Fleeing to the Woods

I encounter a bouncer with a build. A charming grin stretches from one ear to the other. Something about him doesn’t seem right though. Aside from his ominous smile, he has an air of authority. The look that he casts at me is dubious. He sizes me. In this way, his face is a mask. It is composed to have a peculiar effect on me. I put my imaginary earplugs in, and find a reason to leave.

“Trying to run away again are we?” he asks me. I don’t respond. He looks at me expectantly. I turn to the escort. He glares at me. 

 “Don’t linger,” the guard warns me. Digesting his order, I make my way to the gymnasium. The familiar scent of decay deluges the room. It is dimly lit. The area is dotted with an audience. I turn the corner and squeeze through a row. Several people glare at me. Others yell and shriek. A chair thrusts back and leans towards me. An amiable invitation by a lady. I sit and anticipate the arrival of the host. I try to chat with the lady to kill time. 

“ Is this your first year at the school?” I ask.

“No, I have to come here every year,” she replies. “My parents force me. They hope that this dismal place would allow me to adapt to a new mindset. The camp has many expectations. I ignore them and spend most of my time at the lake fishing,” she says.

“What about you,” she asks.

“This is my first time,” I say.

She says nothing. The host arrives on as if on cue to break the silence. A lady in a black gown takes the stage. She holds the rosary in one hand. A thick bible takes the other. Seeing her makes me boil with hatred and anger.

“Welcome everyone,” she says. The audience is quiet. 

“Another year has begun. The rules are the same. No one leaves these grounds. No poaching. And the most important rule of all: under no circumstances should you disobey these orders!” she yells.

“Anyone who breaks these rules will be punished severely,” she says. Her face is blank for a minute. Then she cheerfully adds, “ Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“You may go to your rooms,” she says 

She exits the stage; the audience clears the room. I run to my cabin, unwilling to face the horrors of the woods. Locking the door I set my belongings on the floor. The room is quite repellent. A thick layer of dust wraps everything. The floor is covered in cigarette burns and coffee stains. Since this is my third year at this school I should be used to its dim conditions. However, each year is a sick surprise. 

I begin to unpack. My survival kit consists of basic amenities and a book. I set my things aside to contemplate my next move. I decided to rest. Tomorrow is a long day. Climbing onto my bed, I pull the linens over me. I drift off instantly. 

I wake to the sound of metal pots banging together? What else is new? I get dressed and head to the canteen for breakfast. I grab my tray and stand at the serving area. The lunch lady looks up. Without saying a word she drops a ladle of goo onto my plate.

“What is this?” I ask, revolted. 

“Boiled wieners with macaroni and cheese,” she replies

 Disgusted, I make my way to the table. I sit alone as I always do.  The first bite of my lunch is awfully bland. Reluctantly, I try to finish my plate. With my head down I try to formulate an escape plan. This is my fourth attempt this week. I am determined to flee from the school’s clutches.

My fourth escape attempt will turn into my fifth. I leave my revolting tray at the table; I try to silently sneak out of the cafeteria. Gliding through the crowd gathered by the serving area. I zigzag through the crowd. This way and that. I feel as though I am a small fish swimming upstream. I am shoved. Pushed. Practically trampled on by the crowd. By the time I reach the gates I am covered in a thin layer of sweat. Worry and anxiety crease my face. 

Before I could leave the grounds, the bouncer stops me. 

“May I ask where you are going?” he says.

“I umm… I’m taking a walk,” I say, trying to look casual. He must have known that I was up to something. 

“Well don’t go far. Even if you do, we can track you down. Your consequences won’t be pretty,” he warns me. 

“Yes sir,” I say as I swerve around him. I can feel the heat of his glare. His eyes shoot daggers. They pierce through me, sending guilt and dread up my spine. 

“Be careful. Remember that the woods are home to many horrors. Be sure to stay out of there. Otherwise, the woods might be the last thing you see,” he says. His boiling face has cooled. He smiles at me. It isn’t a sincere one. 

I turn my back to him and continue walking past the schoolyard. Shortly, I stand at a fork in the road. The right leads to a black market. The left leads to the woods. I have a life-changing decision to make. I can head to the black market and open up a new stall. However, that is where I was caught. Or, I can head in the direction of the woods, to hide from onlookers. I decide to take cover in the woods. I don’t have money to spend at the black market for survival. However, I carry a book of plants. I remember what the bouncer had told me. Remember that the woods are home to many horrors. Be sure to stay out of there. Otherwise, the woods might be the last thing you see. A threat. I force the thought to the back of my mind. Relying on the book for survival, I enter the forest.

Treading through the woods robbed me of my sight; it increased the rest of my senses. My lack of vision was regained with my wolf-like hearing. The faint rumble of the trees feels wet and heavy in my ears. The soil in the earth and the decay makes the air thick. The darkness evokes claustrophobia, though the woods stretch for miles. The slim path is made uneven by the clustered roots that divide it. Since I had no map, the hum of the birds was my only guide. 

I follow the calm hum of the birds. The deeper I venture into the woods, the more uneasy I am. I am being followed.

“Hello, is anyone there?” I ask. The woods parrot me. The voice of a stranger startles me.

“Miss. Alice, surely you would remember my warning. You shunned it.” he says. I turn around and am face to face with an eerie man. The bouncer. My heart leaps into my mouth. I could think of nothing to counter him. 

“You have disturbed the creatures,” he says. I look at him confused.

“What? The woods are empty. There is nothing here! I have trudged through half of the forest already. Why were you following me?” I ask. The anger and disgust that was pent up inside me are emptying. 

“I have had enough of your sto–” I am interrupted by the crash of a tree branch. I whip around. The creature holds a chainsaw in its right hand. A red balloon takes the other hand. 

“Clown,” says the bouncer. The clown looks up and nods. 

“Alice, we should leave,” he whispers frantically.

“Leave? Where to, friends?” the clown’s ghoulish voice followed. He forms a devious smile. His sinister smile stretched across his face, revealing bloody teeth. Several shrieks and a repulsive stench followed. 

“Join us for dinner,” he says. I don’t want to guess what, or rather who would be served for dinner. I back up, frightened.  I push the bouncer closer to the daylight and run. The clown follows my pace with the chainsaw. The warm humidity of the woods suffocates us. My clothes and hair, soaked with sweat, cling to my skin. The clown chases us effortlessly. He was clearly enjoying the hunt. Sweat rolls down my skin in thick, salty bullets. The bouncer’s legs begin to give out, so I push him further. The woods blur by us. My heart throbs inside my chest, as we approach the wood’s opening. The sunlight welcomes us. 

I look around frantically. The clown disappeared. He had probably retreated into the woods to hide from the sunlight. I pant with sheer exhaustion. My fatigue is replaced with shame and concern. The bouncer lays sprawled on the gravel. He is exhausted. 

“Are you alright?” I ask. When he says nothing. I proceed.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I help him up. 

“I’m quite alright Miss. Alice,” he says. He steadies himself. Then he screams at the top his lungs, “DO NOT EVER ENTER THOSE WOODS AGAIN!” 

“Yes,” I say. No more words are exchanged. We dust ourselves off and start towards the school. 

I hesitate. Curious, I turn back. I recognize the figure that stood by a tree. The figure of a clown. It smirks. In his hand a red balloon. The chainsaw sits on a rock, beside it. The clown’s stone eyes follow us down the gravel path that stretches ahead. I turn away, trying to wash my memory. We both know that night is the perfect time for a hunt. 

Sources:

1, 2, 3