Page 23 of While They Watch

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I start walking deeper into the trees, the leaves crunching underfoot. Every step releases a small smell of decay into the air. Not the bad kind though, not the smell that seems to come with whatever lives out in this forest. This is the scent the Earth emits as it cleans the forest floors, making room for the new growth in the spring. I enjoy the smell, using it to imagine I’m on a normal hike. I pretend I’m that type of person. Someone who is outdoorsy and brave, always up for anything. The smell can only distract me for so long. As the sun gets lower, the more confined I start to feel. I hum, trying to hold my sanity together, but my perception out here is already becoming scattered.

After a little while, I’m convinced I've started to walk in circles, every tree looks the same and without anything or anyone to distract me, time feels slow. The only thing keeping me grounded is the movement of the sun. As it gets lower, the air gets steadily cooler, reminding me to keep moving. It’s the time of year where you can almost always see your breath in the cold air, but now it feels more exaggerated. The impending darkness makes me feel increasingly vulnerable. It's constant work to keep refocusing my mind on listening to the birds chirping in the trees or the leaves blowing across the forest floor. I count my steps, trying to channel negative thoughts into something mindless.

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I hike longer than I’ve ever hiked before, so when I stumble upon a fallen tree, I decide to sit down and take a break. I use the tree as a seat, not wanting to get chilled by the cold ground. As I shrug the backpack off, I groan. I roll my shoulders, my muscles aching. My body isn’t used to this sort of constant activity, and the backpack feels like it’s somehow gotten heavier.

I take a sip of water and eat one of the many granola bars I packed. My stomach doesn’t feel nearly satisfied with the small amount I’m giving it. If I’d been thinking clearly earlier, I would have made myself a big meal before leaving the cabin. I do what I do best and internally berate myself at the wasted opportunity.

I hear a twig snap a few feet away, my eyes locking in on the area it came from, and I freeze. I sit so still that I’m barely letting myself breathe as I scan up and down the trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see something move. Just a blur, gone before I can turn my head. I keep as still as I can while continuing to look through the trees. Another twig snaps, this time behind me. I close my eyes, willing myself to stay calm and brave enough to look.

Very slowly, I twist my body, trying not to make any noise. All I see are the same trees and shadows. My eyes are darting around as I get nervous but stop suddenly when I see a hand clinging to the side of a tree. It’s not even twenty feet from me and I can tell immediately that the hand belongs to the creature. It’s body is still hidden but I can see that the hand is big; the fingers wrapping almost halfway around the tree's trunk. Its fingernails are digging into the bark like it’s holding itself to the spot.

I quickly turn away, facing my backpack again, and start slowly, carefully replacing the things I took out. I whisper to myself, “Don’t look back,” as I carefully lift the backpack back onto my shoulders. I hear a crunch of leaves directly behind me. “Don’t run.”

I stand up and take slow, cautious steps forward. I don’t allow myself to even glance backward until the only thing I hear are my own footsteps. Once my mind and my heart have slowed and settled, I stop and listen. I hear the birds and the bugs, the wind rustling the leftover leaves in the trees before I steal a quick glance behind me. Once again, I’m alone. At least, as far as my human eyes can see.

As that anxiety leaves, a new one takes its place. It’s almost dark now. I pick up my pace, knowing that I need to find somewhere to shelter overnight. I don’t want to be stumbling through the forest at night with, not only the creatures but any of the other animals that hunt at night. My main concern is that I don’t know what makes a good shelter. I don’t know what to look for. What I do know is that I’m not doing a good job at finding it. Between trying not to trip and obsessively tracking how fast the sun is going down, I’m not getting very far. After struggling forward like this for a while, I give in and pull out my flashlight. I’ve been trying not to use it, desperately wanting to save every bit of battery, but I have two and the ease I feel when the light turns on is instantly worth it.

I search the area around me, holding the light steady when something bright catches my eye. I can't tell what it is from this distance, but as I creep closer, I see that it’s actually a small, yellow tent. The campsite looks abandoned, trash is strewn everywhere, and a sleeping bag is lying halfway out of the tent. I’m hesitant to snoop around at first, but after thinking it through, I realize this could be the first thing that saves me. I already know I won’t find better shelter than this, so I put my feelings of unease aside and tell myself that whoever's tent this is, they would want me to use it. If I’m lucky, maybe someone might even come back for it.

