Do Not Read

I love being alone. 

It was often hard for me to picture a future with a husband, or with kids I pushed out of my body. 

The concept of no longer being my own or having the freedom of no commitments was a terrifying one. 

As I rush through my twenties, I wonder if I’m even meant to have a future. 

I just don’t interact with many people so desperate for isolation like I am, and I wonder if others aren’t interested in their future like I am not interested in my own. 

I contemplate the meaning of my life and my place in this godforsaken world while looking for what chip and dip I want. 

 It’s also an incredibly hard decision. Do I want tortilla chips and salsa? Pita chips and hummus? Veggies with ranch?

I walk down the isles of the small mountain town store and grab enough snacks for a family of four before heading to my pick up. Spoiler alert- I’m a family of one. 

After tossing everything in the bed of the single cab, I head out to my small campsite that’s all for me, my snacks, and my book. It’s an area I’m confident in navigating due to having grown up coming to the area often with my dad. 

As a single adult I still made it part of my lifestyle to be in the mountains when I can be. There’s something about being around the dirt and the leaves that reminds me what being alive feels like. 

I reach my regular campsite and begin unloading my necessities. I always bring a hammock to read in for my mountain trips and she always gets set up first. 

The rest of the afternoon is followed by a short walk around the surrounding trees to gather wood for a small fire. 

Finally after settling in, I’m able to lounge in my hammock as the sun takes her nap and the moon rises in all her glory. 

I stare into the fire, relaxed by the distracting dance happening along the burning wood. I let out a heavy breath and I leave behind the worries of the world and focus on the moment in front of me. 

I quickly crack open the spine of my new book and mentally dive right in.

Due to the fall weather, I chose a book promising some trauma. I love all things scary. I love horror movies, haunted houses, podcasts about unsolved murders. 

The back cover of this book was brief. It only said, “Do not read if you wish to live.”

The summary was excellent marketing, some reverse psychology always for the win. I mean it worked on me anyways. 

The book starts by laying the setting in the remote mountains. I giggle at the irony of where I’m currently reading this book at. 

It continues on about a sad girl, alone in the world. I feel a pang of empathy in my chest. I understand the feelings of not knowing your place in the mess of everything.

I swing my legs over the side of the hammock and grab some Oreos, settling back in. 

The book continues with the girl hearing a sudden snap in the dark trees. 

My reading instantly stops at what sounds exactly like the same thing, coming from my left shoulder. I sit up slightly, peering into the darkness as best as I can. With the warm weather there’s all kinds of little critters running around. 

I return my attention to the story, picking up on the next sentence that describes the girl as naïve. It says the girl is not aware of the dangers around her.  That she isn’t picking up on the lack of noise that should be there. 

I sit for a moment, unsure what the book means. What noise should be there? I ponder for a moment, stretching my hearing to what’s around me. I don’t hear anything. Now that I think of it, the only noises I’ve heard since starting my book have been that snap in the forest. I sit quietly, waiting to hear the crickets or the birds in the trees. Strange, how quiet it is. This time of year usually comes with the buzz of bugs fighting to swarm around your face. 

I continue reading, slowly becoming uneasy. Rarely do these kinds of things actually spook me, but I have a strange feeling settling in my chest. I furrow my brow, trying to shake the silly thoughts that are forming.

The story steps away from setting the scene and moves further into the character’s mind. The person, or thing, is watching the earlier described girl. It explains its hunger, and how sweet she smells. It explains how it’s been hunting her all day, following her around the trees. The thing rages over how it was unable to risk exposing itself under the full strength of the sun. The only thing in its way now is the small, pathetic fire. 

I pull myself out of the story and decide this genre in this atmosphere may have been a shit idea. 

I force my way out of my comfortable position and head towards a pile of bushes to quickly empty my bursting bladder. I hate using the bathroom in the woods, but often places with bathrooms bring crowds of people and I needed the feeling of no one being around for miles. Or so I thought, until I started this new book.

My pants are around my ankles when I hear a shifting in the leaves. 

The negative feelings from earlier rise up and I admit the fact that I am totally wigged out. Also, my damn pants are down. I yank my pants up and briskly walk back to my reading spot. 

I rub my eyes and accept the fact that I am slightly embarrassed for myself. I’ve been camping alone for a long time and I never get such a feeling of insecurity. Mountains make all kinds of noises.

Trying to shake my head out of the rut, I keep reading. 

The thing in the book continues to describe its growing hunger and how it should’ve struck while the girl was vulnerable. It should’ve got her while she was further from the fire and near the cover of the bushes. 

Dread snaps into place around me. 

The thing decides it’s done waiting, that it’s ready to make its move. 

And as I finish the condemning sentence, the fire I’ve built swooshes out and leaves behind complete darkness.