The Woman with No Name

Warning: contains vulgar language

Her mind was ripping into pieces.

She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on her deep breathing exercises.

Even though she was sitting in her MotorInn’s motel room, and she felt the cheap comforter against her body, and heard the air conditioner humming in the window, and smelt the artificial citrus scented cleaner that they used to cover up those other smells (in God’s name, what were those other smells), she felt like she was caught halfway in a dream.

She couldn’t be positive if it was her bedside lamp that shined in her eyes, or if it was the sun’s rays. Was that the cheap fabric of sheets scratching her bare legs, or the itchy tickle of grass? Was that the cool breeze of the air conditioner, or an outside breeze? If she concentrated, she could have sworn she smell freshly cut grass and hear the muddled sound of chatter, like listening to people talk underwater.

Those other senses were residue from the “glitches” she’d been experiencing. She cringed at the word.

She determined here were two types of glitches. The less concerning ones, and the more concerning ones.

The less concerning ones manifested as things she saw in the corners of her eyes. She was nearly rear ended yesterday when she slammed on the brakes because she saw a small child run across the road. She was sure her heart stopped and the only thought that coursed through her mind was “please god, no.” It wasn’t until the ringing in her ears had subsided that she realized there was nothing there. The person behind her laid on their horn and shouted some creative choice words at her.

The more concerning ones would completely engulf her. One minute she be going about her business then-BAM! She would be in a different place all together. After a glitch (or “episode” was probably a more accurate term), those other senses clung like residue to her mind’s eye.

She tried comforting herself by remembering that insomniacs had a similar experience with episodes that were nothing more than mini dreams.

I bet that is what’s going on, she hoped.

She had only been able to sleep two consecutive hours since she arrived on Monday. Sleep deprivation did crazy things to the imagination. Her theory wasn’t fool proof because this never happened to her back home in Boston.

It's this stupid town, she thought viciously. She opened her eyes to the stained white ceiling. Clearly the roof had been leaking for some time and the owner neither knew nor cared.

She cursed her job for sending her to such a hick town as Hawley, Massachusetts. She cursed herself for wanting to leave her safe cubicle and do infield investigations on for auto insurance claims, and she cursed the idiot who was claiming that the “biggest effing thing I’ve ever seen” just simply materialized in front of his car.

The issue was that his insurance policy excluded collisions with animals, and he was adamant "it" wasn’t an animal. Her visit here would have been a purely standard procedure if this case made any sense, but the damages weren’t consistent with the damages you’d expect from collision with an animal.

The front of the vehicle was completely buckled in, as if he drove headfirst into a steel pole. Around the impact, the material of the hood was completely shredded. The top of the car had one massive dent that caved in the ceiling. The impact had shattered all the glass in the windows. She was genuinely surprised no one was injured.

The testimonies she had taken from the claimant and his eyewitness were not as helpful as she had hoped.

“It was huge,” the claimant repeated with the same confused expression on his face, like he didn’t believe it himself. “It was black as the night, couldn’t even see the sucker until it was in my engine! It was shiny too. Kind of like…I don’t know, metal? But it had these…” He looked searchingly towards his passenger for confirmation. The woman remained silent; her face was somber. The man awkwardly began again, “I guess the best way to describe them is arms. But I don’t think they were...”

What on earth was she supposed to do with that information? A giant, black, metal thing, with arms, appeared in the middle of the road in the dead of night, collided with him, and then just-

“Disappeared.” She repeated back to them in disbelief.

They both nodded.

“It just…disappeared.”

“I know how it sounds,” said the woman, suddenly breaking her silence. “I wouldn’t believe myself if you told me. But I swear. It was the strangest thing.” 

Hawley was a strange place. She sensed the strangeness everywhere. It was electricity in the air. The hair on her arms never quite lowered. She felt on edge and like the sun’s rays didn’t shine the same here.

Maybe there is something in the water? She wondered, or the air is thin. We are up in the mountains after all.

 Once she got back home, she’d make an appointment with Dr. Manning for his earliest availability.

She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table. “7:34 AM” it shone in red text. 

Finally, she thought. She began to get ready.

This was her last day here. Her last day, how refreshing that sentence felt. Only a few hours until she’d be driving home to the civilized world.

She had one last mission: go photograph the place of incident for documentation. She vainly hoped there would be some evidence that rationally explained the whole situation. Another car’s tire marks or even a large dead animal in proximity. Anything that would explain the strangeness, and, preferably, never take her back to this town again. 

She pushed her breakfast around her plate. She felt more nauseous then hungry. She did have three refills of coffee though. The closest Starbucks was two hours away. She had to settle with Newman’s coffee, her creativity with cream and sugar, and her imagination. 

