Rebecca Bavone

Rebecca Bavone The Edge of the Woods He watched the coffee drip at an alarmingly slow pace. For every cup it filled in the pot, it seemed as though hours were passing and it was losing some race. He was losing some race. The midday sun shone through the kitchen window and onto his pale face, the heat a comfortable blanket. He looked out and tried to find something he had been waiting for since morning, but it would still be some time until his body stilled and fear shook him. Beyond the open field of cut grass the edge of the woods stared at him. It knew what would happen better than he did. The coffee pot clicked. What he needed was a nap. Caffeine would keep his eyes open, sure, but a nice hour of sleep could give him some real energy, the kind that didn’t dissipate after thirty minutes of emptying a mug. Then the deadline in bold wouldn’t be ringing in his head and he could go outside. Away from the flat field and the looming woods. Maybe a nap would expel the repeating nightmare from his subconscious and his mind would be filled with the image of him succeeding for once. He moved the textbook aside and sunk into his couch, closing the laptop with his foot when the glaring screen beckoned him. The sun covered him and he found himself falling asleep before he had even heard the clock tick. It was night in the field and the woods glowed. The cold caressed his skin like claws and the light in front of him began to move. Again. Like all other times, he tried to move any way he could. Take a step, lift an arm, both to no avail, but never would he try to turn his head. There was every possibility that ghoulish thing would suddenly be an inch away, thrusting the lamp in its face and screaming until the skin ripped around its mouth and blood fell from its lip. He would have to wait for it to run at him with its long, stick-like legs and for his heart to speed up so fast it jolted him back to his body, and then hopefully he could wake up in time to meet that deadline. The creature made its appearance, easily clearing twenty feet in one eerily light step and stopping on the border of its home. Thin fingers clamped around the gas lamp, bringing the light out much farther than his height, and its free arm draped over the other like a scarf. It stayed there, as still as him, a standoff frozen in time. He felt his pinky wiggle in anticipation. He lifted his hand and looked at the moon-lit skin and a new kind of fear sprouted within him, starting from his soul and reaching out of the ends of his shivering limbs to the freshly trimmed grass, pulling him down to the earth like a suffocating gravity. Real fear. He could feel the wind and the cool grass flattened against his bare feet. He kicked the ground and stomped on it maddeningly just to be sure. The deadline became a blip in the back of his head, covered by the probability of his impending death. And as if the creature had sensed his revelation, it moved forward, keeping the lamp from its face and letting its arm fall and dangle so its palm met the field. At that moment he expected the thing to launch itself with the force of a hand, but then everything would be over. He would be gone and he would never fall asleep because he would never wake up. His foot cut through the chilled air and he found himself stepping toward the one thing he shouldn’t have been. He should have went inside to the safety of his home. Maybe the creature couldn’t follow him. He took another step and it stretched its leg again, meeting him in the middle. It was truly taller than the smallest tree in the woods and, yet, could be hidden by the largest. He was walking into madness. And when the ghoul folded its arms to its chest and leaned over him like a willow, the thing illuminated itself entirely to show nothing. He looked up and saw the shadow that haunted him and shut his eyes. He willed it away. He willed everything away and fell into the grass. The calm morning breeze was rustling the leaves when he awoke. The open field was beyond him and he lay against a tree. His eyes met the low sun hidden by the clouds and he realized he had missed the deadline. The tree moved behind him, dropping its branches and dragging them through the wildflowers and weeds. But the tree was no tree, and as the sunlight bursted onto the sill of his kitchen window, it took him away. Away from the deadline and the open field and the edge of the woods.