One More Night (Richonne Story)

The Witching Hour

Like most nights since arriving, I found myself wide awake and staring at the wooden ceiling beams in the early hours before dawn. At exactly 3 am every morning, I was unable to settle back to sleep. I never had this problem in Atlanta, then again, I was working myself so hard that I practically collapsed from exhaustion every night.

Noah was softly snoring in his doggy bed across the room from me. On our first night here he had dragged the large round cushion he slept on from beside my bed and across the bedroom floor, finally positioning it next to the heating vent. I knew he would have preferred to sleep on my bed, but I couldn't really deal with all the fur.

I don't know why I went outside, but I did. I stepped out onto the porch and peered out into the pitch black forest. It was deathly quiet, the silence only accentuated by the occasional owl hoot and rustle of leaves whispering in the wind. I hated this time of night. I was never fearful of living in Atlanta but living in isolation in this cabin in the woods... It caused mayhem with my imagination. A loud cracking sound jolted me from my meditation. It was the sound of a large branch snapping in half, somewhere out in the clearing in front of the house.

I bolted back in, shut the door and locked; a darker voice, deep in my mind cautioned, it could be someone standing out there.

Watching the cabin...watching me...

Looking out into the forest at night through the wide windows in the living area, the sensation of something looking back. My mind raced over the multiple instances over the last week and a half since arriving.

I focused on my breathing, counting out slow measured breaths and utilizing the mindfulness skills Dr. Monroe insisted I practice. It helped a little bit. I let the anxious feeling pass over me, trying to remain aware yet unattached to the emotions and concentrated on the physical sensations I was experiencing. I held my breath. An animal, I reasoned. A perfectly normal sound to hear in the woods at night.

I gasped as a heavy thump resounded followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the snow. The freezing temperatures overnight left the snow hard and icy, so it was impossible to miss the crunch and grind of someone or something walking over it. I couldn't tell if it was human, but whatever it was had a strange gait. It was limping or dragging itself. Fear swelled through me, my fingers stung and burned and my breathing came to a halt as something began pulling itself up the steps leading up onto the deck

Thud... Whack...Thump, drag... Whack, drag... Thump, drag...

It definitely didn't sound human, but I couldn't even begin to think what kind of huge animal it was. Scared shit-less, ran upstairs to my room, grabbed my Beretta from the coat closet and the box of slugs that sat on the top shelf. No sane person lived alone in the woods and didn't own a firearm. I jumped back into bed as my life depended on it, switching on my reading lamp as I pulled the covers over me.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, my heart rate accelerating out of control, I simultaneously got sweats and chills down my spine.

With trembling fingers, I pulled the bolt back, loaded a shell, closed the bolt and then loaded the rounds into the magazine underneath. Everything seemed to have gone silent since I'd made my mad dash across the room, but it only took a minute until the noises resumed, this time it sounded as it something was pacing back and forth on the porch. There was a zero percent chance I'd be sleeping anymore tonight. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I was sure it would burst at any moment. I drew a shaky breath and closed my eyes. The metal of the gun was cold and I focused on the feeling of it in my hand. It was a reminder that I still had control in this situation. I was safe inside and armed. Whatever it was out there was just that – out there. I wondered what Dr. Monroe would think of my mindfulness techniques now.