The Hunted

A more personal story, told by Split Sir

My mother once told me about a nightmare that she had when she lived up around in the wild tundra. It was after we talked about Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street. She said she lived far off in the wilderness. Where the woods aren’t just woods, but you can actually feel that they are alive. Down here, south, when you take a walk down a scenic pathway, the woods are still. They have been trained to be still. They live in fear. But up there, north, the trees rule. And they had a power. To make one feel…trapped. The Aleut people hated the woods. They hated the smell and they hated not being able to see out. Up there, the woods are so dense that it is almost blinding. So, what’s worse than being up there, trapped and alone? Not being alone…

Her nightmare started in her cabin. She would be in her room and then she would start running. Running through the blackened, snow covered trees. He followed her. She tried to run faster. She tried to scream out. And maybe she could. Maybe, unlike my nightmares, she could actually scream. But maybe that was even more terrifying. Between not being able to scream out for help or screaming when you know there is no help. Only the woods. The woods that want to trapped you in. The woods that want to keep you. And he who chases is the right hand of the woods. Where do you run? Where do you hide? You can’t run. You can’t hide. You can only delay.

I think the worst things about her nightmares wasn’t necessarily the content. The worst thing was that they took away from her the one escape that she had from the real nightmare of her life. Dreaming. Dreaming is the ultimate escape for one’s mind. It is an escape from reality. And what happens to the mind when it can’t escape from constant nightmares? It dies. The hunter won. My mother lost.