The light has almost completely set at this point and I feel lucky with my find. Right in the nick of time. Now that it’s mostly dark, something in the sky catches my eye. A bright red light is blinking on and off. At first, I think it must be a plane but it’s too low. The tower? It has to be. I don’t mean to but I start jumping up and down with excitement, feeling a new jolt of adrenaline but knowing I need to calm down. I can’t do anything about it now, I wouldn’t last two minutes wandering around in the dark. I need to hold tight, stay sheltered and wait for morning. If I’m lucky, I’ll even get some rest.

I crawl inside and pull the sleeping bag in with me before zipping the tent closed. The small space would normally trigger my claustrophobia but this time, it makes me feel safe. Nobody can see me which tricks my mind into feeling like nobody can get to me. Even if these feelings are misguided and untrue, I’m going to hold onto them to get me through the night.

I unzip the sleeping bag and a wave of musty; earthiness hits me. Even though I hope it’s not true, I don’t think anyone has been here for a long time. Slowly, I take my jacket and shoes off but leave all my other layers on so I’m ready to leave quickly if need be. I know I should leave my shoes on, but my feet are too sore. The thought of not letting them stretch out and have a break is too much to bear. I leave my socks on though, not wanting to see how bad they look. I can already feel that they’re swollen and covered in blisters. I’m scared looking at them will let the pain fully set in. I use my thumbs to rub some of the tightness out of my feet, wincing at every tender point but I don’t stop until I feel some relief. I can’t afford to let pain hold me back.

I slide into the sleeping bag, immediately warming up as sharp tingles creep into my thawing fingers. I curl my body into a tight ball. The smaller I get, the safer I feel. My eyes start to close all by themselves as exhaustion settles into my body and mind. I’m thankful I’m able to relax enough that it seems like I might fall asleep. As I wonder if I should force myself to stay awake, I drift. I enter the border of awake and asleep and falling into a dream when a scream rips through the still night.

Startled, I lurch upright, gasping as I try to look around. My brain hasn’t caught up to what’s going on or why I can’t see. As I come to, I hear something run by. I’m so scared and mixed up, I fumble around, trying to find the flashlight. Suddenly, my brain has fully woken up, and I remember exactly what’s going on. I reach my hand out, grabbing the flashlight right where I set it next to me. When I turn it on, the tent lights up around me and barely a moment later, at the opening of the tent I hear a woman’s voice.

“Hello…What are you doing?” I’m paralyzed with fear and confusion, unable to respond. “Will you help me?” Something inside me tells me not to answer or engage with it in any way, so I stay silent. Slowly and quietly, I pull the sleeping bag off of me and begin putting my shoes back on. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m worried I might need to run. “Let me in! Help me!” It shifts into screaming. I grab my pack, pulling out the gun I still haven’t shot. God, I hope it fires. I hold it in my arms, pointing it toward the front of the tent and wait. Leaves crunch under the creature’s steps as it moves around the side of the tent. I take some deep, grounding breaths, trying to stay present and alert. I can’t believe this is happening. What do I do? “Hanna. Hanna. Hanna…” it starts saying my name over and over, this time in a monotone, inhuman voice. “Why won’t you let me in, Hanna?”

It’s with this last question that I wonder, why isn’t it ripping the tent open? Why didn’t it break down the door at the cabin? It’s been coming and going, even inside the cabin at different times, but it hasn’t forced its way inside. It’s always trying to lure me out. Maybe it enjoys tormenting its prey or maybe it’s governed by some law of nature that won’t let it take someone who isn’t willing. Either way, I let myself believe it won’t come into this tent tonight. I follow the instinct and accept the risk as I set the gun to the side and turn the light back off. Darkness envelops me.

The sound of its steps stops the moment my light goes out followed by another piercing scream. The creature crashes into the trees behind me and complete silence falls over the area once again. Even though I already know there’s no way that I’ll be able to go back to sleep, I know I should try. I need the rest if I stand to make progress tomorrow.

