Look Where You Are Going

Look Where You Are Going

The Christmas crowd staying in the little wood cabin that the family stayed in every year had been outgrown by the amount of family arriving later December. Tim needed either a change of scenery or maybe just a quiet moment, so he decided to go for a walk. He had not hiked through these woods in years, but it was a fairly clear if not overcast day. The trees swayed slightly and all in all it seemed like a mediocre hiking day. He started looping around the yard and then decided to go deeper into the woods. With the leaves fallen earlier in the season there wasn’t much he had to contend with on the forest floor. 

             He had never quite been good with crowds, or small talk, or remembering peoples’ names; all of which seemed to insult people regardless of intent. It was better to sneak off for a bit, no-one would miss him. He followed a deer path that led away from the cabin, mostly because he knew he could follow it back. The family had been feeding the deer here for years and have become a regular stop on the way to the river on the other side of the house. 

             Aside from the whistling wind and the cracking snow produced by each of his steps he was perfectly alone. Still, he stopped and looked around suspicious of the trees. Had anyone followed him? He doesn’t think so. He has stopped walking, and the wind is the only noise you hear. Regardless, he couldn’t quite shake the idea that someone else was having a stroll. A little ashamed, he hoped that none of the Clarks had followed him from the house, especially the kids. He sighed and pulled his already zipped jacket tighter around himself. For obvious reasons he was only wearing fingerless gloves, and they were still a bit damp from what he had done last night while everyone else was sleeping on their old cots with the same old brown wool blankets as ever. The gloves were not very warm, not dry and increasingly unpleasant, but they would allow him to complete the first phase of his mission.

             He’s walked quite a bit further now. The snow and wind had picked up a bit making the deer tracks a little fainter, but still visible. He looks around to make sure he is still not being followed, then he hides behind a large pine.  The tree looked like it had been there longer than the old cabin. It had thick branches full of needles and easily held more snow than he would even guess at. 

             He cuddles up against the tree. The wind is picking up much faster than he anticipated, and it is now or never; no one wants never. He pulls a small cardboard box out from his coat pocket and frees the red lighter from the other side. He lights up the little cylinder of relaxation and inhales deeply.  

             He stands there thinking of nothing but the quickest way home that goes by a gas station that is still open over the holiday. A loud gust of wind goes by shaking his smoking area. Some of the snow is dislodged. Foolishly Tim looks up just as another large chunk of icy snow falls. It hits him hard on the head and knocks him down. Stunned and disoriented, he looks around for his cigarette. He makes little circles around where he had been standing foolishly hoping that it has been spared the brunt of the damage. 

             Irate, Tim finally gives up his search and turns to head back to the cabin. He looks for the deer trail. Granted he made a pretty big and rather short-sighted error frantically searching for his cigarette, flinging snow here and there, hoof prints or not. He takes his best guess as to where the cabin is and starts off. 

             Snow is really swirling now. An ill-timed and unpredicted mini-blizzard just to teach him a lesson; ‘quit quitting and quit’ he believes it said. He would have preferred a sign saying ‘this way to cabin’ but there was no such luck. He stops for a second. Spinning around slowly he sees someone standing in the forest between two trees. At first, he dismisses it as a shadow or hallucination or something. He stands staring for a minute then begins walking again. 

             His curiosity wins another round and he stops to look for the figure. He’s almost facing the way he had been going when something grabs him by the arm. The figure in the snow appears about 6 inches from his face. It’s wearing a face mask and all black down to the boots. Not wanting to scare off his only chance of getting help he waits awkwardly. Whoever is in the hood has sniffed him, the shoulder of his coat, right out of the blue. Without saying anything the figure takes his hand. 

             Thoroughly taken aback, he pulls his hand out of their grasp. The snow is turning the area into a particularly violent snow globe. They motioned for him to come, not saying a single word. He starts to follow, mostly looking for the dark spot where it stood and listening for the crunch of their boots just off step with his own. 

             After about 5 minutes of walking, Tim’s curiosity wins again. “Who are you?” he says without getting a reply. The figure just looks back and motions for him to be silent. They keep walking now, Tim is feeling fully rebuked but has no other options. The figure stops and extends both arms to keep him from walking further. It then turns to him and grabs his head. He finds he has been forced to look left and with a lot of squinting and effort, he sees a large black bear off in the distance. Probably not close enough to find them threatening, but still close enough to clear the distance between them did he so choose. 

             Minutes pass as he watches the bear disappear in the distance. The figure motions for him to keep going. There are some twists and turns along the path, but it is generally in one direction. The leader seems very sure of what way to go and where to put your feet. Tim decides to take a hint and follows suit. At this point returning with blue fingers does not seem unreasonable.

There is something else in the distance and Tim holds his breath to keep it from clouding his already paltry view. The figure motions him more emphatically to come with it, without other options he follows. The place in front of him is producing an increasing sense of relief and it turns into the cabin. A few minutes later he can hear people talking. His family trying to figure out some routes to find him; so, mostly just having an argument while he froze. Still, he was happy to see the group out there, ensuring he was not having a hallucination. 

             Tim is a little stunned and has stopped walking. The figure does not wait for him anymore. It moves ahead to the group of Clarks all the while taking off the mask... They point at him and his two cousins come over to usher him the rest of the way in. His uncle who did most of the maintenance year-round thanked the girl the figure had turned out to be by moving his hand in hers. Tim yells thank you at her and some other things that probably mean that he is in the doghouse. 

             After this odd interaction, he comes up to Tim and checks in. Tim’s confusion outpaces the blue fingers concern. “Who was that?” he blurts out. “Helen.” She doesn’t come up every year, you got lucky. Tim asks him what that is supposed to mean. Helen stayed in a cabin a few spots away and ran into him occasionally. Earlier this year Helen had developed meningitis. It hit hard and fast. The treatment had left her blind. And the trauma had led to selective mutism. Uncle Tony just figured the less speaking going on, the better she could ‘see’ where she was going; small talk is generally an uncomfortable waste of time anyway Tim thought to himself. He learns that since her recovery she has been adamant that she did not want help. She became a step counter. A mental map in her brain and knowing how far things were apart seemed quickly to be all she needed. 

             She didn’t get lost in the storm because she never saw the storm. She had been up there this year mapping the woods in the days leading up to Christmas. When Tony asked her why, she simply said, “I need to help.” 

             Tim was flabbergasted. He didn’t mention that he had entertained the possibility that she was a ghost. What she was capable of was even more surreal.