Shadows in the Night

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Footsteps. Soft like a child’s.

Forest leaves rustle in a stirring wind.

A stumbling—a loud thud as if someone is tripping, falling.

Then all goes silent, dead as a mausoleum.

A snag in my breath stops me.

Moonlight spills into the heart of the woods, across bent oaks and birches silhouetted against pale lighting. Half-naked trees look like bleached figures arched in spindly postures, their outstretched limbs shifting and creaking in the gentle breeze. The air is cadaver-cold against my face and arms.

I exhale, tremble, my heart hammers. My hands: raw, sticky, cold.

I tell myself to take deep, measured breaths.

My gaze lingers at the edge of the woods, where shadows dance in the dark above a high moon, balloon-shaped between slivers of broken birch limbs stretching outward toward me.

I hear a rushing sound of water from the stream running through the forest. A few feet from where I stand, there is a drop-off. Don’t go into the woods at night, someone once said. Don’t go into the woods alone.

Bile crawls at the back of my throat like a parasitic worm. I close my eyes, cringe, and wince against the revolting taste.

My spine straightens at a broken-branch snapping somewhere behind me.

I shift my footing, turn slowly, and stare over my shoulder.

Nothing.

There is nobody there.

What am I doing here?

Then, I hear shuffling, something moving and breathing in the cold dusk.

I let out an involuntary gasp; my pulse quickens.

The heady taste of resentfulness climbs back into my mouth like one of my regretful hookups. I do not look away, not even when footsteps scuffle through a bed of dead brittle branches behind me.

A knife-sharp chill punctures my skin and invades my space like an improper thought. I am disoriented, my hands hanging at my sides, motionless. As if I’ve stepped into a trap, my feet heavy.

My heart batters behind my rib cage like a broken wing.

Behind me, the river roars as if woken by a giant monster. I shudder as footfalls pitter-patter in the dark, across the forest, in all directions.

An explosion of laughter erupts, spilling into my psyche like a toxic dream. Child-like, but bitter, angrier, bleaker, rolling into sinister ramblings, until the forest is growling, the sound of teeth chattering, hands clap-clapping.

Something in the shadow whispers. I freeze. A hiss: “Jack.”

Thirty feet from where I stand in a pool of moonlight, I glimpse a face.

The shape is fuzzy, its features smeared in splotches of shifting shadow. I do not look away; I can’t, even if I want to.

The laughter stops.

No movement.

A hush falls over the woods.

Then I hear my name: “Jack.”

My neck tingles with sweat. Something or someone exhales, a long, throaty release. I shiver, gasp, clench my teeth. A puff of air clouds above my head.

I piss myself.

Clap, clap.

“Jack!”

* * * *

I lurch up in bed, screaming. I scramble in the dark for the lamp switch.

Honey gold light stretches halfway across my apartment, scaring away another nightmare. I glimpse shadows of my kitchen table, its bulky chair legs, and the balcony’s double doors. The green light on the microwave flashes the late hour: 1:10 A.M.

On the other side of the bed, I reach across me—sheets cold and untouched.

Steve must still be at work. I wince at the thought of horny guys tossing my boyfriend crumpled, sweaty wads of hundred-dollar bills as Steve gyrates and mounts a stripper pole in that shithole dance club that passes for a strangers’ wet dream.

I pull myself up, piling pillows behind me to keep me upright, steady. My head is hazy, and my eyes are weak and tired from fighting bad dreams and demons that won’t stay buried.

Sweat clogs my chest hair. My breath tastes like stale booze from last night. The bedsheets are damp from dreaming. A spot beneath me is moist, saturated with urine. I smell dank and dirty. My armpits reek. “Christ.”

I am glad Steve is not here to witness another jeering embarrassment. I heave a deep breath and crawl out of bed, padding barefoot to the bathroom around the corner. I navigate in the dark, swearing under my breath. Stripping off my moist boxers, I toss them into the corner with my other day-old laundry and plop down on the toilet. I shudder from a chill. My head falls into my hands.

Later, I run the shower until the water is scalding, and I stand under it, drowning my leaden thoughts. Half an hour afterward, my skin is wrinkled from too much soaking. I walk into the kitchen and boil water in the kettle for tea.

I remove the soiled bedsheets and ball them into a pile on the floor as I wait. Faint smells of urine and body odor sting my nose. I grab fresh linens from the top shelf of the closet and remake the bed. I recall my solitary life before Steve, before all of my one-night stands I invited to my apartment and f****d, the hundreds of smells and tastes, touches and sounds of beautiful naked men. College-age. Older, middle age, my generation. Strangers whose mouths and hands I let caress me and tell me how much they loved me while they used me.

Empty promises. Careless, deceitful men.

I stare around the semi-dark apartment, unexpectedly quiet and empty. Lonely. Silence is loud at this hour.

Checking the time doesn’t help; it is still late, almost 1:30.

My teeth are sore from where I ground them in my sleep. My mouth tastes coppery as if I’ve sucked on dirty coins. I walk to the balcony doors and stare out through dusty glass into the early wee hours: a street lush with midsummer, trees blooming in the dark, lit by the striking halos of streetlamps.

The kettle slowly builds to a penetrating whistle.

I head back to the kitchenette and pour steaming water into a mug filled with loose-leaf rose petals and lavender. I inhale a lungful of the aromatic smells.

The air is humid, damp, and heavy in my lungs as I sit out on the balcony with my tea, listening to the stillness of the night. Too afraid to close my eyes and head back to bed, alone with my bad dreams, I wait up for Steve.

An hour later, I hear a key in the lock, and the hinges rasp in protest as he stumbles into the apartment.