Winding Down

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

Another group of stragglers from the daytime.

Hikers would occassionally wander into Hart forest during the fall season, to get a good taste of the clean fall air. Sometimes the cabin, which never saw guests during the other seasons, would have a few floating guests that were curious of its aging interior. It was a stark contrast to the scene, as the forest really was quite beautiful if you visited during the day.

All around, the leaves were stunning and heavy, falling to the ground with the slightest gust of wind. The infamous abandoned cabin was to be turned into a minature museum, with artifacts of the forest and animal models for school kids to come look at.

But for now, it sat towards the entrance of the forest trails, crumbling under faded wood and creaking with exhaustion.

The cabin wasn't necessarily the problem.

As a park ranger, I am constantly checking around for hikers that wander off or get themselves into trouble with the wildlife. I maintain the forest and keep watch of what goes on here at night. Luckily, nothing too crazy has happened for years since I've started working here. One of the worst things that's occurred has been a little girl getting sprayed by a skunk.

It's just a relatively quiet area. Hikers usually aren't dumb, and they respect the land. We don't get too many rambunctious teens here either.

So, there really isn't much to report. It's a forest in the middle of an aging town, where either families or old folks flock to. That's about it.

The thing is, I am still worried about Hart forest. Sure, during the day the place is absolutely stunning and calming. Almost picturesque.

When nighttime hits, the atmosphere grows thicker. It isn't the same, exactly, and everyone can probably feel the shift.

Out of all things, my main concern is the trees.

They begin to twist, mend, and click as the dark comes in. Every night, a couple of the trees click in repetitive motions, breaking some branches in the midst of this strange routine. No one has noticed it, or they have firmly contributed this behavior to the odd sounds animals make. But when I have had to take on the duties of nightshift, it has been nothing but weird.

The trees bend.

Click.

And bend.

Click.

They sound like cracking knuckles. Their trunks slightly move in strange directions.

What I am always thinking of, is the breaking of the bark.

Bark breaking sounds like a very large wave crashing, or a shot being fired and echoing fiercely through the woods. It happens when the trees continue this manic routine. They twist to the side. They click all night. But eventually, they snap.

They come in various patterns of clicking and clacking, the trees entirely bending one way in horrendous fashions. But no one really notices, like I said. People must either blatantly ignore it to not scare themselves, or they are genuinely oblivious.

Another group of hikers entered the forest today, and they look like they will be staying late. As usual, they will probably ignore the sounds or even fall asleep in the cabin. It is the same boring routine.

It is a group that is very well prepared, with gear and tools in case of an emergency. The radio chatter on my walkie started coming out in spurts, but it could not really be heard. Nothing but mangled sounds coming out of its speaker felt like a far off voice.

I groaned.

Truly, nothing works out here.

In the meantime, I suppose my duty was to go back to watching the forest and the hikers. Initially, they surveyed the cabin and saw that a candle was left by the windowsill. Taking out a lighter, one of the men lit the small glass jar as his wife smelled the aroma.

Of course, doing something like that is a fire hazard since they ended up leaving without blowing it out.

Ugh.

They must've forgotten.

Going a little deeper down the trail, I saw them set up camp. After pulling out their sleeping bags, they ate their granola bars and began to wind down.

Winding down happened around 5 or 6 pm.

Winding down took about an hour.

As the forest approached the later hours, the trees were alive again.

"MAKE IT STOP". A mans voice could be heard.

Screams suddenly escaped from the center of the forest trails.

The trees were snapping as expected, but the hikers were not ignorant to the cause. Footsteps and heavy boots began running down the rocky path back towards the main entrance, as some trees snapped in unison. Hopefully, they make it out alive.

Snap.

Click.

SNAP.

We lost another tree.

Their breathing was loud, as they gasped and turned to get away from the horrid symphony of snapping.

I looked down at my robe, seeing my feet glide over the forest floor.

I just wonder when the next people will return to the cabin and light a candle for me. For some reason, it always means I have to go back to work. These shifts never end.

Nothing has pulled me away from the breaking of the bark.

I like hearing it.