Page 7
Sometimes, the world moved on.
No news stories, no social media accounts, no more awkward run-ins on campus.
Creek Fox disappeared.
I shook the mystery of him as much as possible, but there was no shaking the dream I had of him two days before my sister’s wedding.
As I drove northwest across Pennsylvania through winding forest roads on the fringes of Appalachian territory, I replayed the dream a few times, trying to make sense of it.
It had started like the actual event—finding his body, pulling him up the bank to my car, stripping down to warm him up like any good Samaritan with a lick of first aid training would do. Standard fare for someone traumatized by what they thought was a corpse.
But then his eyes flashed black with glowing irises, the warm brown swallowed up by what had to be the eyes of a monster.
Teeth as long and sharp as a wolf’s protruded from his grimace, and the next thing I knew, a shadowy monster chased me through the woods along the creek.
Did I mention I was naked?
Because all good nightmares had to have shameful nudity.
I had woken up in a cold sweat, heart racing as if I’d really been running for my life seconds prior and not laying recumbent in my warm bed.
Did monsters exist? Or was he a socially awkward jerk? I hadn’t figured it out yet, but my nightmares weren’t helping me decide either.
A split second before I missed the turn, I caught sight of the glitching signal on my GPS app and whipped down a dirt road obscured by dead tangled vines and overhanging shrubs. My tires skidded slightly with the extra momentum, but I made it onto the backroad before it was too late.
My GPS froze, not getting much of a signal this deep in Bald Eagle Forest, but I was pretty sure I could figure the rest of the trip out on my own. Shutting off my phone with a click, I tossed it into the passenger seat amongst my school bag and suitcase with clothes for the wedding. The road grew bumpier with every passing second, roots and dirt mounds scraping the undercarriage hard enough to make me fret my car wouldn’t make it. There weren’t any stalled cars along the way though, so that was a good sign since I was late and bound to be the last one arriving.
The tip of the A-frame cottage came into view a few miles later, the sun setting right behind it. My car was miraculously still intact, if not in need of a tune up and deep clean after off-roading in the slushy woods.
I pulled up next to the other cars lined up on the gravel drive, a few of them sporting ski resort bumper stickers, then got out to admire the mountain cottage my sister booked for her winter wedding. Glass lined the front part of the A-frame, and a wrap-around porch stood on thick oak trunks with a staircase as wide as three cars leading up the front of it.
The house was supposed to sleep thirty, complete with a dining room, a living area, and full functioning kitchen. The family who owned it catered, too, which made it extra easy to plan and coordinate for the maid-of-honor, a.k.a. me. I’d had no trouble helping Everly book the place when she picked it out since everything was done online. A few cordial emails later, and we had everything we needed at a respectable price.
Smoke and pine permeated the air, but I could have sworn I smelled sweaty animals nearby. Horses maybe? I didn’t catch the scent of hay or manure which usually went hand in hand with keeping animals.
My overly sensitive nose wrinkled, but there was no point puzzling over it when the next gust of wind brought with it the scent of roasting meat. Probably our dinner that I was about to miss if I didn’t get inside quickly.
The sun winked out behind the tallest tree while I rooted around in the passenger seat to collect my things. All at once, it was just a little too dark to spot my key fob properly, so I had to press the lock button on memory alone.
After slamming the car door shut, I made for the steps with my phone’s flashlight to guide me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, most likely from the cold, but also like someone was watching me.
I peered around, wondering if someone else was getting out of their car and about to head in with me, but the driveway was silent. Only my car still steamed with residual heat.
The feeling reeled my gaze like a hooked fish to the tree line, past ornamental bushes and a snow-covered field. Something bluish-yellow glowed between the tree trunks, hanging at least seven or eight feet up in the air.
I gulped, and the swallow caught halfway down my throat, making me sputter.
Just like last time, I couldn’t tell what was pareidolia and what was real. Were those eyes? Or were they something metal like a bird feeder or windmill reflecting the house lights back at me?
Whatever it was, I didn’t want to stick around to find out, so I turned and speed walked across the icy gravel and up the salted stairs as fast as I dared. A chill crept up my spine—the same one I had yet to shake from my dip in the creek last week.
Blessedly, the front door was unlocked, allowing me to fly inside and slam the door behind me before the eyes could follow. The sensation of being watched vanished instantly, chased away by the wall of stifling heat that hit as soon as I entered.
A hearth taller than me roared in the entry room. Coats hung in a row on a wall lined with antlers for hooks. Everyone’s shoes were on the flagstone tiles in various states of abandonment, small puddles of melting ice and snow beneath their soles.
I left my coat and shoes with everyone else’s, then followed my nose across mismatched antique rugs to the dining room lined with windows that should have looked out over the woods. Every single curtain was drawn, most likely to conserve heat in the house, and I breathed a little easier knowing no one could spot us from the dark woods.
A young man in all black slacks and a dress shirt flew out of the kitchen door where the haunting aroma of meat wafted from. He bore a giant silver tray of sizzling brisket and laid it out on a gradually filling buffet table that left my mouth watering.
