by Greg Herren
I shut my door behind me and leaned back against it. I was still a little spooked by everything—hearing that voice on the recording saying my name was probably the creepiest thing I’d ever heard in my life. I still wasn’t completely convinced it wasn’t some kind of trick Carson was playing on me, but that didn’t explain the cold or the weird emotions I experienced in the cemetery. The bedroom was really cold, but that was because when we’d arrived it had been warm and stuffy and I’d turned the air conditioning unit in one of the windows on high. I turned it down, shivering, and stared out into the pitch-blackness of the night for a moment before reaching up and pulling the blinds down.
I spun around and dashed from window to window, pulling down the blinds and pulling the curtains closed. There was something frightening about the darkness, almost threatening…
And I laughed at myself. It’s just the dark, you idiot, I reminded myself. Are you afraid of the dark now like a little baby?
There was a door on the back side of the room that led to a small patio deck. I made sure it was locked and the deadbolt slid into place, then sat down on my bed and took off my shoes and socks. Self-mocking aside, I still felt nervous and uncomfortable.
There’s something out there that wants me and is dangerous.
I shook my head and took a deep breath as I slipped my T-shirt over my head and shivered again. It was still so cold in my room, even though the air conditioner was off. I looked over at one of the windows, thinking maybe I should open one, let some warm air in.
But I couldn’t bring myself to get up and open the window.
I shrugged off my shorts and pulled back the covers, sliding underneath. There’s enough covers so I don’t need to open a window, I decided as I reached for the lamp on the bedside table. I turned it off and my room plunged into darkness. I closed my eyes.
The bed wasn’t comfortable, and the pillows were flatter than what I was used to. I stared up at the ceiling for I don’t know how long before I finally was able to drift off into a restless sleep.
And of course, I had a horrible nightmare.
I was in bed, but the room was different. My eyes were open and it was bright, moonlight was shining in through the windows, so I could see the cabin I was in was nothing more than just a big room, really. There was a rough-hewn door that closed and bolted, but the windows were open, and I could see the trees and the night sky. I was underneath a beautiful red and green quilt, but even though I was warm underneath the quilt I could see my breath, and it seemed like the air was getting colder with every breath I was taking. When I’d opened my eyes I had felt safe and warm, but not anymore—there was danger, I was in danger, something was coming for me, I needed to get out of the bed and get away from there, but I couldn’t, I was frozen in place, and I could hear it, outside of the cabin, it was coming for me and it wanted me, it was evil and dangerous and was going to kill me—
I sat up in my bed, my heart pounding, gasping for breath in the darkness.
I tried to control my breathing, to get my heart rate to slow down, and I wrapped my arms around myself. It was still chilly in the room, but it was more stuffy than anything else, the air hanging heavy and damp. According to the glowing red numbers on the digital clock on the night stand, it was just after three in the morning. As my eyes adjusted, I could tell it was lighter in my room than it had been when I’d gone to sleep.
Thirsty, I slid out of bed and went into the little bathroom. I turned on the light and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, and my eyes were red and bloodshot and swollen. I got a glass of cold water and gulped it down. I put the glass back on the sink and splashed cold water on my face.
“It was just a dream, that’s all, and is it any wonder you had a nightmare after hanging out in a cemetery all night?” I said to myself in the mirror.
And that’s when I heard it.
At first, I wasn’t sure I was even hearing anything at all. The wind was blowing around the cabin, and I’d heard the trees in the forest just a few short yards behind the cabin rustling around ever since I’d woken up. Goose bumps came up on my arms, though, when I realized that the wind was trying to form words.
You’re really losing it.
And then I heard it as plainly as I’d heard my name on Carson’s recorder.
“Berrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee.”
Bertie.
Albert?
I sat down hard on the toilet and tried to stop trembling.
This was more terrifying than the dream or anything that happened in the cemetery.
You’re still asleep that’s it you’re still having the dream focus and wake up, Scotty, before you—
And then I heard it again, the voice, calling.
It sounded so sad, heartbroken and lonely. It was hollow—it sounded like what the wind would sound like if it could speak.
“Berrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee.”
There was so much anguish in the voice, like whoever was calling Bertie was in great pain.
I stood up and walked to the back door. I felt like I had to, I didn’t have a choice—the voice was someone suffering, someone is terrible pain, and I had to go outside and help.
I felt along the wall for the light switch I’d noticed earlier and flipped it up.
I turned the doorknob and stepped out onto the deck.
There was a light just outside the door, and the yellowish glow lit up the rough-hewn, unpainted deck and the three steps down to the uneven back lawn. The light faded just beyond the tree line, and within a matter of seconds some bugs and moths were flying around the light. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything out there. There was nothing to see, and no one.
The air was damp and there was a slight chill to it, but it was warmer out on the deck than it was in my room. It was still so incredibly dark outside—I could barely see anything outside the circle cast by the porch light.
