When the Light Returned

I took a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs, a sharp contrast to the swirl of warmth in my parka and beaver fur ruff. The crunch of the snow under my boots echoed in the stillness, each step heavy with solitude. The landscape was a frozen sea, the white blanket stretching endlessly, interrupted only by the gnarled silhouettes of ancient trees standing guard over the secrets of the wilderness.

The sky was black with a million stars. The waning crescent moon was in line with Venus and Jupiter, the two most prominent lights in the sky. It was toward the end of January. Polar night was almost over. Nature longed for the return of the sun.

As I made my way deeper into the woods, I scanned the horizon for signs of movement. The traps were set in the usual spots, their placements familiar and routine, but today felt different. There was an energy in the air, almost electric. Perhaps it was just the anticipation of the first flickers of dawn that would come in a few hours, hinting at the end of this long night. The old people in my village spoke of dark terrors that roamed the polar night. Spirits that could lure a person deeper into the forest, or that could compel someone to stay until they froze to death and became a spirit themselves. Of course, these just old stories.

Suddenly, a faint rustling to my left caught my attention. I froze, instinctively tightening my grip on my gun. Out here, you learned to be observant; the wilderness demanded respect. Slowly, I turned my head, my eyes landing on a shadow flitting through the trees. It paused, and for a moment, we were both still—two creatures in a silent standoff.

Then, with a swift motion, the creature bounded into the underbrush, and I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Probably just a deer, I thought, but the thrill of the moment lingered. I moved on, heart racing slightly, the quiet of the night wrapping around me once more.

Reaching my first trap, I knelt to check for any catches. The moonlight glinted off the metal, and I felt a sense of satisfaction at the successful placement. But as I lifted the trap, a low growl resonated from somewhere just beyond the clearing. Not the howls from earlier—this was closer, more menacing. My instincts kicked in, and I stood carefully, scanning the darkness, heart pounding.

“Stay calm,” I muttered under my breath, trying to reassure myself. I’d handled worse than this. But the growl came again, louder and more insistent. I could tell it wasn’t from a moose, and my thoughts flickered to the wolves. The cold suddenly felt much more oppressive, creeping in as fear mixed with the icy air.

I needed to be cautious. This close to their territory, I was intruding, but I had a job to do. Clenching my jaw, I looked around again, my senses heightening. Whatever it was, it felt like it was assessing me, gauging my presence. I took a tentative step back toward the path leading out, ready to retreat if necessary, weapon poised, but part of me also yearned to see what lurked in the shadows. The wilderness was full of surprises, and I was here for a reason: to become part of it, even if only for a night.

The growl stopped. Silence settled over the clearing so completely that I could hear my own pulse beating inside my hood. Something wasn’t right. Predators didn’t usually announce themselves and then go quiet. Wolves circled. Bears charged or wandered away. But whatever had made that sound was waiting. I backed away from the trap without taking my eyes off the tree line. Every spruce cast a black spear across the snow, and every shadow looked capable of hiding something alive.

The moon disappeared behind a bank of clouds. Darkness swallowed everything. Only the snow reflected enough light to keep me from stumbling. Then I heard it. Crunch. One deliberate footstep. Not four feet, but two. I froze and listened intently. I heard the steps. Slow and measured. They were heavy enough to compress the snow, but not enough to break the crust. Someone else was there.

“Hello?” I called, immediately regretting it. My voice vanished into the forest without an answer. No more steps. At first, I thought it was another trapper standing between the trees. But there weren’t supposed to be any other trap lines within twenty miles. I raised my flashlight, and the beam cut through the darkness. There was nothing except the tall spruce trees.

“You’re getting jumpy,” I muttered. The long polar night eventually played tricks on everyone. I turned to leave. Crunch. This time, the footsteps came from behind me. I spun around fast, trying to catch a glimpse of it, and nearly slipped.

There was nothing. The hair standing up on the back of my neck told me that was not true. There was someone…or something matching my movements. I forced myself to walk instead of running. Running in deep snow was a good way to twist an ankle or exhaust yourself, and panic killed people faster than the cold. The trail wound between low ridges where the wind had sculpted the snow into frozen waves. My headlamp illuminated only thirty feet ahead before the darkness swallowed the light.

Then my radio crackled. Static.

More static.

A voice tried to break through. “…anyone…”

The transmission dissolved into white noise.

I grabbed the radio.

“This is Molly. Go ahead.” But there was nothing except the hiss of empty air. There shouldn’t have been any radio traffic. The village knew I wouldn’t be back until morning.

I clipped the radio back to my shoulder.

A minute later, it crackled again. This time, there was no static. Just breathing.

Slow.

Steady.

As if someone stood inches from the microphone.

“Who’s there?”

The breathing stopped. A single word drifted through the speaker. “…Run.” Before I could react, something enormous crashed through the brush fifty yards ahead. Branches exploded, and snow billowed into the air. I shouldered my rifle and aimed toward the sound. Out stepped the largest bull moose I’d ever seen. Relief flooded through me so quickly that my knees weakened. The old bull stared at me only briefly before trotting across the trail and disappearing into the darkness. I let out a long breath.

“So that’s what had you worked up,” I said to myself as I lowered my rifle. Then I noticed what had frightened the moose. Its tracks weren’t alone. Pressed into the fresh snow behind them was a single line of footprints. Human footprints, but bare feet. They came from the darkness beyond the trees. And they stopped exactly where I was standing.

Time to go, I thought. I was skunked anyway. There were no furs to collect. All my traps remained untouched. I tried to control my fear. Surely, the polar night was playing tricks on my mind. I headed for my village. Suddenly, the radio crackled again.

“Molly here,” I responded, my voice a little shaky as my resolve to remain calm began to fade.

Crackle, crackle, hiss. And then, a whisper within the white noise, “You are trespassing….go….run….”

I didn’t hesitate. I ran. Branches slapped my face as I darted down the trail. My lungs began to burn as I gulped the freezing air. My muscles fatigued from not getting enough oxygen. But I could still hear the methodical crunch of footsteps behind me. I continued running. My eyes began to darken, and then, I tripped over a root, landing squarely on my back. I could barely make out a figure in the pale moonlight. An Ijiraq!

The ghostly form floated toward me and looked at me with strange eyes, “I told you to leave,” it hissed. “Now you will remain here, lost forever.”

Suddenly, the sky became lighter. Over the horizon, the tiniest piece of the sun became visible. The first sunrise. Polar night was over. I looked at where the Ijiraq had been floating, and it was gone. I took a long, deep breath and made my way home.