The forest is a mysterious and dangerous place, full of secrets and splendor. To me, nature, and by extension the universe, is a paradoxical thing. It is both vast and infinitesimal, both glorious and horrifying, enigmatic yet mundane. “This universe is like a coin; it is neither here nor there.” I mumble to myself as I think up the lines for a new poem. I pause, nibbling on the end of my pencil as I look out the large bay-window of the stone cottage. The dark silhouettes of trees stand ominous in the pale dusk-light. I continue as I switch on my desk-lamp. “It is where nought and one will join, and where our hope meets despair.” The forest is very quiet and only the soft scratch of my pencil or the odd sound of a bird interrupts the silence. I am an English literature teacher by profession and have published a handful of poems. Unfortunately, most of my poetry can be deeply existential and depressing, so I kept a lot to myself. For years now my writing has taken strain. I simply haven’t had enough time. And lately I find a craggy, wrinkled face staring back at me from the mirror. So, before I get too old, I decided to look for seclusion as well as inspiration.
My family had owned this old forest cottage for many years. I remember coming here with my parents many years ago. Of course, that all stopped after my Uncle Nathaniel went missing. Since then, besides using the attic for storage, everyone in my family avoided this cottage like the plague. Of course, after such a traumatizing experience I wasn’t surprised.
I had nearly forgotten about it and was more than happy to finally utilize it. I checked with my lawyer that I had indeed inherited possession of it, and when I got back confirmation that this was the case, I had the keys in my hand and moved in some of my furniture from storage within less than a month. Today was the fifth of January, Christmas season was now at an end, so I finally had time for myself. I decided I would stay here in the woods until such a time as I had completed, to my satisfaction, all my creative endeavors.
I removed my glasses, rubbed my eyes and looked around my new home. I had lined the cottage’s main room with books so that not an inch of the wood or stone could be seen. The weakening light of an old fire glowed in the hearth behind me. The cottage had been wired with electricity many years ago but was not very reliable. So, I tended to use candlelight more than anything else.
A few hours went by and I wrote diligently. Slowly, the sound of crickets and hoots of owls echoed through the woods. I felt my stomach rumble and realized it was nearly five o’clock and I had hardly eaten. Wearily, I raised myself from my desk and walked through the darkening cottage to the kitchen. The familiar click-click-click of the gas hob shattered the silence, followed shortly by the whoosh of igniting gas. A few moments later three rashers of bacon were sizzling in a frying pan. I cracked an egg and spilled its contents into the pan next to the bacon, careful to keep the yolk intact. The sliced bread I’d placed in a toaster moments before jumped up with a pop. I placed the golden toast on a plate and used a spatula to place the bacon and eggs on top.
After my early dinner I decided to sit by the fireplace and read. I threw another log into the hearth as I nestled carefully into my armchair. Soon after that I felt the book slip from hands and my eyelids grew heavy. A gentle rumble shook the sky. It was thunder. Far off thunder announcing the approach of a gorgeous storm. Memories from my childhood rolled out of my mind. I used to love storms. They both scared and excited me.
The ruby sun dipped below the horizon and opalescent sheets of rain poured from the darkening sky. I stared out my window as I heard the drops hit the roof harder. Just then there was a silent flash of light. I started to count the seconds.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
A peal of thunder ripped through the night air. “Okay, six seconds means the center of the storm is about two kilometers away.” I felt the fine hairs on my arms stand up. As I was turning to leave the window there was another flash of light. I gasped and nearly fell over. In the flash of light, I saw a woman holding an umbrella standing outside. She was standing deep in the trees. It was only a split second, so I didn’t see many details. I grabbed my chest, trying to ease my racing heart. What the hell was that? Thunder rumbled as I scrambled for my desk-drawer. I fumbled with my flashlight and switched it on. I fixed the beam on the spot I’d just seen the figure. Nothing but the dark rain and empty forest could be seen. There was another flash of light and three seconds later I heard the thunder. The storm was closer now. I shivered. The whole situation had spooked me.
