Emma Weathers

Don't Look Up

Darkness settled as I rushed through the woods, blanketing me with every step as though to suffocate me. The deeper I ventured into the woods, the colder it got. Though despite the bitter squall bearing down on me, pushing me deeper into the darkness I felt only a numbness that was slowly adding to my deep despair. The little flecks of moonlight that were left peaking through the clouds did little to light my way, succeeding only to make the shadows of the twisted bare trees seem to reach for me. They seemed to be stretching their branches like gnarled rotting hands, reaching ever towards me as if to feel my warmth as though they could sense my presence. The shadows added to my paranoia as I pushed forward, desperate to make it to where I could finally rest. I had to get away from the thing that had thoroughly plagued what seemed like endless days of torment leading up to that night, finally pushing me to attempt to escape if only for a few fleeting moments. As I started up the drive to the old cabin, my last attempt at safety came into view. The old building covered in rough wood siding was like an old friend, supportive and caring, and hopefully secluded enough that that thing wouldn't be able to find me. Dead leaves drifted around my feet like lost souls as I climbed the sagging wood steps to the porch, and entered the gaping maw of the old house. I turned on the living room light, and it feebly flickered to a dim glow in the center of the room. I scoured the small cabin, searching the darkened rooms and corners shrouded in shadow, finding nothing I began to relax, sitting on the sheet-covered couch. Then with a cold sense of creeping dread, I looked up.