Locked or Unlocked?

***Trigger warning***Contains reference to home breakin and possible sexual assault (not explicit)***

The Pacific Northwest is an ideal place to settle. I’ve lived in many places during my life, but the beauty and peace of living in the woods in a damp, temperate climate allows me to rest and redefine my life. I moved to this house more than a year ago, and I am starting my second fall in this isolated place. It’s a small house, suitable for a mature woman living alone. There is a lawn around two sides of the building, but the whole space is surrounded by conifers. This year, as global warming continues its steady march, there was very little rain by local standards. It was mid-October before the rain clouds returned, and the drop in temperature finally made me fire up the heating to a balmy 61 degrees.

Of course, woodland means many creatures. Most do not bother me – I’ve lived in Australia with deadly spiders in the house and dived where sharks, box jellyfish and blue ringed octopus make their homes; I’ve lived in Texas where coyotes and bobcats were frequent visitors kept out by my fence. Here, I have been delighted by the deer wandering across the lawn and into the forest. I have watched the courtship of wild turkeys. I have seen species I had never heard of – yellow banana slugs, the dark brown Douglas’ squirrel, and the rough-skinned newt, which is almost invisible most of the time, a purplish brown on top but a striking orange on its underside, warning that its skin carries a powerful toxin. And there are predators. The most dangerous animals, humans, do not normally find their way to the house. Having been raised in England, I know better than to entertain friendships with my closest neighbors.

At night I often hear what I think are larger animals moving around in the forest. It’s difficult to be sure, as limbs drop so frequently from the tall trees, making sudden noises that cause me to spin around. The people in the nearby town see bears and mountain lions with some regularity. A mountain lion spent a couple of days last year quite close to my house. I saw it twice, but then it moved on, and I decided to be more careful walking around at night. But a few weeks ago, there was a strong smell of urine outside my bedroom window. Too strong for a small animal like a skunk, too alien for a human. My guess was most likely a bear passing through, maybe hungry and checking out the house for a free meal. It was a one-time thing, and all my food trash stays indoors until the bi-weekly garbage collection, so it left without finding anything to eat.

The first storm of the season happened three weeks ago. The crashing of tree branches falling, the whine of tall trees rubbing against each other in the wind, the rolling thunder; all these kept me awake. The following day, as I drove down the hill, I saw the pump house door was wide open. Parking the car, I walked around to check what had happened. The empty trash bin lay on the ground and the door was open, but nothing inside had been disturbed. There were no marks on the door to suggest an animal had scratched at it. I closed it, deciding the high winds had somehow blown it open.

Once I start the heating system in the winter, I reduce the open windows to mere cracks. For the summer months I keep several windows open so the oxygen-rich air from the forest blows through the house, but I can’t afford to heat the whole of the south Oregon coast in winter. When I woke up one morning with a scratch on my chest, I was irritated but not unduly alarmed. The scratch was just over an inch long, running down my left breast. I thought perhaps it had been an insect I had brushed away in my sleep, or a pine needle that had clung to my skin.

A few days later, I found a similar scratch on my right breast. This one was nearly two inches long. It was superficial, not even as deep as the first, but still a thin line of blood, and I found it strange that it was so similar to the previous one. It seemed to me that both had happened on rainy nights. I wondered if spiders had been driven into the house by the wetter weather.

Last week, during another downpour, I woke suddenly in the middle of the night, and I thought I saw a large shadow looming over me in my bedroom. Startled, I froze in fear, and the shadow also froze, then strode away out of sight. Was it a man? Had someone been breaking into my house at night? I was too scared to get out of bed and follow him. I turned on the bedside light and stared at the empty room. In the darkness, the figure had appeared very large, but he (it?) had moved silently. Was I just hallucinating? What had I eaten and drunk last night that could have caused that? After a few minutes without hearing anything, I swung slowly out of bed, putting on slippers and a warm housecoat. I walked quietly to the bedroom doorway, turning on the overhead light. There were damp footprints on the hardwood floor. Oh dear. Not a hallucination, then. And they were very big feet.

Slowly, nervously, I walked through the house, turning on lights as I moved from room to room. There was no one there. The window in the spare bedroom was wide open. I pushed it closed and locked it in place.

