undisturbed by the meager light.

She knew she should have checked the weather before running this trail but she’d been feeling reckless. “Too reckless, too competitive, obsessive,” her coaches would always say shortly before they stopped being her coaches. Iris secretly loved this criticism, collecting it as a compliment— that is, until Craig had said it. Her mind instinctively skittered from the thought, shying from the pain. She forced herself to replay the conversation, refusing to flinch from the moment that had ended her fledgling marriage and fueled this incautious trip.

“Well, fuck you, too, Craig,” she said aloud, the words falling strangely on warped boards and nests of old bedding. She slammed home the drawer where she’d found the grimy matches and candle, a grating screech issuing forth as it snicked closed.

“Well, that’s a sound to set a person on edge, isn’t it?” The voice stole from the shadows and Iris realized, belatedly, that she wasn’t alone. She peered into the corner, holding aloft her candle with a shaking hand. “Hello?” The tiny flame failed to penetrate the oblivion. She stepped forward gingerly, boards creaking ominously under her feet. “Who’s there?” Silence greeted the words. She wasn’t conscious of the hair raising on her arms, the chill rippling through her. Her concentration distilled to her breathing and she could feel the hours of training taking over, muscles responding instantly to her fear, adrenaline compounding her shaking.

“I’m over here, dear,” the voice called out, singsong, from directly behind her. Iris turned slowly, dread a weight in her stomach. The woman stood closer than Iris would have expected, gnarled roots of fingers worrying a fold in her worn shirt. Grey white hair frazzled over her shoulders and down her back. Milky eyes stared blankly from a gaunt face. The woman tilted her head sharply, ”you still there?”

The realization that she was blind dawned on Iris slowly and she quietly swept a foot behind her, affording herself a bit more space from the woman and angling out from being directly in front of her. “I’m here,” Iris said, her voice all smoke and vapor, her trembling redoubling as the woman’s head snapped in her direction, as she reoriented herself to face Iris. “I’m here,” she reiterated more firmly. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your home and helped myself to your things. I didn’t realize anyone lived here and I got caught in the storm.” She gently set the lit candle on the desk, resting it up against the cool windowpane.

“So polite,” the woman sighed. “We’ve never had a woman stay with us before.” Iris quietly hissed a breath through her teeth, stepping back gingerly again. “Oh, no, I won’t be staying,” she rejoined, “but thank you. I’ve intruded enough.” “But you must,” the woman hissed sharply before gentling her tone: “at least through the storm.”

The silence felt heavy, fraught and Iris felt her mind snagging on something: “we?,” she asked, looking around the room once more. “Does someone else live here with you?” The gaunt face looked blank for a moment before the woman tucked her head, almost shyly. “An old affectation— my late husband. Still hard to get out of that habit.” “I’m sorry,” Iris added mechanically. “Don’t be,” the woman trilled. “He communicated primarily with his fists— but he didn’t get to do that for long,” a wide smile split her face, revealing yellow teeth— the sight strangely macabre. Iris glanced to the window, no longer hearing the gentle tapping drops, “it sounds like it has stopped raining. Thank you for offering to let me stay,” she said cautiously, “but I don’t see any reason why I can’t get out of your hair now.”

The woman’s smile grew: “so polite,” she giggled, the sound high and girlish. “But why the hurry, girl?“ Iris stepped towards the door, “my husband will be expecting me. I’m not usually gone so long for my runs.” “Hmm,” the woman sighed, “he wouldn’t be Craig, would he?”

Iris looked at the woman, appraisingly. “That’s not really your business,” she said, the sting of its newness and the callousness of the woman’s casual reference to her husband sharpening her tone. “I‘m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” The woman smiled again. “I didn’t give it. We don’t need to do all of that.”

Iris nodded, curtly, matching the woman’s abruptness: “I’m going.” She made to pass the woman, stopping when she felt a calloused hand gripping her arm with surprising strength. ”My former husband was a violent man,” she began and Iris turned towards her instinctively, manners and pity marrying and demanding she listen. “He liked to hurt when he could— to intimidate with force.“ Iris opened her mouth, no thought of what to say but needing to meet this sharing, this intimacy, with some sort of platitude. The woman raised a hand, sensing, perhaps, Iris’s discomfort. “Is your Craig that way?”