“Where are you off to today?” the waitress, “Sheryl” as indicated by her name tag, asked in a friendly tone. 

This town was small enough to notice the comings and goings of every stranger. The claimant’s story had been heard loud and wide in the town, so her appearance here was something of interest. 

“Last day,” she replied, she clung to those words like a life raft. Sheryl was refilling her coffee then began stacking her empty plates to clear the table. “I’m going to the scene of the crime. Take a few photos, maybe check out the woods, and then I’m back on the road.” Back to the real world, she added in her head. 

Sheryl was silent for a moment, the corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown.

“You’re going into the woods?” Sheryl asked.

She merely nodded.

“Lots of folks find those woods easy to get lost in.” 

There was more Sheryl wanted to say but it was clear she wouldn’t. Despite her professional outward friendliness, she was an outsider to Sheryl and wasn’t trusted, not one bit. That didn’t bother her. Some towns and people were funny like that.

She smiled dismissively and eyed the bill in Sheryl’s apron, indicating that she was ready to leave. 

“I’ll be careful,” she said as Sheryl handed her the bill. The only upside to this town was everything was so cheap. “I’m staying by the road.” 

A ringing in her ears.

The smell of rain on cement-

The smell of brine in the ocean air-

The smell of hay and fertilizer and grass.

“Poor woman.” 

If she hadn’t been looking at Sheryl to see that her mouth did not open, she would have been positive she had spoken those words to her. 

“Excuse me?”

“What honey?“ 

“What did you say?” She asked in a small voice.

Sheryl gave her a look.

“Didn’t say anything, dear,” she said and then stalked away.

Stupid Sheryl, she thought thirty minutes later as she drove north on route 110.

The road was small with barely any shoulder. The forest encroached on either side making her feel claustrophobic. Houses and some small fields broke the view of the trees like hiccups in the landscape, but overall, it was remote and desolate.

A ringing in her ear. The hair on her arm began to raise. Her head began to pound.

She took her foot off the pedal just in time. 

A brilliant bright light flashed over her eyes. It reminded her of one of those pens that double as a light that doctor’s use.

She stomped on the brakes and pulled onto the dirt shoulder, branches from some bushes scraping the passenger side door and side mirror.

She rubbed her eyes. Her vision began to come back. The ringing from her ears began to fade to the background. She shook her head, feeling disoriented.

I bet I’m getting sick.

She had heard of migraines and wondered if she was starting to get them.

Every second she wasted was another second she stayed in this town. She took a few steadying breaths in and began to get her bearings. 

Well, what do you know, she thought wryly, I’m here. 

Just a few yards away was a decrepit building whose occupants had clearly left long ago.

“It was right by the old house, shingles fallen off, doors and windows gone, and it has…graffiti on it.” The claimant had told her. His passenger shot a glance in his direction which he ignored. “You’ll see the tire marks on the road and the glass on the side too.” He added dully.

She noticed the tire marks, black against the weather worn tar, and the glass and bits of mechanical scraps that had been brushed to the shoulder of the road.

What really caught her attention was the graffiti.

Someone long ago had covered one entire side of the house in what appeared to be the scales of a fish in blue spray paint. The words “THE VEIL THINS” was written over it, almost as tall as the house itself in red. There was something else written in smaller script at the very bottom in black. It was under the last windowless frame on the right.

She didn’t know what compelled her to get out of her car and head towards that house.

She felt sick and was vaguely aware that the ringing in her ears was lingering. She walked a few paces and stopped when she could read it, she was barely three feet away from her car. 

“He will consume you whole.” 

“Not my business,” she muttered to herself, turning her back to the house and marching back to her car.

That is certainly not my business, she said more firmly to herself as she went and retrieved her digital camera from her purse. She wasn’t brave enough to turn her car off. She left her engine running.

She took a few shots of the tire marks, of the glass, of way she had come, and she hesitantly took one facing the house. 

The ringing got a little louder as she worked. She could feel a cool sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Just power through, she thought. 

“According to him,” she muttered to herself, “the ‘son of a bitch’ appeared in the dead center of their lane.” 

She checked to make sure there were no cars coming (thankful that this town’s population was the size of her high school graduating class) and bent down to examine the lane. A small circular depression, about the size of her palm, was barely visible. If not for the scorch marks lining its perimeter, she would have missed it entirely. Frowning, she got her camera out and took a photo of it with her hand beside it for scale. She wasn’t even sure it had anything to do with the case.

Well, better safe than sorry.

