There
is nothing whatsoever in the murky dark of the ancient forest at night
that is not there in the daylight hours. Reason assures us that this is
true.
I know better.
Having explored the local woods all my life, I am well aware that there are noises at night that can not always be identified. An angry snort from somewhere nearby, the rustle in the leaves of something too large to be a squirrel, the wingbeat of a creature that sounds much too leathery and brittle to be a feathered bird. These are sounds that disturb the conscious mind.
Still, in the day, we know the snort is a startled deer. The rustle, just a raccoon. The beating wings from a fleeing owl. In the daytime, we know this.
But at night... Well...
It was dusk and I had settled myself on a convenient tree stump next to a pond in a forgotten woods. The roar of the interstate and lights of the city were blotted out by the trees stretched out overhead and the rolling hills separating the known world from the unknown.
I came to this spot regularly in the autumn, to enjoy the sounds of the leaves falling, the crickets calling, the night coming to life. I came to listen.
This night, as I sat, quietly listening – intent upon separating out this creak from that groan from the other nearby rustle – I first heard the hideous Shriek. Inhuman. Grotesque. Impossible. What in our local woods would make such a disconcerting scream?
The Shriek came from Not Nearby. If I were to guess, I'd say 100 yards or more away. Curiosity – cursed curiosity! – won out over my fear, and I rose from my seat and quietly made my way in the direction of the Shriek. I didn't want to scare away whatever was making the noise.
Twenty steps closer and I heard it again, that soulless Shriek! Could it actually be a human, wounded and in trouble? The Shriek sounded so pitiable this time, and clearly closer. I moved, still quietly, but more quickly, in the direction of the Scream.
Twenty steps more and I paused to listen.
Nothing.
Then, SHRIEK!!
I nearly fell backwards in my fear. It was significantly closer. The Shriek – although human-sounding – was clearly NOT human, I knew this now. It was the sound of a – of a madwoman, nails turned to claws, abandoned in the woods and seeking food. It was the sound of Anger and Hatred.
In the dark of the night, I knew that it was the sound of Evil.
SHRIEK!!
And close.
And maybe on the other side of me.
Between me and my path out.
I waited. I listened. I barely breathed.
No Shriek returned. No sound at all.
The leaves were not falling, the crickets were not calling, no frogs croaked from the nearby pond. I was alone and surrounded by a maddening silence, frozen in fear, unsure of which way to go.
An hour later – or so it seemed – I breathed again. I took a step. I walked back down the path and exited those Awful Woods, to my car and began heading home, but only after checking the back seat of my car.
It was empty.
The next day, the Google told me that foxes shriek when they are at play with one another. Harmless foxes cavorting in the woods. I listened to field recordings of foxes and there it was, the Shriek. But harmless now. In the light of the day.
#inktober
I know better.
Having explored the local woods all my life, I am well aware that there are noises at night that can not always be identified. An angry snort from somewhere nearby, the rustle in the leaves of something too large to be a squirrel, the wingbeat of a creature that sounds much too leathery and brittle to be a feathered bird. These are sounds that disturb the conscious mind.
Still, in the day, we know the snort is a startled deer. The rustle, just a raccoon. The beating wings from a fleeing owl. In the daytime, we know this.
But at night... Well...
It was dusk and I had settled myself on a convenient tree stump next to a pond in a forgotten woods. The roar of the interstate and lights of the city were blotted out by the trees stretched out overhead and the rolling hills separating the known world from the unknown.
I came to this spot regularly in the autumn, to enjoy the sounds of the leaves falling, the crickets calling, the night coming to life. I came to listen.
This night, as I sat, quietly listening – intent upon separating out this creak from that groan from the other nearby rustle – I first heard the hideous Shriek. Inhuman. Grotesque. Impossible. What in our local woods would make such a disconcerting scream?
The Shriek came from Not Nearby. If I were to guess, I'd say 100 yards or more away. Curiosity – cursed curiosity! – won out over my fear, and I rose from my seat and quietly made my way in the direction of the Shriek. I didn't want to scare away whatever was making the noise.
Twenty steps closer and I heard it again, that soulless Shriek! Could it actually be a human, wounded and in trouble? The Shriek sounded so pitiable this time, and clearly closer. I moved, still quietly, but more quickly, in the direction of the Scream.
Twenty steps more and I paused to listen.
Nothing.
Then, SHRIEK!!
I nearly fell backwards in my fear. It was significantly closer. The Shriek – although human-sounding – was clearly NOT human, I knew this now. It was the sound of a – of a madwoman, nails turned to claws, abandoned in the woods and seeking food. It was the sound of Anger and Hatred.
In the dark of the night, I knew that it was the sound of Evil.
SHRIEK!!
And close.
And maybe on the other side of me.
Between me and my path out.
I waited. I listened. I barely breathed.
No Shriek returned. No sound at all.
The leaves were not falling, the crickets were not calling, no frogs croaked from the nearby pond. I was alone and surrounded by a maddening silence, frozen in fear, unsure of which way to go.
An hour later – or so it seemed – I breathed again. I took a step. I walked back down the path and exited those Awful Woods, to my car and began heading home, but only after checking the back seat of my car.
It was empty.
The next day, the Google told me that foxes shriek when they are at play with one another. Harmless foxes cavorting in the woods. I listened to field recordings of foxes and there it was, the Shriek. But harmless now. In the light of the day.
#inktober
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