Iris started, “no, what? Not at all.” The woman hummed again, a noncommital sound before lifting the hem of her shirt, revealing a knife tucked into her waistband. “I stopped him, my husband, for laying hands on us“ she added, almost dispassionately, “and I guess you could say I got a taste for it. My husband liked to hurt, to control…,” she trailed off. “I learned I liked to hurt more permanently.”

The woman’s eyes darted up, seconds before she lunged, knife outstretched. Iris feigned left, diving right and sprinting for the exit. She felt the blade gently graze her arm as the woman’s scream of frustration rent the night. Iris leapt through the open door, narrowly missing the empty space where a board should have been. Her muscles sang, her whole body honed for this moment, her precision and strength propelling her off the porch, each step sure and confident. She felt her ankles responding to the uneven terrain, compensating, and she allowed herself to glance down, her vision scoping a few seconds ahead, troubleshooting, and knowing that a twisted ankle would lose precious seconds. She heard the woman behind her, knew she likely had this whole area memorized as she snaked down the tree-lined trail in front of her, the narrow path no more than eight feet across. Iris lengthened her gait, conscious of the sound she was generating but trusting in her speed and stamina.

The rope caught her at her shoulders, friction kissing off the skin at her clavicular notch. Time felt suspended as she fell, crashing backwards, hands scrabbling at her throat, desperate for the oxygen the line and fall had stolen from her lungs. She coughed, a sharp bark that seared. A girlish laugh came from the night behind her, “did you find my web, dear?” The giggle came again. “That’s what he called it when he set it up: ‘my web,’” the voice drew closer. “One of the best gifts he could have given me and the way this old woman gets around this area so well. My webs are everywhere,” she sang, “but you can still try running. It just helps me know where you are.”

Iris rolled to her feet, twigs snapping and leaves crackling. She raised her head, slowly, gasping, and saw the woman drawing nearer, a shadow in the night save for that moon bright hair. Lightning illuminated her steps closer and Iris slipped up into a crouch. A crack of thunder split the night and Iris saw the woman shake her head, imagining her unseeing eyes trying to reorient themselves. She knew, logically, that she needed to exit the same way she entered. She needed an opening to run and couldn’t count on missing the woman’s “webs” if she took a separate trail.

She stepped again, wincing at the noise generated by her footfalls, panic grabbing her by the throat as the woman slowly turned to face her. “Not running this time, dear?” Iris knew her path out lay where the woman stood, saw the worn path every few seconds when lightning lit the area. She held herself still, fighting every instinct tightening her legs to run, watching the woman steal ever closer. Each flash of lightning revealed her progress, illuminating her eyes, the knife, but each clap of thunder was greeted by a subtle head shake, a subdued casting about of those lamp-like eyes. “Are you tired of our game?,” the woman called, and Iris knew it for what it was— an attempt to pinpoint her location.

She held silent, still, locking every point of her body against its tremors. Light flashed and she counted deliberately, measuring each moment before sound shook the clearing. Five seconds, she thought. The woman stood within fifteen feet and was drawing nearer slowly, her arms outstretched. The seconds crawled by and Iris forced herself to count one more pulse of thunder and lightning, confirming five seconds.

“Are you injured?,” the voice called again. “There was that one man, I recall— he ran right into the line. He must have hit his head on something when he fell because he died before we really got to play much,” she said. Iris shut the words out of her mind, refusing to cede to the utter terror of them.

Lightning strobed and still Iris held, noting how much closer the woman was, her heart pulsing in her ears as she counted silently. ‘One, two, three, four, fi—…”, she pressed her body forward, the movement explosive, her foot strikes masked by the clap of thunder. She couldn’t have made it more than four steps before silence fell again. She quietly pinwheeled her arms, arresting her motion and exhaling slowly through clenched teeth, eyes scanning to locate the woman’s outline.

Lightning lent a hand and fear rippled through Iris as she realized how close this next pulse of thunder would take her to those outstretched arms and the waiting knife. She steeled herself, striking forward in tandem with the storm. Silence fell again as she halted her progress, arms snaking out to balance herself. A snap, too soon, Iris glanced down desperately looking for the twig she had broken.

The realization dawned and Iris looked up slowly, dropping abruptly, silently, into a crouch as those skeletal fingers passed within a foot of her face. Iris quietly inhaled, holding her breath, every muscle screaming to run. She gazed up into the lined face, noticing each subtle shift in her eyes, her ragged breathing, and wide smile. “You’ve been awfully quiet, dear. That won’t do.” The woman’s mouth opened and she emitted a piercing scream— Iris instinctively flinched, losing her balance and catching herself with one hand, crunching the leaves. That gaunt face swiveled her way and the woman began to laugh as she reached a hand towards her. Iris tensed, preparing herself to run when suddenly, the woman stopped.

