The Splendor of Fear

by Ambrose Ibsen

  The walk seemed to last forever, but finally I came to a sickly yellow streetlamp signaling the way to the public restroom. I was able to make out the borders of the concrete edifice from the footpath, and when I was sure of my destination, I rushed towards it like my life depended on it.

  The bathrooms at this campground were depressingly austere. Tall concrete walls enclosed a number of toilets and open showers, which were themselves divided by smaller walls. The floors were also rough concrete, and the fixtures were all operated by pull chains. The water was cold and hard, and though I hadn't showered in it yet, I expected it would leave me smelling like rotten eggs. Lacking a roof and any doors, the local fauna ostensibly wandered the facilities at their leisure, making it likely that a squirrel or raccoon would join you during a routine scrub-down. In the gross, yellow light, the place curried about as much favor with me as a firing squad.

  But I didn't care. I'd reached the bursting point.

  Jogging through the ragged grass, I entered the bathroom complex, pausing only long enough to recall which way the toilets were. They were arranged in a row to the right side, and I hastily seized upon the first one I found. I didn't even care if the seat was dirty, if all of creation had sat on it.

  For the next several moments I knew only relief.

  It was when I'd finished using the facilities that my mind began to wander back to that foreboding stuff I'd hoped to leave behind in the field. I straightened out my clothing and pulled the chain on the toilet to flush it. The sound of the waste water gurgling down the ancient drain was raucous and unpleasant—the sound of a drowned man choking—and the yellow light drifting in from above highlighted everything in a nauseous neon hue.

  Well, nearly everything. The walls did a fine job of keeping the glow out of certain corners; depending on their placement, entire swaths of the place were cut off from light, resulting in rich pools of shadow where anything—or anyone—could freely lurk.

  Recalling the lonesome journey to the campsite, I comforted myself with the knowledge that, at the moment, Jared and I were likely the only campers in the entire park. There's no one else here, remember?

  Fat drops of water dripped from the back of the latrine as the thing finished flushing, and in the quiet they sounded like bombs going off. Pushing out thoughts of lurking figures, I started from the bank of toilets, eager to return to the tent. My shadow grew out in front of me as I wheeled around the corner, hands buried in my pockets, and the sight of it springing against the walls gave me a fright.

  That, and something else. I heard something that gave me pause.

  I'd very nearly reached the exit when I heard a sound from the opposite section, where the showers were. It'd been brief, over and done with in the space of an instant, but even in that short time my mind had been able to do a lot with it.

  Thwap.

  I stopped in the entryway, a tingling feeling nipping at my neck. It had been a wet noise; the sound, perhaps, of a bare foot striking wet concrete. I cast a nervous glance into the shadowed bank of showers, but as far as the light could show there was nothing to see.

  Now you're just being an idiot. No one is out here showering in the middle of the night. You must be—

  I would have been content to blame it on a curious raccoon if I hadn't heard it again, but I did—and this time it sounded clearer. Closer, too. Thwap. The damp pad of an unseen foot had just met the concrete, and I knew its maker was right around the corner. In the shadow.

  My mouth went dry.

  Thwap.

  I drew in a steadying breath and sidled up to the wall, preparing to run. “Is... is someone there?” I chanced, and the sound of my own voice wandering through the quiet shower area made my chest tighten. That quiet had seemed sacred to me somehow; a veil one oughtn't pierce—surely not with speech. But now I'd called out. The lines between me and this unseen occupant were open.

  Thwap.

  Something had come out of the darkness, was only just visible now. Cowering at the entrance, I could make out a new shadow splashed across the floor, and following it to its root, I discovered the barest edge of a pale, white leg.

  Relief—and embarrassment—hit me. See? It's just someone showering. They're going to think you're some kind of peeping Tom. “S-Sorry,” I managed.

  Thwap.

  The person in the shower section didn't reply, but took another step forward. I shouldn't have glanced, knew it was rude to, but I looked over all the same before exiting the building, and I was unnerved by what I saw. Or, rather, by what I didn't see.

