My earliest memory was being warned by my mother to never venture into the woods behind our house after dark.
“Beware! Only evil lies beyond the horizon.”
As I grew older, I questioned why the woods were so dangerous at night. Mother would never elaborate and simply insisted that it was best to remain ignorant.
At night, I would gaze out of my bedroom window at the dark trees that lay so close. I swear I’d see a shadow moving in the darkness, but perhaps it was only a deer.
Early one morning, I was jolted from my sleep by screams. I looked out the window and saw a crowd of townspeople, hollering in agitation, at the edge of the forest. I watched in confusion as several townspeople came out of the woods, with the small corpse of my friend Jeremy draped over their shoulders.
“Fool!” my mother chided me later that day. “He ought to have known better not to go out into the woods after dark,” she then turned to me with a pained expression, “As if the death of your father wasn’t enough.”
I glanced at the sole portrait of my father above the mantle. A small slim man, with wavy hair. He had been killed when I was just a baby.
When I became a young man, my older cousin, Marcus, became the sheriff. Hungry with ambition, he sought to prove himself.
“I say, we take up weapons, and kill that murdering psycho who has terrorized our town for twenty years!” he shouted one night at our small town’s bar.
Many in attendance agreed that the time had come to seek vengeance for the dead. A hunting party was formed.
We gathered at the edge of the woods, rifles held high, but I hesitated. My mother’s warning rang in my ears. I couldn’t do it. My cousin gave me a disappointed look and then marched in with the rest of the men.
We waited by the edge of the woods all night, but the men never returned. At one time, I thought I heard a distant scream, but perhaps it was only the wind.
Dawn came. The time had come. I and a few others ventured into the woods under the safety of daylight, and soon returned, carrying the bodies of the slain men. Marcus’ body was the last to be found. I collapsed when I found it butchered on the forest floor.
That night, preparations were made for the mass funeral. The press arrived a day later, but answers were in short supply. And no one dared search the woods at night.
For days I sat in my house boiling with anger, the bloody face of Marcus burned into my memory. Had I only gone with them, perhaps… perhaps…
The days turned to weeks.
The full moon rose one night and my rage boiled over. I grabbed my rifle and entered the woods.
With only the light of the moon to guide me, I could barely see as I ventured deeper into the chilling darkness. I cursed myself for forgetting a flashlight in my fury. Nearly blind, I felt out with my hand, swiping helplessly for something to grab.
And then I saw a light in the darkness. It was a small fire.
I pushed forward and entered the clearing. Crouched by the fire, but somehow still shrouded in shadow, was my father. He gazed up at me, and his lips parted to show a row of jagged blood-stained teeth.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”