Hey, writing in here because I don’t know where else to tell this. I’ve always liked nature, especially the water. My mom was a championship swimmer through college so it’s kinda in my nature, yada yada.
Anyway, my grandparents have this cabin on a lake in northern North Carolina. We go there in the summers, it’s great and fun and I’ve loved it since I was little. A few years ago, we finally got a kayak and I was thrilled. When we’re there, I’ll be gone for hours, just rowing, sometimes going ashore to wander around the woods if I feel like it. I don’t know if y’all are from the city or what, but in these under-developed areas, where the trees aren’t touched for a while, or maybe ever, the trees are crazy thick. There’s this island that my dad always called goat island (which really makes no sense, there aren’t any goats there, and it’s shaped like a snake from overhead), and I like to walk around there. It’s pretty big for an island in a mid-sized lake, and it’s nice; the shade is heavy, but there are spots where the sun pokes through, it’s peaceful.
One time when I was there, it was dusk, and it had just begun storming lightly. Common sense says I should have started heading home long before then, but I am an idiot sometimes (a lot of the time), plus I had just been talking to my girlfriend on the phone and had lost track of time. I wanted some time to myself and decided to pull up on the beach ad walk around for a bit. I didn’t have a flashlight except for the one on my phone, which was almost dead. Cliché, I know.
As I started to make my way through the woods, I heard this rustling. As someone who has spent a lot of time outside, I know what deer sound like when they’re in the underbrush. This was bigger than that. A lot bigger. Now, good sense would tell a person to turn around and leave, since this island could not reasonably sustain life. I, however, am a curious person, in addition to being a dumbass, and stayed. I wanted to know, you know? I’m sure some of y’all get it. Staying was a bad idea. A really bad idea. I could hear the rustling getting closer the longer I stayed there. It started speeding up, moving faster and closer and I, understandably I think, started getting more scared.
I started running. It started running. I was so close to the edge of the woods, I could see my kayak. I leapt, I nearly cracked my fuckin’ head open, but I hit that kayak so hard it shoved off on its own. I heard splashing in the water behind me, I was scared to fuckin’ death. I paddled so fast, I thought I sprained my shoulder. Over the splash from my paddle I could hear the splashing of whatever that thing was behind me. I didn’t go to the cabin. I got to land as fast as I could, and I dragged my kayak up into the woods; I would come back for it tomorrow, when I could at least see. I ran so fast. I fucking hate running, I hate the side stich, I hate the pain when you do it barefoot, which I was, and, on this night specifically, I hated the feeling of hopelessness and the feeling that I would die if I slowed down. I made it, though. I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I didn’t even try. When I went to go get the kayak, it was still there. I was worried it would be gone but I think seeing this was worse than losing a kayak that cost $124. There was a squirrel on it, mutilated and spread out. I threw up right there in the woods. I took it back but, I don’t go kayaking anymore.