Love in the Woods

The gray light of a cloudy afternoon couldn’t diminish the beauty of the autumn leaves. They floated from the trees along the hiking path, crunched beneath my boots, and occasionally the wind would sweep them off the ground, flinging them into a waltz in front of us. The trees shepherded us forward, like sentinels to either side of the path, enclosing us with their golden-orange canopy. Matt kept a steady pace as I slowed and then tried to catch him again. I asked him to slow down earlier, but he seemed incapable of keeping that in mind. He would slow for a little, then his pace would quicken. Finally, I saw a light up ahead, a half-circle of golden leaves opened to a stunning view of the mountains. An unspoken boundary kept the bright, jovial trees from encroaching onto the rocky ledge we found ourselves atop. Instead, the outcropping was permeated by squat bushes, wirey, sharp, and about waist-height. There was a clearing in the brush, with a fire pit in the center. 

“Whad’ya think?” Matt looked at me, wide-eyed, “pretty incredible right.”

“Yeah,” I gasped for air, hands on my knees.

“Worth the climb right? So worth the climb.” He didn’t wait for me to answer and walked right up to the ledge. Giving me a brief shot of anxiety. I raised my hand to call him back, but was too winded, he was going to do what he wanted anyway. 

“Long way down,” he looked back at me. I stood up straight, brushing my hair with my hand. “I’m gonna set up the tent.” He walked briskly back from the ledge and waded through the brush surrounding the campsite. I dropped my backpack next to his, and began searching for my canteen. I guess I looked a little too desperate, since Matt stopped assembling the tent poles and looked at me. “You lose something?”

“I can’t find my water bottle, I swear it was in my side pocket.”

“This waterbottle?” He seemed a little annoyed that he had to put down the tent poles, but he hopped over the flattened tent and pulled my water bottle from his backpack. “It fell out of your pack when we stopped earlier.”

“Oh my god, thanks.” I tried to chug the water without appearing as thirsty as I was. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

“Don’t worry, I have two more in my pack. Can never have too much water.” He turned his back to me and continued assembling the tent. He was so outdoorsy, always prepared. His hair was messy, but lay exactly how I liked it. I knew he was in good shape because I just watched him climb a mountain and barely break a sweat. I trained on the stair-master for weeks to get ready for this trip, and I barely made it. Not to mention he had all the heavier camping gear in his pack: the stove, the tent, the food, a couple extra water bottles. All I brought were clothes, water, some snacks and my sleeping bag. I looked out over the valleys and peaks just past the ledge. God it was beautiful. The valleys were a blaze of gold, orange and burgundy leaves. Spots of green shimmered through the mess, and above it all the mountains peaked through rolling clouds and mist. The air was so crisp that I didn’t even mind being covered in dry sweat. It was worth it. 

If I thought the valley was stunning when we arrived, golden hour and the sunset took it to another level. The autumn leaves gleamed in the setting sun and the patches of green faded into darkness between the red and orange highlights. Matt cooked us dinner and we ate while the sun set, then he disappeared into the woods for firewood. Was there anything he couldn't do! I was a little upset he didn't watch the tail-end of the sunset, but I did agree that a proper fire would be nice once it got dark. The campsite felt so empty without him. I called to him, to see if he was nearby, but didn’t get a response. I stood up and walked over to the forest's edge. Now that the sun had set and the light was fading, the boulders, trees, and brush all adopted the same gray apparel. A mirage melting before your eyes. I called him again, and thought I heard him call my name back. I thought it strange that he would respond with my name instead of where he was, or that he was coming. I wanted to go into the woods and look for him, but held back. It was getting dark and I wasn't good with directions. I called him again, and again he responded with my name, a little louder this time, a little closer. His tone had changed a little too, the first part of my name sounded deeper, but the end was higher, almost like he was a little annoyed, almost like someone beckons a child. I didn't like this game we were playing. He probably had his hands full of logs and didn’t want me wandering through the brush and getting lost. I went back and sat down on one of the little folding chairs he brought. Somewhere in the distance, reverberating between the mountain peaks, I heard a howl. I spun around to look back at the forest, hoping Matt had emerged, but saw only mist enveloping the trees, absorbing them into the mountain’s gray kingdom. I heard a rustling by our tent. The bushes around me trembled. Branches snapped behind me. I jumped and spun around, almost tripping over the camping stove. And there he was. With arms full of logs and little branches.

“Jesus Cynthia, you almost knocked me over.”

“Sorry, I thought I heard something in the bushes.” He looked around.

“There's nothing here, it was probably just the wind.” He dropped the logs down by the fire pit and began disassembling the stove.

“Did you hear me calling you?”

