Storytime: The Wood

Here's a short story just for fun. It's also a true story, but not in the typical sense. Enjoy!

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The house was old and sat at the end of the lane like an edifice to a bygone era. It is not so much that it was falling apart, but more that it and the landscape had merged into a state of oneness not often seen. Somebody lived there, though no one in the area was sure who exactly. No one was ever seen in the yard that was so overgrown it was practically a meadow. Nor did any car back out of the driveway that was so thickly carpeted with pine needles you could walk silently right up to the house.

But whenever they walked their dogs down the street, they could feel they were being watched over. Not watched. Watched over.

No child ever threw rocks at the windows. Yet sometimes they could come up to that porch and peer into them, and inside all would be still. Pristine. There was no dust on any of the furniture. No cobwebs in the corners. And while all the pieces looked like they came from several hundred years ago, not a one showed any sign of age or distress. It was...preserved.

Clara came in through the back door into the kitchen. If she had keys, she would have set them on the butcher block island in the center. If she had groceries, they would have gone into the tall, rounded fridge in the corner. If she had a car, she would have parked it not in the needle-strewn driveway, but in the garage at the back of the house. Clara had none of these things with her.

Instead, she proceeded to the iron-banded door to the left just outside the kitchen, and grabbing the smoothed handle opened it and descended the stairwell into the cellar. She lit no lamps. Turned on no lights. Preferring to count the steps in her mind until her feet reached the packed earth floor. It was cool in the cellar. Dry and smelling faintly of wood shavings. As if the cellar had only been dug and supported yesterday. Turning right, she walked into a hallway of darkness so complete, she could not sense where she was.

But Clara counted her steps.

"...twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven..."

Her feet echoed softly in the dark.

"...one hundred fifty-two...one hundred fifty-three..."

The air turned cooler, damper, and smelled like decaying wood.

"five hundred ninety-three...five hundred ninety--!" Her toe caught on a stone and she tripped, pinwheeling her arms to regain her balance only to fall to her knees. Her hands landed in a clump of springy, soft moss. "Five hundred and ninety-four," she said as the darkness faded into the gray light of evening.

"Yes, this is it."

The number of steps to get there was always different. Sometimes it was raining. Sometimes warm. Today, a light smattering of snow dusted the ground under the trees. But it was always the gray light of evening in the Wood.

Brushing the dirt from her jeans and moss from her hands, Clara stood and slowly looked around. Ahead of her, the Wood spread out in a massive hall of pines and cedars, their trunks looking like pillars flecked with white. Behind her, the stair of the cellar shone faintly at the end of a wall of darkness. It was like looking backwards through a telescope, and the sensation made her queasy. Going back was always difficult because of this. She turned away.

Clara took off her shoes and socks, leaving them at the base of an old tree with an opening in the roots just the right size for a pair of shoes. The snow didn't feel cold. The cold was just an illusion anyway. "Something to give atmosphere," she often said to herself. Then, she set off into the Wood. Her feet silent on the needles.

"I wonder if I'll hear it again," she said quietly.

As she walked, her posture gradually started to shift. Her center of gravity lowered as she bent her knees more, moving almost in a stalking motion. Her gaze slowly cast left to right, right to left, looking for motion. Sounds became loud in her ears. The very air felt electric and alive. The gray twilight grew brighter. All these things happened, and while Clara noticed, she also did not notice.

By the time she had stalked a quarter of a mile, she became aware of a chuffing sound just out of the range of her hearing. A soft huffing breath. Clara paused and looked toward the sound, but saw nothing. All was quiet. When she started again, she felt like she was being followed. Every time she focused on moving, she'd hear the chuffing get closer. Every time she turned around to look, there was nothing there. "It's here," she thought. "Whatever it is."

She wasn't quiet sure if she should run. Running never did anything but make the sound go away. Standing still never seemed to work either. There was one time where she waited for hours for the sound to become a shape to see. If she kept stalking, the sound eventually overtook her and...then it would go inside of her and disappear. Something she didn't really understand. This time, she decided, she would flit from tree to tree. She would try to catch it unawares so it couldn't hide its shape from her. Clara was determined to find out at last what this creature of the Wood was.

Once the sound felt so close she could reach out and touch it, Clara ducked behind a tree. The chuff missed her by a pace, then came back around towards her. She leapt to another tree, swung around it, and moved to the next tree. And on and on. Dancing from tree to tree. The chuff became a pant, became a growl. After several minutes of flying from one tree trunk to the next, Clara, thinking she had the creature fooled, and also having fun, laughed and turned to mock the creature as she rounded a trunk.

Something large, round, and hard collided with her stomach. She fell into a patch of snow with the wind knocked out of her. As she sat up, she froze. A panther the size of a small tiger sat politely in front of her, gazing at her with eyes the color of the deep sea. "We are well met," it said.

"What are you?" Clara asked, startled.

"Your every step I follow, and yet at night I go to hollow. Dance with me. Box with me. Just don't attempt to grab me. For I am never there, seen only in the glare."

Clara stared at the panther, then leaned a little to the side trying to see the rest of its body. It's not that she didn't know the answer to the riddle. Just you don't go answering riddles given by any old creature. "You're not a sphinx are you? Oh and me without a book to feed you."

The panther grinned. Clara's stomach did a few somersaults and then a backflip for good measure. "I am you and you are me, and yet we meet beneath this tree," it said.

Clara stared at it. It stared right back at her. She felt like they could probably sit this way for an eternity, and this thing probably would.

"All right, Shadow. We are well met," she said at last. The panther stood and pushed its head into her arms, and to her amazement, began to purr.

"Good. Now will you stop running from me? Will you let me hunt with you in the sun?"

"All right. Just...don't maim anybody."

"Why would I do that? I only hunt to kill." Nobody moved for a moment. "I am only teasing."

Clara wasn't so sure, but as she got up to head back to the cellar, the panther followed and remained visible. And later, when she stepped out the back door of the house into the yard, she inhaled the air and said, "Finally, I can smell the sunlight again."

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Well, that was fun. Did I meet my shadow in that way? Yes. 9 years ago while taking a walk at work. That was the visualization I used.

I thank you for your time. Adiamas.

--Kyriel