Pine Barrens

"No, no– ma'am– ma'am please–" I shift the phone to my left hand and peek through the blinds again, scanning the line of trees that mark the edge of my backyard. "It was not a coyote– and no, it was not a bear either. We have a lot of bears out here, I know what a bear looks like, so if you would just listen to me– I'm telling you– ma'am– the thing had– it had too many legs. And– yes I know I sound crazy– too many eyes."

I let the blinds drop and pace into the kitchen, peering out the window there. "Well, I know that might not sound very believable, I can hardly believe it myself, I mean–" I pinch the bridge of my nose as I'm cut off by the operator. "Yes, I understand," I cut back in. "I understand that 911 is a vital lifeline for society's vulnerables, and it is very wrong to abuse it, and all the rest, but ma'am, if this was a prank call, I would have hung up already. I am telling you that I am in danger."

Outside, the pine branches wave gently in the night breeze. I look at the spot of darkness where the thing had shambled out of the woods five minutes ago, charging the back door and ramming the glass with a wet thud, before arching back, shrieking at me, and lurching its way back to the treeline. Currently, nothing moves in the shadows, although– it is really too dark to tell anything.

"I've just never seen something like this before," I said, checking the windows in the living room for signs of the thing. "No, I can't really describe it– I don't even know what to call it. A 'thing' is the best I can do. A spider-thing. With gnarly teeth. I'm telling you something in the way it moved– it was wrong–" More protest from the operator. I cut her off again and an edge creeps into my voice. "Please– I'm very frightened. If you could just send a police officer– or an animal control guy– a firefighter–I don't care, just– I am afraid. I've heard too many stories about people like me out in the boonies who tried to get help and then by the time they were found christ almighty–" three loud knocks at my door.

"Mr. Emerson! This is the police!" 

"Oh thank god," I breathe. "They're here. The police are here. Thank you." I hang up and sprint back through the kitchen to the front door. I look out of the peephole. Right on cue– a friendly-looking police officer. I say a small prayer of thanks.

"Hi!" I say through the door. "Thanks for coming all the way out here– I know it's a long drive." I start to unlock my door, hands shaky, and I laugh giddily. "Sorry, I uh–I have a lot of locks." I undo one.

"No apology required, Mr. Emerson. We received a report of some kind of large animal?"

"Yes– a really funny lookin' animal– " I say. I undo another. I laugh again. "A real scary-ass lookin' animal, if I'm being honest, and– and um– I'm sorry, but–" I stop laughing and pause as my hand rests on the deadbolt, poised to unlock it. "I'm sorry, but how'd you get here so fast?"

"Oh, Mr. Emerson– we came as quick as we could. Just let us in and we can help you."

Something in the way the officer says "we" makes my hand fly off the last lock, and something in the way he says "help you" makes me quickly work my way back up through the others. I put my eye to the peephole to have another look at the cop. I can't see him anymore. All I see is a large black eye pressed right up to the peephole. It twitches and darts, trying to see me through the one-way lens. I pull away quickly.

"Is something the matter? You are quiet."

"Officer, you know, I think I overreacted," I say, carefully. "I don't actually think I need any help anymore. Thank you!"

"Open this door, Mr. Emerson!" I hear the knob rattle as he– it– attempts to turn it. "We need to help you!"

"I'm, um– I'm having trouble unlocking the door," I say, as I back away from the door. I try to keep my voice from shaking as I say, louder, "I'm sorry, officer– it, uh– It must be jammed." My phone starts to ring back in the kitchen and I run to pick it up. The officer silences and the door gently groans as something large leans into it. Listening.

"Hello?" I whisper into the phone. "Yes, this is he." I shoot a glance at the front door. Nothing.

"Yes, I did call earlier," I say. "Yes, I'm sure you must have been confused. I did say the police were here." I pause. "I guess I was wrong." A single thump at the door.

"Mr. Emerson. The door," says the officer in a blank monotone.

"No, there are no officers here," I say into the phone, pleading. "There is no one here. It's just me and- please–" Two thumps at the door.

"MR. EMERSON. DOOR," and the officer's voice curdles into something else.

"Please, please, for the love of God," I scream, "I need help here, yes– yes– you hear that too?" The thumping is steady and growing louder. The operator is saying urgent things– the police are on their way. "Thank you," I say. "Thank you, thank you."

"DOOR. OPEN DOOR." A slobbering slather of words nearly lost in the gnashing of large teeth. There is now a constant stream of heavy pounding on the door, and I fumble for a kitchen knife as the thing begins to ram the door with its full weight. The entire door is shaking in its frame as the chains on the deadbolts jump and rattle on each impact. The words are now lost in a stream of frothy snarling. The wooden doorframe begins to splinter with each hit.

 I turn to face the front door and grip the knife tighter.

"Please tell them to hurry," I say, and I hang up the phone.