One Bad Turn Deserves Another

A fortnight has passed and I thought of reconsidering. In spite of my trepidation, I had deftly convinced myself that I have been grossly mistaken; delusional, and that I should just be going home. But then I remembered. There is no home. I saw to that. I have spent the last two weeks wandering aimlessly in these woods, trying to stay under the radar of anyone who may recognize me. Maybe you couldn’t help what you did. Maybe you were acting on some sort of twisted impulse, but no one would have understood regardless. You would have been tormented any way it went, so at least now you won’t have that to look forward to anymore. You are free. And I’m not. I was innocent, and maybe you were too, in your own way, but now I am the one who will be condemned if I am discovered.

So, here I sit. Against this old oak tree, somewhere in the Adirondack forest. It’s going to be nightfall soon, so I have to find some kindling for a fire. Fire. You’d think after a couple of weeks ago I wouldn’t want to ever see another fire again, but then, the fire was my saving grace that night, so I have no condemnation against the flames that took your life. You would have killed me without a second’s thought, of that I’m sure. As it is I’m going to have this damn scar across my cheek probably for the rest of my days. A brutal reminder of the way our relationship ended.

The night is still rather mild up here still, even as the evening commences, but I can feel the faintest hint of chill in the air. Soon it will be downright cold up here. I can’t stay up here forever. For the umpteenth time since this fiasco started my thoughts again turn to the prospect of life in Canada. I may not be happy about it. My poor mother is going to be heartbroken. “Ha, she thinks I’m dead anyway, so, yeah, she IS going to be heartbroken…no matter what. BUT, at least I will be free as a bird, eh?” I snort out loud as I reflect on the irony of it. “Angeline my girl, what a fine mess you have gotten yourself into.”

With the fire crackling to life, I busy myself with unwrapping the fish I smoked for last night’s meal. “At least that is one skill you imparted on me while you took me on those endless hiking trips to ‘commune with nature’ you were obsessed with.” “Yeah, maybe communing with nature that closely was in some way responsible for you becoming one with it. ‘Animal’ is really the only term to describe you in. If someone would have asked what I thought of you at this point I could have answered ‘Oh Jax? Yeah, he’s an animal!’” Geeze, I can’t believe I just said that. What is wrong with me? I must still have some residual shock about all of it, but I seem to have grown very complacent; desensitized, in spite of the atrocity and horror. I wonder what that says about me. “It says that I’m going off the deep edge into insanity. That’s what it says.”

After polishing off the last of the smoked fish, I make my bed of leaf litter and plop down. “Tomorrow is the day I decide what to do about all of this,” I tell myself. “Either I turn around and face the music, or, I become a Canadian.” But first, I have to get through the night. I pray the nightmares don’t come tonight, as they have most of the nights in the last couple of weeks. “Guess I’m not THAT insane that I quit having nightmares about it.” But, someday I will probably need to see a shrink and maybe get some meds to help with this. I must have PTSD, big time.

I lay in my leaf litter bed, absentmindedly picking at the scab on the scratch I got when Jax lunged for me. I shiver as I shake my head to try to erase the scene playing out in my mind. For some reason, I was fixated on the blue flannel shirt I had given Jax for his last birthday. That thing had been wearing that night, in shreds, and bloodstained, possibly from the dog it was holding. Jax’s dog! A wave of anger came over me again, first for the poor dog, and then because I had spent over $100 for that damned genuine L.L. Bean flannel shirt! Jax had always wanted one, and look what happened to it! “Damn it, Jax! What happened to you? Did that thing kill you and I just couldn’t find you? But then, why would it have been wearing your L.L. Bean shirt? Or, what was left of the shirt, and, I think pants too.”

