Child of the forest

My dream of living near the forest finally came true last month when I moved into my new home. Yet, it didn’t take long to discover a few unexpected downsides. Last Saturday, after rounding the corner into my driveway following my morning jog through the greenery, I saw something that froze me in my tracks: a massive, mottled gray animal skin, draped over the branches of the towering oak tree in my front yard. The late autumn wind whistled down the newly-paved road, and the pelt swayed, like a lifeless figure swinging from a noose. A chill crept down my spine as its hollow, gaping face seemed to stare blindly at me.

Though winter hadn’t fully arrived, patches of ice had already formed on my driveway. I carefully stepped around the cracked ice, shattered by something heavy. As I walked, my reflection gazed back at me, its eyes vacant, pressing—like staring down the barrel of a gun. The rest of the day passed quietly. I curled up on the couch, waiting for nightfall, but when night came, it was unbearable. Thunder boomed and rain lashed against my windows. I pulled my blanket tighter, trying to ignore the arrhythmic tap, t-tap of the loose shingles in the downpour.

I had sought solace after burying my mother. I thought distance from the old house would’ve helped me cope with my grief, but I realized it only did the opposite. Her image still floated into my mind, even when I wasn’t reminiscing. Every day after work, she'd call out in that grating tone, “Ray... I’m home.” I hated her then, hated her voice, her gaze—always filled with a self-assured wisdom she didn’t possess. She fancied herself wise, yet couldn't avoid her own tragic end. I feared and despised her, believing her death would set me free. How silly it was, believing death could sever a tether. Her specter haunted me, not as a face, but as a persistent, throbbing thought—a constant ache, like a tooth that could never be fixed.

The next morning, the sky was clearing after the night’s storm. Sunlight broke through patches of clouds, and a cold breeze carried the intoxicating scent of the forest.

Lacing up my running shoes, I stepped outside, ready for a morning jog. As I passed the oak tree, I felt a wave of relief—the gray pelt was gone. Before I could leave the driveway, I spotted my neighbor walking her dog down the street, her flats clicking against the pavement with each step.

“Hi! Sandra, right?” I waved.

“That’s me! And you must be Ray. How’s life in Lunio treating you?” She gave a bright smile, though her dog tugged at its leash, clearly eager to move on.

“It’s been great, but…” I hesitated. “Have you had any issues with the wildlife around here?”

She cocked her head quizzically. “Not that I know of. Why? Did something happen?” She tightened her grip as her dog gave another impatient pull.

“No, no, nothing.” I threw a glance at the oak tree, no longer marred by the skin. Desperate to not appear like the crazy neighbor, I shifted my focus to her dog. “I like your dog! What’s his name?”

“This is Hali! He’s a handful sometimes—as you can see.” Though she laughed, it was clear she was struggling to hold onto him. Hali quietly growled, his eyes fixed on my house but his body pulling in the opposite direction.

I relented, waving Sandra off so that Hali could settle down. I decided to jog in the opposite direction, and as I began my run, the sound of Sandra’s heels clicking against the pavement mixed with the sounds of Hali’s barking and the jingle of his collar. The sound was grating, an unsettling reminder of how man-made things can be incompatible with those naturally born in the wild.

That night, after the clock ticked past midnight, I found myself struggling to stay awake. I was flipping through old family photos, trying to keep my mind occupied. But as the night wore on, anxiety crept in. I got up from the couch and wandered over to the window. I parted the curtains just enough to peek outside. The street was dark and silent, a black void swallowing everything beyond a few feet. There were no signs of life—no cars, no people. I double-checked that all three locks on the door were secure, then headed back toward the couch when I suddenly heard a creak from the hallway floor.

Tap, t-tap.

It was the same creak I had been hearing since I moved in, but usually, it came from the roof while I was in bed. This time, the sound came from inside the house. My living room was connected to a narrow hallway that led to the basement. Moving as quietly as I could, I slid toward the hallway, stopping just before I had to turn left into the corridor. The lamp in the living room bathed the space behind me in light, but the hallway to my left remained shrouded in darkness. Light, as always, cannot bend around corners.

I turned to face the darkness, and slowly, I made my way through the hallway toward the basement door. When I reached the other end, I flicked on the light switch, illuminating the narrow space. Everything seemed normal. The door to the basement was open. I stepped through it and walked down the stairs to the bottom. My foot landed in something cold and wet. "The basement is flooded from yesterday’s rain," I thought as I turned on the light.

In an instant, the room was flooded with blinding light. The basement floor was covered in a shallow layer of blood. Shattered bones, clumps of tangled hair, and sodden pieces of clothing floated in the crimson pool. Along the concrete walls, deep, six-inch claw marks scored the surface, each gouge streaked with dried blood. The marks crawled across the walls and up to the ceiling before vanishing through a ventilation window facing the dense forest outside. Scrawled in red on the ceiling, carved deeply into the concrete, were the words: “Ray... I’m home.”

How silly it was, believing death could sever a tether.