Beyond the vibrant hue of a vast field of wildflowers filled with countless bees and fleeting larks, gold finches and bluebirds, came a sound from the woods that everyone in the yard heard. It was like a bellowing growl comparable only to the sound of jets from the distant airbase breaking the sound barrier of the mountain range.
It was so loud that Aunt Miriam dropped potato salad on my cousin’s head. It was noticed only by me, and well, also my cousin who suddenly didn’t care about the noise. “Mom,” she shouted and stood up combing celery and carrot chunks covered in mayonnaise from her black hair.
“Sorry dear. Barney what was that?” she asked.
“How should I know?” Uncle Emory answered. We never tried finding out what it was and hours later, as our summer picnic wrapped up, the noise was an afterthought. For me, it remained one until I was a teenager and found myself back at that farm at the beginning of a summer. I was going to be there for a month while my parents were on vacation.
Those woods behind the house sent a tingle through my bones before I followed Aunt Miriam into the house. As days passed the tedium of country quietness had me ready to get back to the city. I knew I would be alone with my aunt and uncle, my cousins away at college, but I had no idea how boring it would be.
Boring enough to have my fear of those woods behind the house diminish enough to explore them.
That afternoon I crossed the flower field and watched a groundhog bound away from my presence before I entered the trees. Deer ran off, a squirrel climbed from one tree to another. When a tree branch snapped, I saw something big and hairy staring at me from a brushy knoll. I peered into its huge eyes way too long. It watched me tear out of its forest, my loosely tied nikes not really touching the ground. All I could think of was its height, nearly 8foot tall and how often I heard my uncle say, “No one ever goes back there.” I never would again.
DAGilberthorrorwriter 