The nightmares start as soon as I shut my eyes. Well, to be more accurate, I guess they weren’t nightmares technically, since I’m not actually asleep yet. The images flash before my eyes every time I try to close them. The gore, the blood, the evil countenance boring a hole directly into my soul. I open my eyes. Deciding this was going to be another sleepless night, I resign myself to keeping the fire stoked as much as possible. At least the fire will afford me some security. Even after facing the abominable terror that was Jax and surviving, I am still afraid of what goes bump in the night up here in the woods. I have been camping a million times before with Jax, but never by myself. And not way up here. The nighttime noises seem amplified, and it really gives me the heeby jeebies.

I sit as close to the fire as I can get without singeing the hair on my arms. I gaze skyward and take in the vastness of it all. So many stars; they almost look as fake as a blanket with speckled paint that has been stretched across the ceiling of a gigantic roof. Like at the Kopernik Observatory & Science Center in Vestal. That moon though; partially hidden in shadow, the largest portion visible and bright. The waxing gibbous phase. In a few days, it’ll be full. I’m hoping to have a plan and make it out of the woods before the waning moon plunges this forest into an even darker abyss after nightfall. And then I find it; the North Star, on the bottom tip of the Little Dipper. I take notice of the position of the star. Tomorrow I will pack up and head due north, tracking toward the Canadian border. I will find work, perhaps as a field hand with fishing guides, or maybe working with livestock on a ranch. That will give me a fresh start. Maybe soon I will feel safe enough to contact my mother, but best give it a few months.

Being awake all night makes me ravenously hungry by the break of dawn. I have no more smoked fish left, so I fashion some sticks into spears with my pocket knife, the only tool I have with me other than my lighter. Strangely, my cigarette habit was actually my saving grace because if I was not a smoker, I would not have had that lighter in my pocket to start the explosive blaze that saved my life from that…from Jax. Ironically, since that night I haven’t really wanted to smoke. It seems cigarettes become an insignificant luxury when you are running for your life and have to use all of your energy to find food.

Unsuccessful at spearing or lancing any furry entrees, I resort to my least favorite woodland meal…grubs and woodlice. While not my favorite breakfast, they will do in a pinch. Then I gather some leaves and head to the stream for a drink.

As I sit roasting the grubs I found, I ponder what was in store for the day. I am going to try to gain a lot of ground today. I stalled for a few days because of my indecision, but after the clarity of last night’s epiphany, I now have a solid plan. Well, kind of.

Shortly after breakfast, the sky becomes grey, and a fine, misty drizzle envelops the forest. “Well, at least it won’t be God awful hot today.” I extinguish the small fire thoroughly in spite of the misting rain and began the trek northward. The plan is to stick close to the stream if possible, and hope and pray I don’t happen upon any campgrounds or hikers. So far I have been relatively lucky in that, except a few weeks ago when I almost got discovered by this Scout Troop trying their hand at primitive camping. Geez! What a scare I put into those troop leaders! Didn’t mean to, but better they think me a monster than a lost missing person. I chuckle to myself as I remember the way they got packed up with a quickness! “Silly campers, Bigfoot is for kids.” I smile to myself. “Bigfoot. The hairy forest people.” “No such thing” I declare out loud. I stop dead in my tracks as a notion takes hold of my mind, and I shake my head violently to escape the vision of something standing before me, no, standing over me! Towering over me! I hit myself upside the head in an attempt to make the image fade from my mind. An image I hadn’t quite allowed to become fully in focus. And I will not allow it now.

I pick up the pace as I continue on my path due north, taking care to stay far away from anything that looks like a trailhead. Thankfully, the stream stays within a few yards and I am able to stay hydrated. I take a break when I come across a large patch of late-season blackberries, eat my fill and pick more to save for later. I carefully wrap them in a piece of cloth torn from my tee shirt to create a makeshift knapsack. “Nightfall will be here soon and I need to cover some more ground if I want to be out of these woods by the end of this week. I chastise myself for stalling for those four days it took me to make up my mind to head to Canada.

