The thick forests surrounded my small Montana home. I lived in a rather desolate area with just my mother and father, almost an hour away from the nearest grocery store or town hall. My family was relatively self-sufficient. I had lived in this house since my birth, and now I was nine years old. I had only seen my parents leave to go to the grocery store or get farm supplies once every two or three months. Other than those few trips, we lived on what we could grow and what animals we could raise. I was homeschooled, of course. The nearest school was an hour and a half east of me which was far too inconvenient to drive to daily. Because of this, I had no friends. I think thats where my overactive imagination came from.
I adored playing outside. It made me feel less sheltered, less cooped up in one house forever. I knew the forests well, and I would frequently explore them, gather small sticks and trinkets, pick wildflowers, and build fairy houses where I found space. I felt that the forest had energy, and tending to it made me feel good. That was, until the incident happened.
It was early September, and the summer was just beginning to shift to fall. The temperature began to drop slowly and the days grew shorter and shorter each day. I had just finished my final afternoon lesson with my mother and got dressed, ready to go play in the forest with the fairies. I grabbed my two huskies; Baxter and Chip, my compass, a hunting knife, a coat, and opened the doors.
“Be safe Tori!” my mom shouted from the kitchen. Normally one of my parents would accompany me outside and sit on the porch while I played in the woods but my father had been on a hunting trip for two weeks and my mom had to begin canning vegetables before wintertime. I was getting older too, so I guess they began to trust in my navigational abilities. I was left to go outside alone.
I stepped outside and felt the air against my skin. It was unusually cold for a September day, especially since it was so early and the trees hadn’t began to turn yet. I wasn’t going to let this stop me though, I was determined to go build the fairies some houses. Hey, maybe they’d thank me for providing them such warm shelters.
I chose to head west, thats usually where I found the most flowers and also the place where I could watch the sunset as I began to make my way back home. The woods were cool and dry, pine needles scattered delicately across the forest floor. Pine trees towered above me, reaching to the heavens. The forest was dense, but allowed just enough of the sun’s light to shine through in rays. Most would be scared, but to me it was enchanting. This was home.
I walked for what had to be an hour when I came across something I had never seen before. I could’ve sworn that I had explored the entire forest within a three mile distance of my home. I was familiar with the flower fields, the creeks, dark patches, everything. And here I sat, standing on the edge of a small clearing I had never seen before. It wasn’t a large clearing, probably no greater than the size of the parking lot in the center of town. It was lined with giant lanky spruce trees. The center was filled with well, grass. In fact, there was nothing particularly interesting about this clearing in the first place. At least thats what I thought, until I strolled further and saw them.
In the center of the clearing was what looked like a few sticks. It was obvious they had been weathered pretty heavily, because their bark was missing and they were blanched by the sun until they shone a pale ivory. I thought about picking them up and using them as building materials, but something felt wrong. Spruce trees had thin branches, with bark that was strong and held on to the wood. I looked around for some lighter, smaller, and weaker trees but I saw nothing. Just those tall ominous pines going for miles in every direction. There was just no plausible explanation as to how these things got here. It just didn’t make sense to me. The entire aura of the clearing felt off, and I had the looming feeling that I was in some sort of danger. Thats when Chip began to bark.
He was standing at the west side of the clearing, snarling and barking louder than I’ve ever heard him before. Baxter joined him, yapping at something deep into the woods. My stomach dropped. My dogs were beyond precious, gentle creatures that would never hurt something, misbehave, or get too loud. Something was wrong, really wrong.
“Victoria! Victoria! Come inside sweetheart it’s time for dinner!”
It was my mothers voice, coming from the section of forest that my dogs continues ferociously barking at.
“Victoria! Hurry you don’t want to food to get cold do you?”
My mother was insistent, growing angrier as I continued to not move frozen in fear. I began walking toward my dogs, whistling at them that we needed to go home and that they should stop barking so loudly. I had never seem them behave like this. I whistled again, desperately trying to get their attention but to no avail. They wouldn’t stop barking. I grabbed the dogs by the collars and tried to tug them, urging them to walk.
