Yellow Eyes

The night air is bitterly cold, each breath I take swirls around my face in heavy clouds. Despite the icy chill, sweat clings to my forehead as I hitch my duffle bag around my shoulder. I take a moment to breathe as I look around me. The trees in the dark felt more imposing, their crooked figures loomed all around me like thin decrepit limbs encasing me in. Their leaves long gone this deep into the season, leaving only the skeletal branches behind. They provided me with no cover from the thick heavy rain falling from above, and by now my clothes were sodden. I begin walking, trudging through the thick mud and forest debris. The rain was making it hard to determine a consistent path ahead of me. My bag, heavy across my shoulders, causes my muscles to groan with each step. The wind was getting stronger by the second, so much so that it whistled through the trees making me unsteady on my feet.

Suddenly I hear a snap behind me and my stomach falls. I turn around and face the darkness behind me, yet see no sign of life. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I scan around me, my rapid breathing projecting a steady mist through the night air. Then I see it, and my blood runs cold. A few metres above me, a pair of ghostly yellow eyes sit atop a tree. They were unblinking, staring down at me like bright yellow orbs. Almost as though they were illuminating me like headlights in the gloom, the form that they belonged hidden amongst the dark. I pause, locking eyes with those horrible yellow orbs. Suddenly there is a heavy snap as the figure moves toward me, moving through the air at an impossible speed. I turn and run, slipping along the drenched mud, shielding my face from the thundering wind and rain. In front of me I hear a deep crunch, I stop and look up. A large oak tree ahead of me was teetering on its axis, the strong wind had uprooted it. It was falling slowly toward me, the thunder of the cracking wood cutting through the roar of the wind. I begin to run, however the mud is soaked and my feet slip out underneath me and I tumble. I fall hard, my bag flying out in front of me. I try to stand, my hands and feet slipping erratically in the wet dirt. Before I can propel myself onto my feet the ground underneath me gives way and I fall backwards. The ground moves past me as I fall deeper than I expected, my fall gaining momentum. I see the oak falling toward me as I drop, its great mass casting me in shadow. Everything goes black.

My eyes begin to open and my vision slowly regains focus. I snap upright with a jolt and clutch my chest breathing hard. I scan my surroundings trying to comprehend where I am, however I am encircled by darkness. My eyes gradually acclimatise and I realise I am surrounded by walls of wet dirt that encompass me on all sides. I look up and see a dark roof above me, trapping me inside these cold dirt walls. The floor is coated in a layer of water an inch deep, my clothes soaked through from having been laying in the puddle. My attention is caught by the only entrance of light into the dark, wet hole. About a metre above my head near the roof, was a small slit about a half a metre high and a metre wide. Through the slit I was able to make out the storm still raging, the heavy rain slapping the ground in a perpetual onslaught. The scream of the wind rattling the trees into a synchronised dance. From the side of the slit there is a steady stream of water running in, no doubt due to rain. I begin to clamber up the side of the hole toward the slit, stepping on stacked dirt and embedded rock until I am able to get to it. As I climb upward I touch the ceiling above me, it is rough to the touch and I realise it’s bark. I begin to place the pieces of what happened together in my mind. While I was trying to run from the falling oak I must have slipped on the mud into a hole, the oak falling on top of it and trapping me underneath.

