The Woods: Part One

barn in the middle of the country, he pictured a bright red building with a wide front door like a black hole. The old barn at his dad's house was the ghost of his imagination. It was tall, like he imagined a barn might be, with a wide front and a set of large shutters at the top. Far from being red, it was pale and aged like the bark of a tree that had been dead for a long time with a rusting metal roof that swept down on both sides and curled along the edges. The front doors had rusted completely off their hinges and hung pathetically to each side of its gaping entrance.

  He jogged across the gravel to the front of the barn, a nervous sweat starting to build as he got closer. It was the only place that would have something he could make a deer feeder out of. Inside, he was surprised to find a car, which unlike the tin roof, looked taken care of. Along the wall across from the car were two long benches that held a variety of different tools and junk, and in the corner, was a tall metal tool chest that stood up to his nose. He ran his hands over its smooth painted sides, smiling at the fire-engine red color it shone in. His imagination had been somewhat right, there was at least something about the barn that was bright red. Toward the back he saw a rickety looking ladder that led up to the hayloft. It was a good fifteen feet up but for James it might as well have been a hundred. Leaving the ladder behind, he exited out the back of the barn where the grass was overgrown as if it were attempting to eat the whole place from the ground up. It was in this overgrown mess that he found just what he needed for his deer feeder.

  Wedged halfway into the ground was a blue fifty-five-gallon plastic drum. He pulled at it with his stick-like arms for a solid minute before deciding to find a shovel to unearth his find. He jabbed the shovel’s blade along the side of the drum and jumped onto it with both feet at once. It was enough force to move the dirt and after a half an hour of repeating the exercise, he managed to get the barrel from the worm-infested earth and roll it around to the front of the garage. His lips were spread thin in a smile of accomplishment.

  Although his pride began to show on the outside, his mind was focused like sunlight through a magnifying glass, and time started to slip away as he began to unravel the mystery of how to make a deer feeder with the junk lying around the barn. In a box at the bottom of the tool chest was a brand new sawzall, which he learned to use when his dad had built a picnic table back at his house in the city. It was heavy and impressive, which made him feel all at once dangerous and powerful as he looked at the little serrated blade that protruded from the tip. With a huge grin, he quickly plugged it in and cut the barrel completely in half along its longest side like a hotdog bun. To keep it upright, he ripped an old board from the wall of the barn and cut it into four equal lengths. By nailing two pieces together like an “X”, he turned the four boards into two wooden stands for the barrel to sit on. After a few minor adjustments, it was perfect, and stood on its own without any trouble. James stood in the musty air of the barn dripping with sweat and grinning. His imagination had carried his deer feeder to completion without the help of anyone else, and this fact made him even more proud. Suddenly, he heard a loud whistle rip through the air from outside the barn.

  “Dad!” he yelled, “you have to see what I made!”

  Once he was out of the barn he noticed his dad's truck wasn't in the driveway. He walked up the steps looking around and scratching his head, then slowly opened the front door and stepped inside.

  “Dad?” he called again. After nothing but silence he looked around and confirmed he wasn't home. His mind still focused on the deer feeder, he shrugged then began roughly cutting the apples into irregular chunks. He threw them into the barrel and dragged the three pieces into the backyard to plant the trap.

  The ground was crunchy under his feet and he made quick work of hauling everything in just two trips. The front door of the barn faced the backyard and once he had reached the back of the field he stopped just twenty feet from the tree line and looked back. The house and barn looked so much smaller from way out there, and even the yellowing grass in the yard looked different, like a giant scab that clung to the dirt. In front of him the woods were thick and peering into its elusive veil sent a tremble shivering down his arms, causing him to drop the barrel. Something about the woods gave him a bad feeling. Even the trees that faced the open field were twisted as if they had been struggling to escape the darkness behind them, but died trying. James stumbled back a few steps and decided to set up the deer feeder a little more into the yard toward the house for a couple of reasons. One, so he could get a better view of the prey he was luring in, and two, because it scared him too much to be so close to the woods.