“No.”

“So you didn't call my name?”

“No?”

“I swear I heard someone call me.” He didn't respond as he was building a little teepee from the logs, filling the inside with smaller branches and newspaper he pulled from his pack.

“Are you messing with me?” I asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

“No.” He was stoking the flames.

“Well who do you think it was then?”

“I don’t think there's anyone else here. We didn’t see anyone come or go on the hike.” I looked at him, sitting across the fire from me, flames now dancing in his eyes. “You sure it wasn’t just the wind, rustling the leaves? Sometimes I think I hear things when I'm out here too.”

“Yes I'm sure! I don't think the wind was calling my name!”

“You'd be surprised, sometimes I'm out here and think I hear someone calling me. Sometimes I think I'm having a whole conversation.” I looked at him like he was crazy, but he must not have noticed. “Your thoughts are just so much louder out here.”

We sat in silence for a while, watching the fire. I brought s'more supplies but wasn’t in the mood for them. The fire crackled.

“You didn't go looking for me did you?”

“What?”

“When you heard me calling your name, you didn't go into the forest right?”

“No I went right up to the edge, but it was so overgrown I didn't want to get scratched up, or lost.”

“That's good.”

“So it was you?”

“No… but they have… myths around here.”

“Myths?”

“Yeah you know, stories, legends, whatever you want to call them.” 

“About what?”

“Voices. Voices in the woods. Of people you know, people you love.”

I flushed a little. How did he know I loved him? I almost said something but caught myself just in time, realizing he could be talking about anyone.

“Oh like spooky ghost stories,” I regained my composure and decided to play aloof for once in my life. “Got any good ones?”

“Yeah. I got one my grandfather used to tell me.” I decided to stop pouting and get the s'more supplies from my pack. I laid them out in front of us and moved my chair closer to Matt's.

“My grandfather, when he was like eighteen or nineteen, would come out here to hunt with his friends.” He speared a marshmallow, “ they would do this all the time, but as they got older all his friends got married, had kids, moved away, and eventually he started going by himself. One time, he wanders a little further than he wanted to, he doesn't feel like trekking back in the dark, so he finds a hunting stand they set up years ago. Figures he'll nap until daybreak. So he's laying there, and it is dead silent, no leaves rustling, no critters chattering. But then he hears the faintest little whisper. Someone calling his name. It gets a little louder, he can tell it's a woman. It gets a little louder, like she's only ten feet away. Now he’s a hunter, so he’s used to listening for animals moving through the brush, but he can't hear her move. Then it goes silent. Completely silent. So silent he can hear his heart beating. Then, he hears someone coming up the ladder. Heavy steps, like boots coming down with force, slowly, cautiously. He doesn’t like that one bit, so he scoots to the far end of the stand with his feet to the opening and cocks his rifle, but he's thinking, well what if it’s some lost girl. I don't want to shoot her by accident. While he's moving the footsteps stop, and all he can hear is his own breathing. Then they start again, slow, methodical. Heavy. Then the tip of her head appears in the opening, and he's so scared that he raises his rifle. First her hair, all messy, then her head, her shoulders, and… She looks just like a normal woman, auburn hair, freckles, high cheekbones, gorgeous eyes. That part he remembered best, when he saw her eyes, the moon reflected off them like giant mirrors.” I giggled a little and put my head on his shoulder, “So he immediately forgets where he is and what he's doing and helps the girl into the hunting stand. She says she's lost, and oh thank goodness she found him, and she's so, so cold. Of course, he says she should get under his jacket with him, and he lets her cuddle up next to him. He said she was so cold it felt like touching ice. Well one thing led to another, but when he woke up the next morning she was gone. Went looking for her that morning, couldn't find her. Went home, asked everyone if they'd seen her, or if they knew anyone that looked like her. Nobody knows anything, everyone thinks he's crazy, that he made it up. But here's the really crazy part, nine months later, he finds my dad on his doorstep. Just a baby, just a few days old. Now everyone really thinks he’s crazy, says he outta give the baby to the police. But he’s convinced it's his son, and decides to keep him.”

“Wow,” I didn't really know what to say. “That's certainly a story. I don't know if I'd call it a ghost story though. Sounds like your grandfather just hooked up with a homeless girl looking for a warm place to sleep.”

“Haha yeah that's what everyone told him.”

“Did they ever do a DNA test?”

“Well they didn't have those while my dad was young, and by the time he got older, neither of them really wanted to. They were already father and son, so who cares where my dad really came from.”

“I'd care, if that was me, I mean.”

“Yeah, me too. I tried to get my dad to do one but he didn't want to. My mom tried too, but they'd both dig their heels in.”

