Running in the Woods

Phoenix stopped running when she spotted the orange light in the distance flashing between the trunks of the giant pines. The flames danced in the night shrouded forest with a seductive beckoning that urged Phoenix forward. She came to a standstill and pressed a hand against a tree trunk as she tried to catch her breath. Her legs wobbled and supported her weight like two rubber bands while her free hand massaged one thigh in hopes of easing the burn and tightness of the muscles.

Running was something Phoenix loved as a teenager, but after graduation there had been little time for anything other than scraping out a measly living, on a high school education. She wasn’t in the condition she had once been.

The fire ahead was too tall to be just a camp fire. It was more like a large bonfire which meant there had to be a lot of people. If there was a party in the woods, Phoenix did not remember being invited or going, and if she had gone to a party why was running.

She tried to remember what was going on. I live in Boston Massachusetts, but I haven’t been camping since my foster parents took me and their two bratty kids to Maine for summer weekends. Back then sneaking away from the family had been a pleasant get away, wandering among the trees, spying on the wildlife, or just relaxing in a cold stream to escape life.

There was no wilderness in Massachusetts like this one. This was a pine forest with giant trees of dizzying heights. The smell of sap after a warm day lingered in the evening air and a soft bed of needles kept shrubs and underbrush from running rampart. It was wilderness that seemed fit for the Pacific Northwest, not on the East Coast.

No longer breathing like a fish on land, Phoenix was able to take more notice of the surroundings. The moon could not be seen through the tree tops, but lunar phases were something she kept track of and she knew it was a new moon this week. The air was warm, but it was summer so that was not surprising, but there was a deathly quiet, like being inside a shadowbox diorama of a forest, she imagined. The bed of pine needles felt prickly against her skin which made her realize she was bare foot. Why I would be running alone in the dark, barefoot? After a moment of thought and no reasonable conclusion, Phoenix started to slowly walk towards the fire to see what answers laid there. At the first step the reason for running came back in terrifying clarity. The wail sent a shiver down her spine and raised goose pimples on her arms.

She looked over her shoulder as if that would help her identify what made the lament. The sound had been a man moaning of agony, but it was not fully human. The sound traveled as if it was the swirling winds of a summer thunderstorm forcing its way into a drafty home.

This was what she had been running from and all good sense told her to run again, get to the fire, but she watched for signs of whatever made the noise. Part of her was sorry she waited as something ghost like passed between the nearby trees. It was a white streak, flying at head level and the illuminated specter moved fast and did not touch the ground. Phoenix ran.

Pain burned and stung her bare feet where it had not moments ago. The aching made sense, what didn’t make sense was that her feet did not hurt only a moment before. The pain was not enough to force her to stop, not when the chilling moan came from so nearby. The specter caught up and getting to the camp became urgent as evil spirits avoided fire and light.

A white blur cut across Phoenix’s path and forced her to duck under the ghost. Still running Phoenix caught her own knee in the face. There was another white flash, but this was from the blow to the head. Unable to catch her balance, Phoenix threw out her hands to soften the blow. Quick thinking kept her face from slamming into the ground, but it did little good for her left wrist that buckled under the force and throbbed in harsh sudden pain. Skin was torn from both hands as they struck and skidded against the rough scaly root of a tree.

Phoenix pushed off the ground with her hands, but the weight buckled her left wrist. With one hand pressed to the ground she got to her knees. The dreadful moan roared from behind encouraging Phoenix to stand and run.

With luck she had started to run in the direction of the fire again, but the beacon of safety seemed further away now. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.

With death behind and fear inside she managed to run and by some miracle avoid any branches or roots in the darkness. As her heart pumped so hard it banged on her chest ready to break out like an alien creature, her thoughts went to Rick being at the fire. As soon as she broke into the clearing he would take her in his arms and whisper words of reassurance. It was a stupid thought, Rick didn’t even talk to her when he came in the antique store wearing his brown uniform, and wielding his mighty digital clipboard. Why would he want to save me even if he was there? Distracted by thoughts and tear blurred vision, it was too late when to avoid the specter that floated dead ahead.