I reach the slit and look out and my heart sinks. The slit was an opening between the fallen tree and the forest floor. I had hoped to use the slit as a way to crawl out of the hole, however the outside of the slit had been completely covered by the mass of tree roots from the oak. Which now barricaded the slit like crooked bars on a cell. I begin to pull at the roots, hoping to dislodged them enough to allow me to slip between them. The roots however were thick and impenetrable, only allowing my arms out up to my elbow. I scream in frustration, latching onto the thick roots with my hands and shaking them violently. I soon tire, deflated, I rest my forehead against them and breath heavily. I slowly look up and out into the forest. The sheet of rain makes visibility hard. I catch sight of something just out of reach and my heart leaps. Just ahead of the roots was my duffle bag, I could use the contents inside to pry my way out of the slit. I reach out as far as I can, my shoulder pressed to the roots of the tree. My joints aching with the pressure, the tip of my finger gently touching the fabric of the handle. It's too far away. I begin frantically searching for something I can use to hook it with, a stick or a large stone. There is a sudden snap that cuts through the howl of the wind and I look up, I freeze and my stomach drops. Directly across from me, hidden in the murky gloom of the branches I see the pair of yellow eyes. Unblinking, they stare down at me, as though they are exposing me with their ghastly light. Suddenly they move rapidly toward me and I scream, I duck below the line of the slit into the hole and close my eyes. A moment passes and I hear nothing, I slowly rise back up and look out from the slit. I exhale with relief as I see a large barn owl perched upon my duffle bag. It stares at me, its eyes no longer a ghastly yellow but a deep black. I stare back in bewilderment as the owl slowly cocks its head to the side, It’s neck rolling fluidly on its shoulders. It was as though the owl was looking through me, looking deep into my eyes without hesitation or fear. The eyes, so deep and black, I could see my own awe stricken face reflected in them. The yellow light they were omitting before, a mere reflection of light through the murky darkness. The moment of tranquil awe is promptly broken as the owl takes flight again, clutching the fabric of my duffle bag in it’s thick sharp talons. I yell in despair as the owl, carrying my bag, disappears into the rain and dark and out of sight.

An hour goes by as I frantically dig at the surrounding mud around the slit. Hoping to pry the entrance large enough that I can manoeuvre around the tree routes guarding my exit. The thick rain continually thudding the mud, constantly obscuring my vision. The slow trickle of water that had been dripping in through the slit had now increased into a steady tap-like stream that thundered into the slowly rising water and the bottom of the hole. The surrounding forests act as an overflow region to the river nearby. My heart beats faster to the realisation that very soon that the surrounding woods will become flooded. My desperation leaves me no choice but to attempt to dig myself free. My hands slap against the mud frantically, but to no avail. I clamber back down into the hole, searching for a rock that I could use as a makeshift trowel. My feet slosh around the pool of water as I search along the bottom of the hole. I find nothing and climb back up to the slit, perhaps there was a stone in reach out there. As I reach the slit, something catches my eye across from me. In the trees I see them again, the pair of yellow eyes in the trees. They gaze down at me from above, seemingly casting me in the light of their ghostly yellow glow. However this time I don’t fear them, I know they belong to that large owl, staring at me from the tree. I choose to ignore it and begin searching for a stone. Something else instead catches my eye, something that hadn’t been there before. It was square, white and had a thin sheen to it that stuck out amidst the thick matte of the mud. I reach out and grab it tentatively with my fingers, as I grasp it I realise it’s a polaroid photo. I turn it over and gasp, my stomach drops and a heavy cold runs down my body. The photo was of my wife and 7 year old son, holding each other in their arms and laughing silently together. I choke on my breath as tears fill my eyes, my hand covers my mouth as I hold the photo in my trembling hand. I close my eyes and swallow the tension in my throat, breathing heavily to deter me from breaking down. I look up at the yellow eyes in the tree, watching me quietly from afar. I recognise the photo as one that had been in my wallet, the wallet that had been in my duffle bag. Had the owl placed it there for me to find? No, surely not. It must’ve fallen out before and I had not seen it. I clench my teeth and crumple up the photo in my hand, dropping it into the pool of water below. I can’t dwell on that right now, I have to get out of the hole. All of a sudden I hear a voice on the wind, coming from the darkness below where the owl is sitting. A gentle whisper that seems to cut through the howl and thunder of the wind.

I love you David….

My body stiffens in terror. That voice! It can’t be! I grab the tree roots in front of me, my heart pounding in my chest. “Marie!” I shout into the dark, my voice cracking with trepidation. My foot slips on the muddy mound that I’m standing on and I tumble backward hard into the watery pool below.