I could see the path that led from the back steps into the woods fairly clearly. I’d noticed it earlier, when I’d checked out the patio after unpacking my suitcases.
“Berrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee.”
The voice was heartbreaking.
I walked across the wooden deck to the stairs and rubbed my arms to warm them up. My skin felt moist and damp.
It was amazing how silent the night was, other than the wind, and how dark the woods were.
Surely there were some nocturnal animals? Where were the owls?
“Berrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee.”
The sadness I felt earlier in the evening came back, filling me up like water being poured into a glass.
I felt like I was going to start crying.
I walked down the three wooden steps to the cold, damp grass. I felt like I had to find the person who was calling, take him in my arms and hold him, comfort and kiss him until his pain went away. I wanted to make his suffering stop.
I needed to make his suffering stop.
I started walking up the path, listening for his voice to come again. I stopped once I reached the tree line, peering through the darkness. I could vaguely make out the path as it wound deeper into the woods, beyond the warm yellow glow coming from the porch light. My own shadow stretched out into the woods before being swallowed by the darkness. I stepped into the woods—
—and froze in place.
The feeling of sadness and longing was fading rapidly, pouring out of me almost as quickly as it had poured into me. The wind was beginning to pick up, the trees and bushes rustling anxiously.
I could feel the temperature start dropping again rapidly. I started to shiver, my teeth chattering, and I could see my breath.
That’s not possible.
I could sense it. There was something—something else out there in the woods, something other than whoever it had been calling, something dangerous and evil.
I started backing up, one foot behind the ot
her, stepping back away from the woods and whatever was out there, my heart starting to pound faster and my breath coming in gulping gasps. I desperately wanted to turn and run, to get away from the dark and into the full safety of the light, back up onto the deck and slam the bedroom door behind me, turning the lock and sliding the deadbolt into place, pushing furniture over to block the door as an extra precaution, waking up my parents—
And tell them what, exactly? There’s a ghost or something in the forest that wants to get you? Get a grip, Scotty!
But crazy as it seemed, I knew, could sense, that whatever it was, it wanted me.
I could hear it coming, the unmistakable sound of something moving through the underbrush—the sound of branches being pushed apart and bushes being moved aside as whatever it was headed directly for me, and just like the dream I’d had, I was rooted to the spot, unable to move, just stuck there, every nerve and instinct in my body screaming at me to move, run, get the hell out of there, and the terror just rose inside of me, taking me over completely—
—and I sat up in my bed again.
It was almost seven in the morning, according to the clock, and was already light outside. I could see gray light around the blinds on the window with the air conditioning unit—that weird mix of gray and light and dark.
As I sat there, yawning, I heard it again.
“Berrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee.”
And then, as it faded away, the goose bumps back up on my arms again, I began to hear the normal sounds of the woods—birds chirping and cicadas humming and insects buzzing. A car drove past on the road, heading in the direction of the lodge.
Everything was normal again.
Had it all just been a crazy dream?
I swung my legs to the floor and noticed that my feet were dirty.
I threw back the covers. There were pine needles and dirty leaves in my bed.
I started trembling as I got to my feet and walked over to the back door.
The deadbolt wasn’t turned.
I swallowed.
It hadn’t been a dream. I’d gone outside, into the woods, during the night.
Maybe I’d been sleepwalking. So my mind imagined everything because I was really asleep, but I was just awake enough to be aware of what I was doing?
I slid the deadbolt into place and walked into the bathroom. I turned the shower on and brushed my teeth. The face that stared back at me out of the mirror looked tired, scared, and not really myself. “There’s no such things as ghosts,” I told my reflection firmly.
I stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water soak into my body, soaping up and rinsing off, hoping the hot water would leech the cold out of my bones and my muscles. The shower seemed to be returning everything back to normal. By the time I turned the water off and reached for a towel, I’d pretty much convinced myself the entire thing had been a figment of my imagination, a combination of the power of suggestion from Carson’s insistent belief in the paranormal, being physically tired from traveling all day, and emotional exhaustion from missing Marc.
After drying off and getting dressed, I went out the back door to the path. It was so strange how normal everything seemed. I could see my footprints in the dewy grass and, farther past that, my bare footprints in the dirt of the path—but they stopped halfway to the tree line.
“So I was sleepwalking and dreaming the rest,” I said under my own breath, relieved there was a normal explanation for it, after all.
Still, as far as I knew, I’d never walked in my sleep before, but that didn’t mean I never had. And both dreams had been so vivid—
—and don’t forget what happened in the graveyard—
—and I’d heard the voice calling Bertie after I’d woken up.
But that was probably just a remnant from the dream, after all. The dream had been so deep and intense, I could easily have still been dreaming even as I was waking up. That made a lot more sense than it being something paranormal.
