Our theme for the month of March is “monsters.”

Fog grasped at my ankles, its wispy fingers cold against my sweat. I ran in faint moonlight—the celestial orb attempting her course but finding no peace from a hounding pack of clouds.

The woods were quiet, save for my pounding breaths. Skeletal pines reached from the earth like buried giant arms straining to find life again. Their limbs pawed at me as I passed hurriedly through.

Once more I wished I had grabbed a jacket or put on some shoes, but there was no time. Taylor was gone. I was next.

My feet slammed the sodden earth. Toe to heel, toe to heel, sprinting ever onward. My arms tight against my sides, driving. Seeking purchase, my bare toes dug ever-so-slightly into the dark dirt. I needed to be my best. Be my fastest.

I drew a breath.

Focus.

Breathe.

Run.

We had a path—more of a trail, worn down over the years and by hastening individuals—behind the cabin, but that would have been too easy. The woods would have to work, roots and needles and rocks notwithstanding.

Barely had the thought crossed my mind than my pinky toe caught the edge of a stone. Down I tumbled, rolling into my fall and back onto my feet. Pain staggered my next few steps, but I had to keep moving. The ground was too slick to tell if I bled. I refused to think about it. It could be worse.

I spared a quick glance over my shoulder. Nothing. That failed to encourage me. My eyesight had never been good, and darkness, ever a fiend, loved twisting his surroundings into horrifying imitations. Those he chose to reveal.

Gradually the ground began to slope downwards, the hill the cabin rested on becoming more prominent. My eyes charted my path. Each staccato step necessary to maintain balance. Falling now would be brutal if not fatal.

I found myself longing for some companionship. An owl hooting. Insects, even, with their buzzing and whining. Anything to combat the silence. Instead, it prowled, growing larger as awareness darted around it, knowing it could not escape silence’s all-consuming hunger.

Behind me, twigs cracked.

Fear pushed energy through my veins. Fatigue forgotten, I bolted for a thick copse of trees, not once daring to look back. A second look would have broken me. The first burned within my mind amid screams, blood, and teeth.

Crashing followed me. Somehow I thought I would be faster. That I could actually flee. The thought was funny now, in an ironic way. I had always been a distance runner and not a particularly swift one at that.

I made it to the trees. I could hear its breathing now, gusty and deep. It might have even laughed.

My thoughts raced. Climb a tree? Too slow. Zigzag? Too stupid. Turn and fight? Stupider still. Eventually I would be caught. The outcome had been predetermined from the start—and we both knew it.

So I ran.

I ran, my body ablaze with pain. Lungs, legs, arms all wailing at my audacity. My feet were bruised and bloody. A large oak rose before me, slowing me as I raced around. As I skidded, something sharp tried to latch into my back.

Jumping and twisting, I threw it off. When I landed, my foot sunk into a hole. Down I went, head connecting solidly against some wood. My eyes widened, darkness filling them, and the realization seized me—

I am the thing that goes “bump” in the night.

Kyric Koning

Kyric Koning graduated in 2013 with degrees in English, writing, and classical studies. He is a curious individual (with a deep fondness for the parenthetical) who haunts the Grand Rapids area and works several jobs, but considers writing his primary one. He enjoys dichotomies, pluralities, and conundrums of all sorts, playing games (all sorts), reading (all fantasy), and observing the world and (all) its inhabitants. If he’s not working or sleeping, he’s probably writing one of his many novels.