I groan as I get up on my knees, my heart slamming against my ribcage. The pulsing of my blood loudly thumping in my ears. I shake my head, I’m losing it, I need to get a grip. I get to my feet slowly, the water level just below my knees. I turn around and climb back up the muddy mound to the slit at the top and away from the watery pool below. I reach the slit and look out into the dark woods, and my throat catches. Lying just in reach of the slit another object had been placed, a quarter full bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. I pause and look at it, my breathing heavy but rhythmic. I reach out and grab the bottle slowly, holding it reluctantly in my hand. I look up at the tree and see them there, the yellow eyes watching my every move. Does it know? I think to myself, does it know the pain that this bottle has caused me? The many bottles that I have held in my hand? I grip the cold glass, my hand moulding to it’s edges the same way it always has, the same way it always does. The familiar weight present in my hand, as though without it my hand feels too light, too empty. I look down at the dark amber liquid, it’s sharp fumes lighting up the airways of my nose with it’s fiery welcome. A passing thought of throwing it out into the darkness runs across my mind. The same thought that I always have before the cold glass presses to my lips. Yet the liquid seduces me without fail, and I fall into it’s warm gentle arms. I loathe it, yet I cannot escape it. Even now, trapped inside my muddy cell I cannot refuse it’s call. I glare with hate to the eyes in the trees, as I lift the bottle to my mouth and succumb to it. Its warm embrace flowing through my veins, lighting my body on fire.

I finish the bottle and close my eyes, listening to the thunderous wind and the continuous flow of water hitting the pool below me. I grip the empty bottle in my hand and open my eyes with a start. I am lifted out of my daze with new energy as a realisation hits me. I look down at the glass bottle in my hand. I could use the glass to cut through the roots! I guard my eyes as I begin hitting the muddy wall next to me with the bottle. It takes three tries for it to smash, leaving the jagged bottle neck in my hand. I reach through the slit and begin trying to saw through the thick roots of the tree above me. The roots are soaked with the perpetual rain and the bottle neck slips and slides across it ineffectively. I grit my teeth and begin cutting with renewed vigour hoping to make a mark of the solid root. However my hope begins to dwindle as I see no marks are made in the black bark of the tree root.

A sudden chill hits my foot and I look down, the water level has now risen to the mound of mud that I am standing on. I moan deeply with indignation and slump against the muddy wall. From beyond the slit I hear the swift flutter of wings and I look up. I see the owl gliding back into the shadows of the tree, and a moment passes before the yellow eyes ignite again once more in the dark. I look out among the roots again, to see what it has brought me from my bag. Amidst the dirt there is a small twinkle. I reach out and gently pick it up, the heavy flurry of rain instantly clearing the remnants of the mud from the object between my fingers. It was a wedding ring. It was not my wedding ring, it was Marie's. I gently caress the side of the ring with my finger. I remember the day when she put it on. The glint of the sunset off of her hair, the smell of lilac carried on the wind. Then I remember the shouting, I remember the crying. I hear another whisper from the dark among the trees, floating on the roar of the wind.

You love me, don't you David?

However it was not Marie's voice in the dark this time. It was another woman. The other woman. Her.

This is the only way we can be together David. They’re keeping you from me.

I close my eyes, the ring tight in my hand. How did it get like this? When did it all fall apart this way? It felt all so perfect once, it all felt so right. Was it the drink? Was it her? Or was it me? Has it always been me? I look up at the yellow eyes staring down at me from above, my fist clenches around the ring in my hand and my sorrow turns to anger. “Why are you doing this to me!” I scream through the storm. “What do you want!?” Yet the eyes remain unblinking. No sense of thought, no sense of feeling or of will. Just a cold, ghastly yellow light.

I looked down to see the level of the rising water, it was almost to my knees now. The water now decorated with the dregs of the nearby river, slowly flowing its way outward into the woods. The stream of water coming through at the side of the slit now thundering into the pool below me. I begin to panic, tugging on to the roots frantically wishing that one would give way.

