It’s not like there’s anything that can be done about it now. She’s gone. I’m not. I’ve got a van reserved for next week and I’m going to load up and head out of here. I’ve got a job in another city. Maybe between the move and… whatever this is supposed to be… I can leave it all behind me.
I had a girlfriend. I don’t want to use her real name, so I’ll call her Susan. We moved in together and for a couple years it was great. We went on adventures together. That’s what she’d call it. She’d just get this idea in her head and off we went, like seeds from a dandelion, drifting wherever her wind took us. Sometimes it was trips, like when we went to Mammoth Cave. Another time we got our belly buttons pierced together. And sometimes it was something simple, like trying a coffee shop on the other side of town.
I think that’s why I have to move. There’s memories of her everywhere. I see her smile hiding around every corner.
She liked to do things outdoors. Nothing too crazy. We did some camping trips but it wasn’t more than driving up and unloading our tent. She loved day hikes though. Four miles. Ten. She’d always find interesting places for us to go to. And it was on one of these trips that everything just went wrong.
It was someplace we’d hiked before. One of the parks just outside the city. It had a number of trails of varying difficulty and we’d hiked all of them at some point or another. That day we were taking the long loop, the one that ran way out past the river. It had a couple inclines that were pretty steep, but nothing really crazy. It was just a nice day and our apartment felt too small. That’s what she said, when she suggested we go. She felt like she was suffocating. So I got my hiking boots and off we went.
I wonder if there were… signs of some kind. A sort of indicator that something was wrong. But I’ve walked that trail so many times and it all blurs together in my head and I can’t remember if anything was out of the ordinary. There was nothing that stood out until we saw the sign.
Witch Valley Loop, it read. 2.5 miles.
We’d never seen the Witch Valley loop before. But this was a pretty big park and there was lots of land that didn’t have trails running through it yet. They could have opened up a new trail. Susan was excited, because this meant there was a new adventure in front of us. Someplace we hadn’t been before. We were planning on taking a different 2.5 mile loop anyway, so there was really no reason to not try the new trail.
It was a weird name, I thought. I’d expect to see that sort of thing in New England, but here you were more likely to see names that either referenced the indigenous people or natural landmarks. I figured we’d find out at some point when we reached a sign with interesting facts about the area.
The trail dipped steeply, taking us down into a valley as promised. I began to grow uneasy immediately. Everything about the trail felt like I was straying into some foreign place and I was no longer so confident of where I was. I felt like we were losing ourselves in the forest with every step. It was the trees. The trees changed. The maple and oak trees that dominated the park dwindled as we descended, replaced by an old pine forest. The underbrush vanished. The forest floor was an open carpet of pine needles. There were few birds and fewer animals and the wind did not descend this far into the valley. I felt like we were intruding as the silence encased us.
I wanted to turn back. But Susan… well, Susan was excited. It was someplace new, after all, and that same unease that drove me to leave was what drove her forward.
The path flattened out and forked. We’d arrived at the start of the loop. As expected, there was a sign marker, but it wasn’t like the others placed throughout the park. It was made entirely of wood with carved letters. No print-outs with graphics and maps, no plastic covering. We leaned over it, reading the handful of words engraved on its surface.
‘Only the children may go. All else must stay.’
Susan and I stared at it for a moment and then looked up at each other. Her face was bright and animated. I’d been with her long enough to know what was going through her head. This was no longer a mere hike. This was a mystery.
“Maybe they’re getting ready for a Halloween event,” I suggested. “We probably shouldn’t be down here if that’s the case.”
“The trail wasn’t blocked off.”
“Maybe they… forgot.”
It wasn’t hard to see that I was trying to find a reason to turn back. Susan made a pouty face at me and seized my wrist. It was only a 2.5 mile loop, she urged, and the trail down into the valley was surely .5 miles already. We wouldn’t be down here that long. We’d walk fast. Be back at the sign in no time and then we could leave and ask the park rangers what the new trail was all about.
I gave in. I mean… I loved her. I loved her enthusiasm. It overwhelmed my reservations, as it always did.
We didn’t make it back to the sign. I’m not sure at what point we realized we weren’t getting out of there. There was that uncertainty at first, when we confirmed we were still on the trail and tried to remember if we’d seen any branches. The sudden stab of fear when we got out our phones and found that we had no service and could not check a map. And then the helplessness as we walked that trail, over and over, trying to find the sign, a fork, something.
We arranged piles of pine needles in the middle of the path, hoping to find them again and know we’d completed a loop. We never saw them again. And there were no landmarks, just the endless pine trees to either side of the dirt path.
I think I really started to be afraid when sunset came and we were still in Witch Valley. Susan couldn’t explain what was happening. Nor could I. We got angry, we fought a little, and then we both cried a bit. This wasn’t either person’s fault, we agreed. We’d gotten into this together and so we’d get out of it together. In the meantime, we had to figure out how to last out here with very little water, no food, and no shelter.