  The figure had stepped to the right, causing their shadow to shrivel by a few degrees. From this angle, the darkness buried much of the leg that had been hitherto visible but unearthed new features I couldn't help but notice—and wince at—as I departed.

  The outlines of a face entered into view. Its lines were soft as if seen through the lens of an out-of-focus camera, and the features were mostly a blur. Even through the darkness I was able to parse an unmistakable glower however. It was in the eyes; they'd taken up the darkness of their surroundings so that they looked like two holes punched out of drywall. Vacuous and staring.

  Supposing that I, too, would be pretty damn upset if some stranger were standing in the doorway to the bathroom and watching me after a shower, I backed out of the building. I even blurted another, “Sorry”, while fighting back the chill that crept up my spine. This trip to the bathroom had been too eventful for my likes, and I'd had my fill of the fresh air. I started back to camp in double-quick time.

  From behind issued another Thwap.

  Arms bunched tightly around me, I quickened my pace, eyes raking past the chill grass in search of the footpath.

  Thwap. Thwap. The fleshy steps sounded louder, more insistent. And they were picking up speed, too.

  “Geez, I said sorry, didn't I?” I didn't dare turn around, uninterested in a confrontation. Instead, I kept my eye on the road, on the woods, on anything but my back.

  Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

  I couldn't say why, but the miserable clopping of those feet sent my pulse surging. I was suddenly sure that something was wrong, that I was in danger. There shouldn't be anyone else out here. Not at this time of night, in this cold. And not in the shower, of all places. I rushed onto the path and only spared a quick glance to the rear when I'd put some distance between myself and the latrines.

  “What the...” I squinted through the trees that lined the path. There was a naked shape—pale, vague, but assuredly human—in the entryway to the latrine. I was sure of one thing only: That I was being scowled at. Even at this distance I could feel a dark gaze fixed on me.

  I booked it down the path, the light growing distant and the trees choking the way ahead with shadow. The cold made itself at home on my cheeks, snuck a finger beneath the hem of my sweater, and a sudden gust of wind sent my already messy hair into a flurry. It's not even five minutes to the campsite. I'll be there before I know it.

  Maybe it was the murmur of the breeze, or else the echoing sounds of my own advance, but I thought I heard movement in the woods around me as I sped down the path—the sound of feet beating the cold, packed earth to my back. I resisted the urge to turn around, but the further I went, the less sure I became that it was merely my imagination.

  The path struck out to the right—a change in direction I couldn't remember from my various trips. I slowed a bit, the cold air freezing out my lungs and leaving me panting, and eyed my surroundings. Was I still on the right path, or had I stepped onto a different trail altogether? I took a few steps back to make sure the trail hadn't split.

  It was then, as I idled in confusion, that I heard it.

  THWAP—THWAP—THWAP—THWAP—THWAP.

  Someone was coming up on the path behind me.

  Running up. The night came to life with the sound of their furious footfalls.

  Suddenly, I didn't care about what direction I was heading in. The only thing that mattered was that I continued moving.
I broke into a jog and followed the bend in the path, searching for the break in the trees that would signal our campsite.

  From behind me, the pursuit continued.

  THWAP—THWAP—THWAP—THWAP—THWAP.

  Glancing over my shoulder as I barreled down the path, I spied shadows dancing across the ground. I couldn't be sure what was casting them. For all I knew, it was the shifting trees playing tricks in the moonlight. The alternative, though, was that my pursuer was almost in my line of sight, and that they would burst into view at any moment. Judging by the sound of their steps, they were getting very close indeed.

  I noticed a break in the trees, and parked within it, a glowing blue dome.

  The tent! I reached out to the trunks of trees, pulling myself forward as I charged towards the clearing. Arriving within feet of the tent, I slid to the ground and immediately began to crawl as quickly as I could towards the entrance. Pawing at the zipper, I dove inside and landed directly upon a sleeping Jared.

  He awoke with a start, lurching in his sleeping bag with a groan.