As I start to settle back down into the sleeping bag, I hear noises coming from both sides. It sounds like several bodies running through the trees, coming straight back toward the tent. They stop before crashing into me, instead only brushing against the sides of the tent and I realize now, in horror, there’s more than one. Together, they’re loud, and I swear I can feel the boom of their steps reverberating through the ground. In the dark, it’s hard to gauge the distance between the different noises. My name is whispered so close, it sounds like it’s right next to my ear and I can almost imagine their breath on my skin. The sound of children’s cries echo through the air on the other side of me. Someone is calling for help in the forest. Around and around the different sounds flow in and out. It’s hypnotizing, making me feel dizzy.

I crawl as far down into the sleeping bag as I can, pulling the thick fabric over my head and cover my ears with my hands, but their voices only seem to be getting louder. They cry and scream together, sounding almost musical and they don’t stop.

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I lie in the fetal position, praying to a God I don’t believe in until silence falls around me again. There’s no way to know how long I’ve been stuck like this, but my body is sore from not moving. My head is pounding, and my hair is wet from my nonstop tears. When I finally pull the sleeping bag away from my face, I see the sun starting to rise. It’s shining and glittering through the trees. Still low to the ground but bright enough that I can see the tent walls that once housed me have been shredded. There isn’t enough left standing to have even kept the morning dew off me.

If I got any sleep, it wasn’t much and it definitely didn’t help me. My eyes feel swollen shut. I squint into the light as it seems brighter than usual. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this day and I don’t want to live another night like that. Even with how exhausted, scared and sad I am, I know I can’t waste the daylight, so I force myself to climb out of my cocoon. The air outside the sleeping bag is so cold, a shiver ripples through my body. I quickly grab my jacket, shaking the dew from it before slipping it back on. I climb the rest of the way out, grabbing my water out of the backpack and taking a few sips. I haven’t needed to pee at all since yesterday evening, so I wonder how dehydrated I am. The crying has drained my body faster than I imagined. At least soon, I won’t have any tears left to cry. The thought both frightens and oddly comforts me. What’s the emotional compromise? Become numb enough to survive or feel enough to want to.

Chapter Twenty

I step out of what’s left of the tent, not even needing to unzip it. It’s cold, colder than it was yesterday, so I decide I’m going to take the sleeping bag with me. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be sleeping outside, and I don’t see a world in which I’m lucky enough to find another abandoned campsite. The warmth this sleeping bag provided me last night isn’t something I’m ready to be without. Any comfort I can find, I shouldn’t turn away. The problem is I don’t have any room in the backpack so I have to hold it in my arms. I consider wrapping it around my body like a shawl, but I already feel too bulky and uncoordinated with Luke’s giant backpack. I would like to avoid making myself an even bigger hazard.

I look up in the direction I saw the lights last night, my stomach dropping hard. The sky is empty–right where they were, right where they should be. There’s nothing there. I don’t understand. I spin in circles searching the sky, hoping my eyes will stumble upon it. Hoping I just got turned around but there’s nothing. I stumble forward, feeling momentarily sick. What’s happening? How can something so huge just disappear? Was it even there in the first place? Stop. Don’t do that. I can’t let myself think like that.

I reach into my jacket pocket to pull out the map but it’s empty. I dig around deeper, my heart rate spiking higher. No no no. The only thing left in my pockets are the bullets; the map is gone. Panic starts to set in as I fall forward, really feeling like I might throw up.

I feel and hear a bigger crunch than a normal leaf or branch. When I pick up my foot, I see I’ve stepped on one of the twig figures. When I look up, the ground is covered with dozens more. I turn around, looking back toward the tent. More little figures fill the ground around the campsite. There are so many and I can’t see how far they lead into the trees around me. I don’t know what to feel. I don’t understand how there can be so many. They are placed perfectly, all facing the exact same direction; looking toward the remnants of my tent. I know what brought them here, but I can’t figure out how. The thought of the big, skeletal things being out here all night. Setting up this creepy surprise is horrible and mind boggling.