Driving the path to Swansboro, on the switchbacks there is an empty turnout, covered in dirt and brown leaves. Behind the turnout is a cliff, and pressing against it is a dark forest with twigs and branches splintering out in the naked evening. The smell of night fills your nostrils. Leading into the forest you notice a small opening, a trail from the cliff's short edge that drops quickly off and out of sight. Your car ticks quietly behind you, the motor is cooling, and silence is closing in. Tick. Night moves around you. Your pupils adjust to the fading light. Facing the forest, you take a step towards the small forest trail. Every footstep is the same, crunching on old fallen leaves. You move closer to the forest and the trail.
You hear a sound. A soft moan from the forest, sitting in the air for a second before it disappears. You look up and out. It was a sound, a quiet wind, some haunt carried from deep within the forest. You heard it, and on a rock hanging over the river there is nobody waiting for you. In the dirt far ahead there is nobody standing. Beneath the rocks over the river, nobody is floating. You are alone, and at the edge of the trail on a winter's night.
2 comments:
Wow, Mikie, I can just feel this quiet moment, as if you're about to step into the unknown. Kinda scary, but cool.
Hey Mikie, I remember a time when you would have had a freak attack about being alone in the dark and lonely place. You've come a long ways.
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