A lot of weird shit happened to me as a kid. The usual stuff that you’re supposed to go to therapy about, yeah, but also incidents that were just… strange. I don’t know what else to do with these stories that sit so heavy on my ribcage. One of the more terrifying experiences happened in my own back yard. (Feel free to picture me in a rocking chair with a cigar as I tell you about it.)
Now I grew up in bumfuck nowhere, New England, where the endless forests are so thick that the treetops blot out the sun. Don’t wander too far from the path if you ever want to see it again. Shit like that.
Woods surrounded my childhood home, pressing in on us from the edges of the field. Little worm tunnels of trails snaked throughout our property; we were a pretty popular destination for snowmobilers and hikers in our town. One trail, however, almost never had any visitors.
Tucked into the back corner of our weed-choked field, the opening still looms menacingly. Icy cold and almost pitch black when you step inside, fallen trees and underbrush have made the trail impossible to follow over the last few years. The only person who ever regularly went in there was my grandfather, the forester, to haul out cuttings for firewood. With him gone, it’s completely abandoned.
I stay out of the woods now. I used to spend hours playing in them as a child, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to be more wary. I’m posting this here knowing that no one will believe me, but right hand to God I am telling the truth.
The incident happened when I was thirteen. I was home alone after school, as I often was. Latchkey kid, you know how it is. It was a beautiful day in late spring, and I decided that my homework would be more enjoyable if I was sitting under one of the massive, ancient pines that I love so much. I do mean ancient, by the way- these fucking trees are skyscrapers, and have apparently been so since before my mom was around.
I sat my happy ass down with a can of diet coke and my math textbook and worked in peace for maybe twenty minutes. I have a condition called labrynthitis, which means that my inner ear is messed up and I get dizzy spells. It was much, much worse when I was younger, which is why I didn’t question the sudden dizziness that overtook me, despite sitting completely still. I was so sure that I was fine that I didn’t notice the temperature drop until I realized that my breath was clouding in front of my face.
The birds had stopped singing.
Dead silence engulfed me and my vision began to tunnel. I wasn’t just dizzy. I was filled with the most peculiar buzzing sensation, like I was so full of adrenaline that my teeth ached. Like my body was begging me to run.
I don’t know what I felt, but it was close. I could feel someone- something- far too close to me, looming just out of my vision. I was not welcome here. I needed to leave. That much, at least, was clear.
I didn’t turn around to investigate. I picked up my empty soda can and my homework, and walked as calmly as I possibly could to the trail entrance. It was only a hundred feet or so, but the walk was agonizing as my heart hammered in my chest. I could feel it behind me, the gentle rustle of leaves affirming my fear. It was following.
I restrained myself from running. Somehow, I knew that if it knew I was scared it would be much worse.
As soon as I got back inside, my composure crumbled. My whole body shook while I bolted the door and locked all of the windows. I grabbed my little flip phone and barricaded myself in my mom’s closet- the only place in our house without a view outside. I kept myself as silent as I could as I tried to text my mom.
No service. Our area was already tricky with cell reception, and I usually had to stand in one specific spot just to send a text. Inside the closet, I was shit out of luck. I stayed buried in there, hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing. After what felt like about an hour, my body felt normal again. The warmth came back and so did the birdsong, but still I didn’t leave until I heard my mom pull into the driveway.
The familiar crunch of tires on the gravel driveway was the most comforting sound in the world to me just then. I climbed out of the closet, doing my best to fix the mess I had made. My mom pounded on the front door a couple times; I forgot that I had locked it.
I heard her calling my name. It was normal. My mom was home from work. I was safe. I didn’t notice that besides my mom’s voice, it was once again dead silent.
My stomach gave a funny lurch when I looked at the clock above the stove. I hadn’t been in the closet for as long as I thought I had, and my mom still had an hour left on her usual shift. I moved to the front door as if on autopilot, my fingers trembling a little as I opened the door into the entry hall. The pounding continued, and so did my mother’s voice calling to me.
But as I pressed my face to the cold glass panes in the door, I couldn’t see anyone. Not a soul outside, no car in the driveway. I was still alone. Somehow, it had my mother’s voice.
It wanted mine, too.