We didn’t expect anyone to come looking for us until Monday. The park rangers might find our car left in the parking lot and realize someone was missing, but we decided not to count on that. We’d gone hiking on a Saturday, so that meant two nights of waiting before the search even began.
We’d save the water for as long as we could stand it. We could go without food. And we wouldn’t leave the trail. That would only make our situation worse, Susan reasoned. If we got lost in the woods, then it would be even harder for rescuers to find us. We considered seeing if we could make a fire. No fallen branches, no stones, nothing but a thick carpet of pine needles. It wasn’t worth the risk of venturing further off the trail, Susan reasoned, as it wasn’t getting that cold at night yet.
We found a tree close to the trail and put our backs to it, curled together, and watched as the last of the sunlight vanished over the horizon.
It was dark in Witch Valley. Oppressively dark. My heart hammered as I stared into the night, barely able to see the trucks of the pine trees. It was an overcast night and we didn’t even have moonlight to help us. We didn’t have flashlights and we’d decided to conserve as much of our cellphone batteries as possible. Mine was turned off. We’d leave Susan’s on as she had a higher chance of family or friends calling her on a whim. Perhaps we’d get lucky and service would reach us down in the valley or perhaps they’d wonder why she wasn’t answering.
Then we tried to sleep. I felt safer with Susan beside me. At least I wasn’t alone. We were together. Still, it was hard to fall asleep. It felt like I spent hours like that, with my head resting against her’s, eyes closed so that I didn’t have to see the darkness around me, swallowing up the valley in its embrace. When I did sleep, it was lightly. I only dozed. And so when something found us… I woke up.
I’m not sure what stirred me out of sleep. Some long-forgotten instinct, I suppose, the part of my brain that remembers what it is to be prey whispering that I was under the gaze of a predator. I snapped to alertness but did not move, my senses racing to catch up and understand what I had woken to.
Something stood over us. Something large. I stared at slender legs and then traced those up to a thick torso and a narrow head, towering over us.
A deer. Dimly, my mind reasoned that it wasn’t actually that big, it was the darkness and the angle. But it felt huge.
I let out a slow breath. Just a curious animal. Harmless. Then it turned its head slightly and its eyes caught the scant tendrils of light that managed to make it through the clouds and the trees and I saw that its eyes were white.
Like a person’s. I saw the darkness of the pupil and the iris.
It had human eyes.
I felt Susan’s hand find mine. She gave my fingers a slight squeeze. She was awake too. She saw it as well.
Neither of us moved. I think I stopped breathing entirely, unconsciously holding my breath the entire time it stared at us. Then, it seemed to lose interest, and walked away.
We didn’t say anything to each other. And I don’t think either of us slept, staying awake and watching the silent woods until dawn.
In the morning the trail was gone. We’d settled down within feet of it. If we’d stretched out our legs, our toes could have grazed the edge of it. Yet when the sun broke through the trees - a golden respite after that long night - we found that we were surrounded on all sides by featureless pine trees. No trail. No markers. Nothing.
“We… we weren’t hallucinating, right?” Susan asked and I heard the first thin strain of panic in her voice. “There was a trail.”
I agreed that there was. And then we searched, sweeping aside the pine needles to reveal soft earth beneath. There was no trail. It was like there never had been a trail. Finally, we had to admit what both of us were thinking.
Something unnatural was happening here. We’d stumbled into something that was outside of our understanding of the world. It’s not an easy conclusion to come to. I think we both desperately wanted this to be a trick of our minds. We tried to reason that it was and I’ll admit we had convincing arguments that we bandied between us. The human eyes of the deer could have been a trick of the light that our brains had rationalized into the closest image that matched. The lack of cell reception was because of the valley, of course.
But the trail… we couldn’t explain the trail. It was so obviously a trail, swept clear of pine needles and the earth packed hard under so many feet. It wasn’t some game trail either, as it was wide enough for three people to walk side-by-side.
And now it was gone.
So then our next question became: did we expect rescue anymore? Because if we did, then the sensible thing was to stay in one place. But if we didn’t think the rescuers would find the valley at all… then we were on our own.
We tried to figure out how long we had. Our water bottle was half full so water wouldn’t become a problem for a few more days, if we rationed carefully, we figured. Food was already an issue, as my stomach twisted uncomfortably, but we knew we had time yet before we reached starvation conditions.
We’d stay where we were for another two nights. Let Monday come and go. And if there was no sign of a search - for while the park is big, it isn’t that big, and we’d surely hear helicopters - then we’d start searching for our own exit.
We only needed out of the valley, after all. There was cellphone reception across the entire park. We could call for help when we were out.