As the daylight wanes, I make the decision to hunker down at the base of a flat bedrock, which I figure will offer some protection against the incessant wet misting that has persisted all day long. I was thankful early in the day because it offered a reprieve from the heat, but now, the rags on my back are saturated, and the night air is becoming increasingly brisk with every hour. I am just too exhausted from the day’s excursion, as well as not sleeping the previous night to be too concerned with the chill. I’m not cold enough yet, but, as I doze off into slumber, I remind myself that I must make haste in reaching some destination before long. Autumn is approaching quickly and the evidence of that will increase the further north I go. With exhaustion comes peace, for the scenes in my mind do not hinder my sleep this night.

No time for dallying today. I unrolled my blackberries and ate as I walked. “Just how vast is this damn forest?” I am losing my patience with this voyage and the sharp pains in my ribs are reminding me that a handful of berries is not going to give me enough substance to provide energy for a grueling hike northward for very much longer. I struggle with the inevitable. “I MUST stop and fish or hunt or gather more damn grubs if I want to actually make it to the Canadian border!” I argue with myself out loud.

Resigned to the necessity of eating something with protein, I pick my way toward the stream to fish. After an hour of no luck, I decided to find some more grubs.

I extinguish the fire and get on my way, my hunger satiated for the moment. Dusk lay over the tree canopy like a thick, wet blanket. I am bone weary and hungry again, but I am tempted to try to push on, even in the fast-approaching darkness. “That would really be smart,” I tell myself. Except I would have a clear indication that I was truly heading north, as guided by the North Star. As it is, I’m doing the best I can to stay in the right direction. Nonetheless, I decide to pack it in for the evening.

I pick a fallen log as the base of my “camp.” Nothing to eat tonight, so I curl up and try to go to sleep. “I should have splashed around in the creek a little before nightfall,” I chide myself. “Might have felt a little better.” As I lay on my back consulting my celestial map for the next day’s direction, my thoughts return to Jax. I have not allowed myself to fully acknowledge what I witnessed the night it all happened. It seems to be all a horrific blur now. The empty house Jax was supposed to be at home watching TV in, then the freakish howls from the barn area out back. I shake my head to stop the sound of it from rattling my brain. I open my eyes again and see that the moon had risen completely. Tomorrow night it will be full. I am aware suddenly that I am not feeling so well. Probably because I haven’t really eaten a solid meal in two weeks or better. I drift into a fitful sleep, marked with horrific animals that aren’t supposed to exist. I sit up panting, with a scream on my lips, to see the moon staring back at me. It taunts me like it knows a secret. I shake it off and notice the forest has just enough light for me to cautiously pick my way through, if I am very careful.

The day is thick and heavy as if gravity is conspiring to keep me from any progress. I stop much earlier than I wanted to because I am just not feeling well. My belly is on fire and I am nauseous. “Probably because of all the grubs I’ve been eating. Geez, I hope I don’t have any parasites from eating parasites.” I decide that I have to stop and rest. I don’t have a clue why I thought traveling through the forest last night was a good idea. I think I’m getting desperate to get to a place where no one knows me, but can help me. A cheeseburger and fries with a Diet Pepsi is going to be the first order of things when I find some semblance of civilization. I wonder if there are McDonald’s in Canada close to the border. Then I stop in my tracks, suddenly realizing; what if there is border patrol? I don’t have a passport or papers. I have my ID…which I should probably bury somewhere in the forest so they can’t use it against me…but what about my bank cards…with my name on them?

