It is nighttime, and the moon is only half-full in the pre-summer sky. In combination with the streetlamps, it creates just enough light to cast my shadow out before me. I follow this over the familiar earthen trials to the edge of the forest I’ve grown to hate and love over the course of my first year here in Ashland.

I feel like I am being followed…

Some primal twinge of understanding deep within my chest sends out a warning to my brain that something isn’t right: I should turn back and find my friends, for there is safety in numbers.

But another part of me says, “Wait. No. You’ll lead the danger right to them.” And so I keep walking, taking comfort in the knowledge that I know these woods better than anyone else around. I can lose my tracker in the most remote parts of the park, where there are no streetlamps and where the trees grow too thick for even the moon to penetrate.

The end of the lighted trail is just ahead. Beyond it, there is darkness, and in the darkness, there is safety.

My pace quickens, though by no means out of fear. I am the most terrifying Force of Nature in these woods tonight, and not even the recent reports of mountain lions in the area can change that.

There is a knife in my hand. There is a confidence in my stride. I am making it clear through my body language and posture that I am not one to be fucked with.

Yet the primal urging in my chest which tells me I’m in danger only grows stronger, and I feel my grip on the knife tighten, stretching the scabs over my bruised and torn-up knuckles until they crack and bleed.

I am entering the darkness of the forest now, leaving the last streetlight in Lithia Park behind me. Like the doorway to some ancient citadel, the trees tower ominously over the path I am about to take.

My senses are heightened as my brain jumps into survival mode. Movement, contrast, sounds and smells all seem much more intense. If I were not used to the woodshock, this would be the point at which I’d begin to panic. But on the contrary, I feel safer now that I am away from the light, because in the darkness, it is easier for me to face my enemy.

Out of sight of the streetlamp’s glare, I take a moment to let my eyes adjust, and then I slink away up the trail, hoping that the darkness will have kept my pursuer at bay. Now, deeper into the woods, the feeling of unease lifts just slightly, and I feel confident enough to pass by a clearing in the trees where the moonlight sifts through the canopy.

It is not until I’m standing in the very middle of this clearing that my unease returns with a vengeance. I stop dead in my tracks, feeling as though a weighted net has been tossed over my shoulders. Then, a twig snaps to my right at the very edge of the treeline. I turn to face the sound, knife at the ready, heart pounding, knuckles still slick with old blood.

A figure is standing there between two trees, almost impossible to recognize, just out of reach of the moonlight. But the way he holds himself is distinct: proud, overly-confident, and guarded.

I am about to let out a sigh of relief, but suddenly, he holds up his arm as if he’s pointing an accusing finger at me and the moonlight catches something cold and silver in his hand.

I cannot properly describe what it’s like to see this. 

The gun practically glows in the darkness, and the feeling of dread that grips me nearly drags me down into the earth. But the rush of defiance I feel thereafter is equally as strong, and I know that I cannot run. If he shoots me, then so be it: I will not fall right away; I will stand long enough to show him that I’m not dying because I want to, but because I have to.

He pulls back the hammer and fires...