There's Something in the Woods

There was a body in the shelter belt, hidden among the trees. They said he stumbled from the pub and fell victim to a wild animal. We sometimes see him walking through the trees with the fist sized hole in his skull.

There was an abandoned barn far out from the pasture. A person can be seen on the second floor window, yet there is nothing but hay above.

Kids say they hear whispers in the cornfields, The tall ears of corn tower over them. They say they hear everything.

Cows roam around the countryside, they belong to the neighbor. We don't know where the neighbor lives, we've never met him.

The deer will stop at the headlights when they run in the road. They look a bit odd, they're legs are a little too long, their teeth a little too sharp, and their eyes are different. They walk oddly, like they aren't used to this form. They don't remember how they were supposed to act.

Coyotes yip, they sound so close, they scratch at the house at the windows, despite what floor you sleep on.

There is an electric fence, you can feel it, even from a distance, you can hear the buzz, like dying fluorescence. The adults say that it’s off, that there is no power source that connects to it.

Certain spots around the farm cause four wheelers and mopeds to cut out, stall. No one can figure out why.

The wind seems to tell stories, but no one cares to listen.

Some nights you will hear cicadas and birds and rustling of grass, until the moment you open the door, eerie silence will flood the home and take every space up.

They will tell you that no matter what you see out the windows at night, ignore it, ignore them.

Every night, draw the blinds, lock the windows and doors, turn off all the lights and don make too much noise.

When you drive down to the river, come home before the sun sets, when you drive through the forest, be wary, the people you hear don't need help, they aren't people at all.

There is something strange about this little town, to which I visit every summer. My grandparents live on a large farm, secluded to the point of isolation. Sometimes I enjoy laying in the forest, only during the day. It’s not advisable to be out in the forest before dawn or after dark, or to be out at all during those times. I like to lay in the shelter belt which is set at the far end of the corn field. It’s just me, my grandmother, and my grandfather at the house. I go to lie with the trees when I’m lonely. I feel at peace sleeping with the birch trees watching over me. There’s a presence in the woods, an unexplainable presence. Not necessarily warm but not malicious either. It sends the occasional chills down one’s spine, but company is company. As I mentioned I lay on the ground, watching the leaves move with the wind and form shaped above me. If you stare for too long you’ll see faces, pictures, stories even, in the dying foliage. It smells dry, it’s warm outside but the air is a kind of crisp that bites. I find comfort in the fact that I'm not alone, a sort of self destructive curiosity plagues me. Society is cruel and unaccepting, full of people, each individual. The forest feels like one whole living thing. If you lay with the vines and twigs long enough, the verdure and fungi take you as their own. I’ve never had the privilege of that though. I wish to be put there when I'm gone. I want to live on as a part of this infinitely connected family. I want flowers to grow in my lungs replacing the air, I want my ribs to be wrapped in vines, I want fungi to grow where my thoughts used to be, I want my heart to be taken and put to better use. I wish to be there when I’m gone. How easy and peaceful it would be to simply not think. But, for now, I’m here and I should start to walk, to get inside before sunset. Today my thoughts are stronger than ever, I feel something calling me, begging me not to go. I wonder what would happen if I continued to lay here, after the stars came out and the sun dipped below the horizon. Curiosity and empathy gets the best of me. I lean against a tree and listen as the cicadas sign their songs, the moon shines down. I cannot see the house from here, nor the light from it. The stars look exquisite with no man made pollution. I close my eyes, just for a moment.

When I open them the sense of company is gone, the cicadas are silent, the only sound is the wind blowing against the branches on the trees. I feel a pit in my stomach, I second guess the rationality of my plan, which is starting to seem dangerous. For the first time in all my years I feel terror, true primal fear. My heart races. There is something here with me, no longer placid. Its presence is hostile, malevolent, bloodthirsty! I stand up and make a run for it, tripping over branches, just a few more steps till the forest edge, just a few more steps till safety. I have a feeling I’ll be fine if I can just reach the cornfield. I continue to run for one minute, then two, then five. I’m still in the forest. I collapsed to my knees, arms wrapped around me. The sense of dread mixes with hopelessness. I’m stuck here in the forest and I’m going to die. I’m really going to die here. I start to breathe faster as I hear steps behind me. I look back and try to scream but nothing comes out. Tears roll down my face and I try to get back up but my legs have given out. The thing looks at me, its eyes are pits sunken into its decaying head. I cover my mouth with a trembling, dirt covered hand.The monster is towering over me, its head a skull of some sort, its body an emaciated, elongated mass of bones and flesh, that's not right for this world. It tilts its head at me, the way a dog does when you talk to them, almost in a harmless way; But then it smiles revealing rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. It touches its claws together to a point. It lets out a roaring sound resembling a laugh. I’m frozen sobbing with my eyes locked onto its horrible form. Then it takes my life.

They say there was a body in the shelter belt, hidden among the trees. They say she tried to run away, drunk probably, like most teenagers these days. They say she tripped and hit her head on a rock. But sometimes we see her walking, with a fist sized hole in her skull.