Sarah Edmonds

I step onto the beaten path; my heart pulsing so fast that I can feel it in my toes. Everyone told me that this was a bad idea, that people go into the woods and never come out. I’m confident that I’ll be alright. I have to be alright; this is part of my initiation; this is the way to make friends in this lifeless town. I told the group, with a false bravado, that not only could I walk the entire trail at night, but I could do it with a smile. Oh, how I wish I that I had swallowed those words before I spat them out.

One foot after the other, I venture further into the woods. Patches of moonlight bleed through the gaps in the tress, providing fleeting bits of light to guide my way. The air around me feels thick and damp, and the scent of wet dirt is overwhelming. I can still hear the rest of the group in the distance, howling and braying like animals around the relative security of the bonfire they built before sending me on my way. This far from the pack, I no longer remember what I was so afraid of. The sound of the trees rustling together lulls me into a false sense of security, it’s almost peaceful.

I turn right at a gnarled old oak tree, its branches all bent at odd angles, as if they were reaching out and trying to tell me to go no further. I don’t heed this warning; I am almost beginning to have fun, just me and the trees; this really isn’t so bad.

Down this new path, the foliage rapidly increases in density, and any moonlight that was guiding my way is soon snuffed out. Alone in the darkness, the noises around me become menacing. I can hear an owl hooting nearby and smaller animals scurrying around in the bushes; my heartbeat is roaring in my ears. A twig snaps behind me, my body tenses and I whip around to see what’s there. Two glowing red eyes meet my sight in the darkness and a howl

sounds off in the distance. I’m not entirely sure what made it. A horrible shriek comes from the thing whose eyes are boring into mine, and all at once, I turn on my heel and run deeper into the woods.

Branches and twigs cut into my skin as I barrel through the underbrush. In the midst of my panic, my feet give out from under me, and I tumble into a shallow ravine. A searing pain shoots through my leg and I know that I won’t be able to climb back up.

Lying there in the darkness, I could the hear echoes of everyone that told me not to go; I could hear the words of the old man next door, whose brother went into the woods and never came back, “I hope you choke on your hubris”, and I did.