Afraid of the Dark II
23 Jan 2020Today’s prompt: “You, a grown adult, are afraid of the dark. Explain why this is a legitimate concern, so friends won’t laugh at you.”
We were on a boat, you and I.
We were camping. We took a canoe to paddle around the lake and go fishing. It was a big lake, with an island in the middle of it – a wooded island, thick with trees and brush. We decided to explore the island.
Our boots squelched so deeply into the mud at the island’s shore that it was difficult to pull them back out again. But we pulled the canoe onto the land. We were sure of that.
It was the middle of the day, but the island was cool from the tree canopy and the mountain air. The hike through the trees there was beautiful. There were wildflowers there that weren’t on the surrounding campgrounds. Around the lake, I recognized Indian paintbrush and larkspur and buttercups. But on the island, there were flowers I’d never seen before in my life, stabby blue spires and rounded blooms the color of open flame.
We wandered the island for a long while, and then you detected a slight chill in the air, and noticed where the sun was in the sky. It was time to head back, you said.
We retraced our steps to where we had beached the canoe. It wasn’t there.
We’re probably at the wrong spot, I said. This probably just looks like the spot where we left the canoe.
It’s a small island, you said. Let’s just wander around the perimeter until we find it.
And we wandered. And we wandered. And the sun dropped farther in the sky.
Sometime through our trek, I became certain we were where we’d started. You weren’t convinced, but we stopped and stacked some rocks on the shore of the island.
Later on, we hit a part of the shoreline that you thought looked like it had the drag marks of our canoe. We stacked rocks there too, and kept hiking.
About an hour later, it was very dark, but we could see the first stack of rocks. Our canoe was gone, we had no phone service, and it was dark. There was nothing for it but to move inland for the night. Tomorrow, one of us could swim for it and bring back a boat to get the other.
We walked through the woods, no longer enchanted by the plant life. Now we noticed the sounds of the island. The sound of lapping water melting away as we moved deeper into the trees. The sound of mosquitoes, a buzzing cloud. Other insect sounds, chirps and clicks.
We found a dry, flat patch. We lay down and said good night.
Before long there were new sounds. Wildlife sounds. Rumbling sounds. Rustles and gurgles.
What was that? I said.
I don’t know, you said. Some animal. Probably nothing to worry about. Probably more scared of you than you are of it.
I closed my eyes again. The sounds changed.
I could swear I heard a growl, I said.
I didn’t hear anything, you said.
I lay there quietly for a while, taking in the sounds around us. They seemed like they were getting closer.
I don’t feel safe here, I said. I’m going to climb a tree.
Suit yourself, you said. I’m going to try to get some sleep.
A few yards away from you, I found a tree with a low enough branch for me to climb. I pulled myself from one limb to the next until I was three branches up. I wrapped my arms around the scratchy bark of the trunk. Sap rubbed into my clothing.
I sat in the tree and listened to the noises of the island. After a while, they began to subside.
You were right, I thought. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I contemplated climbing down from the tree. It was pitch black now – if I was going to climb down, I would have to feel my way down. But I didn’t want to fall asleep in the tree and fall out.
I was just reaching a toe out for the branch below me when I heard your screams.
My blood froze. I solidified my perch on my branch, held the tree trunk, turned my head and leaned out to see what was happening, to see if I could help you, if you would be okay. But I could see nothing. It was too dark. And your screams continued. And there were sounds between your screams. Rustles and gurgles. Rumbles and growls.
I hugged the tree tighter.
In the morning, I found your body, mangled and torn apart. Around it were tracks. But not the tracks of any animal I recognized.
I bolted for the shore. I told myself I didn’t care if I drowned – I was going to try to swim for camp. But there was the canoe, sitting on the shoreline, paddles and lifejackets nestled safely inside.
I rowed to camp. I drove to the nearest forest service station. They recovered your body.
I’m never going back to that island. But sometimes in the dark, I can still hear those sounds. I sleep with the lights on these days.