An Unshakable Sense of Foreboding

By Karen Cralli

Content warning: this story contains profanity and dark themes, including the feeling of being pursued, trapped, and helpless. It is NOT intended for young readers. 

    I cannot explain, exactly, the unbearable urge that overtakes me, as if every cell of my  body knows something that I do not.  

    I follow the impulse, running through the heavy, humid autumn air, leaves crunching  underfoot, the scent of senescence almost suffocating.  

    I pause now, a mile away from home, catching my breath as I stand before an opening in  a thicket at the edge of Sumner Woods. I have lived in this town all my life, and never once have  I stepped foot in these woods.  

    But my feet are moving now, before my mind remembers to protest. 

    I laugh at myself, unnerved.  

    What am I doing?  

    I peer through the branches and leaves. Late afternoon light peeks through small  openings of the dense canopy, casting patches of the earth in shades of gold and tawny brown.  The scene is utterly idyllic—birds chirp, insects hum and buzz, and a gentle breeze rustles  through the leaves of the deciduous trees, while the evergreens and their weighty boughs stand  tall and unaffected. 

    I breathe in deep.  

    My therapist is always telling me to take deep breaths, to go for walks, to connect with  nature, to ground myself in the present instead of succumbing to the relentless maelstrom of  anxious ruminations that plague me in every waking moment of my life and in sleep, too. I draw in another breath. I decide to take her advice, for once. 

    I squeeze through the branches, feeling them tug against my hair and coat.  I lift a leaf out of my hair and laugh at myself, now standing inside Sumner Woods. I  spy a foot trail ahead and step towards it through the fallen leaves and detritus that line the  forest floor.  

    I do not realize that I have lost myself to daydreams until I become aware of the  darkness ahead of me. I turn to follow the path back and realize that I have wandered off the  trail completely. 

    A sudden chill creeps down my spine. 

    Dread burgeons inside me, constricting my throat.  

    This is the Sumner Woods of urban legend and whispered lore… 

    My body goes rigid with fear. I can feel the urge to flee in the tension at my hip flexors.  I can feel my heart pound against my rib cage.  

    Why am I here?  

    WHY DID I COME HERE? 

    Take a breath, Miriam. Take a breath, I tell myself.  

    But my breath is a gasp for air. I cannot unclench my jaw. I cannot get enough oxygen.  The air grows colder, the humidity thick with the scent of decaying leaves as I slowly lower  myself towards the earth.  

    I am having a panic attack.  

    I know this in my rational mind, but my body does not.  

    I am hyperventilating on the dark, damp forest floor of Sumner Woods. I cannot see  behind me. I cannot turn.  

    I am going to die. I am fucking going to die. 

    I know it. I can feel it in my bones. 

    My body knows. 

    My body remembers. 

    Take a breath, Miriam. Just take a breath. 

    This is why I never go anywhere. This is why I let my anxiety hold me prisoner. It has  shrunken my world down to the four walls of my home and the three walls of my cubicle at  work, but it has kept me safe. I owe my anxiety a debt of gratitude, for it is far wiser than I am. 

    What am I doing? What am I doing here?! 

    I don’t know how long I spend lost in an ever-escalating diatribe of self-abuse as my  anxiety metastasizes until it consumes every last rational thought and I am sobbing through  shuddering, strangled breaths in a pile of leaves and twigs and pine needles.  The hell of my anxiety will not relent. 

    From somewhere deep inside me, my own voice speaks through the chaos and the fog of  my thoughts:  

    Count, Miriam. Find four interesting leaves. Name four sensations you can feel. 

    I turn my head slowly, surveying the fallen foliage beneath my fingers, the leaves cold  and damp and slippery against my fingertips, pine sap sticky on my fingertips.  I can feel the dampness of last night’s rain as it seeps through the knees of my trousers. And for some reason, I laugh. 

    I ran here in my commuter sneakers and my favorite pair of work trousers. What on earth  possessed me to do something so ridiculous? 

    I draw in one breath, slower. Then another.  

    It’s just a forest, Miriam. You’ll stand up and turn around and go home. Maybe order delivery  for dinner. Maybe grab a handful of candy out of one of those pumpkin buckets that the Morris Family leaves on the end of their driveway because their dog, Pretzel, is too rambunctious to be trusted if they  opened the door for trick-or-treaters. Maybe I’ll pass by Oakwood Hollow and see if anyone in that  neighborhood still gives out full-sized candy bars like they did when I was a kid. I’ll pretend to be a  college kid dressed as a middle-aged woman having a life crisis. I think I could be convincing. People  always think I’m far younger than I am. And clearly, I look a bit unhinged at the moment… 

    I count my breaths until they ease, until my terror fades, until my body releases some of  its paralyzing tension.  

    Slowly, I rise to a kneeling position, and then to my feet. 

    It is noticeably colder as the last traces of light fade above the canopy.  