All of a sudden the owl lands before me just out of reach, its talons gripping something long. It stares at me again for a moment, the owl's eyes reflecting my sodden dirt-strewn face. I stare too, my own vindictive eyes looking back at me. A moment passes before it takes flight again, disappearing into the dark to reappear as those horrible yellow orbs. I direct my attention to what it has left behind. It is hard to see through the storm, yet I'm able to make out its shape. It’s the shovel I had in my bag! My heart leaps in my chest and I’m yet again stricken with hope. If I can reach that shovel I'll be able to use that to cut through the roots. If I fail, at least I might be able to dig myself out from another part of the hole. I stick my arm through the roots again, pressing right up as far as I can to reach the shovel. I can feel the ligaments in my shoulder tearing at the bone as the tip of my finger stretches just centimetres away from the edge of the shovel. I scream in pain and frustration as I reach out toward it, just that fraction too far away. My little finger brushes something soft underneath the shovel, and I look through the roots to see that it is laying on something. It is thin and soft, maybe a towel of some sort. I grasp the tip of an edge between two fingers and begin to pull it toward me slowly. Centimetre by centimetre I edge the shovel toward me, it rocks side to side on the towel. Each pull of the fabric wobbles the shovel left and right. I pull it slowly and reach out with my other hand, the shovel still ever so slightly out of reach. I tug the towel again gently, the shovel shifting slightly out of the way of my outstretched hand. I’m a mere fraction away, one more pull of the towel and the shovel will be in reach. I can make it out of here, free myself from the rising water below. The tip of my finger now just millimetres away from the cold steel. Suddenly the towel gets caught on a root, and I can’t pull it. I give the towel a harder tug to dislodge it from the tree, the towel lurches forward slipping out from underneath the shovel on top. The momentum of the towel being pulled from underneath sends the shovel rolling back away from the slit, even further from where it had been left. I scream in anguish and grasp the roots, shaking them violently in frustration. I close my eyes and lean my head against the mud, breathing heavily.

I open my eyes again as I feel the cold stab of the water reach my hips, I look down in despair at the pool of water rising rapidly upward. I notice the towel in my hand now floating on the surface of the pool. I furrow my eyes as I begin to look at it in my hand, I don’t remember packing a towel. I take a closer look, it was light blue and too soft to be a towel. I begin to inspect more of it, and see a small picture of an aeroplane. I put my other hand to my mouth and stifle a cry as the realisation hits me. It was my son's blanket. A small voice whispers through the darkness, the voice of my son.

Daddy? Daddy is that you?

I turn the blanket over in my hands, revealing the other side. As I turn it I see a large deep stain coating the innocent little cartoon aeroplanes. A deep crimson stain. The underside of the blanket was covered in dried blood.

Daddy? What are you doing? What do you have in your hand?

I begin to sob uncontrollably, the pain washes over me like a wave. The full weight of what I have done striking me to my core. My stomach sinks and my limbs feel heavy, the tears stream down my dirt strewn face as I bury my face into the blanket. I hear more voices from the dark, this time it was the other woman. It was her.

We can start anew David, she’ll take everything from you. If you do this it’ll be like they never even existed. We can still have everything…together.

I turn and face out of the slit, I rest my head against the tree roots looking out into the dark. “What have I done?” I scream out into the night, “Oh god what have I done!”. The yellow eyes stare down at me from the tree. Unfeeling. Unblinking. Their yellow glow seems to grow brighter, ghastlier. Illuminating me in their horrible light, until I was bathed in their horrid glare. All around me tinged in a yellow hue. Abruptly the thought of the ring that the owl had left me before crosses my mind. It hadn’t been in my bag. No, the last place I had seen it was….Oh god. My blood runs cold, a chill creeps up my spine to the base of my skull. The yellow eyes turn away from me, instead looking a few metres ahead of me deeper into the forest. They illuminate the darkness with a dreadful yellow gleam, displaying what was once hidden by the thick blackness. I see what it is showing me and my heart stops. I grip the roots as my knees give way, my mouth aghast is silent horror. My deeds laid bare before me, awash with yellow light. A few metres ahead of me, past the lone shovel that I used to bury them just hours before were the corpses of my wife and son. Unearthed from the loose dirt I had placed over them by the violent wind and rain. My wife’s face cold and distant, eyes staring without life or thought. Her hand outstretched, a small outline where her wedding ring had been still visible on her ice blue finger.

I love you David….

Oh god what have I done, dear lord what have I done. I don’t feel the cold pool of water slowly rising up my back to my shoulders. I feel only the horror. I grasp the roots, my sobs masked by thunder of the rain. The light moves away from the corpses and they are lost again to the darkness. I look up into the trees and see hundreds of pairs of yellow eyes staring down at me from the dark branches. They do not blink, instead they sit silently and watch me. Hundreds of yellow orbs in the trees washing me with their horrible light. I cry out into the dark, my scream smothered by the howling of the wind.