Not All Men

(This story does include some swearing, and hints at inappropriate behaviour - though this is not explicit)

The forest crept dark into the valley. It was there I found myself, tucked away in my uncle’s cabin, retreating from the world. A malaise held thick the woods outside, pushing me deeper into my story, the ghost of it ugly in my periphery. I had come to write, to alter the narrative - the incident haunting my mind.

I kept a pattern during those days, an order to placate the ruinous thoughts: would write the morning through; pour coffee into a thermos; set out on a hike. The thicket of the forest world webbed into a series of trails; a wrong turn and one would lose themselves in the labyrinth. As I walked I snapped twigs here and there, carved small signatures on the bark; little breadcrumbs to guide me home. 

One morning, the forest drenched with fog, I saw movement up ahead on the trail. It was as if a shadow had slid through the vapour, wrapping itself around the trees. Startled, I stopped in my tracks. It was not impossible for someone else to be out here, but in all my time I had never seen another soul. I listened, straining to hear the scrunch of leaves under foot, but all was silent. I continued with caution, watching the fog as it shifted with lumbering gait through the trees. The rest of the walk proved uneventful until, not far from the cabin, I noticed a figure. Gathering myself, I saw it was a young woman sitting on a gnarled root, crying into her hands.

I approached with care, not wishing to frighten her. She looked up with a start, tears streaking her face. I put up my arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘are you all right?’

She nodded, looking around as the fog cloyed at the fringes of the path, flexing like fingers out of the trees.

‘Are you sure?’ I said.

She dipped her head, and I saw she was no older than sixteen.

‘Do you know where you are?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she said, stifling a sob, ‘I know, thank you. We have a cabin not far from here.’

‘I live down this path,’ I said, and she looked at me with a flicker of concern. 

‘Just in case that helps you,’ I said, my face flushing.

She stood up and looked around, ‘what time is it?’

‘Half past twelve,’ I said.

‘Two hours,’ she trembled, ‘he’ll want to know where I am.’

‘Your father?’ I said.

She looked at me with frightened eyes.

I stepped back to demonstrate I meant her no harm. Her gaze shifted from left to right as if she were assessing me. She went to speak but instead turned and hurried away in the opposite direction, the fog enveloping her. And though I could no longer see her, I heard the softness of her sobs as they faded away.

I thought about the girl for the rest of the day. It worried me that this beautiful young thing was walking around in the depths of the forest frightened and alone. I realised my actions had been irresponsible, I should have insisted on seeing her to safety. Anyone could get lost in these woods, especially a young girl. And my fear grew that whoever it was she was returning to was a fate worse than losing herself in the woods. I promised myself, if I saw her again I would help her. As time passed, I tried to banish the thoughts, but out on the trail they gnawed at me, a sense of shame that I had abandoned her.

The days grew shorter, and the cold advanced. One night, warmed with a late supper, I settled myself in a wicker chair. I had stoked up the wood burner and felt somewhat toasty, enjoying the sight of the forest beyond the window, rich with snow, reflecting white the moonlight. I had begun to read, when I saw a blackened figure trudge through the snow outside. I thought for a moment I had dreamt it, so isolated was I from the rest of humanity. But before I could think to blink once more, I saw there was a figure, and they were crunching their way through the deep snow. They stopped on seeing me, their dark silhouette staring through the window. My heartbeat raced in anticipation as they walked towards the cabin. She had found me. She must have stopped outside for I heard no knock, and understanding her hesitation walked over to the door to welcome her in from the cold. It was then a grizzled face pushed itself against the glass. I froze. It was not her but a man in his late forties. Scarring bridged his forehead, arching down over his brow and touching his temples, as if someone had tried to sever the top of his cranium. He stared at me and when still I hadn’t moved, he knocked. I don’t know why but I opened the door, and he ambled his weight into the warmth of the cabin, the winter wind snaking in behind him. Towering over me, he ushered me to sit myself back in the chair. With trembling arm I ventured the same gesture to the seat opposite. 

‘I’ll stand,’ his voice boomed. It was then I noticed how he was dressed; hunks of leather strapped together to form a makeshift jacket, lending him a shuffling quality like that of a medieval drifter.

‘Are you lost?’ I said.

‘No,’ he said, his eyes never blinking.

A silence prevailed for an uncomfortable period before he said, ‘you fit the description.’

‘I…I…sorry…what description?’

‘My niece,’ he growled, ‘said she ran into a man.’

‘Your niece?’ I said, knowing right there and then he was speaking of the girl.

‘Every night for the last two weeks or so I have been out in these woods trying to find this cabin, the one he invited her to,’ he said, his brow tightening with a menacing pinch. 