  “Jared, wake up!” I struck him in the cheek with an open palm.

  That did the trick. He stared up at me confusedly. “Penny, what the hell?”

  “There's someone coming!” I hissed, clutching at the edges of his sleeping bag.

  He shuffled out of the thing slowly, rubbing at his cheek and trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “Where?”

  I motioned outside. “I-I was in the bathroom, and there was someone in the showers, and they followed me all the way b-back here. They ran after me.”

  Rising with a grunt, Jared crawled out of the tent. I joined him as he began pacing around the campsite, barefoot and shivering. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted towards the footpath. “Down there?” he asked. “That's where you were coming from?”

  I nodded.

  Jared staggered to the edge of our camp and had a look down the footpath, arms akimbo.

  I held my breath, listening for disturbances in the woods. The leaves rustled in the wind, and from far-off, some bird loosed a dreary cry, but that was all I could hear. There were no pounding footfalls, and Jared's investigation of several moments turned up no individual lurking near the trail.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You sure you saw someone?” He tugged the front of his waistband down and began urinating into the grass with a yawn.

  “Yes, I'm sure! And I heard them, too! I could hear them running after me.” I'd begun chewing my lower lip since returning to the camp, and had broken the skin without realizing it. The taste of blood now filled my mouth. “If I'd stopped on the trail, they'd have caught up with me.”

  When he'd finished unloading into the grass, he straightened out his waistband and shrugged, sauntering back to the tent. “Well, sorry, babe. There's no one there now.” He placed a hand on my shoulder—a gesture he probably intended to console me with—and started back to the tent. “You should have woken me up. I'd have gone to the bathroom with you.”

  It was all I could do not to trip his groggy ass.

  We got back into the tent, and in usual fashion Jared was asleep within moments. It took me awhile to wind down after my trip to the latrines, and I sat in my sleeping bag, curled around my phone. Though the battery was half-dead, I spent awhile scrolling through social media feeds and catching up on current events. It made me feel somewhat normal; if I focused solely on the screen—and ignored the fact I was sleeping on the ground—I could almost pretend I was at home, in bed.

  I found a text message waiting for me from Diana. She'd sent it earlier in the night. “How's it going???” it read.

  I tapped out a quick reply. “KILL ME NOW.”

  My eyes did grow heavy, eventually, and I set my phone aside to sleep.

  Before I did, though, I noticed something.

  The date and time on my lock-screen.

  It was damn late, but that wasn't what'd caught my eye. What I couldn't help but fixate on was the date.

  September 14th...

  It was now September 14th, and I was dozing in a spot mere miles from where Ellie Pomeroy was murdered on that day, over a hundred years ago. The realization didn't exactly give me the warm fuzzies. Maybe it was her I'd seen out there, in the restrooms; perhaps she'd been the one following me back to camp. I knew how ridiculous that was, but the idea persisted even after several attempts to purge it.

  I bid the hope of good dreams adieu and sidled up to my snoring asshole of a boyfriend before tumbling into exhausted sleep.

  Eight

  We awoke to rain.

  “This wasn't in the forecast.” Jared gnawed off half of his granola bar in a single bite and chewed it angrily while fussing over his boot laces. The sound of rain pelting the top of the tent had helped us get some decent sleep, but it was going to make for a muddy, dreary day in the field. Thankfully, we'd packed ponchos, though we'd done so with the express hope that we wouldn't have to use them.

  “It'll be fine,” I said, trying to cheer him up. “I'm sure it'll pass.”

  This rain, it turned out, wasn't anything like the mist that had greeted us upon our arrival the previous day. It wasn't quite a downpour, but the drops were heavy and cold, and from the moment we stepped out of the tent, its effect on the landscape was plain. The grass glistened with fresh rain and the soil beneath our feet had noticeable give to it. Every step would have to be negotiated carefully, lest the soupy ground claim a boot.