And of course, I’d heard Bertie because my subconscious remembered Albert’s grave.
I went back inside and closed the door behind me. The room was getting stuffy again, so I turned the air conditioner back on, and I could hear someone moving around out in the living room. I opened my door and walked out there. Mom was in the little kitchenette, spooning coffee into a filter. She was wearing gray shorts and an orange Virginia sweatshirt, her hair was tousled, and she yawned as she put the filter into the coffeemaker and turned it on. “Morning.” She smiled at me, fighting another yawn. “You’re up early.”
“I had trouble sleeping,” I said as the coffee started brewing. My stomach growled.
“Did you kids have fun down at the lake last night?” she asked, giving me a tired smile as she sat down at the small round dining table. She yawned again. “I felt bad about not waiting up at the lodge until you kids got back, but we were all tired…and as your dad has to keep reminding me, you’re not a child anymore. You’re practically all grown up.”
“Yeah, well.” I felt myself blushing. “It was fine down there, I guess. We just hung out and talked, mostly. I couldn’t believe how late we were down there.” If you only knew, Mom.
“It’s weird, I had trouble sleeping, too.” She rubbed at her eyes. “As tired as I was, I thought for sure I’d sleep like the dead. It’s the weirdest thing, you know—your dad snores, and I can sleep through that. I guess maybe I’m used to it. The Bartletts must have a dog or a cat, I guess. I’ll have to ask them about that.” She yawned again. “And ask them not to call it all night long.”
I was reaching for one of the coffee cups in the cabinet over the sink when she said that, and I froze. “You heard someone calling?”
“Yeah.” She smiled at me. “Pour me a cup, will you?” She shook her head as I passed her a steaming mug of coffee. “I mean, really. I get it, you know—if your pet gets out you want to find it and get it inside. I wouldn’t want mine out all night with all the predators in the woods.” She took a swig of her coffee and sighed in relief. “I sure hope they found Bertie.”
My hand trembled as I filled a cup for myself. “Bertie?”
She nodded. “Was that what was keeping you from sleeping?” She went on as I sat down across the table from her, trying to keep my face expressionless. “I’m going to have to say something to Mrs. Bartlett about it today. I mean, they need to be a little bit more respectful of their guests’ sleep, don’t you think?” She winked at me. “I mean, we’re not paying them a small fortune to stay here so we can’t sleep at night.”
“Yeah,” I replied stupidly. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
She’d heard the voice, too. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t my imagination—someone had been out in the woods.
But it made more sense that it was one of the Bartletts out looking for a cat or a dog. I’d just heard the voice and worked it into my dream. And this morning, when I woke up, my subconscious mind had played a trick on me—I’d still been dreaming.
I wasn’t going crazy.
“Did you hear it this morning?” I took another drink and kept my voice steady. The coffee was bitter and strong. I generally took creamer and sweetener in mine, but we didn’t have any in the cabin—a previous guest had left the coffee behind.
“This morning?” She gave me a weird look. “No, I didn’t. I told you, it was the middle of the night.” She ran a hand through her curly brown hair, which she always kept cut short. “Did you? Surely they’d found whatever it was by then…Do you mean to say they were out there calling all night long?”
“It was probably my imagination,” I said hurriedly. “I mean, I thought I did, but I was probably still half-asleep.”
“So, how are the kids treating you?” She reached over and placed her hand on top of mine. I resisted the impulse to pull away—that would make her feel bad. “They’re not…there’s nothing I need to talk to anyone’s parents about?” Her eyes took on a steely glint.
“You were worried, weren’t you?” She gave me a sharp look. “I know I was. We thought about, you know, canceling the trip, but”—she sighed—“but we can’t protect you forever, and there are people out there who are assholes about gays, you know, like that awful so-called church in Kansas.” She made a face like she’d eaten something sour. “But much as I want to, I can’t protect you from all the ugliness in the world.” She got up and refilled her cup.
We’d had this conversation I don’t know how many times since I’d told her and Dad. I got it, and I also knew how lucky I was. It seemed like there were always stories on the news about gay kids being bullied to the point they’d kill themselves, and my parents wanted to make sure that things never got that bad with me. So they were always checking on me and making sure I was okay—I’m almost certain they were monitoring my Facebook page and my Twitter—but there was no reason. I also knew if I ever told my parents people were bullying me—well, heaven help the bullies.
“Mom, you don’t have anything to worry about.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine, and everyone else is, too. It’s just not a big deal. Yeah, I was kind of worried before we got here, but I should have known better, you know? They’re like family. I just”—I bit my lip—“I just miss Marc. And I hate that I can’t get a signal on my phone up here. I promised I’d call him and I can’t unless I go into town.”
“I know.” She patted my hand. “I wish he’d been able to come with us.”
“What?” I stared at her. “What do you mean?”