Her head tilted sharply again, those large eyes swiveling, pausing, indecision evident. Iris listened, hearing the gentle plink of rain beginning, the soft patter shortening into a continuous lull. The woman spun about, frustration evident on her face, the insistent sound disorienting her, no doubt making her unsure of what she had heard. She came to a stop angled towards the old cabin and Iris knew, instinctively, that this was her best opportunity to get past her. She waited for the flash, counting after it came: ‘one, two, three…’ the thunder came early and Iris cursed her stupidity, the oversight in not realizing that it would with the storm now upon them.

Too late, her feet moved of their own volition. Too loud, the cacophony of her gait unmistakable, even with the cover of rain. Too slow, as the woman twisted sharply, fingers raking her face, sharp nails piercing her skin. Iris threw her whole body into the run, smashing into the woman, knocking her aside as she flew forward. She felt her ankle give, felt the sickening snap of something protesting the foot strike, she gasped sharply, stumbling before catching herself. She ran as she had never run before— outside of pain, outside of discipline, outside of any rational thought. She was fear, as trees sprung out of the night, branches grabbing and holding, rocks throwing themselves into her path. Her body barely comprehended the distance as trees thinned, giving way to open vistas, to the sight of a lone figure not too far off.

“Help!,” she screamed, the sound shattering from her, stealing precious oxygen from her lungs. The man started, shock erasing his color as she crashed into him. “Please help,” she gasped wildly, holding tightly onto his arms to keep herself upright. “The woman…My ankle, please,” she said, tears and rain mixing unpleasantly on her face. “You did in your ankle?,” he asked kindly, looping her arm over his shoulder. “Not safe to run like that out here, specially in these conditions.” “I ran into a woman,” she started again, “I…” she paused, examining his kind face, “why are you out in the storm?,” she asked abruptly. He raised his eyebrows, “same as you, I’d imagine. This storm blew in out of nowhere— I was just getting in my afternoon walk.”

Iris breathed deeply, his words soothing, secondary, ever distant, as they set to walking. “I’m just parked at the trailhead but I seem to have lost my way,” she said, grateful to see him nod and start guiding her purposefully. “You a runner, then?” He asked kindly, gesturing at her gear. “I hear lots of runners like these trails.” She felt panic loosening its chokehold, “we’re not too far off the trail,” he added. “I am… a runner, that is,” she agreed. He shifted her weight and she glanced behind them, knowing the woman couldn’t have followed her flight but feeling eyes on her. Iris glanced up at the man to see that he watched her, concern written across his features.

“You said you ran into someone? Is everything okay?,” he added, following Iris’s gaze around their path. “I… There’s a woman in the woods,” she started, haltingly, “she… I think she kills people,” she added, her words jerky, making the pronouncement even more surreal. The man’s grip on her tightened, briefly, “here? What?”

Iris nodded, “she lives in a cabin not too far away, please, help me get to my car,” she begged, panic rippling through her again as scenes from the night fought to overwhelm her. He nodded, patting her arm, “I’ll get you where you need to go.”

They ambled to path in silence and Iris felt herself drifting, the combination of adrenaline, shock, and exhaustion making her feet heavy. “How much further?,” she asked, letting her eyes drift closed. “Not much further now,” the man said, shifting her weight as she leaned more heavily on him, “how did you hurt your ankle then? Running from her?” Iris nodded, “she has these ropes. She calls them ‘webs.’ She… she made it sound like they’re all over her property. I ran into one while trying to escape.”

The man nodded, “probably help her around the property since she can’t see.” Iris hummed her assent, drifting off again to the rocking gait of their walk. Slowly, turned to look at the man. “I didn’t tell you she was blind.” She looked around desperately, feet scrabbling for purchase, unnerved by how fully he towed her forward, how fully she was leaning on him. “Please,” she begged, trying to catch his eyes as he avoided hers, “where are we going?” Trees lined either side of the path and Iris realized that while her eyes had been closed, they had turned at some point back into the trees. “Where are we going? Why are we going this way?,” she fought against his hold.

He finally looked at her, “I’m sorry,” he said, true regret etching lines on his face, “I wish you hadn’t met Mother but…,” he trailed off as the cabin came into view, a candle burning softly in the window.