The Thing in the Forest

The cold wind buffets my already frozen face. My harsh breaths turn to icy fog, only to be whipped away by the wind. In the darkening night, bony hands reach from the ground and attack, grabbing at my vulnerable ankles and trying to bring me down. Shadowy figures surround me, too tall for me to see their tops, and their long thin fingers stretch towards me as I run as fast as I can to avoid being captured and returned to that Thing. I rip my body away from the figures that seek to harm me. I can’t feel any tears dripping down my face, but I know they must be there.

If only Ronnie hadn’t caught sight of whatever had captivated him. If only Amelia hadn’t wandered off the path. None of this would have happened. If only they hadn’t been so dead set on hiking. I should have heeded my inner unease and stayed home.

Ronnie had seen something in the woods, off the path. Something that made his body relax and seemed to hold every thought in his brain. His face was blank as he stared out into the trees. Amelia and I tried in vain to get his attention and snap him out of whatever weird trance he was in, but he didn't blink when we snapped fingers in his face or even flinch when we screamed in his ears. He was like a zombie, and it terrified us.

Amelia had been determined to find whatever held his attention, so she wandered off into the woods. She never returned. She never reappeared from the trees with that characteristic shrug and smile, and no amount of panicked shouting brought her back.

Without a phone signal this far away from civilization, someone needed to head back down the trail for help. Amelia was gone, and Ronnie couldn’t move. He could only stand there silently, eyes unfocused and staring out into the woods, but I couldn’t just leave him while I hurried down the seven hour trail. All I could do was set up camp on the path and pray that some group of hikers would find us.

Something had snatched Amelia. Just like something came for me and Ronnie as night colored the sky. Something that moved too fast to be seen.

We had been taken to a cave whose walls were painted dark with what hadn’t been blood, what couldn’t be blood. For what must have been hours, the only thing I could hear was the obscene sounds of meat being torn apart (some poor animal, I’m sure) and the rapid tattoo of my heart. All I could think about was going home and seeing Angel again when home might as well be as far away as the moon.

As I put more distance between myself and that Place, I slow down, for my feet ache with every step. The shadowy figures still surround me, but they are toying with me, like cats playing with a wounded mouse. They let me run and struggle, allowing hope to rise in my chest, only for their sharp paws to come down in front of the exit, cruelly cutting off my only means of escape. My body is so cold I can’t feel anything except the pain in my feet and the agony in my left calf, wounds from the Thing. From claws or teeth, I’m not sure. I lost my glasses sometime in the night, and my weak eyes had been unable to pierce the blackness of the cave. All I can do now is pray that I don’t falter.

Exhaustion threatens to bring me down, but I know - I know - I can’t stop now. If I did, I would die from hypothermia before the sun rose. If I’m lucky, that is, because more likely, the imposing figures that have followed me deeper into the woods would sense my defeat and see their little mouse giving up and accepting her fate. They would devour me, then go along their day until they catch sight of some new mouse.

Farther up the path, a group of boulders gleams white like a beacon of hope under the blessing of the full moon. I stumble forward. Three more feet before I reach the haven. My legs tremble with the effort, and it feels as though these last couple steps are harder than the last hundred I have taken.

With a cry of relief, I collapse against the frozen stone. I curl against the rocks and squeeze my eyes shut. As icy leaves grow warm under my cheek, I consider burying myself under them for protection against the cold, but I can’t seem to muster the strength to do it.

Then warmth flows over me like bath water slowly rising around me and heating my bones to the core. I’m no longer lying on the frozen ground in the middle of a forest but rather on the leather couch of my apartment, wrapped in my softest blanket with the comforting weight of my cat sleeping on me. The gentle vibrations of Angel’s purrs are more soothing than anything else. I feel my glasses press against the bridge of my nose, forgotten in my rapid descent to sleep. I raise a hand to gently pat Angel’s soft head, smiling at the contented noises. I could stay here forever, lost to all the world except my beloved cat.

The cracking of a stick pierces my subconscious. It’s probably just a branch tapping on my apartment window, but another crack forces my eyes open and brings my attention to the stand of trees. This isn't my apartment. The events of the night rush back, and I slowly force myself to sit up against the rocks. The darkness is not as heavy as a pale light fills the sky. I rub at my eyes and absentmindedly push against the bridge of my nose.

A nearly imperceptible flash of shadow flickers between the trees. Without my glasses I can’t make out details, so instead I focus on the minute changes to the colors, the scenery, and the way the light plays with the branches of the trees. I am beginning to doubt my own senses, when the shadow flickers again to my left. If I had blinked, I would have missed it, and my heart begins to pick up pace. I won’t be able to run away this time with my legs screaming in pain and my body numb with cold and exhaustion. The idea of even kneeling seems like an impossible task.

