Chapter2

#Chapter2

My mom has been writing her second book for a few months while working a regular office job. Now that we've moved, she's left the office job and is focusing primarily on her novel. It makes for plenty of silent mornings and evenings, but I suppose I have Grandma to talk to now.

/"I think I'm going to go for a walk. Explore this town,/" I say.

/"Sure, just be careful. Stick to the paths because you can get lost, trust me. And don't go too far. I'll be here with Grandma./"

I quickly get dressed in warm clothes—my old hoodie and a pair of jeans is the best I can do for now. After assuring Grandma that I'll eat when I get back, I slip on my shoes and hope that it doesn't start to rain.

/"Here, Wrenley./" I turn and see Granda with an umbrella. /"Take this just in case, okay?/"

/"Okay, thanks./"

It's a little cold and the ground is damp, but nothing ugly enough to stop me. I can finally walk through these giant trees and hopefully check out the beach as well.

Everything is a little wet. The concrete sidewalk is cracked and lush with weeds, and if I had rain boots, I definitely wouldn't be avoiding the puddles. A car will drive by every now and then, but such sounds grow distant as I turn onto one of the forest trails. The ground is spongy, sinking underneath my feet. My eyes roam over the protruding roots—some large enough to sit on. The people that live here must be tired of the rain and the cold and the darkness, but the smile that hit my face in the car yesterday hasn't left.

My fingers press into the moss that coats an ancient tree as I near the water. I can see speckles of deep blue through the green, and thankfully the path is taking me there. Just as the trees begin to thin out, something to my right catches my attention. Something coated in fur.

Leaving the path only a little, I step over roots and weave through bushes as I hear the delicate noises of what I'm hoping is a rabbit. I catch sight of the grey thing again and move slower. It has to be a rabbit.

The ground seems to get wetter the further I venture into the trees. Just as I am about to give up, the little rabbit shows itself down a dip in the forest. The path is just behind me, so I attempt to hike down the dip but end up sliding on my butt. My jeans soak up the dew and dirt as I let out a yelp. I mutter a few curses on the forest floor and try to wipe the dirt from my hands on to tree bark. Of course, the rabbit is nowhere in sight. /"Just perfect,/" I murmur and rub my hands on my swamped pants. The mud weighs me down and makes my face scrunch up in disgust. I never had to deal with anything like this in California.

As I turn to somehow get up the hill, a noise makes my heart jolt. I look back and try to assume that it's the rabbit, but the twisted branches and grey clouds are making it hard.

The sound comes again, like snapping twigs and rustling bushes and howling winds all in one. I suck in a sharp breath as a dark thing lurks in the distance, only visible for a second. Spinning around, I claw my way up the hill and dash for the path. My shoes seem to cake on more and more mud the more steps I take. I try to kick it off, but it's like cement.

The dark thing flashes in the distance again—in front of me. My throat dries.

I run in the direction of the road. When the sound of cars reaches my ears, a spark of hope ignites. I carry on through the trees and soon hop over the wooden fence and trample onto the sidewalk. Scraping off the dirt from my shoe on the curb—once I'm free—I hurry home.

The clouds break and sunlight seeps through. In a few minutes, I'm charging up the porch steps and crashing into the kitchen where my mom and Grandma are. They're up at the sight of me.

/"There was a bear,/" I shout and frantically shed my layers.

/"What?/" My mother leaves the table and comes to me. /"A bear? Where?/"

/"I was walking on the path to the beach and there was this big dark thing. I think it was a black bear. Are there black bears?/"

My grandma, flushed, says, /"Why, there are black bears here. I should call the town hall. Usually they don't get so close. They need to put out a warning./"

/"Did it get close to you?/" My mom asks.

/"It was close enough to know that I'm there. I think it was stalking me. It was behind me then in front of me./" I can feel the sweat on my face. /"I ran back to the street then here. I could have died out there!/"

My grandma grabs the phone and heads into the other room to report the sighting.

/"I mean, thank god you're okay. They need to be aware of such things. There could be other people out there with that bear around./"

I take a breath. /"I need to shower. I fell in the mud./"

/"Okay. Give me your clothes, don't put them on the floor. Hopefully they have a warning out in a few minutes. Just, let's be cautious from now on, okay?/"

I nod and hug her before really calming down in my steaming shower. As I scrub the dirt from under my nails, I can't help but contemplate all the possible outcomes of my stupidity. I have a new rule to live by; stay on the trail—things lurk in the darkness.