    At least I came here in my coat.  

    I stare ahead in the direction from which I came. I blink in the dim light. 

    I thought that gnarled oak tree was behind me? 

    I turn a slow circle, trying to find my bearings.  

    How did I get so disoriented?  

    Sometimes I dissociate and I lose time. I lose memories. That must be what happened.  I blink again and draw in a deep breath, then slowly release it. 

    It’s going to be okay. One foot in front of the other. What is truly the worst thing I’ll confront in  Sumner Woods? A coyote? Some drunken teenagers? A tree root I might trip over?

    A strong breeze rustles through the leaves overhead.  

    Okay, well, which way is the way home?  

    I reach into my pocket for my phone.  

    Oh, are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? 

    Take a breath, Miriam. 

    Spitefully, I draw in a breath—how dare I give myself reasonable advice for once— feeling  around with my sneaker for my phone. It couldn’t have fallen far. I love these trousers so much,  but I forget what a pain-in-the-ass these shallow pockets are.  

    I am back on my hands and knees, feeling around frantically for my phone.  I startle at the sound of a twig snapping in the distance. 

    Fuck this phone. I need to go.  

    Swiftly, I rise to my feet.  

    I am holding my breath, trying to figure out what is moving in the woods beyond me. I  notice a steady, billowing fog forming in the distance.  

    My body is screaming again.  

    GET OUT OF HERE!  

    I don’t question—I run.  

    I dart through the forest as the fog condenses through the trees. I run faster than I have  ever run before, somehow light on my feet. I run and run and run—how far did I travel inside  Sumner Woods?— 

    I come to an abrupt halt as I dash into a clearing. I can see the starless sky overhead, the  beauty of the night sky obscured by clouds. 

    The fog is gathering at the edges of the clearing. 

    What the fuck?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! 

    I scan the tree line for any indication of where I am and where to flee. There are signs I  should be looking for, I know it, but my thoughts are a jumbled mess and I cannot get my mind  to focus as my chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.  

    You do not have time for another panic attack, Miriam.  

    I realize that the voice in my head sounds a lot like my mom. Oh, how I miss her. 

    Mom, help me.  

    My thoughts are spinning, spiraling. I am slowly rotating, too, scanning for anywhere  to go. Whorls of mist drift towards me. 

    I don’t think; I react—darting ahead towards the other side of the clearing.  I have never run so quickly, moved so swiftly. I leap over a fallen branch, sprinting as  small branches slap against my face and grab at my hair.  

    I run and I run and I run and I do not remember Sumner Woods being so enormous,  but there is no end in sight to the forest ahead. 

    I run until my body cannot run any longer, pausing for a moment to catch my breath.  Over the sound of my ragged breath, I become suddenly aware of the unnatural silence that  surrounds me.  

    I cannot hear the patter of feet on the leaves, nor the breeze, nor the cry and caw of birds or the flapping of insect wings.  

    It is alarmingly silent. 

    Oh no oh no oh no 

    GET OUT!  

    I take off again, sprinting with preternatural speed. Adrenaline, I realize. Because my  body believes it is going to die tonight. 

    In the distance, I spy a faint glowing light of some kind.  

    A cell phone!  

    Hope reinvigorates me, and I run faster towards the bluish green glow.  

    I can barely see anything. My body is a battering ram as I run with my forearms raised  in an X over my forehead to protect my face from the stinging whip of branches and boughs.  The light grows brighter as I approach, and then suddenly, vanishes.  

    I halt.  

    “Hello?” I call quietly. 

    The same unnerving silence greets me.  

    Every hair on my body prickles.  

    I am being watched.

    HOW COULD I BE SO FUCKING FOOLISH?!  

    You cannot afford to panic, Miriam. 

    I can feel a presence at the back of my neck.  

    What are you doing out here, baby? 

    Tears well in my eyes. “Mom?” 

    You shouldn’t be out after dark, Miriam. 

    “I’m sorry, Mommy,” I cry.  

    You’re a mess, baby.  

    The memory surges from the depths of my subconscious and my body remembers,  anticipating: the warm, gentle touch of her fingers against my cheek, examining the cuts and  scrapes on my face. The refuge of her embrace, my face pressed against her waist afterwards.  The soft little sound she let out as she lifted my young body into her arms to carry me home.  The way I clutched her, sobbing against the side of her neck, enveloped in the comforting scent  of her perfume.  

    My body waits for my mother’s love, but it is a cold pressure that wraps me from  behind, seizing my breath, constricting my body.  

    Every single cell of my body is fighting—to scream, to breathe, to thrash, to resist. Winds wail around me. The mist grows thicker and thicker, the trees obscured. 

    Let’s get you home, baby. 

    HELP ME, MOMMY! 

    I open my mouth in a futile, soundless scream; my final, ineffectual desperate plea. Darkness envelops me. 

    And finally—finally—my mind goes quiet.