The Only Way Home

Chris reluctantly left behind his last regarded safe space as his foot propelled him off the school late bus and into an anxiety-filled evening. Taking this specific bus was the only available option for him to catch a ride home each night due to his recent choice to join the school’s football team. A decision for him, that was quickly becoming a regrettable one. The accordion door closed swiftly behind him forcing an air-tight seal between the security of the bus’s interior, and the cruel fall night where he vulnerably stood.

It was, as usual, this night as it always was. He was very much exhausted from a full day of schoolwork followed by barely surviving another evening practice, which he recently determined was designed to kill him. Chris sighed. He heaved his backpack over his shoulders and turned to face the mile long hill he was soon to embark on for the last time this week. The wind was ripping through from the west, attempting to pull the dancing trees from their roots, and creating ominous shadows that stretched across the winding road. The spider-like branches creepily scurried out of sight and disappeared into a vortex of darkness that even the moonlight could not seem to penetrate. Chris remained frozen still.

The air brakes on the bus released all of their pressure dispersing a cloud of pebbles and dust into his face. In a flash of familiar faces mixed with a yellow blur flickering across his view, the bus exited down the road rapid mile-longly out of sight. Chris’ hands waved a clearing through the dirt cloud that surrounded him, paused, then dropped them to his side with a dispirited thud. There was no one waiting at the foot of the hill, and though he had gotten used to maintaining the lowest of expectations that he would be warmly greeted and lovingly embraced, he still had held onto a bit of hope.

Unfortunately, the reality that this weekend was starting the same way the last ten before it had, begun fully sinking in, and he had to walk this hill once more this week.

Perhaps he was a burden, or his parents’ decision to make him walk alone was a life lesson he would later learn, whatever their excuse was, the refusal to offer a ride, even once in a while, was rude and unsupported. He hated this hill. He also hated the dark, and this country back-road offered both. It was the worst part about his decision to join the team second only to the physical death that he endured during every practice. Although, despite the setbacks, Chris regularly reminded himself that this was a calculated attempt in expanding his physical and social experiences while also allowing him to escape the alcohol-fueled arguments plaguing his home.

Chris usually diverted speaking of home when asked and mostly avoided the subject altogether. Similar to the others they lived in prior, this dwelling could not be claimed as their own, and for the past five months, they had been squatting on someone else’s land, only to recently move inside just before winter. The Property belonged to a middle-aged woman, Mrs. Hixon, who was a kind nurturing lady and was known to be most loyal to her flowers and garden throughout the year. She remained a dedicated state employee for over 20 years, which was a direct contrast to the personalities and lifestyle of his freeloading parents. The news they had gathered from local neighbors eluded them to believe that she had moved out after a lengthy divorce only a few years prior, and no one had seen either of them since. However long they would live at this house remained to be seen, but Chris concluded that it was far better than the tents that sheltered them over the spring. Its not like he could do anything about it anyways, so he never complained, but morally and ethically it never really settled well in his thoughts.

“Let’s do this,” he said to himself with an encouraging whimper.

Despite getting bulked up for the football season, tonight Chris’ fear of the dark woods and the creatures that lurked within them was not dissuaded, and he stood there as if he was the world'sIt's tiniest mouse. Though he was full of paralyzing thoughts, he eventually managed to muster a bit of courage; A combination rooted out of necessity, a growing pain in his stomach, and him channeling his favorite film hero played by Sylvester Stallone. Chris took a deep breath, then exited the edge of the street lights into the darkness that had become his familiar way home.

Like most back roads, the ones in Vermont are reliably unforgiving, usually littered with potholes, loose gravel, and the occasional slippery dirt, thus guaranteeing a bumpy ride and an even more sketchy hike. Thankfully for Chris, on this night, the moon dimly guided his climb to the top whenever it had a chance to peek through the patches of clouds rolling overhead. The wind busted through the bushes and quickly howled across his feet. As if a pack of wolves was nipping at his heels, his pace hurried onward, careful to glance over his shoulder every few steps. Shadows danced over him from the branches above as leaves and twigs snapped off in a winding flurry of chaos. They fell fast and hard into the deep ravine below, but not before beating themselves across Chris’s face. Somehow, he was on their way to their final destination. The branches reached out their monstrous arms seemingly trying to grab at him which surely was an attempt to pull him into the darkness where he feared he would be lost to the endless depths of the forest, forever. He wasn’t curious enough to learn that fate and instead ducked and dodged around every reaching limb as if his thick lineman legs were that of an agile running back avoiding every tackle to score a game-winning touchdown.

“Almost there,” he whispered to himself.

He stumbled forward, kicking the rocks along the road that he could not see, and attempting to stay upright while muttering pale attempts to build his bravery enough to make it home. His steps grew faster while he began using the energy that his coach demanded he was to leave on the field a few hours earlier. Tonight, he was glad that he had not. Chris’ mind was a mad alchemist fabricating the darkest woodland of evil around him, and causing his jutting eyes to search every direction for the next potential thing that could observably kill him. He twitched with anxiety. A crack of a twig frantically snapped his head to the right. He was in a whirlwind of fear. His footsteps mirrored his heavy breathing, and he tightened his shoulder straps to lessen his body from over-swaying.

“Just get home,” he urged.

The pointless conversation he was having with himself calmed his nerves at best for a few moments but did little to nothing to scare off the increasing hallucinations of the flickering pairs of eyes that stared back at him from behind the trees. They tortured him by keeping their distance. He wondered why they wouldn’t come out from the shadows and just take him alive. It would be easy to end it quickly, yet the monsters that followed him remained there still and motionless as if they were mocking him. A rustle in the bushes flipped him around, forcing him into a backward jog. Being on high alert meant that every shadow was a demon and every sound was a coming attack. Chris began sprinting and covered a quarter-mile in what seemed under a minute. He was singularly focused on getting home safely, and as quickly as his energy would allow until a flickering light began dancing through the trees just ahead of him. His pace slowed as the familiar porch light illuminated through an opening in the woods.

His fear-induced thoughts of the eerie forest, the dreadful trees extending their claws to snatch him, and the howling wind that chased him up the hill, began to recede, yet he realized in actuality that all the perils from the woods, he had just arguably and perceptibly survived, were likely minimal, in comparison to the real darkness that remained hidden from him behind his own front door.

Chris stood at the foot of the driveway, and decided to stay a little longer, in the dark…