“Vicky!” my mother’s voice grew louder “I said COME HOME”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Sure my name was Victoria, but my mom never called my Vicky. Both my mother and my father strictly called my Tori. It had been my nickname since my birth. I began to understand why my dogs were acting like that, that thing in the woods was not my mom. I stepped back further to the center of the clearing.
“Vicky! Vicky! LISTEN TO ME. COME HOME NOW.”
The voice boomed now, echoing through the trees. It was clear that it wasn’t my mom anymore. It was distorted and scratchy, like playing a broken record. It grew louder and more distorted as time went on. It wasn’t long before I heard it, the far off echo of sticks cracking in the distance. I ran.
I ran as fast as my small legs could carry me. The voice continued, taunting me.
“Vicky why are you running sweetheart? Come back! Mom would never hurt you”
I wanted to scream but the terror made my throat feel tight. It was the hunter, and I had become its prey. Thoughts racing I ran with my dogs, looking desperately at my compass for any directions, but it seemed to be broken. I was running in a straight line in what I thought was out of the woods, but the needle was spinning rapidly, giving me no sense of direction. I tried to use my skills and look at my surroundings but in my panic I found myself unable to thing or recognize anything around me. I continued to run as those cracking sticks grew louder and closer to me. Whatever was chasing me was impossibly fast, and had to be less than a tenth of a mile behind me.
I was going to die. If I couldn’t get out of the forest before that thing caught up to me, I was dead. Thats when I saw it, one of the tallest pines in the forest with a small decorative house placed in one of the tree hollows. I recognized it instantly, snapping out of my confusion. I was less than a quarter mile away from the large clearing where my house was, and fortunately I was running in the exact right direction.
I sprinted with all of the energy and power I had left in my body, determined that I would make it out of this forest and make it home alive. My determination must’ve overtaken my spacial awareness because I tripped over a root, landing flat on my face and hitting a part of my skull against a sharp rock. I scrambled to get up but an intense and deep ache echoed throughout my skull. I reached up to touch my forehead and felt the warm red liquid pouring from the wound. My dogs stopped, barking more and whining. I needed to get up. I needed to run now.
That thing no longer was taunting me in English, but it wailed, making noises loud enough to rustle the branches on the trees. The footsteps grew closer behind me and the thick smell of rotting flesh overtook my senses. That thing was close.
I panted, running faster and faster, being extra cautious of where I placed my feet. My head was pounding, and my knees were scraped and bloody. I ignored it, running for my life. I saw the clearing with my home in it just up ahead. I was almost there.
I emerged from the treeline but continued desperately sprinting, making my way up the small hill before opening the front door and throwing myself and my dogs inside. I slammed it, locked both the door handle and the pad lock, and walked to the window facing the west side of the forest. My mom walked down the stairs, seeing me instantly. She looked at my wounds and my face stained with dirt and streaked with tears.
“Tori what ha-“
I looked at her. My eyes must’ve been filled with terror enough to stop her mid sentence. I held a single finger to my lips and whispered for her to lock all of the doors around the house. She did so without me having to explain, tiptoeing around and shutting every curtain, blind, and door she could.
My eyes were locked on the forest, waiting for that thing to emerge, for it to try to break into my home or try to keep chasing after me. Nothing ever did. The night was approaching, and the sunset was shifting to dusk. I could only see something faint in the darkness of the forest. Standing there next to the trees was this creature, tall, lanky, and haunting. It had to be at least eight feet tall, with large hands and feet. Its skin was tight around its bones, and all I could make out in its face was those dark sunken eyes. I dropped to the floor, praying that the thing didn’t see me peering out the window. I stayed in that position for what felt like years before my mom quickly closed the curtain above me, picked me up, and brought me to the master bathroom.
I wailed as she cleaned the cuts and scrapes on my body with hydrogen peroxide. My dogs sat in the bathroom with me, trying to offer me any comfort they could. My wounds were covered and I was given plenty of creams to prevent any infections. My mom picked me up again, brought me to my bedroom, and locked the door behind her.
