Insolence

House in the Woods

I needn't have bothered returned home that evening. Celebration wasn't likely and I was more concerned with enjoying the afternoon than surrendering myself so soon to something that was inevitable. Why not enjoy the fresh, summer air? Why not get lost for a while?

The Trash and I trawled up and down lazy, picturesque hills of faded asphalt and yellow stripes. The trees fluttered their slurred, maple syrup hellos and thick sunshine goodbyes as we passed by. I found myself getting drunk on the atmosphere when the Trash began to putter and whine its last cries of life. It was always melodramatic, but this time... it was different. She was saying goodbye for the last time and no amount of garage mechanic know-how was going to be good enough to save her.

I slammed my hands against the steering wheel in knowing defeat. There was no point in shouting or throwing a fit. I knew this was coming; I just hadn't anticipated so soon. I was alone on a country road where the missing girls count was almost as high as the rate of incest in these back hills. I shuddered and feebly pressed down on the manual locks on either door, waiting with little hope that anyone would rescue me.

The sun was filtering below the trees much faster than usual. It could smell my lost soul; it's cruelty was not lost on me. Had so much of the day passed by? And just how far along this road of death had I wandered? My head found itself turning in shuddering anticipation for what might lie beyond the tree line. Bodies? Serial killers burying said bodies? Serial killers waiting to add to their body count? I sure as hell wasn't about to find out. The screeching sound of sirens passed me by somewhere and spoke volumes to the future I might be headed toward if I didn't do something.

I fumbled about in my pocket for my phone to call my parents. I'd never hear the end of this. They'd probably blame me for ruining the Trash. They hated that name. Swore the car was a Ferrari and not a twenty-year-old lemon with not near enough to make a drop, let alone the "lemonade" they spoke of making when life passed said things to me. Well, lemonade without sugar and water was enough to make me pucker my lips in reality, and I wasn't about to stop the puckering for the reality lemons, either.

Oh, boy. Another lemon. No phone. How had I been so foolish? In my mind's eye, it was buzzing soundlessly from the ledge of a dresser drawer in a cramped little bedroom back at home, the faded aquamarine walls peeling under the weight of many years of smoke, neglect, and abuse. My parents had shoved me in there to make room for Lola in the bigger bedroom. I hoped they found out just how much of a whore she'd turned out to be. Bigger bedrooms meant room for more people; Lola spent her time filling it with as many lovers as she could. She slept with men of all ages. She didn't care. And my parents practically turned a blind eye to it. She "needed the room for expression." Had I done anything like that...

My virginal self was growing worrisome being cramped in the Trash's empty body; I wasn't about to let it become my coffin. I opened the door and stepped out onto the edge of the road. The fluttering of the summer leaves beneath the weight of the setting sun urged me down the side of the road. It would take me hours, but perhaps if I hitchhiked...

A large, rumbling semi-truck found its way steaming down the road—in the direction I needed to head—and I began to wave frantically for it to stop and let me into it. I just hoped the driver wasn't a creep. The toothy smile that greeted me from behind the window told me that he would be anything but normal. He opened the door as he slowed the truck to a halt and flashed the few, rotting teeth he did have to me.

"Loshht, lehtle ledeh?"

My stomach churned and I shook my head, my lie as apparent as the fact that my car was not going to get me out of this one.

"If yeh want a rehd, I can gif yeh one. If yeh'll be meh ledeh."

That was all I needed to hear. I made like a doe and dashed so fast into the woods that I doubted he would remember much about me save flashing glimpses of my dark brown eyes or shocking blonde hair. They would blend with the trees all around and I would become some far-off, embarrassing memory. I was not to be had. I was not a trophy; no ride home was worth my dignity. I was in shock that a man would offer such a thing to someone he had barely met on the side of the road.

"What a jerk," I mumbled as I prodded limb and leaf from my path.

The darkness was growing with every passing minute along with my mountain of fears and woes. Would I be murdered in these woods? My mind wandered back to the flashing images of bodies and serial killers and I swallowed what had to have been three hard-boiled eggs lodged in the back of my throat.

In the distance, the silhouette of a house began to make itself known against the backdrop of dusk and forest. My spirits rising, I picked up my pace and began to run towards it, only to have dread drop and settle back into my core. This was not a house that I should have been running towards—it was the haunted house my sister and I had bickered about so many years ago when we would visit the nearby playground.

The good news is that I was close to the backyard. I must not have gone that far or at least made the right steps in the forest. The only problem was that I couldn't make out which direction would be best to expedite my trip home. And I wasn't about to take guesses in the thick cloak of murder setting in. I knew what I would have to do to make it through the night and my body was cocooning itself in ice at the notion of such a solution. I would have to go into that house and take shelter. What other options were there? What if that truck driver came back?

This idea spurring me on, I ran up to the creaking front porch where white paint peeled and faded to gray. The house was mottled with Death and history reaching decades, if not a century, before I would ever grace its foyer or run my hands across its door. It ached and croaked about every move that I made across its porch to try and peer in through the front windows. I couldn't breathe.

"You're insane, Hybris. You're not even thinking. You should go back to the road. But no! You have to go and flag down creepy truck drivers instead of normal people. Now that's not an option."

The slanting shadows of darkness hid what I was sure to be a thousand demons, all waiting to race forward and drag me down to hell if I opened that door. I weighed my options: truck driver or demons. The snapping sound of footsteps in the distance told me what I would have to do. Hell didn't sound so bad compared to what some creepy axe-murderer in the woods might do to me.

With the brisk, cool air to lure me onward, I threw open the door.