I crept back into my bedroom and into bed, still swathed in the housecoat. I was shaking slightly, and sleep was out of the question. My mouth was very dry, so I drank the whole cup of water I keep on the nightstand to take pills in the morning. The visitor had not tried to harm me, I kept reminding myself. Whoever he was, he seemed just as scared as I was. Maybe he just wanted to get in out of the rain, expecting I would stay asleep. I pulled up the local Facebook group on my phone, trying to see if anyone else had seen a stranger wandering around. Of course, this was a waste of effort. The homeless are everywhere along the coast, and so are meth addicts, but they usually stay closer to civilization.

After a sleepless night, I took stock of the situation. This was a one-time event, and I had no reason to fear this stranger, who had run away as soon as I woke up. What would be the point in calling the police? He would be long gone by now, and I had no description, and nothing had been taken or damaged. I went through the house, ensuring all the windows were firmly locked. I was alone in the forest – I needed to improve my security. For the next few days, nothing happened, and I started to relax my vigilance.

Three nights ago, I awoke again to a presence in the bedroom. I felt something sharp slowly tracing down my skin. I kept my eyes closed, and tried not to move, but the change in my breathing must have alerted him that I was awake. I slowly opened my eyes without making any other movement. Outside, lightning flashed, and I saw a tall figure standing over the bed. His arm was stretched towards me, so the sharp weapon must have been in his hand. Another flash of lightning showed that his hand had long, claw-like fingers. The scratches and the sharp sensation on my skin made sense. Not a knife, just a long fingernail. Then there was the other thing I had seen. He was covered in thick hair. “Hello,” I whispered. It felt as if I was trying to gain the trust of a wild animal.

Hanging his head a little he withdrew his hand. I sensed that he was sorry to have awakened me, sorry to have touched me without permission, sorry to have scared me. I slowly reached out and touched his arm gently. “It’s OK, you can stay out of the storm.”

I waited, holding my breath. Had I misjudged the situation? Would I be attacked and killed by the monster? Would I end up as an Unsolved Mysteries case? The creature slowly reached out again and tentatively touched my shoulder. I tried not to wince as the sharp fingernail dragged across my skin. He was gentle, but I still felt the scratch, sure it would draw drops of blood. When he paused, I held my hand out again and stroked his arm. The fur was soft, and I could feel the shape of his arm beneath it. Where my body was soft, his was hard and muscled. Hunting for your food in the forest demands strength and stealth. Buying your food at the grocery store demands good manners and a source of income.

For a while we touched and admired each other’s bodies in the dark. It felt surreal. I had never believed that he could exist. Like the chupacabra or the Loch Ness monster, these were fantasies invented by humans to scare children or drive tourism. But here he was, in the flesh. And here I was, overcoming both fear and disbelief in a magical moment.

Emboldened by our mutual contact, he ran his hand down my side, and I yelped as his claw-like nail sliced into my skin. I ran my hand down to the cut. My hip was stinging, and my hand came away wet with blood. Again, we both froze. He withdrew his hand again, and I sighed. After a few minutes, I spoke again. “You can let yourself out. I’m going to pretend you’re not here.”

I rolled over and closed my eyes. After a few minutes, I was convinced he had left the room. Breathing slowly and deeply, I went back to sleep.

The next morning, there was no sign that he had been there. But I knew now that he was not a hallucination, not a human being, not a wild animal. He was something else. And he did not seem to mean to do any harm to me. It was like the aftermath of a blind date – it had not gone well, but on the plus side, I had not been robbed, abducted, raped or murdered. I walked through the house to find out how he had entered this time. The windows were still secure, but the front door was unlocked. I used the back door whenever I went out, and I only used the front door when packages were delivered. Yesterday, I must have forgotten to lock the door when I brought in a heavy package. So, my visitor had walked in and out through an unlocked door. I cursed my carelessness. I could have been murdered in my sleep. In my half-asleep state, I had taken an unimaginable risk, and now I had a scar to prove it.

…

The last two days have been dry, and I kept the front door locked. But more rain is starting this evening. I am standing by the front door, wondering whether or not to unlock it before I go to bed.