Fear The Fire

Chapter 2: Fearing The Unknown

Erika hopped out of her parents' silver BMW into the spacious backyard of her grandma's farmhouse. The layer of concrete which covers most of the area of the lot was frosted with crunchy snow. Her boots dug shallow footprints into it as she walked towards the house, struggling to adjust to the drastic temperature drop from the air-conditioned BMW to the winter weather. Upon entering her room, she noticed her grandma was there, starting a fire in the old furnace for her granddaughter. Erika smiled and thanked her, accepting her offer for tea. As her grandma, a short, plump old woman with dyed crimson hair, left to stir up some camomile, Erika located her book. She wrapped a heavy, woolen blanket around her cold body and planted herself beside the fireplace. She took a moment to examine it. There was something about observing fire, as its flames devoured a log of wood, gnawing on its crust until it shriveled, she found very enticing. Thoughtfully, she fiddled the pages of her book, her fingers locating the bookmark and scanned the paper on which she landed to pick up where her story was left off.

"Erika?" Mrs Blackwell's voice issued following a knock and the opening of her bedroom door, "We forgot to pick up some water on our way home. . . Would you mind running to The Well and filling up a bottle or two?"

Erika groaned, "Can't you or dad go? Grandma's making me tea."

"Come on sweetie, it's only 15 minutes. All you do is sit around and read anyway, it's good to stretch out your legs!"

Erika rolled her eyes. Of course she'd find a way it was 'good for her'. Her mother produced two empty water bottles, each the capacity of carrying 2 liters of water. She placed them next to Erika who, unwillingly, untangled herself from her cozy blanket. In her morose state, who picked them up and headed for the exit. From the coat rack she pulled a coat, her's this time, and enveloped the soft, green fabric around her shoulders. The fit of this one was much more flattering than the over-sized one. She debated looking for her gloves, but decided it would waste too much time and she just wanted to know what would happen with the main heroin of the novel she had left on hiatus yet again. The echoing of the heavy wooden door as she shut it behind herself was the last noise to disrupt the issuing stillness. How calming. The darkness had progressed greatly since she'd been in the yard just 15 minutes ago, as the sun was rapidly sinking into the mouth of the western horizon. The wind caught Erika's back once she was out on the street. No one there after dark. How peaceful. Walking completely alone, feasting on the unbroken silence. How nice. How unnerving.

Erika trailed down the familiar path leading out of the village. Her formerly established tracks left behind after yesterday's expedition were indistinct amongst an abundance of footprints; large and small and deep and shallow. Consciously, she kept an eye out for muddy patches. Even in the twilight, it was obvious there couldn't have been mud. The ground was covered with snow, but it was icy, not moist. And no rain had descended the valley in days. It wasn't impossible, the snow could've melted, but it was unlikely. . .

She spotted it up ahead. She could see the water pouring into the drain, she could hear it echoing louder and louder. She had premeditated the trip this time and brought her cellphone with her. As her shadow fell upon the small structure, she set down her two plastic bottles over top of it. She rummaged her pockets for her cell phone and used it to produce a narrow stream of light. It was somewhat comforting, not being completely enveloped in darkness, but at the same time supplied her with the unnerving feeling of being a much easier target. One of the bottles was soon placed above the drain and Erika listened as the water fought against its plastic surfaces. She was scared of lifting her head to examine her surroundings, but she felt not looking around could be doing her a much greater disservice.

The flashlight on her phone manipulated the shadows as it illuminated a field of view. The trees. . . There is nothing there. There is nothing there.

It felt as if she were a puppet to her own irrational subconscious. No relief sprung from her desperate efforts of rationalizing that this was just an old watering hole in the middle of a meadow next to an innocent apple tree plantation. The darkness was disconcerting it and whoever the puppet-master tugging at her strings was, he wanted her to be afraid.

The water began overflowing as it continued to pour into the plastic bottle beyond its capacity. Erika replaced it with the empty one and impatiently waited another few minutes. Then she heard it. An awful sound that ripped through her eardrums. A distant, very distant, wolf howl. The blood in her body went cold as her heart seemed to stop beating. It was impossible. There were no wolves in these locations, but she hadn't imagined it. Swoosh. Swoosh. She frantically began flashing her phone towards where she though the source was. Nothing. Towards the woods. Nothing. Towards the horizon. Nothing.

Maybe. . . Maybe someone in the village owns a wolf dog. . . Or someone's TV is too loud and they're watching a nature documentary.

Erika felt her pulse throbbing beneath her clothing. She tried to calm herself down, but collected the water bottles and looked at her phone. She couldn't carry it in hand anymore, she couldn't fit both the bottles under one arm. Well, she could try, but it would slow her down too much and she really just wanted to teleport home if possible. So she chose darkness.

Her pace was rushed, her breath was frantic and her step clumsy. The snow rustled loudly beneath her feet and she wondered whether this was good or bad. The alternative was complete silence. In all her haste she didn't even noticed it. In fact, it wasn't even there before she was right in front of it.

Erika lost balance. She tripped on herself and released the contents of her clutched hands as she fell forward. Her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and dumbfoundedness. She heard a high pitched scream and it might have belonged to her. She prepared herself for a painful collision between her face and the dirty ground, but none came as her body closed in on the muddy puddle beneath her, the words, ". . it's only 15 minutes. ." echoing in her otherwise blank mind.