  I drew up the hood of my poncho and looked up into the grey sky. All around me, the trees sagged with moisture. The sun had vanished behind a wall of dirty-looking clouds, and the wind that blew in from the east was colder than that of the previous day by several degrees. Though I'd dressed in layers, the bite of the breeze made me shudder, and we weren't outside more than five minutes before our cheeks were rosy.

  Our initial plan had been to do some fishing, but now that it was raining, Jared decided to scrap it. “Let's go for a little walk, yeah? Maybe some of the paths aren't swampy and we can get the lay of the land. Explore. Sound good?” He pointed across the campsite, towards the creek. “We'll set off that way, try and maintain some tree cover so that we don't get quite so wet.”

  Or, I thought to myself, we can leave all of this crap out here, drive home and snuggle on the couch. “Sounds good,” I lied. I didn't have any better ideas, and so followed him. Keeping my gaze low, I studied the ground and bypassed the muddier patches while my poncho trembled against the rain.

  The creek had risen a few notches since our last visit, and the current had picked up, too. “Good day for a swim, eh?” mused Jared, kicking a few pebbles into the turbid water. His pace was slow, purposeless as we passed our fishing spot of the previous day and trekked further upstream. “Wonder what there is to see out here.”

  Soreness plagued me at every turn; soreness from having slept on bare earth the night before, soreness from all the walking we'd done under load. Muscles I hadn't been acquainted with in years took turns aching as I trudged up the muddy bank. “Dunno. Maybe we'll see some ruins or something.”

  Jared turned to me, the vacancy in his expression fading suddenly. “Hey, yeah! I forgot about that!” He quickened his pace, and I saw his eyes skip across the water and through the woods. “I bet we will!”

  “There's probably not that much left,” I warned. “No one's lived out here in ages. I bet it's all been demolished.” Having seen a few photos of the ruins of Newsom's Landing, I knew we weren't in for anything too exciting.

  “Maybe. Guess we'll see.” He marched on with a wink, possessed by this new goal of surveying ruins.

  We'd only been here for a night, but already this trip had been a drag for us both. It was hard for me to muster enthusiasm for the whole thing, and the crappy weather had seen Jared's plans badly disrupted. If the weather didn't clear, I hoped he would quit while we were ahead and drive us home. Till then, I was willing to play along and go ruin-hunting with him. Though I doubted the woods
contained any relics of substance, perhaps there would be some spot that would serve for a decent selfie opportunity, or offer shelter from the rain.

  The further we followed the creek, the denser the woods became. Naked branches stuck out towards the water like thin, skeletal fingers, and ancient tree roots, straining for the creek, stuck out of the ground like the humps of gnarled sea monsters. Large patches of ground were covered in a rain-soaked carpet of leaves—a carpet that proved slick as my undisciplined feet puttered along. I'm an admittedly poor judge of distance, but we'd probably gone a mile before we saw something that warranted comment. All that way, we'd been quiet—me, silently cursing the slippery ground, and Jared beating feet as though he were Indiana Jones.

  “Look there,” said Jared, and he stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into him. “Now, what do you make of that?” He was pointing across the water.

  I followed his finger across the creek, past the swirling eddies of churning brown water, and began studying the opposite treeline. Amongst the trees that grew there, I noticed something that didn't fit. It was grayish in color, jagged-looking, and it rose up out of the ground at an awkward angle like a busted bone reaching through skin. “A wall?” I ventured, pulling down the hood of my poncho to get a better look. Though I couldn't be sure from where I stood, the feature looked to be the remnant of a stone wall. It had crumbled in places, and there was no telling what it had once been a part of.

  “That's what I thought,” he replied. “We should go over there and have us a closer look.”

  I chuckled. “Oh, yeah, sure. I'll just doggy paddle across the creek to get a look at some crummy old wall.”

  He arched a brow, and the smile that came across his lips was like a wolf's. “You wanna?”

  I took a step back, leaning against a soggy tree trunk. “You're not serious.”

  “Dead serious,” was his rejoinder. “We can cross the creek at one of the shallow spots. Even now, with all of the rain, there are a couple of places we can do it without having to get all wet. What do you say?”