‘Your niece?’ I heard myself repeat.

‘Yeah! My fucking niece! Was that you?’ he said, taking a step towards me.

‘I saw a girl,’ I said, ‘it’s true. She was upset…’

‘So you thought you would invite her here for cookies and ice cream? I bet. And afterwards an innocent cuddle?’

I made to stand but he pushed me back with a flick of his hand.

‘You dirty fuck.’

I gripped the sides of the chair, remembering the look of terror on the girl’s face when she had talked about “him”, that man who was not her father.

‘Listen,’ I said.

‘No!’ he shouted, ‘you listen. If I see you near her again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?’

I offered a shaky nod in affirmation.

As he turned to leave, he stepped back towards me and raised his fist. I cowered, pushing myself back into the chair. He laughed and then he was gone, the room and the forest muffled in the silence of the falling snow.

That night was the worst sleep I had ever had, half-expecting the man to appear once more, this time a knife swinging in his grip. Waking around three, I played the interaction over in my mind. Had I spoken out of turn with the girl? I knew I had thought her pretty, but that was a thought, a passing moment shared only with myself. I had shown concern for her, and she had misread it. She had thought it odd the questions I had asked her, but she was being careful, that was to be expected. Restless in the knowledge that sleep would not return, I climbed out of bed, and padded over to my desk. I felt sullied, and chewed at my fingernails, bloodying the sides of my thumb. I sat like this in the half light of the desk lamp, watching the snow falling outside.

I must have dozed off at some point, as I awoke with a burning crick in my neck and an image of the man’s face leaning over me, the scarred forehead bulging vulgar in the low light. My eyes sore from a lack of sleep, I pushed back from my desk and clambered into my winter clothes. I refused to remain hidden because of some thug.

Hiking into the woods, twitching at every sound, I wondered how the man had found me. The forest went on forever and from all my hikes I had never come across any abode other than ours. Against my better judgement, I decided to find his hideaway, if only to check on the wellbeing of the girl. I believed this man, claiming to be her uncle, was dangerous, that he was keeping her against her will.

Around three o’clock in the afternoon, as the sky readied itself for night, I decided to give up. Shuffling down the side of a bank, keeping my eye on the markers I had etched earlier, I noticed what appeared to be a structure obscured by low-hanging branches. Edging nearer, I laid as close to the ground as was possible and crawled forward. I saw that I had not been wrong; gathering snow, under the closeness of pines, was a log cabin. I crept behind a mound of snow, and stopped to catch my breath, listening to the silence of the darkening wood. And as I did so, the interior of the cabin lit up, and I saw her standing at the window, looking in my direction. It took everything in my power not to wave, to assure her all would be well. I then heard shouting from inside. From that distance, it was muffled sounds of a heated conversation. She had turned her back to the window and was screaming at someone hidden from sight. A few seconds later, he stepped into view rage contorting his face, his fist held aloft. She winced, pushing herself against the window and he let the offending hand fall, wiping the brow of his leathery face. With a final yell, he flung his hands up in frustration and marched out of view. The front door flew open, and the great bulk of the man stomped into the snow, flinging the door shut behind him. He twitched with anger before turning in my direction. I ducked as fast as I could, hoping he had not seen a whisper of my winter coat. I strained to listen, the crick in my neck still throbbing. Heavy boots stamped up the steps to the front door, and a key turned in the lock. A moment later, the footsteps trudged away. With a swell of courage, I dared myself to peek beyond the mound, catching the last glimpse of the man walking into the woods. 

I don’t remember how long I remained hidden, but I found myself standing on the top stoop of the cabin, listening to the girl sobbing within. My hand trembling in front of me, the limb possessed, it rapped three times on the door. 

The crying ceased, and she called out, ‘is that you?’

‘Yes…no, I mean, it’s me,’ I said, confused by her question.

Nothing moved inside the cabin.

‘Are you all right?’ I said, ‘he visited me last night.’

‘He did…’ she said.

‘I know you’re scared of him,’ I continued, ‘I’m scared of him too.’

Silence.

‘Hello?’ I said.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

‘I want to help you, that’s all.’

‘Help me,’ she said, her voice breaking.

‘Yes, I saw him lock you in here, I can get you out. You’ll be safe, I promise.’

She began to cry, ‘we’ve been here so long, I feel trapped.’

‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘I can get you out.’

She continued to cry. With caution, I tried the door handle.

‘Don’t do that,’ she said, ‘he’ll get mad as hell.’

‘Where’s he gone?’ I said, imagining his phantom hands grabbing me from behind.