As I sit under a tree, I think about what I’m going to do when I get somewhere. I look affright I’m sure, and I’m positive that is going to lead to some suspicious questioning. I feel utterly defeated as I ponder what story I might try to concoct for inquiring minds. “Well, you see Mr. Canadian police officer, Royal Police, or whatever they refer to you as, I was just going to my boyfriend Jax’s house because we got into a really bad argument, and I was going there to apologize. He said he was at home watching TV, but when I got there, he was nowhere to be found. But I heard this God awful really creepy howl/scream outside, and I got afraid because I thought something attacked him outside. But when I go out the back door, I see this,… this thing standing in the yard, and it was holding Jax’s dog. There was blood all over it and the dog too, and I couldn’t tell whose blood it was. Yeah, it, the thing, the monster, dropped the dog and lunged at me. I ran to the barn but I tripped and it missed me and flew into the barn. I did get this scratch from it, and then I was able to torch it by lighting a ripped piece of my shirt with my handy lighter, and while it was on the ground I threw the lit shirt on it, then the gas can Jax kept just inside the barn door.” I laugh nervously at the absurdity of it. “Yeah, the Canadian police will give me help all right…help me right to the Looney Bin.” I sigh and put my head in my hands. “My God my belly hurts!” For the first time since that crazy night, I allow myself to break down and cry.

I awake to find the sun beginning to sink over the horizon. My belly still feels unsettled, but the pain from earlier has dulled a little. I still don’t feel right. I sit for a few minutes assessing my body. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I really feel weird, and I feel like I have to eat something other than grubs. Even smoked fish would be ok, but, what I find I am really wanting tonight is venison or woodchuck or even a squirrel would do. Something substantial. I recall seeing a doe and her fawn earlier that afternoon and wonder how I could fashion a spear or something to make a solid kill. As much as I hate the thought of killing an animal myself, I am feeling like that is going to be the only thing that would stop the pain in my belly. Except for the smoked fish I had eaten three or four days ago, I had pretty much been surviving on BBQ’d insects and berries. Pretty sparse for the energy I’m putting into hiking my way through the Adirondacks. I laugh at the thought that just two weeks ago I had planned to start a vegetarian diet. Now I can’t even fathom eating nothing but vegetables and yogurt. I want, no, need to eat meat. And soon. But it’s getting dark and I have no time to figure out how, or where, to catch anything. There are squirrels all over the forest, and I know deer are here, but how am I going to catch anything in the dark?

I stand and begin to pace, agitation and a sense of urgency beginning to take hold of me. Overhead, the moon is high in the sky. The fullness of it illuminates the whole forest around me, and when the moonlight touches my bare skin, I feel a tingling sensation like my skin is crawling with electric eels. I start to feel dizzy, like vertigo, and I fall to the ground. Doubling over, I curl into a fetal position as I start to shake and shudder. I am very afraid of what is happening to me, but I am powerless to control myself. I am vaguely aware of the scabbed wound I got when that thing lunged at me beginning to burn and redden. I also do not notice as the long, coarse hair begins to appear all over my body. I am retching on the ground now and I black out, losing consciousness completely.

This morning I gain consciousness without being able to open my eyes. I am on the ground, but not in any kind of leaf litter bed. I have a headache and am very thirsty, and there is this metallic taste in my mouth. There is a stickiness on my face and hands, and it feels like my skin is crawling and itchy. I open my eyes but I still can’t move. Gradually, I am able to open my mouth and lick my lips. The sticky metallic taste on my lips is familiar, but I can’t quite place it. With effort, I am able to raise my arm up to my face and wipe at the sticky substance. I look, and I see that it is blood. I am able to gather my arms under me and lift my head and torso up into a sitting position. I need to find water. I scan the area to try to figure out where I am. I am not where I was the night before. The night before. What exactly happened? I have a vague memory of the odd sensations and pains racking my entire body. What did I do? I blacked out, which must be why I’m bleeding on my mouth. I must have fallen face first and hit my mouth on a rock or branch or something. I glanced down to look at myself and screeched when I saw that my shirt was in rags, barely covering any part of my torso, and soaked in blood! What looks like short, dark fur is clinging to it! “What the Hell!” I gasp. I jump to my feet as though I could run from my vision of myself. I stagger and swoon, unsteady on my feet before I fall to my knees to throw up some very disgusting stuff, and I back away from it. “What in the absolute Hell is going on with me? What HAPPENED last night?” I gain some semblance of composure and scan the area for any sign of the stream. I HAVE to find water. My throat is burning and I need to wash this blood off of me. What I’m going to do for clothes now is beyond me. For the first time since I fled into this damn forest, I begin to think I should maybe find some actual help. I have no idea where, or if, there are any Ranger Stations anywhere nearby, but if I could find a trail, I just might find some people. But, NOT with all of this blood all over me.

