A Short Story by Bekah Ferguson
(1 Minute Read)
It was late in November and I was taking a shortcut through the woods at dusk, when the trees were bare and skeletal and no snow yet on the ground. I’d taken this path to my house many times before in the daylight. But today I was late, the sun already set, gray quickly fading to black. When I reached the loneliest stretch of the woods, where the dirt trail narrows to single file beneath tree limbs that intertwine above like a cobweb, I could no longer see by moonlight.
I switched on my phone’s flashlight. Only the closest tree trunks were visible now, wherever the flashlight beam reached, and the gaps in-between were suffocatingly dark. Before I’d been hurrying, speed-walking, but now I had to slow down to avoid tripping over roots as the path zig-zagged. With a sudden jolt of fear, I became aware of crunching and scuffing from behind, like approaching footsteps.
My heart leaped to my throat and I tried to run, putting some distance between myself and the sound. I paused to look over my shoulder, flinging my flashlight beam behind me. Just an empty black path, walled in by trees. I listened, hearing only my pounding heartbeat, then the crunching started up again. Whatever it was was about to round the bend and come into view. I wanted to flee but couldn’t look away, transfixed. A fox appeared: eyes glowing white as it reflected back the light from my camera.
Relief coursed through my body and I hunched over, hands to my knees, laughing at myself. But when I looked at the fox again, my blood ran cold. Something wasn’t right, something was off. I peered closer. A flicker ran over its body causing a split second of transparency. Then its eyes turned vermilion as its whole body blackened and dissolved into a hairless, jiggling torso. Two skinny arms and legs with clawed digits grew out of it, and as it stretched taller and taller, its sinister eyes bore into me with a potent hunger.
I unfroze and ran from it in terror, sharp twigs whipping and stinging my face. I reached the back gate of my house, fumbling with the latch, and slammed it shut behind me, heart thudding against my ribs. I rushed toward my back door but skidded to a stop.
A fox sat on the step waiting for me, eyes narrowed and gleaming.
