The value of being seen

It was going to be a clear and bright night. The sun had finally released its warming grip giving way to a cool ominous breeze. It had been a long and gruelling, but very fulfilling day on the bicycle. Fred and Wylma. They had become a tight team over the months of riding. Wylma: the two wheeled metal pack mule that never gave up. They had set off together over a year ago to see the world.

As is his ritual every day, Fred began his search for a place to camp for the night . He found a rough single track that eventually led into the sharp and heavily forested ravine, home to a romantic babbling brook of clear and cold water and a stunning view of the mountains beyond. This was a perfect place to spend the night. In the dying light, he found a small clearing and set up his tent, and now applied himself to preparing some dinner.

The last minutes of the day were Fred's favourite. With a full stomach, empty bladder and a day full of adventure, he crawled into his tent and let slumber rapidly take him along with his fatigue away.

***

A sharp sound of a breaking twig woke Fred. He lay there frozen waiting for more sound. Just as he was about to give up his vigil, a new footfall somewhere nearby disturbed the dry leaves. Fred was now fully awake and aware that he was not alone. It could be an animal or a person. He strained his ears for more clues.

Another clue, a sniff. It told him a few things: it's an animal, it's not small, and it's close!

Another step, then another.

It’s on my right. Between me and the creek.

This was not the first time wild animals had disturbed Fred's sleep while camping in the wild, but ever since a wise African tribesman showed him how to mark his territory, just like a dog, he had more or less been left alone. Until now.

The sniffing continued, circling his tent. The sounds were so tentative and sporadic that it was hard to tell if all this could be put down to over imagination, but then an unmistakable sound of breathing right above him completely dispelled that idea. At this point Fred was seriously scared. He tried to think of what large wild animals could be endemic in the Carpathian mountains. Certainly bears, and wolves but something was not adding up.

Then suddenly, the inconsistency struck him. The full moon’s cold silver light cast its forest filtered shadows as long slivers on his tent. As his visitor traversed the space between Fred and the river, what was missing was his visitor's shadow!

This roiled Fred badly. He broke out into a cold sweat that made him itch, but he dared not move. He was an avid horror reader and so many of the tales that tantalise this genre originate in these dark mountains. Fred was not superstitious, but his imagination had suddenly been taken hostage by this mysterious nocturnal visitor.

Long minutes passed as Fred strained for more signs from his visitor, but it seemed that either it had slinked away unnoticed or was itself frozen with fright, or anticipation. The suspense overtook him. He abandoned stealth and began making loud grunting growling noises as he raced out of his sleeping bag, and leapt out of his tent. He now stood, completely naked, arms raised and making the most imposing display of himself as he could. The forest had fallen completely silent. Fred let out a final menacing growl and stopped, panting with the excitement and exertion.

Nothing.

The imaginary beast Fred's overactive imagination had conjured was nowhere to be seen. The breeze cooled his nervous sweat, making him shiver a little. Could this have been a dream, or a nightmare? Fred now doubted his deductions. He remained frozen, but as his adrenalin dissipated, he began to think about retreating back to his tent and hopefully getting back to sleep, though he doubted sleep would come easily after this episode.

Just as he turned his back on the forest, a low rumbling growl vibrated through the air from behind. Fred snapped back around but the forest seemed empty. The sound was close. Surely I should be able to see what is making it. The mottled moonlight should have easily illuminated his visitor at this range.

Fred had learnt a lot about survival in the wild over his trip so far, rule 1: when encountering animals at night - show no fear! His assumption was rooted in his belief that virtually all animals would much rather avoid a confrontation with man, especially one displaying aggression. A crazy idea grabbed him. He went down to one knee, clutched a hand full of gravel and dirt, and flung it at his invisible visitor while giving his best bellicose screech .

This was the moment, if any, in his young life, Fred would come to regret.

The dirt Fred threw into the night came to an abrupt stop mid flight and bounced off something about 3 metres away, the remainder outlining a large, vaguely humanoid shape that remained invisible. His visitor abandoned stealth and let out a blood curdling howl the likes of which Fred had never heard except perhaps in a horror movie. Suddenly the gravel gave way under its feet as it lunged at Fred. He had only enough time to snatch poor Wylma and use her as a shield from the invisible attacker. The impact was jarring and threw Fred back off his feet. He fell on his arse, his back slamming into the large tree right behind. The rough bark biting into the bare flesh.

Whatever it was, it was a solid and powerful mass of bone and flesh with deadly intent, but completely invisible. Now just centimetres away, Fred could see the results of invisible teeth mauling the paint and metal of Wylma’s frame. Dents and scratches magically appearing from nowhere. The beast seemed to be struggling to gain a good footing against Fred, rocks and earth being torn out and kicked up by invisible feet. The muzzle of the phantom was so close that Fred could feel the rancid breath on his sweat sheened face, and all the while the most terrifying snarling and grunting.

