Fauna pt. 1

Yes, I recall the day you're talking about. Quite vividly, in fact. You've come to know me better than most- I told you how days tend to blur into an indistinguishable jumble for me. Well not so for that day. Clear as when I lived it. I've never let myself forget.

By way of explaination, let me say that I did not live alone, obviously. However, custom and circumstance had given me a solitary life. When I woke, my housemates had already left for work. By the time they got back, I was usually consumed in reading or writing, insensible to hunger or social mandates. When, at last, I went to take my dinner, my housemates had generally gone to bed.

It is at this time, in the depth of the night, that I find myself most creative, most aware of the world around me. I have heard that creative people are more sensitive to the external world than the masses, giving them greater appreciation for its wonders even as it puts them at a greater risk...

Now, understand that when I say I went for a walk that night, it was nothing unusual. I find a little fresh air clears the mind and awakens the sluggish blood. Nor should you think it odd that I chose to walk on a night so oppressively bleak- utter cloud cover, torrential rains, unpredictable winds. I know it seems odd, but I always used to love rain, especially storms like that one. Gives us a not-so-subtle reminder that for all our science and rationality, there are forces that can batter and destoy us just around the corner- brooding in the darkened skies and lying behind shadows.

Never-the-less, of the several paths my usual excursions take me down, owing to the severity of the storm, I opted for the shortest route. Keeping my umbrella aloft in the onslaught was effort enough, and before I was half-finished, I was mostly soaked through.

It was at around this point in my walk that I began to become aware of the dull sensation of dread that had been building since I set foot outside. What was most curious was that the feeling was utterly without a source. The night was no more terrifying than I was accustomed to, and no special incident had hitherto aroused in me the seed of fear. I began to look behind my shoulder at first, but the remarkable oppression strenghed until I no longer dared to glance behind, for fear of what I might see. My pace had become all but an out-right run when a light caught and transfixed my eye.

On this particular path, I pass by the home of a man I never took an especial liking to. The man was old and unpleasant, scowling into his jowels at passer-bys. And, while I had not formed a favorable opinion of him, I never suspected him of any unnatural character. In his front yard, you see, there are a great many very old trees, gnarled with age. Quite unlike any other night, I saw that the man had installed a light at the base of one of the trees. And, while the rain seemed to push down the illumination, I could not help but notice that the light, shining up the trunk of that partiular tree seemed to cast strange shadows across the bark. Despite the rain, I found myself staring at a tree that seemed riven with screaming, shadow-cast faces.

Horrifed by this morbid observation, I tried to trace out the lines and curves of the knotted wood, and by dissecting its components, excise the illusion. However, the longer I looked, the more faces seemed to rise to the surface. Screaming, howling, moaning, cursing- I could almost imagine I heard the voices carried on the wind. When, at last, I regained my presence of mind and turned from that demention of my nerve-addled mind, I found with a start that the rain had stopped with me noticing it.

Shaking off the parade of anxiety that marched through my gut, I resolved to end my sojourn quickly and quit the night before another shock manifested. In this desire, I was quite twarted, for it was not long before I stopped dead in my tracks, skin quivering with unsummoned flush even as a shiver fell down my spine. In the middle of my path, there was a small, black animal. A fox, I guessed by the tail it flicked back and forth. In the meger few beams of light that creapt down from the slowly parting clouds, I could see that this animal was lean, its coat of black fur faintly pulled into contrast by the misty fog that clung around the beast like a luminescent aura. The creature's eyes did not gleam or glow, but seemed to smoulder, like dying coals; the moonlight twisted into a dull, deep red.

Here, at last, the source of my fearful ire seemed manifest. Though the fox made no movement toward me even when I passed it (with a wide berth to the side), the night-dweller seemed to radiate a sense of lazy hostility. It was not until I began to walk away that I heard soft, lupine foot-falls behind me. It seemed to be following me- at a distance, at first, and faster as I approached my home. The sense of isolation in the black of the night, as well as the many strange starts I had recieved quickened my heartbeat and I began to run when I imagined I could hear the fox nearly upon me.

I gained the entry and slammed the stout wood rather louder than I had intended. Catching my breath, feeling my pounding heart return to normal, I began to feel rather foolish. To run from a fictional antagonist like that simple fox... it seemed very silly of me.