It was a gorgeous winter day and I had just arrived at one of the local parks in my small town for a walk with my dog, Freya. Freya is a german shepherd, large for her breed at 110lbs, who loves the snow. She’s pretty much my best friend and has been for 9 years now.
The park we were at is huge, heavily wooded and well known for it’s scenic hiking trails. I noticed right away that no one else was there. The parking lot was completely empty. Considering that it was 1pm on a Tuesday, I wasn’t all that surprised. A lot of people are working at that time of day and also, not everyone holds the same enthusiasm for winter hiking that my dog and I do. I actually prefer having the park to ourselves, though. I can let Freya run off leash, enjoy the sounds of nature and not worry about encountering other people. I’ve been walking these trails since I was a kid and I’ve never had a reason to feel unsafe.
The park has 6 separate trails that all loop back around to the parking lot. Each one is maybe 3 miles long. I picked the north trail and we set off. The sun was glistening through the trees, Freya was happily trotting along beside me and all was right with the world. After about a mile of walking, I could hear the familiar sound of the small waterfall that was the main attraction of this particular path.
As we got closer to the wooden foot bridge up ahead, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked out into the trees and saw a man standing in the distance facing me. He was wearing a fur lined hood and I couldn’t see his face, just blackness where his face should be. I stared at him for a moment and got a weird feeling in my gut, but quickly chided myself for it. Surely I’m just being paranoid, nothing’s ever happened in this small town. This man is probably out enjoying this nice winter afternoon just like I am, right? Right. Freya let out a barely audible growl, but I signaled her to keep moving and we went on our way.
We made it to the waterfall and stopped for a minute to rest and admire the scenery. I was sitting on a rock drinking some water when I got the unmistakable feeling of being watched. I looked down the trail and saw the man again. He was on the trail now, about 100 feet down from us. He was standing there motionless like he had been earlier and now my gut feeling grew stronger. I give a slight wave, but he still didn’t move. Seeing him out in the open, I noticed just how big he was. He must have stood around 6’5 and weighed well over 250lbs. Despite the fact that he was now standing directly in the sunlight, there was still that empty blackness where his face should be. Freya started growling again. I knew we had at least another mile of dense forest trail to navigate before we’d be back to the parking lot and all I wanted to do now was make it back to the car, so I signaled her to move along and started walking again, faster this time.
A few more minutes went by before something, instinct maybe, told me to turn around. When I did, there he was, still standing on the trail, only he was much closer than before. Only 15 or so feet away. Freya positioned herself in front of me, growling fiercely. I decided I had to say something, anything.
“What do you want?” I screamed, but received no response. The silence in those woods at that moment became deafening.
My mind went to the knife in my pocket.
I’ll kill him if I have to, I thought to myself as I slipped my hand into said pocket and wrapped it around the handle of the knife, anger slowly replacing the fear coursing through my veins. I refuse to be a victim. Not again.
I glared at him bitterly, accusatory thoughts flying through my head.
I bet you’re waiting for me to slip up so you can make your move. You’d love to see me scream, wouldn’t you? Well, I wont give you that satisfaction. Not today.
I pulled the knife out of my pocket and charged at him. He turned and tried to run, but I jumped on his back, jamming the blade into his neck again and again until he was down and I was too tired to move. I laid on my back in the cold, wet snow and eventually the world went black.
************************************************************************
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed with my arms and legs firmly strapped down. So many people have come to talk to me since I woke up, but the things they’re telling me don’t make sense right now. They said that I’m sick and that I have been for a long time. They said this place is my home and I escaped, that I was having another ‘episode’ and would start feeling better once the new meds kicked in. They claim the man in the woods was just an innocent passerby that became concerned - he had seen me walking through the woods with no coat or shoes on and a stuffed dog tucked under my arm. He had also seen the news bulletins going around about my escape. He called 911 and dispatch had told him to stay on the line and keep an eye on my location until police arrived, but to keep a distance and not engage with me. They said I turned on him when he got too close. By the time police arrived, the man had already bled out and I had nearly frozen to death myself. They asked where I got the knife from, how I managed to escape, but I can’t tell them, I just don’t remember.
I asked them about Freya. Where is she? Is she ok? The doctor brought in a stuffed german shepherd plush and placed it in my lap. “Here she is” she said gently “The old one had blood all over it, so we had to get you a new one”. I turned the toy over in my hands, furious. “Is this some kind of fucking joke?” I asked angrily. The doctor only gave me a sypathetic look before she left the room.
Now, as I sit alone, watching the snow fall through the barred window of my room at Radcliffe Psychiatric Hospital, it’s all coming back to me.
Ten years ago, when I was 21, I was attacked by a man while out hiking with my dog. He killed my poor Freya and did unspeakable things to me. When the woman who found me that day first saw me, I’m told I was laying half dead and half naked in a pool of blood, clutching my already dead dog. My throat was slit and my face brutally slashed. I had been stabbed over 30 times - every one said it was a miracle I had survived. I spent months in the ICU and was left severely scarred both physically and mentally. Since I never saw his face and his DNA wasn’t in the database, my attacker was never identified and justice could never be served. None of that felt like a ‘miracle’ to me, it felt like a curse. Something in me snapped after that. I was too afraid to leave my house anymore. I became terrified of men. I didn’t know which one had hurt me, so my mind became paranoid of them all. The paralyzing fear I lived with daily eventually turned into a lethal rage. Bad things started happening in my mind. Any man who stared a little too long, who followed a little too close, could only be seen as a threat to be eliminated. I killed 5 before I was finally caught and ultimately sentenced to life at Radcliffe.
Sometimes I forget all of that, though. Sometimes my mind goes elsewhere. Sometimes the horrors of what happened and what I’ve done are too much for my fragile mind to accept, so it reverts back to the last good memory I have, of that beautiful winter day walking with my beloved Freya, before it all went wrong. The doctors call these my ‘episodes’. I hope I have another one soon.