  Set up and complete, he looked over where he saw the gray figure and traced the line of sight to the back window of the house. I could definitely see it, but could it see me? Looking back at the deer feeder, he couldn’t help feeling impressed and couldn’t wait to show his dad.

  His eyes raised up from his accomplishment instinctually as goose bumps swam over his skin. Before he had time to realize what was going on, his brain’s primitive survival programming kicked in the instant the howling whistle cut through the air. He looked back and made a terrifying realization—it was coming from inside the woods. James only took a single step before another sound filled his ears. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled from inside the trees. He quickly realized it sounded like something was running through the trees…and it was running toward him.

  3

  Run.

  It was the only thing James’s brain could process at the moment. There were two choices: stay put and meet whatever was charging through the woods head-on or run. So he ran.

  He dug his heels into the dirt and left the deer feeder in the dust of his wake. The backyard was huge and covered with potential ankle-snapping pitfalls. James stretched his legs as far as he could as he ran, feeling the jagged edges of rocks protruding up through the ground. The initial burst of adrenaline ripped through his limbs like a lit stream of gasoline, and his sneakers barely kissing the grass as he flew. Even though he was the fastest runner in his class, a title he held since kindergarten, James was no match for the sheer size of the field. The initial excitement of setting up the deer feeder had played a slight trick on his senses, distorting time and space and making the field look like a quick trip through the yard. That had changed. His legs went from being on fire with energy to burning in pain. Every gulp of air seared his chest and the longer he ran the less oxygen there seemed to be in the air for him to take in. He was running for his life and suffocating in the process.

  His ears, somehow still able to pick up sounds between his heavy wheezing and terrified whining, took in the sounds behind him. The rustling and twig snapping that was once deep inside the woods was now behind him at the tree line. A rushing gallop crashed through the trees followed by a loud thump and gurgling scream. James couldn’t stop and couldn’t look back. The low, hollow groan behind him near the deer feeder stole every sound from his throat. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even see the ground or house in front of him anymore.

  His consciousness took a backseat to the automatic primal reaction of his brain. He was lost in a fog of fear, his brain now in complete control as it continued to force his heart to push its limits and pump blood to his legs. The lack of oxygen from his hyperventilated breathing caused him to fall somewhere in the gap between conscious thoughts. His body trucked on to the back of the house, around the side, and up the steps. Fear had sent his head spinning and his body collapsing through the door. He tumbled through the kitchen and let his body fall into the cough where the exhaustion overtook him.

  He awoke later with the indentations of the couch fabric grooved into his cheek. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his arms heavy and tired feeling. But rubbing his eyes and forehead didn't help clear the fog that had settled between his ears.

  I must've fallen asleep, he thought. His eyes fell to the floor where he noticed he was still wearing his shoes. He wiped a line through the dust on the side of
his sneaker with his finger. On the other side of the house, the door was still partially open, letting the bright sunlight in and the refreshing air-conditioned house air out. The fog of sleep lifted and he remembered the deer feeder, the terrifying noises and running. He sprinted across the house and threw himself into the door, slamming it shut. He twisted the door’s two locks and then backed away slowly. In his blacked-out hurry back to the house he collapsed onto the couch and never closed the door. Whatever was out there could have gotten in.

  James wasn't a dumb kid, but his ability to extrapolate about a wild animal’s possible motivations during a moment of intense fear was useless. He moved to the kitchen quietly then drew a large knife from a wooden block on the counter. Tiptoeing back into the living room, he cautiously checked every nook and cranny for signs of an intruder. He knew that an animal’s priority was food, but as he crept around the house squeezing the knife handle until his knuckles were white, he believed the delusion that it was somehow hiding from him—waiting for the perfect moment to attack. After checking every room and coming up empty-handed, he reasoned that