The stalemate went on for some long seconds, Fred having a rather good position from which to lever resistance with Wylma bearing the brunt of the claws and teeth. He then kicked out and upwards in retaliation. His foot met with soft fur covered flesh with satisfying force. It was a lucky shot. The beast broke away from his attack and howled in a most painfully pitiful way. Fred scrambled to his feet to see the gravel in front of him dancing about. He had hurt his adversary, and this was his chance to exploit the advantage. With adrenaline coursing through his body, Fred leapt at the invisible thing, onto what he hoped would be the back of his nemesis.

His eyes told him he was physically floating in the air, but all his other senses told him he was riding what he could best guess was a bear or large wolf. With legs hooked underneath, and one arm around a thick fury neck, Fred balled his free hand into a fist with thumb out, and rammed it toward where he thought an eye socket could be. His thumb hit flesh, but then slid into a slimy socket. He pushed it in with force.

The beast redoubled its howling agony now bucking wildly and managing to throw him off, but not before slicing across his torso with a flailing claw. Fred scrambled to his feet, picked up Wylma again and backed away behind the large tree.

The writhing in the dirt and painful howling began to retreat. The beast had had enough, abandoned the hunt and decided on flight instead. It crashed away through the foliage till Fred could no longer hear it any more.

He remained in his defensive position for a long time. The sweat had cooled on his body and the excitement of the encounter had dissipated, leaving Fred physically exhausted and in pain. He looked down at four nasty lacerations streaking across his abdomen, slowly oozing blood. He touched the blood and winced at the pain as if to prove to himself that this was no nightmare. He looked at his gravel-rashed hands and saw traces of hair stuck to them, and they smelt of rank sweat. His thumb was coated in a mix of whitish translucent gel and blood.

An hour of first aid under torchlight cleaned up the worst of the wounds, after which Fred crawled back into his tent and fell into a deep sleep.

***

The day broke bright and clear. Birds chirped and insects buzzed in the morning sunlight. Fred was in the habit of rising with the sun no matter how little he slept, and this morning was no exception. For that first lucid moment before he moved, the events of last night could have been just a vivid dream, but the pains in his body quickly testified otherwise.

As he ate a meagre breakfast, he studied the state of Wylma. She had loyally saved him from certain death last night. Apart from her frame showing obvious signs of being seriously gnawed at and scratched, and the back wheel being buckled, she had come out of this confrontation reasonably well. Fred fixed the buckle, packed up his gear and set off.

The movement of his legs against Wylma’s pedals was a soothing motion. The still forest air and smooth pavement on this quiet backroad completed a magical trance which enveloping him. He had left the cursed ravine and his violent encounter behind, and was now riding through pristine ancient forests. Mottled sunlight filtering through the fresh green foliage, and the pungency of late spring hung heavily in the air. This is as good as it gets, I can never quite describe this feeling to anyone else, you just have to be here. The positive movement forward on his journey again was altogether mollifying in a strangely euphoric sense. His thoughts were never far from the events of the night before, but somehow they made him feel more positively alive and charged than ever before. Is this what it feels like to have survived a real deadly wild attack?

After a few kilometres Fred rode into a small village. Perhaps he could find something to add for breakfast. He stopped at a little supermarket and entered. There were only two aisles, which looped around to end at the cashier's desk. An old woman with her basket resting on the floor blocked Fred's path. He nudged the basket with his foot to pass. The old lady jumped with an exaggerated shock, and looked around anxiously. She then rapidly crossed herself repeatedly while mumbling some religious incantations. Fred was right in front of her, but her bulging eyes refused to see him. He shook off the odd behaviour and continued down the aisle.

With a few essentials in hand, he headed for the cashier. The girl behind the counter was focusing intensely on her phone. Her attention was only broken as Fred placed his goods down. She suddenly snapped and stared at the items in abject horror, and then looked about nervously. Fred was standing right in front of her but she did not see him. Then she rapidly started tapping on her phone, jerking her head up every few seconds to check around here again. It was at this point Fred began to feel some concern. His fears compounded when he noticed a glass cabinet behind the cashier containing some knives and other restricted items. Fred could not see his own reflection! He decided it best to leave the store empty handed, but the automatic door would not open for him. He resorted to forcing it open which elicited a fresh shriek from the young cashier.

Now standing outside next to Wylma, he noticed the shop fronts across the road. The pole against which Wylma rested was in the reflection. But no Wylma and no Fred. He waved his hands about in stupid desperation, but nothing changed in the reflection. Completely gone was his elation of the perfect morning's ride.

This concern now turned to panic. From around a corner across the road, a few doors away from where Fred’s reflection should have been, a large and very hairy man appeared. He was completely naked and carried a machete in his hands and there was a slight limp to his gait. He was looking right at Fred. This appearance would be noteworthy in of itself, but for two additional things. A woman with her small child in tow walked right past him without flinching, and the freshly bloodied patch over one of his eyes.