Something in the Woods

“Make sure all the windows are covered at night.”

She turns to the rental host, a tall woman - sturdy but weary - with a polite smile. The host does not smile back.

“There aren’t many windows to begin with,” she hears her partner say, muffled, from the other room. She coughs like that will cover up his words. They’re thinking about getting married. Sometimes he doesn’t realize his bluntness makes people uncomfortable.

The host does smile now, but it looks a little sardonic.

“Easier to cover ‘em up,” the host states and walks toward the big picture window in the living area in which they stand, tugging the thick curtains from where they frame the generously-sized glass pouring light onto the faded carpet of the old home. The host pulls the drapes closed, shrouding the room in shadows. 

She hears her partner walk out of the bedroom he’d been exploring and their eyes meet in the darkness. He lifts his eyebrows; this lady is crazy. She widens her eyes in return; stop leaving me alone with her! They both smile.

“Lock the doors by sundown, close all the curtains and blinds. All the details are in the rental book.” The host pushes the curtains back again, light spilling into the room and making the couple squint. It’s past noon now and the sun is angling toward the big window, casting long shadows of the well-loved furniture against the dark paneled walls. 

The house is obviously older, style outdated, but clean and organized in a way that paints a clear picture: a family home turned around for some spare income from naive city folk who want to play pretend in the woods. She remembers the way her partner’s eyes lit up when he found the listing - a suburbia kid now neck-deep in the tech industry and desperate for a reprieve. She, a small town kid not unused to backwoods and sprawling mountains, had smiled at the idea and agreed. 

“I saw a fire pit outside,” her partner says as he watches the host walk into the bedroom he had just come out of, hunching over the window to check the lock. The host grunts in response. “Could we use that after dark?” he continues, and the woman stops her prodding before looking over her bony shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“There’s a fireplace inside.” The tone is final. The couple’s eyes meet again as her partner frowns, lips pouting like he’s about to argue, but she narrows her eyes in warning.

“Right. We will make sure to read the instructions before we unpack,” she claps her hands together once and smiles at the host, who keeps her sharp gaze on them for a beat too long before nodding.

“Windows are sealed shut, don’t try and open them. If you want to enjoy the sunshine and air, go outside.” The host straightens up and strides past them. Her partner sulks a bit and she bumps her shoulder into his arm as she passes, shooting him a playful grin. He pouts even more, but only to hide a smile.

“I’ll be sure to call if we have any questions.” She has her most polite customer service voice on, but the host seems irritated by the bubbly tone. 

“Use the house phone if I don’t answer, there’s rarely any service up here.” The host grabs the binder with all the home care instructions, putting it into her hands and not letting go until she meets the woman’s eyes. She blinks at the suspicion on the host’s face.

“And don’t open the door for anything after dark. You hear me? Not anything.” 

She blinks rapidly, captured in the host’s intense stare, a feeling of unease overcoming her. A big hand on her shoulder makes her jump, eyes darting up to see her partner with an uncomfortable smile on his face as he reaches between the women and gently pries the binder out of the host’s surprisingly strong fingers.

“Yes, ma’am. Nothing’s coming in or out of here past dark.” His voice seems loud in the stillness, the host still staring at her, but finally looks away when the couple both nod.

“Good luck.” The host says this directly to her partner before turning and walking out the front door. She frowns at the host’s back.

The couple watches the dust trail settle behind the wheels of the old pickup truck disappearing into the woods. Her partner screws up his face in a silly, bewildered expression.

“I didn’t realize we booked the ‘creepy old hag’ rental package. Are we going to get serial killed out here or what?”

“Don’t call her that, that’s rude. And ‘serial killed’ is not an expression,” she snickers and hits his chest with the binder, and he stumbles back as if mortally wounded.

The woods are beautiful. They remind her of home. They settle at an offshoot of the river, smaller and stiller, along the edge of the forest where they spend the afternoon with their feet in the cool water.

The walk back up to the little countryside house feels longer than it should, long shadows chasing them as the sun starts to sink beneath the mountains surrounding the valley. She doesn’t feel safe until the house comes into view and she locks the door behind them. She’s being quiet, something uncomfortable sitting under her skin.

“Don’t let that lady get to your head.” 

She leans her head against the giant window in the living room to stare at the pretty pink sky through the trees as the sun sets across from them. 

It really is so beautiful. And quiet.

“‘That lady’ has a name, you know.” Her breath fogs up the glass.

“Does she?” Her partner is joking, but something itches in the back of her skull. What was the host’s name?

She lifts her head and frowns, meeting his eyes in the window. They stare at each other. Trees and shadows mar his features reflecting back at her through the clear glass. She suppresses a shiver and spins away from the woods, facing him with a smile.