I sit and listen for any sounds that might reveal the location of the creek. As I still myself to listen, I hear all of the sounds of the forest in exaggerated decibels, like I had a hearing aid installed and leveled up to a 10 decibals. As much as I want to marvel at this somewhat new development, I had to focus on water, which, fortunately, was about half a mile from me.

I reach the creek and, after quenching my thirst, bath in the frigid water. I wring out the remains of my shirt to get as much blood off as possible and rinse my hair, getting the dirt out that I had packed to absorb excess oils. Sunning myself on a rock to dry off, I catch a whiff of something rank on the shifting breeze. A sense of fear and dread begins to creep over me and I get the overwhelming feeling it has something to do with why I might have this blood all over me and why, maybe my clothes were shredded so badly. Reluctantly, I jump down from the rock and very slowly, follow the scent of the rank smell.

I stop abruptly when I spy a bloody heap of something 20 feet in front of me. I stand and stare for what seems like 20 minutes. I really do not want to go any closer to whatever unidentifiable creature was laying there in that grassy clearing. I inch forward, taking baby steps and not wanting to move in the direction of that lump, but I am completely drawn to it. I refocus my vision so I am looking at a tree and not directly at the thing, but can still see it in my downward peripheral vision. Finally, I stop, but seven feet away, and force myself to look at it.

The bloody heap that was on the grass in front of me is a mangled carcass of what was a black bear. I stare at the thing, acidic bile trying to force an exit from my mouth. The poor creature looks as though it was killed by a hunter perhaps who left it, and then something else fed on it, maybe another black bear. Whatever got it, the kill was fresh.

I try to reason with myself about this, all the while feeling dread and panic that threaten to break down my sense of reality and reason. I back away from the carcass several feet and again drop to my knees and vomit. Staggering to the stream for more water, I drink and lay on the bank for the queasy sensation to subside.

I allow my mind to drift while I regain my composure. As I lay there with my eyes closed, the vision of the bear comes to me, along with flashes of a feeling of rage and ravenous hunger. I shake my head and embrace myself, rubbing my arms for comfort. When my hand brushes against the long scar on my arm, I pause. The memory of the night I torched the barn surfaced. I did get a good look at the creature that night, at least the top part of it, and, this time I allow it to come to my forethought. The creature with the L.L. Bean flannel lunging at me and in spite of the mere seconds the whole incident took place; I can remember with amazing detail the way its eyes blazed like glowing red embers as it glared at me. The clawed hands, deadly as eagle talons, except bigger, upright large ears on top of an enormous head, and the freakishly large fangs protruding from an elongated canine-like snout. And the crown jewel of it all….the flannel shirt, Jax’s flannel shirt, shredded and bloodied. Mouth agape but wordless, I again study myself. The state of my clothes, not unlike the flannel shirt, also was covered in blood; bear blood. The odd sensations and the illness that came over me last night…the night of the full moon. The first full moon since the barn fire.

I am dumbfounded as my whole life paradigm came crumbling down around me. “Jax, was a werewolf! The SOB was a damn creature that wasn’t supposed to exist!! How did I not know this when we dated for almost a year and a half?”

“Jax was a werewolf. What a terrible and horrifying secret he had to keep. Now, I’m a werewolf, and I must keep my secret, as Jax did. boy, I sure know how to pick 'em!"

I sit on the rock again, numb, my mind and body shutting down around me, oblivious to the sound of approaching voices along the creek.

“Look, Papa! There is someone over on that rock!”