Part 2: Night Help

      Near the house, vines wove through the fence like woody ropes, as if something in the woods wanted to pull it down. What would come out if it did?

      I began walking.

      The flashlight brought a small sense of security, though, if I’m being honest, any sudden movement would have sent me running. I took long strides while studying the fence and scanning for things hiding in the night. The dry leaves amplified the sound of my steps, and I felt loud and exposed in the dark.

      The fence’s construction—utility poles and chain link—was unremarkable except in height. It was very tall. The black screen that kept people from seeing in looked tightly woven, like cloth. The flashlight wouldn’t penetrate it. A slight hill preceded the first corner, and, after rounding it, I continued my walk in a new direction with even denser trees.

      Step after step, scanning the fence, surveying the path forward. Gripping the flashlight tighter.

      The scope of this assignment sank in. Miles of fence. Woods. If I had a Dad, would I be this afraid of the dark? That’s when I heard it: steps.

      I stopped and focused completely on listening. A brief shuffling, and then nothing. Keeping my feet still, I moved the beam slowly through the trees. A bit of wind stirred the branches. I told myself that was the noise and decided it was safe to keep moving.

      The fence poles looked old in this section, and to prove my attentiveness, I stopped to note on the map that they were weak.

      The leaves crunched on the other side of the fence.

      “Who’s there?” I asked.

      Nothing answered.

      I started walking again, faster now. The night air felt cool on my face. Something was following me. Matching my strides. Stopping when I stopped. Moving when I moved. I remembered the rule. And I started running anyway.

      Even over my pounding footsteps, I could hear it moving faster — keeping up. I quit looking at the fence, only watching obstacles. Still running, I grabbed the pole to make the turn—and ran into a tree. I went down just as something bashed into the fence, bending the links outward. Pink sparks flecked my vision. I could feel it on the other side. Using the tree to pull myself up, I waited for the thing to hit the fence again. I could hear it breathing. A few slow steps. Then nothing.

      “Don’t run,” I told myself, and began walking again.

      At the last corner, I saw the house and stopped to compose myself. There were no trees here, and I leaned up against the fence to rest. It had give, like the rope in a boxer’s ring, and it felt good to sag against it. I exhaled slowly. Everything went still. Then something brushed against me from the other side.

      “Ahhhhshit.” I jumped, turned and dropped into a crouch all at once. The fence gently surged outward like a baby pushing against the wall of a womb, and then it went back in.

      I walked to the house, unsure if I wanted to see Dr. Kettering. I wasn’t coming back. The door pushed in easily.

      The floor was covered in blood. I nearly slipped in it.