“Let’s take a bath and spend this first night right.”

She wrestles the heavy curtains closed tightly before she goes.

They’re drunk and naked in a too-soft bed, well past sundown, when she remembers.

“Did we check all the doors and windows?” she whispers into the darkness.

“Yes, honey.” He is sated and tired after their long day, skin still flushed.

“Are you sure?”

Her eyes dart anxiously to the window in the bedroom. The drapes are drawn, but there is a little bit of a gap on the right side that her eyes lock onto immediately.

“Babe, yes. Relax. Do you want me to check again just to be sure?” He sounds exasperated but she knows he will do it, because he is a good man who just wants her to be happy, even when she’s being difficult.

“No,” she grumbles. The windows are technically closed. A tiny gap at the edge of the frame isn’t going to mean anything. She’s just letting the heavy feeling of aloneness fuel her anxiety thanks to that woman’s eerie words.

What was the host’s name, again?

“This bed is so soft.” He already sounds half asleep. She finds herself drifting off into dreamless sleep easier than usual.

There is something in the woods.

She awakes with a start, colder than she should be under the pile of blankets. Her heart seizes in her chest as she grasps for her partner, blankets crumpled where he should be. Her eyes fly to the window beside the bed. There is no light in the house to reflect the outside, the new moon not bright enough to illuminate the woods, but the hair on the back of her neck raises like her instincts know something is watching her. She squeezes her eyes shut, grasping the blankets tightly. She tries to call his name, his name - what is his name?

“Babe?”

His deep voice cuts through the shadows and she can’t help the tiny scream she lets out. She can only see his faint outline from the dampened fireplace in the living room behind him. She hears the mattress dip beneath his knees but it’s too soft for her to feel it, as if he isn’t really there.

“Babe, you’re okay,” he says gently. She manages to grab a hold of him, squeezing his wrists tightly.

“Where did you go?” She pushes his hands over her own face, her entire body still cringing away from the sliver of visible window which feels like a physical manifestation daring her to look back. 

To see.

“I thought I heard something - ” She flinches at the words and he shushes her gently. “It was just the wind. It sounds like a storm might be picking up out there.”

They had checked the weather that morning. It was clear skies the entire week, no sign of rain.

“Bad dream?” He murmurs. She feels a tug in her brain to check the window again. She doesn’t say it, afraid speaking the fear out loud will bring it to life. He hums quietly, soothing, rocking their bodies to try and calm her down.

Her heart starts to settle.

“I love you,” she whispers on his always-warm skin.

“Then why don’t you marry me?”

She knows he’s just teasing; that he understands she is afraid to put such a permanent label on their relationship in case she screws it up. They’re happy like they are now, isn’t that enough? He says it is, and yet. She wonders how long until his patience runs out.

Tap.

They both freeze.

Tap.

Tap.

She feels him turn his head to the right, toward the window, where the unmistakable sound of something hitting glass, firmly and with intention, is coming from. The sound stops as he holds his breath. She closes her eyes tighter against the darkness.

“Must be a tree hitting the window.”

Something slams against the glass.

Before she realizes what’s happening, he’s pulling her out of bed. She squints as he yanks her into the living room, washed in a faint orange light from the low-burning logs in the fire. The flickering flame gives her the fleeting notion that they are completely surrounded by malevolent entities in the small room before her brain reminds her it’s just the shadows of the furniture dancing in the light. He pulls her to the ground in front of the wood burning stove.

There is a muffled sound from the bedroom, another slam against the window, before a heavy silence falls over them, only interrupted by the crackling wood. Her ears are straining, searching for another sound, eyes flickering to the heavy curtains fully covering the massive window behind them. She sees no gaps in the fabric. She relaxes.

“It’s okay,” her partner whispers, jaw ticking as he stares into the fire, the warm light casting deep shadows across his tired face.

A scratching at the wall just behind the fireplace has them both jump, grips tightening on each other. Aggressive, angry, agitated scraping against the thick wood of the walls.

“Just an aggressive animal.” His voice is falsely sure. Suddenly a bang slams against the window across the room. There’s more than one thing out there. She bites her tongue to keep from screaming.

“Maybe we should call the lady,” she barely breathes, fingers digging in hard into her knees as the sound of wind howling picks up against the creaking house. It sounds like distant screaming.

“I’ll go to the house phone.”

The house phone is in the kitchen. Near the front door. Away from the light of the fire.

Something heavy is pushed into her hands. She holds tightly to the rough metal of a fire poker.

“Don’t go alone,” she whispers.

“I’ll just be in the other room.”