Two flashes of green light erupt within an inch of each other in the trees where the shadow had been. The purest green I have ever seen. Every shade of the color imaginable, and even those unimaginable. Teal, olive, chartreuse, emerald, lime, seafoam, sage, the color of Angel’s eyes when they catch the light. The faded green of my favorite sundress. The color of cash and of cannabis, and the puke color of Angel’s first chew toy. More shades than I knew were possible. I want to see the light again- no, I need to see that light, to experience the swell of emotions that accompanied such a rare sight. The flash of calm; the feeling of being connected to everything; the sense of success; the terrible desire to want that light, to own the very thing that gave birth to the swelling of my heart. The only thing I want is to see that color again, forever.

Somehow I make it back to my feet. The pain in my legs is an absent concern, and I sense the agony as if it weren’t my own. I step towards the now dull space where the explosion of green disappeared. I scrunch my nose slightly. The word ‘green’ doesn’t do justice to that light. It deserves something more beautiful, more eloquent. A word that is unspeakable by human tongue, something in the language of Mother Nature or Heaven or Beauty herself. Perhaps one of them will tell me, and will allow me to kneel at their feet and beg for the truth. All I need is the opportunity, and I will gladly give my life in the pursuit of that Color.

All I want is to see it again, one more time.

The little mouse doesn’t notice the cracking of leaves. She doesn’t feel the cat’s claws dig into the soft flesh of her arms so caught up as she is in a daydream. She doesn’t notice the change in scenery as she is carried aloft from the group of rocks that just a few hours ago were a beacon of hope. If the little mouse could have escaped the thoughts of her head, she would have recognized the bloody cave from whence she had escaped. She would have seen the mangled corpses that once were her friends, and she would have understood that perhaps green isn’t the color of hope, but rather the color of jealousy and deceit.

The cop sighs heavily as his head pounds with the beginnings of caffeine withdrawal. He stares at the papers laying on his desk, and he can almost hear the distress of the parents demanding he send out every possible man to search for their children. They had been here this morning, filling out Missing Persons forms and crying and yelling.

Parents are like that, he supposes.

He needs to call the rangers and get together a search and rescue, though he knows how this ends. He’s been around enough years to know that at the end of spring, one group of hikers inevitably goes missing. Bear attacks, they say. The cop does nothing to correct them.

It is unlikely that those kids will be found, and their parents will be left to the misery of picking up the pieces of their shattered lives and learning to deal with the uncertainty of their children’s fates. If he so desired, he could give them certainty. He could find the butchered remains, but he won’t. Ignorance can be a blessing. Or maybe that’s what he wants to believe. Is truth really better than hope, however false that hope may be? Is it so cruel to give the parents the possibility that their children are still alive? He doesn’t think so. Looking back, given the choice, he would choose ignorance.

He knows how painful it is, to wonder at the fate of loved ones. He stares at the smiling faces of the pictures the families have chosen for the reports. A boy with a mischievous smile on his face as if he was getting into trouble. A girl with the smirk of someone who knows what she wants in life. Another girl with glasses, cheek to cheek with a black cat who has a white ring of fur around its head. He stares at the images until they blur together into the image of his late wife.

Ten years ago, she had gone hiking with a couple friends and never returned. He had spent years tracking her down and searching for clues. Until he found it. The cave. He had seen the bony remains clad in the clothes of his wife’s hiking buddies and the mangled bodies of newer prey, but what he hadn’t expected was his wife. Her gorgeous green eyes, that once used to be so gentle, had hardened, the shades of green swirling with hate and hunger. Her face was emaciated, and fangs peeked between her bloody lips. Her nails, once perfectly manicured, were long and jagged and covered in red-brown. He had been terrified of the monster his wife had become, and every moment he had expected her to attack, to pierce his body with her claws. What he hadn’t expected was the sorrow in her eyes and the plea that came in a low growl. The plea for him to turn his back and forget what he had found. He had run that day, and while he couldn’t forget, he could at least pretend.

Whatever his wife was now, he knew he loved her still.

So he knew how this would end. Those poor kids will never be found, and the cycle will begin again. So says the canary in his golden cage to the quivering mouse hiding in a corner, the cat will come again.

In his mind he prays for the souls of Amelia Sournalis, Ronald Emiera, and Lucy Green. May they find peace in the next life.