She straightened up and glanced at the woods. She was actively avoiding the gaze of the house. It reminded her of some toothless, cursed harpy. 

I wondered how far an injured animal could drag itself after a collision like that. 

“Not too far, I bet,” she replied, looking down at the circular mark.

She thought about returning to work with proof of the claimant’s lies. Of debunking his ridiculous story and proving that nothing bizarre like that could happen. It made her feel sane and safe, and that felt good.

“One quick look around,” she urged herself. 

She glanced at her car wondering if she should turn it off-

Another flash of light. A pounding in her head. A ringing in her ears. 

She cried out in pain this time, bringing her hands to her temples. It was short but powerful.  She never imagined migraines could be this painful. 

Power through, I’m almost done.

She decided to check the woods on the opposite side of the road first. She crunched through the dried underbrush without much result. She didn’t spend long, there wasn’t anything here. She snapped a few photos of nothing in particular, then turned and made her way into the other side of the woods.

As she moved through this side of the woods, her migraine intensified with each step. The ringing in her ears became louder, and her effort forward became strenuous. She felt like she was pushing against some great resistant.

“Just a little further,” she muttered to herself.

Pulses of light spread across her vision.

She could have sworn she was weaving between people on a busy street. She could smell the garbage rotting in bins on the street. 

She felt disoriented.

A few more steps, she told herself. There must be something here.

If the pain of her migraine hadn’t been so bad, she would have realized how far into the woods she had gone. She would have noticed that there was no wildlife on this side of the forest, and how the trees began to curl and twist in snake-like shapes. If she had looked closer, she’d notice how their branches blackened, and how white streaks of frost feathered their trunks.

Each step she took pulsed through the air. Her teeth clenched together, and her eyes watered in pain.

She was standing in a windowless, padded room. 

No.

She was in the woods.

She was walking through a plowed field of corn, their stocks towering above her and dancing in the wind. 

No. 

She was in the woods. She couldn’t remember what she was doing here. Hell, she couldn’t even remember her own name. 

Through her blinding pain, she felt like she had some clarity. She finally realized what it was about this town. 

It wasn’t some pollutant in the water and it wasn’t the air being thin.

It's these woods, she thought. It was the epicenter of the strangeness. It was the border between dreams and reality, and it was thin. Nothing was keeping the strangeness at bay besides a flimsy curtain. A strong breeze could easily blow “it” open.

The veil thins, she recalled the warning. 

She did not notice the arch made from a bent tree until she stepped through it and felt its leaves brushed against her, trying to push her back. Her final step was no different than her other steps, but, as her foot contacted the ground, her head exploded. Black clouded her vision. Her knees buckled and she hit the forest floor. 

Is that me screaming? 

She felt pulled apart. Her body elongated, her screams changed pitch, and black oozed from her ears and eyes and down her mouth, splattering on the dead leaves. She felt herself being thrown backwards in her skull and forward out of her eye sockets.

Thousands of imagines stretched before her blinded eyes as she was thrust back. She saw the big picture. Those imagines were little dots of light that were strung together by thin cobwebs of passages.

She saw places she visited in dreams. She saw farm fields and city sidewalks and forests and stores and homes and anything and everything that was and wasn’t.

She saw impossible things. Bodies of metal, buildings circular and thin and black as night, trees with eyes, and a man without a face. 

Her mind began fragmenting into the infinite number of possibilities before her. Each new world, each new possibility she assessed, took a piece of mind and it did not return it.

She was consumed whole.

“How long has she been here?” Marcie asked. She was a traveling nurse and was schedule to remain the week here at Hawley Institute for the Clinical Ill. She was eyeing the woman sitting in the middle of the yard, rocking back and forward, and muttering to herself. 

“It thins…he eats…It thins…he eats” she repeated endlessly. 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Deborah replied. She had paused her work to see who Marcie was talking about, then returned to folding the picnic blankets. She hardly noticed that woman anymore. What worried her more was that her shift would be finishing up soon and she was behind on her duties. “She was here before I started, so at least twelve years, maybe more.” 

Marcie looked towards the woman. “No one visits her. She doesn’t have any family?” 

Deborah shook her head as she shook grass and debris from another blanket. “Not sure anyone would. She was admitted without a name. No social we can pull or anything either. No dental records on file.”  

Deborah shrugged her shoulders as if these phenomena weren’t of any interesting to her. Her mind was more preoccupied with the date she had lined up after her shift.

“It’s strange, but sometimes strange things happen. We think she may be from out of country. Only thing that makes sense.”

“Poor woman,” Marcie muttered before bending down to help Deborah fold.