She met its eyes, black holes in the face of an elderly man twisted by pain and grief. The body was human in shape, but it looked as if someone smudged him so his legs merged into a single jagged appendage.

Phoenix stiffened her front leg, but jammed her knee and momentum forced her to tumble forward into the body of the ghost. She passed through the specter, as ice cold air rolled over her skin, a great sadness, burdened her heart, and the wind was sucked from her chest before she hit the ground.

Her body twisted and the fall ended hard on top of one arm. Her head missed striking the ground, but she made no attempt to rise. Phoenix pulled her knees to her chest and began to cry. Her head was towards the fire and she could see the clearing the bonfire burned, but she couldn’t make herself get up. Coldness fell over her bare legs, much like the air falling out of the freezer on a hot summer day, but this was not a pleasant feeling of relief, it was the dreadful coldness of death sapping the heat of life.

She turned from the fire and watched as the specter of the poor pained man descended upon her like a falling mist. Phoenix whispered to herself, “Get up, get up, get up.”

The sunken black holes for eyes bore into Phoenix’s mind and she felt the skin on her arms and back twitch and curl as if a thousand worms burrowed from beneath her flesh. The terror was nearly overwhelming; her mind on the verge of breaking when she heard a woman shout, “Get up!”

Phoenix kicked at the ground while trying to lift her torso up with one hand. Her eyes remained on the specter as she backed peddled in a three limbed crab walk. The old man’s mouth opened, slowly and continued to part beyond that of human anatomy until it was a round gaping pit of blackness. Even before the wail escaped the creature Phoenix turned her back to it and was once again running.

The clearing was close enough to see that the bonfire had a skeleton frame of logs stacked in a pyramid. There appeared to be no one around the fire, but someone had to have built it. The clearing opened for her and exhaustion and fear weighed Phoenix down as she tumbled onto the sandy ground. She took fast desperate breaths as her body craved the oxygen to recover from the running. Aches and pains held her down as she clutched at her left wrist and tried to ignore the cuts and ground in dirt that covered the bottoms of her feet.

Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she sobbed on the ground. She cowered and tightened more into a ball as the wailing ghost moved around the outskirts of the clearing. By the time it was halfway around the perimeter of the circle it fell silent. Phoenix remained where she was. Someone had to have seen me enter the clearing. Someone has to be here.

The fire was about five feet from where she lay, but the heat comforting. The flames just had to burn until sunrise. Slowly Phoenix uncurled herself and brushed dirty, bloody fingers on her cheeks smudging her face with filth.

She sat up. Where are all the people? Phoenix warily stood and began to look more carefully around the clearing. There were no signs that anyone had been here recently other than the fire.

Phoenix circled the burning pyramid and as she did there were voices nearby. She began to cry again. People where here and it was going to be okay. Yet even as she came to the opposite side of the fire hope was dashed.

“Hello?” she called.

No one answered, but the voices were still there. She listened, but the words were too jumbled, too unclear, or maybe a language she did not understand. They came from the other side of the fire. Was this some cruel joke?

“Please, help me?” she said.

“No one can help you Phoenix.”

She wielded in a fully circle, nearly making herself dizzy, but there was no one there.

“Please.”

“They are coming,” the voice said.

She didn’t recognize the voice, but she put a face to it. It was the old man’s face from the specter, but this time he had ruddy flesh, a wide flat nose, strong jaw and a full head of white hair. She didn’t know why she pictured the man as a Native American, maybe because she was herself, though she was not certain if her blood was pure.

“Who’s coming?” she cried.

There was no answer from the voice, but the wail returned and this time it was not one, but many cries. She slowly turned herself in a circle watching for the spirits to break into the clearing. She stood as near to the flames as she could without singing flesh and then sat down with her back to the fire and her arms wrapped around her knees.

She prayed for morning and that the fire would last the night. It didn’t. Complete darkness covered her as the fire was snuffed out like a light bulb on an electrical switch. Phoenix screamed as the white specters burst from the circle of trees and swooped down on her. She screamed again as their frozen touch absorbed the heat from her body.

She was so cold and then there was, blackness, emptiness and then nothingness.