We spent the day preparing for the night. We tore some smaller branches off the pine trees and built a shelter. Nothing disturbed us. In fact, the forest was eerily empty. We didn’t see birds, squirrels, or any other animals. I didn’t point this out to Susan, even though she’d probably noticed on her own. We kept our conversation to boring things. It helped steady our nerves.
I wonder if I’d known then that she wasn’t leaving the valley with me if we’d talked about something different. I don’t think we would have. What else was there to say that hadn’t been said before? We loved each other, we’d said as much, we’d talked about our future together. We knew all the important things and we told each other it all over again just by how we held each other’s hands as we settled down in our shelter.
I slept a little. Even more lightly than the night before, so that when something approached the shelter, I heard it coming.
It wasn’t trying to be quiet. Its footsteps were heavy and while they were cushioned on the thick mat of pine needles, the forest was silent enough that its footsteps felt like they echoed. I felt Susan’s hands tighten around mine. Her nails hurt where they dug into my skin and I couldn’t be upset, because I was doing the same thing to her.
The creature stopped at the entrance to our shelter. It wasn’t much of a door. Not even big enough for a person. We’d stepped in and then pulled our makeshift roof of branches and needles up over us.
There was still a cloud cover, but enough light filtered through that I could see human feet. Bare feet. Pale ankles. For a brief moment I thought we were saved, but then I thought - why are they barefoot?
“Come,” a female voice whispered. “Come.”
It sounded like she wasn’t talking to us.
The roof of our shelter was ripped away. The walls quickly collapsed. Susan and I cowered, staring up in horror… at a bear.
It towered over us. Its fur was matted, hanging down its chest like a dress. Its eyes were white with wide pupils. Human eyes. Frantically, I glanced down at its legs.
Human legs. And I realized - human hands. Human body. A woman’s body. But from the shoulders up, she was a bear. She opened her snout and I saw the sharp white teeth inside.
“Come to me,” she called one last time, and the animals began to come out of the forest.
Deer. Squirrels. Chipmunks. There was something immense near the back of their ranks that I swear was a moose. They walked towards us through the pine trees and all of their eyes shone white in the scant light.
So many unblinking human eyes.
“Run!” Susan screamed.
Her hand was a vice on my wrist. I scrambled to my feet after her and we ran, away from the advancing horde of animals, fleeing mindlessly through the valley. The bear-woman watched us go. Why would she bother giving pursuit? She knew it was futile.
We were two scared humans, frail and lost, and we were being pursued by the denizens of the woods.
The deer caught up first. One hit Susan, bodily knocking her down. I tried to hang onto her. I tried. But the force of the blow was too great and she was torn from my grip. I slowed and started to turn, started to go back for her. But the deer were grabbing hold of her shirt and dragging her backwards, the squirrels and chipmunks were catching up and swarming her legs.
“Run!” she screamed at me.
And her eyes… her eyes pleaded with me to do just that. To save myself.
I think about that, late at night when I can’t sleep. If I should have stayed. If she regretted letting me go and dying alone. Or if it brought her some comfort, knowing that I had a slim chance of survival. If it was a welcome escape in her last moments, believing I was safe.
I ran. And her cries as she struggled to free herself from the animals echoed through the trees - then they went silent - and then I heard her screams.
They, too, went silent.
I half-ran and half-stumbled through the woods. I didn’t care where I was going anymore. I just knew I had to keep going. There were shadows in the forest and I told myself they were just the product of a mind blind with terror, for nothing came for me out of the night. The bear-woman seemed content to let me go. The animals were no longer pursuing. And when the first light of the sun came over the treetops… I found the trail.
I followed it. It took me to the fork. The sign. The way out of the valley.
I think… this wasn’t an accident. I think the bear-woman let me go. Exhausted, nearly blind with tears, I climbed the trail up and out of the valley. I would have given anything to have Susan beside me, but I knew that she was gone. That scream - there was too much fear in it. Too much pain. And it’d ended far too abruptly.
Susan had beautiful eyes. They were hazel. I loved everything about her, but her eyes were what I noticed the most. How they seemed to glow with an inner light.
And when I looked back down into Witch Valley, there at the top of the trail where the pine trees vanished entirely, giving way to the familiar maple and oak, I saw a squirrel sitting on the path.
It had hazel eyes.
It’s been a month. They never found her body. How could they, when the valley doesn’t exist in any way they’re familiar with?
I was careful with what I told them. That we got lost, that we were separated. And eventually they called the search off. There hasn’t been a funeral yet. No one is ready to admit that she’s gone. But me… I know she’s gone. I’m trying to move on. Trying to work through my grief.
I don’t go into the woods anymore. I’m going to get an apartment in a big city and stay there. I don’t feel safe where there’s lots of trees.
You see, I keep thinking of that sign. The one where the loop started.
Only the children may go. All else must stay.
Susan stayed behind. The bear-woman kept her, as it’s kept so many others.
But then… why was I permitted to leave?