"What's That Noise?"

The Woods

By Corri
Written for Whimseybug's Writing Club

Copyright © 2000 by C. Gryting.
All Rights Reserved.

Deep in thought, I stared at the blank page as I sat down on the couch to write my weekly assignment for English 101. The topic? The Woods, and I wanted my piece to be spooky, something Edgar Allen Poe, in all his melancholy mania, would relish. 

I looked around my cozy cabin: hardwood floor shining, my woven wool rug covering just enough to make my feet cozy when I forgot my slippers on cold mornings. A fire burned brightly behind the hearth, warming the chilly October morn. My old white and black border collie, Bo, slept peacefully at one end of fire, and Tabs, the gray striped cat, curled up like a mismatched bookend on the other.

The scene seemed quite cozy and heartwarming. Although, content and grateful for my blessings, I knew this tranquil scene could not inspire me to write my terrifying thriller. The clock ticked away as my deadline drew ever closer. Wrinkling a paper and tossing the wad on an ever growing pile in my trash can, I rose to my feet. I needed a change of scene. I needed some old-fashioned firsthand research. Grabbing my coat, hat, gloves, writing pad and pen, I headed toward the door, stopping just long enough to pick up an old quilt. 

Outside, I made up my mind, and headed up the path toward the old church. 

I think old is a fair word for the church. Early settlers built the framed wooden structure in the mid to late 1800s. The church fit against the side of a hill with a glorious meadow in front, and deep, shady woods to its back. The meadow played host to many country gatherings over the years, with children and young lovestruck lads alike plucking the wild flowers and running along its soft grassy paths. But, as you might have guessed, the meadow was not my destination. I headed past the church and up into the woods.

The trail became steeper here, and I often had to duck under branches and scramble over fallen trees. Soon, I found my destination. The large fallen oak would make a nice and comfortable seat. The shadows were dark here, and I had a clear view down onto the church and the crumbling cemetery. "Yes, this will do nicely," I thought, pulling out my writer's pad and pen. I looked around at the tall branching pines, the long shadows, and the damp stillness. If I listened hard, I could hear the forest sounds telling their tales: the scuffling of a squirrel, the flight of a blue jay from one branch to another, the crackling of a twig far off under a foot heavier than mine. Even the smells seemed to put me in the right mood for my tale of suspense. I pulled the quilt around me and plunged into my task.

Just as a I thought, the shadows came to life for me, and I began writing the most marvelously terrifying story you could ever hope to read! The woodsy setting and the characters were artfully done, if I do say so myself. Pleased, I continued writing, realizing I was feeling just a tad drowsy in this setting that strangely seemed both spooky and peaceful. I leaned back against the huge oak's broken trunk, snuggled into my quilt, and continued writing. I felt so comfortable. My eyes even seemed to be feeling a bit heavy.

Still, wasn't that crackling sound coming closer? Laying aside the pad, I crouched back under the trunk of the fallen oak. Ah, it's warmer here," I thought. "The noises are probably a deer, and I'll just wait for Mr. Bambi to pass."

But closer still came the crackling noises, and as I huddled under the fallen trunk, I could make out heavy footsteps…thump, slide, thump, slide, thump, slide…ever closer. Cowering beneath the stump, I willed my body to remain quiet, although I longed to bolt and run. My heart seemed to be beating so loudly I would surely be discovered. Closer and closer came the steps. Not daring to look up, I heard sounds of labored breathing dreadfully close. I froze as my panic nearly overwhelmed me. I felt an evil presence looming over me. Surely the writing pad with my last story was soon to be signed in my own blood!

As my terror reached an unbearable peek, my shoulder felt a sharp jerk, and that's when I awoke with a scream, right here, on my couch, exactly where you found me when you touched my shoulder to waken me…

To my dismay, the ancient woods are gone and my pad is empty. That gloriously horrifying tale in the woods was all a dream, and that's why my writing assignment is not finished.

Copyright © Jan. 24, 2001 by C. Gryting. All Rights Reserved.