My Woods

Nick's beloved woods had transformed into an eerie, haunted forest. Something seemed to be watching him. He’d patrolled these woods since he was three; every familiar path now seemed evil, making him feel betrayed. He had a 1911 pistol holstered on his right hip; the .45 caliber rounds would allow him to obliterate any man who threatened him. Rumors had flown and were repeated; an escaped 'nut job' from the local psychiatric hospital was supposedly hiding somewhere in his woods. Every snapping twig and leaf-blown made his pulse rise in fear; he imagined the crazy dude hiding behind every mossy trunk, eyes mad with illness. As he crept around, heart thundering with dread, he found nothing where evil should have been. Moving with slow, deliberate steps, he slipped from tree to shadow, to bush, haunted by growing uncertainty. Nick was a ghostly ninja, pretending to be hunting for a kill, but inwardly, he fought panic. His nerves were strung tight like a guitar because he was terrified of the escapee who might be armed.

It was a blazing summer day in Georgia, and the trees couldn’t diminish the suffocating, stifling heat. The sunlight filtered through the dense woods, but it offered no relief from the humid, wet heat. Sweat poured down Nick’s face, stinging his eyes, and soaking his shirt until it stuck to his flesh—he felt trapped. Each breath he took felt hot and shallow, as if he were inhaling steam, intensifying his discomfort and anxiety. At last, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground. Panic took control! His chest rebelled, and he grew dizzy; he was already mentally and physically exhausted. He wiped a shaky hand across his face and arms, trying to wipe the sweat away and regain control. His mouth was dry like a desert wattering hole, worsening his sense of distress. He’d left his canteen at home—I need water! He thought.

“What was that noise?” he croaked, as he flung himself to the hard ground, ending up in a pile of leaves. His hand shot to his black holster, and his fingers fumbled with the knob to open it. However, he didn’t yank the pistol out of its holster. His muscles tensed, and his ears felt as if they were bursting from his skull, searching and probing for the slightest sound. For a moment, there was nothing—just the rustling of leaves and the normal sounds of the woods. Then, a distinct crack! Someone, or something, was crawling through the tangled undergrowth, branches snapping and twigs crunching beneath its weight. Nick’s breath stopped as he scanned the dense thicket for any movement.

Nick’s fingers slowly unholstered the deadly pistol, every movement deliberate, praying the unseen man wouldn’t see him. Why hadn’t I unholstered it already! He thought. Adrenaline surged through his veins. He pulled the hammer back too quickly, producing an audible noise in the silence. Suddenly, his voice erupted with a Rebel Yell. “Take this!” The pistol jumped in his hand as he fired three unaimed shots. “Did you like that, you bastard? Plenty more! Come get it!” His words sounded crazy, deranged. He heard no yelp, no cry from pain. Every nerve fired as he listened.

“How many shots did I fire?” he muttered, his voice frayed with anxiety. “Not many rounds left—why didn’t I count them?” he scolded himself. Sweat flowed from his face and arms. The unimaginable heat swallowed him like a warm blanket—his pulse rapid in his ears. “Don’t waste shots, dummy, or you’ll be defenceless,” he whispered fearfully. Tales of escaped lunatics with unnatural strength haunted his mind.

Nick’s body suddenly betrayed him; he collapsed onto his back, landing on the rugged ground. Panic flooded through him as he tried to move his left arm—nothing. It hung at his side, numb and unresponsive. “Have I been hit? I heard no shots but mine!” he rasped, with slurred words. His chest heaved as he fought for breath; the world spun in his dizziness. His pistol slipped from his grasp and bounced away from him. He could taste the fear in his mouth, and the sensation of helplessness overwhelmed him. He tried to call out, but his speech came out like a drunk church girl who’d forgotten about her halo. Darkness crept in!

A distant, gentle voice drifted through the haze of Nick’s confusion. “Mister, can you hear me? You need immediate help, and I can help you!” The words seemed to shimmer in the humid air, so soft and unexpected that Nick wondered if he was hallucinating.

He squinted through the wavering sunlight and spotted a frail-looking female stepping hesitantly from the shadows. “A woman?” he questioned, his voice confused. “I’ll blast you if you come any closer!” He said, while pointing at her with his empty right hand.

She paused and raised her hands. “You don’t have to worry! I only want to help you,” she called back, with a soothing voice. Nick lay sprawled in the fallen leaves, and his mind was whirling with disbelief as the young, frail woman approached. “Hello, my name is Betty,” she said softly, kneeling at his side.

Panic once again overtook Nick, and he began trying to thrash around—he couldn’t. “Be still!” Betty urged, touching him with her right hand. “You’re only going to make things worse.”

Nick struggled to focus. “What’s wrong?” he croaked, his voice weak and barely audible.

Betty’s gaze was steady and kind. “You’ve had a stroke,” she said, her tone gentle but urgent. “It’s my duty to help you.”

“What do you mean by ‘it’s your duty’? What kind of psycho are you?” His face twisted into complete confusion. “Are... are... are you from the insane asylum? You’re the escaped ‘nut job’?”

“I choose to live there now, in this timespan. I’ve lived in the ‘real world’ many times, but more often in the unseen realm. It depends on my mission; you are my assignment this time.”

“Help me, God!” he tried to say, but nothing came out of his twisted mouth. I’m a dead man! He thought.

“God will help you, and you would have been dead shortly if I hadn’t been here at this exact moment. You must live to accomplish your life mission!”

“Who are you? What kind of game are you playing?”

“I’m an Angel! A warrior for the Most High.” She placed her right hand on his forehead and whispered a prayer. Lightning flashed three times in the sunny sky, followed by several thunderous thunderclaps... almost like an announcement!

Nick’s head immediately cleared, and the feeling in his left arm grew normal. He reached up and cleared his teary eyes before sitting up. “Did you... you just—”

Her face lit up, and she nodded her head. She looked into the forest, stood up, and fled towards the woods like a scared deer. She seemed to lift skyward like a plane taking off, soaring away out of sight.

Nick shook his head, trying to comprehend what he’d just seen. Then he stood up, walked over to the 1911 pistol, and reholstered it. Men came bursting out of the woods, racing towards him.

“Have you seen a woman?” The man obviously in charge asked. “She was wearing a grey uniform!”

“Yes,” Nick said, “she was here. Did y’all see the lightning or hear the thunder?”

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout, you blubbering, fool! There was no lightning or thunder!” A man rubbing his chin asked. “What did this woman do to you, anyway?”

“She healed me!”

Several of the men turned their heads away. “Oh, great, another crazy person! We need to put him in a room next to hers.” Someone said. “By the way, where did she go, genius?”

“She took off! Flew away! Vanished! Disappeared! What was she in confinement for?”

“She thinks she’s a damn, Angel!”