I laid down, clearly exhausted from all of my running. The fatigue made the patterns on my light pink wallpaper dance, and it was like those little fairy details were swaying to the sound of my heartbeat. My mom sat on the edge of my bed and just stared at me for a few moments, eyes welling with tears. She collected herself and then spoke to me in a quiet, soft tone.
“Tori, what happened to you in the woods?”
I choked on my tears as I told her everything. How I was walking in a familiar direction before I came across the clearing, the dogs barking, the bellowing voice from the trees that I was so convinced was hers, the running and the fall, and what I had seen from the west window. She nodded solemnly, seeming to understand what I was saying all while not saying a word at all.
“Okay.” she said, pursing her lip “You’re safe now. Just get some rest, you’ll need it if you want those cuts to heal.”
She exited the room quietly, shutting my door gently behind her. My dogs were in my room, sleeping on the dog beds placed near the foot of my own. She left the lights on for me that night.
I was awake until the exhaustion overtook me, and I awoke the next morning to light streaming through my curtains. Baxter walked over and gently licked my face, urging me to let him out and feed him breakfast. Chip whined, clearly wanting the same. I walked down the stairs where I found my mother talking to an elderly man. He was standing on my porch and carried with him a single case. I ignored it, figuring that my mom was talking to someone important and that it was none of my business. It felt odd, but I continued about my morning like normal, placing the kibble in the bowls and preparing the kitchen table for homeschool.
My mom finally stopped talking to the man, closed the door, and turned to face me inside.
“Sweetheart, you can take a day off from school today”
“Okay. Mom? Who was that man you were talking to?”
“Oh, uh.” mom hesitated before answering “He’s a hunter. A friend of your dad actually. I just called him to survey the property to look for any strange animals like the one you saw last night. Since your dad hasn’t come back yet I figured it was the next best thing” She smiled softly, trying to convince me.
Mom mentioning dad made me remember, my dad had been on a hunting trip for almost two weeks now, longer than he ever had before.
“Mom, when is dad coming home from the hunting trip. I miss dad”
“Well, he was supposed to be back last night around five but you know what it’s like when he’s out with his friends. He’ll be home soon sweetheart, not to worry.”
I nodded, hopeful that my dad would soon return. I wanted him to hear what happened. Maybe he could tell me about animals he had seen in the woods, or maybe he could help me make sense of what I saw. I just wanted his comfort again.
However, I was still focused on who that “hunter” outside was. I watched the old man closely. He wielded no weapon, he just carried a small bag made of animal hide. His dress didn’t fit the part either. He wasn’t wearing camouflage or heavy duty shoes but instead a robe and sandals. He circled my home, looking into the forest. I could hear him making faint noises, either chanting or humming. I tried not to look into it too much but that man wasn’t a hunter.
I left the window, let Chip and Baxter back in, and walked to the couch where I laid, urging my headache to go away by taking a short nap. When I awoke the strange old man was gone and my mother began to make breakfast. My favorite, french toast. I ate, and talked, and things seemed normal again. I was just happy that the hell I had experienced the night before was over and that I’d see my dad soon.
But I never did. The body Justin, of one of my dad’s hunting friends was found in the middle of the woods far town but still miles from my house. His chest was covered in deep slashes that looked like claw marks. His left arm had been ripped brutally from his torso, unable to be found by the police. His face was the worst, and even in death his eyes showed an expression of absolute terror. The coroners had ruled his death an accident, saying he was “mauled by a bear”.
As for my dad and the other two in the hunting crew, well, they were never found. I kept up hope for a while, thinking that maybe the men had scattered after Justin was attacked. I tried that for a while, and the authorities searched everywhere, but found nothing. It was like my father had never existed, gone without a trace.
Six weeks after my own incident I was attending my fathers funeral. My stark black dress contrasted against my pale, now scarred skin. I was silent at the funeral, shocked, terrified, confused and filled with thoughts on what happened to my dad.
Maybe the sticks in that clearing weren’t sticks at all.