“This is how people die in horror movies,” she argues, choking on a cry when a series of bang bang bangs sound against the covered window. It sounds too harsh, like the glass shouldn’t be able to withstand it, like whatever supposed animal is out there has flat, fleshy hands and fists.

“I’ll make sure everything is okay,” he promises. Like he always does. The metal bites into her skin where she grips it. Her eyes stay on his back until he is swallowed by the shadows of the kitchen where the phone waits.

She keeps her eyes on the darkened doorway, ignoring the scratching and the slapping and the screaming and the hissing to listen hard for the sounds of her partner in the other room.

“Help me!”

Her head whips toward the window as the wail pierces through the darkness, her ears ringing from the sudden cry. It sounds human. It screams again, the fire shuddering with the force. The terror in the voice reaches into her heart and yanks, propelling her forward. Her body moves on its own volition, shoving the thick curtain to the side and staring out the window, eyes straining to try and make out anything in the dense nighttime.

She only sees her silhouette dancing in the fire behind her.

And then - 

A hand slams down in front of her face, the glass shaking in the pane from the impact. The hand is too pale and too long and covered in something dark, dirty, smearing across the surface as she jumps back, scream caught in her throat. Is it blood? Is someone hurt? There’s another cry, and she is moving again. Someone is out there, someone is calling her name - her name? What is her name?

Her legs have taken her to the back door, and she’s unlocked the deadbolt before her brain catches up. Her hand is twisting the door knob and she screams, screams to try and stop herself even as the smell of decomposing leaves and dirt fill her lungs. Something on the other side pushes hard, she’s falling, the frigid outside air rushing in as her back hits - 

He’s screaming, voice panicked as he yanks her backwards into the house, stumbling until they both hit the ground. She’s still screaming when something grabs her leg, too cold and too strong, choking on the taste of wet dirt as she’s yanked toward the gaping darkness.

“Help, help me, help us,” the chorus of creaking voices flood her mind as she’s dragged forward, sharp nails digging into her naked skin, crawling up her body. The warmth of his hands barely catches her wrist, her body twisting to try and hold on, before she slips over the doorway and slams into the cold ground outside.

Dirt and grass fill her mouth as she grabs onto frame, screaming through the earth as her nails peel away from her skin. She feels blood and mud and hands all over her, hissing and screaming and chanting while a wash of something like home clouds her mind the harder she fights. A warm hand is in her hair, under her arm, pulling hard. The choking smell of dirt clears her lungs long enough for her to cry out, throat raw, when an unbearable flash of pain in her shoulder rips through her body. 

Cold, damp things loosen their hold on her legs and she flies forward, into his arms, still screaming and scrambling to grab onto him. He is yelling something, holding her tightly and kicking hard at something behind them, scrapes of pain and wails of haunting anger following them as he pulls her back into the house. He rolls them over and she’s crying, coughing up dirt, her shoulder burning as his familiar weight settles on top of her.

“I love you,” his warm, comforting lips whisper into her torn and bloody skin, and then he’s gone, body yanked from hers, head thudding on the step as he’s pulled through the door.

She tries to scream, tries to move, as the sounds of eerie screeching fades into the woods, a bitter chill of midnight air leaving her shivering on the floor. Alone.

When she tries to sit up again, the wave of searing pain from her shoulder has her blacking out before her head can hit the ground.

There is something in the woods.

A touch on her face has her gasping awake.

The host frowns down at her, eyes disapproving, mouth set in a hard line. She presses her head back down to the ground firmly but carefully. She tries to open her mouth to speak, to beg for help, but only a weak cry escapes as the woman prods at her throbbing shoulder.

“Now look what you’ve done.” The host’s voice is gruff, ignoring her whimper of pain as she grips at her arm and wrist, the woman not even flinching at the piercing scream when her shoulder is forced back into place. The wave of relief from the pain is dizzying and she thinks she passes out again, because when she next opens her eyes she’s in the bed.

The man sits at the edge of the bed, facing the window. Curtains open, letting the afternoon sunlight stream in the musty old room. For one brief moment she believes it was all a dream. Then he looks at her, eyes darker than she’s ever seen. The smell of wet dirt fills her nostrils.

“Let’s go home,” the man says. A chill runs down her spine.

She reaches over and touches his hand. He’s so cold. She grips it tightly to try and share her warmth, her skin tingling in repulsion. The taste of earth fills her dry mouth; her raw and swollen throat.

Something came out of that woods. It left part of her partner behind.

“I love you,” she tells the man. He looks at her, skin too pale and hair dirty, fingers crusted with her blood.

When it smiles, there are flecks of mud in its teeth.

It feels a little bit like home.