Time To Prey

“Goodnight,” I called over my shoulder, before stepping out from the warmth and light of the house into the winter night outside. I braced myself, but it did little to prepare me for the bite of the wind and the sharp coldness of the air. I took a deep breath and launched myself into the night, my way lit by the stars flooding the clear night sky. It was beautiful. And freezing.

I always preferred to walk to and from work. Sometimes it was the only exercise I got in a given day. Also, it was better for the environment and if it saved me a few bucks on gas every month, that was an added bonus. But, most importantly, it helped me to decompress after what was typically an emotionally demanding day.

Except sometimes the walk home was more stressful than the day itself, given the various creatures living in tandem with the community in which I lived and worked.

Often, particularly in the winter, you could hear coyotes, eerily yipping and screaming in the night. It’s hard to accurately describe the sounds they make, but the overall effect is creepy. A black bear had also been spotted roaming the property at one point, though it hadn’t been seen often. Local legend claimed trail cam nearby had once captured a mountain lion, but no one had ever seen either the picture or an actual mountain lion. I had had a close encounter with copperheads and a racoon at various points, and startled more than my fair share of deer, but nothing truly dangerous had ever happened in terms of wildlife and my daily walk home, or at least nothing that made it worth giving up the ten-minute walk and committing to driving.

Until tonight.

It started out like normal. I turned the flashlight of my phone on and started playing music, as I usually did, in order to hopefully scare off any animals interested in getting close. It was windy, and the blasts of cold air had me moving at a decent pace, eager for the warmth and safety of my room and the cup of hot tea waiting for me. Night had fully settled in hours ago, and there were no streetlights, so all I had to go by was the weak light from my phone flashlight and the stars above, the moon barely visible.

For the first half of my walk, to my right there is nothing but forest, and I had barely made it two minutes when I heard branches snapping over the sound of my music.

I froze. Cautiously, I turned my phone flashlight into the woods, scared of what I might see. It was the height of winter, and the trees had no leaves to speak of, which allowed me to see farther in than I typically would be able to. Nothing seemed amiss. I saw no movement, no bushy tails or reflective animal eyes. Just trees. I paused my music, listening again for the sound of an animal in motion, but no sound came. I waited a moment more, but I heard nothing but the whistling of the wind and the carefully measured sound of my own breaths.

Finally, the cold won out and I pressed play on my music, continuing on my way unquestionably more alert than before. I didn’t take ten steps before I heard two sounds in quick succession, alarmingly close in proximity. Both came from the expanse of unoccupied forest I passed by. The first was a high-pitched mewing sound, so loud it was almost a scream, coming somewhere from the ground close to my right. The second was shuffling and scratching sounds of branches, but it came from up in a tree, I couldn’t tell exactly where from given the increasing intensity of the wind.

I froze once more, some long-held evolutionary instinct holding me in place telling me not to turn my back on either noise, though another quite prominent instinct was screaming at me to run. Cursing myself, I swung my flashlight first up to the trees. Perched on one of the branches was a barn owl, regarding me solemnly without flinching from the light, as if too dignified to be irritated at the interruption to his vigil.

I huffed a laugh and relaxed slightly. I may as well have been scared of a squirrel scampering about if an owl was enough to make me jump. I wasn’t exactly sure if barn owls were capable of making a sound like the mewing I’d heard, but maybe they were, and I’d just startled him.

Still, I thought it would be prudent to check the forest floor once more, just to be sure. Taking a deep breath, I swung my light once more to the yawning stretch of forest. This time, my sweep was met by a pair of eyes, green in the reflection of my light, maybe ten meters to my right, probably about waist high, maybe a little taller. I couldn’t see much, but I saw enough to be certain this was no deer.

My heartbeat hammered in my throat, adrenaline pumping through my veins, mercifully numbing the cold. I kept the light steady on the creature, unwilling to give it the advantage of being cloaked in darkness. It screamed again, this time louder and it moved its head enough for me to discern unmistakably feline features.

A mountain lion.

It took a few steps towards me before pausing again. I backed up a few steps, not once taking my eyes off it or turning my back to it. My mind was racing, trying to remember what you were supposed to do if you ever encountered a mountain lion. I thought they were just out west, so I’d never really paid much attention to the protocol, and it was going to be the death of me, oh sh-Calm down. I ordered myself. Calm down right now. Panicking won’t help. I pushed images from my mind of mountain lion attack victims and turned my attention to the predator before me. We lived in a fairly residential area, so it probably was used to people, and it was unlikely it would be afraid of them. Running was the last thing I should do; I didn’t know much but I thought making myself look and act more like a prey animal would simply cause its hunting instincts to kick in. I took one more measured step back, my light trained unwaveringly on the animal. It didn’t move. If I could get close enough to my work building, I could maybe make a break for it, but the doors were locked, and it would take me precious time to get my keys out.

Think think think.

Slowly, I opened my phone. The glowing eyes remained trained on me, not any closer but certainly not any farther. After a quick internal debate over who to call first, I dialed my roommate.

“Where are you?” I asked as soon as she picked up in a low, even tone. The mountain lion took a step but moved no further.

“Um, the house- “she started but I cut her off.

“I need you to come get me now, I just left work, there is a mountain lion, I need you to come now.”

The mountain lion shifted, seemingly crouching. I swallowed my fear and hung up on my roommate after she assured me she was coming. Still, she was five minutes away. She might not be quick enough.

Then, I dialed 9-1-1.

The operator picked up and before she finished her spiel, I gave her my address and said I needed animal control, maybe an ambulance if it ended poorly for me, but I hung up quickly. The sounds of the phone seemed to irritate the animal, as it was definitely far closer than it was when I’d first spotted it. I could make out its size better now, and it was bigger than I’d originally estimated.

I kept my flashlight and my eyes on the mountain lion. There was nothing left to do now but wait. For what seemed like an eternity, our eyes were locked together. It made no more movements, and neither did I. Finally, I could see headlights in the distance, coming for me.

Not fast enough. The mountain lion saw the headlights too, and was evidently displeased by them, though unafraid. As they approached, he turned his gaze back to me and shrieked, crouching low in an unmistakable pouncing posture. Terrified, I whimpered, but held my ground. The headlights were closer, closer, so close-

And then he sprung, launching his agile predator’s body impossibly fast and far. I closed my eyes, but instead of feeling sharp claws and teeth tearing into my flesh, I heard a different sort of shriek. I opened my eyes.

Illuminated in the artificial glow of my phone light was a scene I couldn’t make any sense of. The barn owl, swooping down from its perch talon-first had attacked the mountain lion’s head, and was fluttering and flapping just out of reach, but holding its attention away from me.

My roommate pulled up and I jumped in the car, slamming the door behind me. Both of us watched the animals engage, now clearly visible in the high beams. The owl, after a near miss of the mountain lions deadly shredding claws, flapped back into a tree and out of reach. The lion, sporting a few deep gauges on his face, let out one last unearthly scream before slinking off into the black forest.

Needless to say, I don’t walk to work anymore.