“That's crazy… So are you a mystery baby too or did your dad do things the normal way?”

“Haha no I was born in a hospital, with both parents present.”

“That's good,” I cuddled up closer to him and he put his arm around me, “although I'd still like you if you were a mystery baby.” The fire had died down and we were both tired after a long day in the wild. The two-person tent was snug but cozy. We laid down our camping mats next to each other and opened up my sleeping bag to use as a sheet, while Matt's sleeping bag we used as a blanket. We cuddled up, looking at the stars through the tent's mesh roofing. 

I woke to the wind howling and whipping the sides of the tent. I managed to get uncovered in my sleep, and since I'd taken most of my clothes off, I was freezing. Clouds had rolled in and covered up the moon and stars. I dug through my pack to find my flashlight but couldn't. Maybe it rolled out of the pack? I groveled around the floor of the tent but couldn't find it. I realized I couldn't feel Matt either. He definitely wasn't in the tent. The tent flap was slightly open, whipping back and forth in the wind. He probably just went to pee. God I was so thirsty. My throat was dry, my mouth parched. I left my canteen out by the firepit, maybe I could have him grab it when he came back. I found my sweater somewhere at my feet, and slipped it on, but couldn’t find my leggings. “Matt!” I called out for him, but heard only the howling of the wind. “Matt!!” I yelled louder. The tent walls flapped harder to drown out my cries. I got on my knees and looked through the mesh roofing, but couldn't see past the bushes encircling our campsite. “Matt!” I yelled again. He’s probably just around one of the boulders. Ugh, he’s going to think I’m crazy if he went to pee and heard me yelling my head off the whole time. I looked around some more, before unzipping the tent and stepping out. The night was freezing. The wind blew through my knitted sweater, and my legs immediately covered up with goosebumps. I walked over to the fire pit and grabbed my canteen. It was ice cold but thankfully I could feel some water sloshing inside it. I was about to get back into the tent when I heard something. The wind howled and bushes creaked, leaves rustled all around me, but something was off. The winds were swirling, but they had a rhythm. I would hear the gust, then the bushes, then the leaves settling, and then, there it was again. Hoarse. Heavy. “Cynthia…” so quiet I could barely hear it. “Cynthia…” it was coming from just beyond the bushes. It sounded like Matt. 

“Matt?” I called out quietly, my voice hoarse, still parched.

“Cynthia…” a little louder this time.

I had to go look. I didn't want to, but I had to. I walked through the little clearing in the brush. Shivering, cold rocks jutting through my socks, legs trembling. Nothing. 

“Cynthia…”

It was coming from the forest now. I looked around. If Matt had gone to pee, surely he wouldn't have gone too far. A shock went through my whole body. What if he fell off the ledge? I turned around and began walking towards the ledge but the wind almost blew me off my feet.

“Cynthia!” The voice was louder now, definitely coming from the woods. It wasn't hoarse anymore either, it sounded more… frail. Like it was pleading. I turned back to the ledge and was met with another gust, pushing me back a step. I didn't want to get too close, it was so dark and windy, what if I was swept off. I turned back towards the forest. All I could see was the first row of trees, beyond that, an impenetrable darkness. The world simply ceased to exist beyond the tree line. The hiking path we took earlier was a black chasm, an empty void. I took a step towards the trees. A blast of wind pushed me another half-step. I froze, looked around, emptiness, silence, darkness. 

“Cynthia…”

The forest beckoned. Then I saw it. A figure emerging from the chasm, slowly, a pale spectre, so faint it was almost translucent. It paused, I couldn’t see its eyes, but I knew it was looking at me.

“Matt!” I called out, but it didn’t answer.

I took another step forward, so did the spectre. Surely it was Matt, surely. I took a couple more steps forward, so did the spectre. It was Matt!

“Matt!’ I called out

“Cynthia!” The spectre answered, matching my tone. I ran forward, forgetting all inhibition. It was Matt, shirtless, in the sweats he wore to bed.

“Matt! What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you answer me!?” I hugged him but immediately recoiled, he was ice cold. It hurt to touch him. I grabbed his shoulders and shuddered, my hands were going numb just holding him. I looked up into his eyes, why won’t he answer me, but his eyes were empty, black, like the chasm he emerged from. I stumbled backwards, but now he had me by the shoulders. I tried to run, I tried to scream, but my voice was hoarse and my cries stifled. He was pulling me towards him, my legs went numb, my arms wouldn’t fight. I turned away from the abomination, I couldn’t bear to look at it. Then I saw him, standing by the tent, fully clothed, watching me. 

“Matt!” I choked up, but he just nodded his head. The spectre nodded back, and pulled me into the void.