I quickly checked all my windows and doors were locked and secured. Suddenly the excitement of the storm was gone. I felt afraid. Vulnerable. I decided to calm down by lying on my bed. I placed headphones over my ears, and a sleeping mask over my eyes. I went to Spotify to play some white noise and lay back, my eyes shielded. I had tried meditating many times before, but my mind was often busy and as I tried to let my thoughts pass by as a stream, they roared past me as a torrent of water, nearly overwhelming me. But I let them pass through me and concentrated on the noise. I imagined myself kneeling before a great waterfall. The crashing sound never changing. Never waning. My breathing slowed. The roar of my thoughts turned to a trickle. I was sleepy now. Maybe a nap would do me good. Suddenly I heard something. Again, I concentrated on the white noise. Was it nearing the end of the recording? Had it been two hours already? Then I heard distant screaming. I sat up. But the screaming grew louder from the static. A horrible scream, as if coming from someone in tremendous pain. Then there was another. And another. Soon, the white noise was full of horrible screams of both men and women. But they themselves seemed to be a part of the white noise. White noise was their voice.
I ripped off my headphones and sleeping mask. I tossed both onto the floor. As soon as I did, a suppressive silence pressed up on my eardrums. I heard my soft grunts, and I kneeled on my bed, my back sticky with sweat. Had that been a nightmare? Had I fallen asleep? I looked around the room. It was dark, and the outdoor lights made the rain appear silvery as it beat down on the windows. The wind howled through the trees and their thin, dark branches bent and thrashed violently. There was another flash of light followed nearly immediately by a clap of thunder. The storm must be right over my head by now.
There was no screaming. Of course there wasn’t. The storm had me on edge and I must have been dreaming. I lay back down on my bed. However, there was no way I would be able to sleep now. So, I got up with a sigh. As I walked through my bedroom door and turned, I stopped in my tracks. Christmas decorations hung from every surface of my living room. A massive fir tree stood sparkling with electric lights near the cold fireplace. A miniature train on miniature tracks tooted and zoomed along the floor, making a circle around the tree before racing along a track that led it past the hearth. Fake cotton-wool snow lay everywhere, and familiar elfin figurines were placed neatly on my desk. My eyes bulged from their sockets as I stared in horrified awe at the decorations that had been hung up. A cluster of empty cardboard boxes marked “Christmas Decorations” lay scattered on the floor. Those boxes had been in the attic. I had stored them there many years earlier. As I stared at a bit of turquoise tinsel that lay limply from a lamp, I remembered it vividly from my childhood. I had always thought how unusual it was. Turquoise is not really a Christmas color. I could not comprehend how this could be possible. Had I done this in my sleep somehow? If not me then who could have done this? A panic began to seep into my lungs. Was I safe out here? Still shocked beyond belief at what I was seeing, I moved toward my telephone to call for help. When I picked up the receiver, there was no tone to greet my ear. I swallowed. Perhaps the storm has knocked out the connection. So, I went over to my mobile phone. Of course, as I held it up near a window, there was no signal. This had always been the case; this area has terrible reception. This is why I had had a landline re-installed here. I stared out the window as I anxiously rubbed my chin. The glistening decorations shone like ghostly reflections in the window. Meanwhile, the rain outside beat down ceaselessly. It was so dark now and the rain so thick, that not even the trees could be seen looming behind. A flash of lightning and rumble of thunder echoed out as I turned back to face the room. The electric lights in the room flickered. I felt my face turn pale. Quickly, I rushed to my kitchen and got out extra candles and a battery powered lamp. I set these down around the room. I lit the candles and set the lamp nearby, ready to turn it on. I fetched the electric flashlight I had used earlier. As I returned to the living room my blood turned to ice. All the candles were out. Every single one. The air was heavy with smoke. After a short pause, I ran to relight them all as quickly as possible. The whole time my eyes darted to and fro. Perhaps a gust of wind had blown them out?
As my mind grasped desperately for a non-terrifying explanation, I heard footsteps run on the floor above me. I yelled with surprise and nearly fell right over. They had sounded light, like the footsteps of children playing. My chest heaved as I battled to catch my breath. My head was dizzy from fright. My hands trembled as I rose to my feet. I picked up my flashlight. Just then the electric lights in the house failed. Darkness swept through the room, and if it had not been for the candles, would have swallowed me up entirely. I turned on the electric lamp. I carefully made my way toward the ladder that would lead to the trapdoor entrance to the attic. For many minutes I simply stood at the foot of the ladder. Why on earth would I go up there? What the hell could be waiting there for me? I stood and puzzled for a long time.