‘One of his walks,’ she said, ‘he’ll be a while yet, you’re quite safe.’

‘I’m not worried about me,’ I said, feigning a note of courage, ‘I’m worried about you.’

Her voice shifted, gone was the higher register of the crying girl, ‘do you think I’m attractive?’

The question startled me, and I pretended not to have heard it.

‘If he’s gone for a while,’ I said, ‘maybe this is the best time to…escape.’

‘I asked you a question,’ she said.

‘You’re pretty,’ I said, red blotches appearing on my neck, ‘but that’s not important right now.’

‘It’s quite important,’ she said, ‘if I go with you, I want to know what you think of me.’

I began to respond but something felt off, a familiarity to what was unfolding.

‘Look,’ I said, trying to sound calm, ‘we need to get you out of there before he comes back.’

‘How do I know you’re any different to him?’ she said.

Flustered, I tried the door again. It didn’t budge, and that time I felt I had made a lot of noise, that despite the falling snow he would hear me. Perhaps he was watching, lying in wait.

‘Why don’t you come round to the window?’ she said, ‘so I can see you.’

I tramped around to the side of the cabin. She looked down at me from the window, her face blurry from the light behind her.

‘Are you different to him?’ she asked again.

‘I wouldn’t do anything to harm you.’

‘A lot of men say that,’ she said.

‘Not all men.’

She opened the window a little further.

‘If I come with you,’ she said, ‘will you look after me?’

‘Yes, you’ll be safe.’

‘Will you take me away from these woods?’ she said, ‘back to the city?’

‘Anything you want. Please, he might come back soon.’

‘That would not be good for you,’ she said, a smile tracing her thin lips, ‘do you have a place in the city?’

‘I do, it’s quite central.’

‘Central’s fun,’ she said, ‘better than out here.’

‘I like out here.’

She snorted with derision, ‘men like the woods, it makes them feel strong.’

‘I’m not like that.’

‘You’re not strong?’ she said.

‘Enough.’

‘Enough to hold me down?’ she said, the smile leaving her face.

Time slowed and I turned, unsure if the pounding I could hear was the blood in my head or footfall in the snow behind me.

‘It’s OK,’ she said, after a minute, ‘I’ve been with men before, boys mostly, but some men. Is that something we’ll do when you get me out of here?’

I wanted to shake my head, but an aching familiarity clawed in my guts.

‘I would consent of course, to the hero who saved me,’ her words were flat now, emotionless.

I tried to gesture at the woods behind me, imploring her to leave this place.

‘We should go,’ I said.

‘What?’ she said, ‘you don’t want to fuck me? Is that what you’re telling me?!’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, I mean…sure…in a safe place…I hate that…that word…’

‘What word?’ she snapped, ‘fuck? You hate the word fuck?! You want to make love? Is that it? Oh baby.’

I had frozen to the spot, the horror wrapping its ugly arms around me.

‘Please,’ I managed to say, the words falling feeble from my mouth.

‘You dirty pervert,’ she yelled at me, ‘get away from here. Get the fuck away from here before my uncle smashes your fucking head in.’ She let out a monstrous scream, cracking the still of the night. I ran, my vision tunneled into the enveloping dark of the woods.

I ran until I fell forward into a small clearing, the stars the only light poking through the vast blackness of space. Panting, I exhaled plumes of misty cloud. Silence pervaded the woods. I listened for an echo, the scream withering amongst the trees. When none came, I listened for him and the horrid trudge of his boots. The night lay undisturbed, but the filth of her scream rang in my ears, knotting my stomach. Limbs numbing, I staggered my way through the snow unsure of my direction. In spite of the darkness, and the forest clawing at my every move, I found my uncle’s cabin.

I fell through the door, clumps of snow falling onto the floor, leaving a wet trail in my wake. Shivering, I collapsed into a corner of the room, facing the windows where first I had seen his awful frame. I dared not light up the room, the trees were watching. He would come for me soon, I was sure of it.

I remained still for sometime, my eyes darting back and forth across the little I could see, the shadows playing tricks with me. When no one came, I felt about for pen and paper, and hurried sentences in the dark, hoping in my haze the words were legible. My stomach ached and tingles of light played at the sides of my vision. Nothing would change, a voice whispered in my skull. But I knew I could write it down, write it the way it was supposed to be. Even in the empty light, I could see the pen drew low on ink, but on I scratched, etching truth into the document. I knew if she were to read these words, inked in blotchy stains, she would understand and the narrative would change. I wrote with fever until a dull pink slanted through the virgin white. I stood with effort and lay the pages, crumpled as they were, upon the desk, fanning them out.