I look out the window and see it sometimes. I'm not sure what it is but I think I know what it wants. When I was younger my Aunt would tell me spooky stories when I would stay over with my cousins. She always had a story to tell. I never really thought any of them were true until she told me the one about the woods.
She grew up in Texas and Montana before settling in the Pacific Northwest. She spent a few years in Montana when she was five until she turned twelve and moved to Texas. It started in Montana she said. I remember the look on her face when she started. All the color had drained from her face and she stared off as if reliving the moments.
"The nights felt colder then. It wasn't the weather," she said, "it was something different. Almost an unsettling feeling in your gut. Like something died. Yes, that's it. It was death, that's what it was." I listened intently always on the floor with my legs crossed. Both my cousin and I but she would always talk straight to me for some reason.
"Most of my life I've lived fearing the darkness Malcolm," she continued. "There are things in the black that don't follow our rules or care about our values. They just exist for the sake of evil. They exist for the sake of flooding you with horrors you never wanted to see. I lived in Montana when I was a little girl, did you know that?" I shook my head.
"I did, it was a lovely place except for the nights. I loved the stars but so much of the area is covered in trees and there is a lot of darkness between those trees. Lots of places in that black for evil to live Malcolm. I could always hear the soft chirps of the crickets outside my window. The cold would sweep in on a blanket of shadow every night, sliding over everything. Telling us it was dusk. Nights were cold and very dark.
"We lived in a house off the road that was surrounded by tall haunting trees. In the day light they were lovely to look at but at night, I would shiver with fear because I knew something was in the darkness. Some nights though, I wouldn't hear the crickets. I would hear the whispers. Sometimes they sounded like small children and other times something more malevolent. Do you know what that means?" Again, I shook my head.
"It means for something to want to do evil on others. And that's exactly what those whispers were. Malevolent. Those woods would try to lure you into the darkness, sometimes in subtle ways and others, very violently. Like what happened to your Aunt Margaret. Everyone told you she died but actually she went missing. Never found her. We don't know exactly what happened but I remember what I saw."
She always had a glass of brandy by her side on the side table. She paused a moment to raise her glass. The ice cubes clanked together as she pursed her lips to take a drink. "That night, I'll never forget that night. Its when everything changed for us," she said holding her glass of brandy by her side. "Kids these days have their own rooms and own things. You are more well off than we were back then. I bet you love your room." I nodded my head in agreement.
"Yes, it must be nice. Back then, we all slept in the same room. Five of us. All your Aunts Malcolm. Me, Elizabeth, Mary, Emily and Margaret. We shared three beds. Elizabeth had one to herself since she was the oldest. Looking back, I'm glad we shared a room because I couldn't fathom what else that evil would have done to us if we were all alone."
She took another drink. "I woke up one night to a small rubbing against my window. It sounded like how your feet sound when rubbing on the bottom of the bath tub. I opened my eyes and looked over toward the window. I could see a small black finger rubbing the corner of the window. I woke up Margaret who was sleeping next to me. She was a year older than I. She heard the rubbing too and saw the finger. She got up to find out what it was and that's when the weeping started. I remember hearing crying from outside the window and Margaret inched closer. I kept telling her to come back to bed, to get dad. But she wouldn't listen. I was so scared Malcolm. I remember barely even being able to whisper to her. She got all the way up to the window and looked out. By then the finger was gone but the weeping was louder. She looked out and couldn't see anything. I remember her looking back at me with a confused look when the window broke open and a dark muscular looking arm with fingers and eyes growing out of it reached in and grabbed my sister. I screamed so loud. The crashing of the broken glass woke everyone up. But it was too late. The arm pulled Margaret out of the window and into the night. Your grandpa went out looking but we never saw her again."
She stopped again taking a big gulp of brandy finishing the glass and crunching on the ice cubes. "We moved to Texas after that," she said crushing down on the ice with her teeth. "I thought that would be the end of it. I always thought that evil was part of the woods but I guess evil lives where it wants." She got up and filled her glass with water. "We lived in an even smaller house in Texas," she said from the kitchen. "I remember the difference between the nights. They were much hotter. More uncomfortable. But just as beautiful Malcolm." She came back over, "the nights were just as starry and dark. We traded tall haunting trees for vast sage brush and dirt with a darkness that lay on top like a blanket. The heat made it all worse," she said rubbing the top of my head. "Maybe that's enough for now. Go on to bed, both of ya."
I'm older now. Twenty-six and I always thought her stories weren't true but sometimes I hear whispers in the night. I wish I didn't believe but I think I hear weeping now. Soft weeping. I've looked out the window and the darkness doesn't feel empty anymore. There's something there, something watching. I can feel it.
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