The rain pelted the roof above. The sound of thunder rumbled loudly in my ears. The house was otherwise silent save for my shallow breaths. Ultimately, I decided I had no choice. If this was some prank, which I very much hope it is, it had gone on long enough and it was time for a confrontation. However, if it was something – else, then I wouldn’t go in defenseless. I walked into the kitchen and fetched a large knife. Then I walked back to the ladder. I placed the knife’s blade between my teeth and held the flashlight in my left hand. Then I slowly climbed the ladder. By this point, my fear had exhausted me so completely all that was left was frustration. This had to end.
As I got to the top, I pushed on the wooden trapdoor above me. It swung open with a loud whiny, creak. The hinges were rusted and old. I quickly clambered up and got to my feet. The attic was a large dark space filled with dusty boxes. The old belongings stored here were stacked high and messily, forming small corridors. A few drops of rain seeped from small cracks in the roof above. I held the blade in my right hand and the flashlight in the other. “I heard you. Now come on out.” I yelled, my voice firm but thin. I paused to listen. The sound of the rain, the dripping leaks and the intermittent crash of thunder was all I heard. I moved forward tentatively, my footsteps creaking the old wooden floor. The bright circle of light cast by my flashlight darted erratically. I had the horrible sensation that many eyes were looking at me. But I could see nothing. As I made my way past large piles of old boxes and obsolete appliances I heard a loud bang. I spun around. I gasped. The sound had come from the trap door as it had swung closed. But what scared me far more than that was the fact that my path, the path I had just walked, had now been blocked by various boxes and a dusty laundry hanger. Something had silently rearranged the boxes behind me as I had walked down the path. How? How? My lips trembled. There was a clatter as I dropped my knife. I had to get out of here now! I leapt over the boxes in front me, pushing them all aside. I grabbed the trapdoor handle and tore it open. I didn’t use the ladder and simply jumped. My knees screamed with pain as I struck the ground and I groaned. After a few seconds of rubbing my legs, I got to my feet and limped painfully towards the door. The storm was still raging outside. The thunder and lightning still right over me. How could it have stayed so long? Storms of this might don’t last nearly this long. I grabbed the door and slammed it open. I didn’t fetch my umbrella or anything of that kind. The need to leave that place was all that existed.
I ran out into the storm. The rain immediately soaked me. It was cold as ice and for a moment I nearly turned back. But I couldn’t. This storm was dangerous, but I had to get out of here. I had to get help. So, I ran into the darkness of the forest. For a moment the trees glowed with the flash of lightning. In the time between this and the thunder, I heard something. I heard the screaming! That same screaming I had heard before. I could also hear the distant clanging of chains. Only when the thunder rumbled down did I realize I had stopped running. I immediately started up again, my feet slipping on the wet ground. The rain was heavy and frigid, and I shivered uncontrollably. I held the flashlight before me as I made my way toward the road. At first, I was in relatively good spirits. Once I got to the road, I would use it to make my way to the tank station I knew was nearby. There I could make a call for the police. But as I ran, rubbing the rain from my face every few minutes, panic began to climb into my chest and squeeze my heart. I knew for sure the road was here. It should be right here! I continued for a long time, but no road came. Then something my brain could not make sense of happened. I was suddenly standing back in front of my cottage. But no, this is impossible. No no no. This isn’t some horror movie. No! I refuse to believe. It can’t be my house.
But it was. It was my cottage. Then I heard it again. The distant sound of screaming and chains rattling. I slowly turned. In a flash of lightning, I saw a figure looming nearby. It was that woman I had seen from the beginning of the storm. She wore a white dress and held a large beige umbrella, her upper body cloaked in shadow. In her white-gloved hands she was holding silvery chains that dragged at her sides. I stared in terror at where those chains led; two dirty, pale faced children stood behind her. They stared back at me with vacant eyes, their small wrists gleaming with metal. I took a step backward but tripped on a root. I fell over and yelped in pain. My head was spinning and I felt something hot trickle down my ear. I sat up. The sound of chains echoed through the trees, and I felt the cold sting of steel cuffs wrap tightly around my wrists.