Something in the Night

         The night seemed darker than usual, Thomas thought to himself. He knew the way through this hollow, as he had walked it many times before. Still he felt the thickness of the darkness weighing upon him. He didn't have far to walk to get home. A mile and a half at the most.
         It was a dinner party at the Parkers that had him walking this way home. He could have gotten a ride with Tony Hayes. But Tony had left the party unnoticed. So Thomas was destined to walk.
         Now there were two ways for Thomas to get home from the Parkers. The main road and this old hollow road. The main road was highway 243. It was a blacktop road that winded around the ridge. From highway 243, his home was a 2 minute walk. Had he caught a ride with Tony, Thomas would have been home in bed by now.
         The old hollow road had been a gas company access road many years ago. The gas company would use this road to check on their gas lines. It was now grown over from little use. It hardly resembled a road at all. It crossed a small creek many times in its short distance. For awhile the creek would be on the left. Then it would be on the right. And again on the left. But there was usually very little water in the creek. Only small, shallow pools, here and there along its way.
         To walk this road at night was proving to be difficult for Thomas. The moon was nowhere to be seen. And even moonlight would not allow his eyes to see the many rocks that littered the way. Especially where the creek and road would intersect.
         On he walked, stumbling more than once.
         What was the story..? Thomas could barely remember it. Something someone had seen in this hollow. An old wive's tale, passed on and on. He walked and tried to remember. He didn't really care what the story was. But the night and the walk and the old hollow road all seemed to be forcing him to remember.
         Dark and quiet ridges stood high on both sides of the old road and the creek. Unusually quiet. Maybe the creatures of the night heard him making his way along the old road. All that Thomas could hear was his own walking.
         The ridges. It was in the old story. Something about these ridges. These hills.
         He stopped. And listened. He thought he had heard something. Something other than his feet trudging along. He stood for several minutes, and heard nothing. The night playing tricks with his mind, his senses.
         He continued walking, and thinking.
         Doors in his memory were opening. Slowly, but opening. It was many years ago since he had last heard the story. He must have been 10 or 11 years old. He remembered it had frightened him. He had walked this road at night before and not even had a thought about an old legend. But tonight he couldn't escape from the thought. Who had seen this mysterious something..? And what was the something..?
         He stopped again. He was sure that he had heard something. He couldn't tell from what direction. But he had definitely heard something. He stood on the old road listening, but there was no response from the darkness except silence.
         It was Old man Johnson who had seen something. He had died 4 years ago at the ripe old age of 89. But it was he who had witnessed something in this hollow. And had sworn he saw it. What was it..?
         Thomas Smith began walking again. Now his companion was uneasiness. Walking and thinking. He began to feel as though he was being watched. A hard feeling to shake free from. And he was not able to free himself from this feeling. How much further, he thought. Not much more, he answered himself.
         Something seen in this hollow. Many years ago. Old man Johnson was not an old man when he saw it. But he had lived the rest of his life with the memory. How had the story been told..? Old man Johnson had been walking this same road at night, many years before. And he had heard something up on the ridge.
         Now Thomas was remembering. Old man Johnson had heard something. Sounds of movement up on the ridge. He had paid little attention to it at first, thinking it was deer moving about on their nightly forages. But old man Johnson had said that the sound began to move down from the ridge. Slowly moving closer. Moving parallel with his walking. And old man Johnson had stopped walking to listen. And the sound had stopped also.
         But as old man Johnson has begun walking again, the sounds began again. Brush moving. Something moving in the woods.
         After he had walked a short distance more, the sound was very close to him. So close it was like a breath blowing across his soul. Still he saw nothing.
         Until the flash of light exploded in the night. A fireball of intense light. It was less than 30 feet directly in front of him. There on the old road, in the middle of the night.
         Old man Johnson had looked at this unexplainable and horrifying sight for a few seconds, and had turned and taken off running as fast as his legs could run. He didn't even look back until he had run for 5 minutes. When he had slowed to have a look back, he saw only the dark of night. But he had seen it. He had seen the something.
         Thomas was now feeling something. A feeling of dread was welling up inside of him. He stopped. He had heard something. He knew it. He stood and listened. He heard it again. Now he was sure. Something was moving on the ridge.
         It stopped. But the sound had been closer. Panic was growing in him. Of all the things he knew, he knew he would never again walk this hollow road at night.
         The sound of movement again. And closer. He didn't have far before he would be safely out of the hollow and within sight of home.
         The sound again. Closer. He was at the point of making a decision. He didn't believe in old wive's tales, but he couldn't escape this feeling. A feeling he had never experienced before. As if all of the fright in the world were churning inside of him.
         He made his decision. He was going to run the rest of the way out of the hollow. As fast as he could run. And he started running. As he did, he again heard the movement. Again closer. That made him begin to run faster, though he was running faster than his eyes could see. And had his feet had eyes, maybe Thomas' night would have ended differently. But in his flight of fright, he came to one of the intersections of road and creek, and he tripped on one of the larger rocks of the creekbed and lost his balance, and his momentum worked against him.
         He came crashing down hard, face first into the rock-strewn creekbed. He felt the white-hot flash of pain, from the impact of his head on the rock, as he lost consciousness. And where his body came to rest was where the search party of family and friends would find him the next afternoon. Laying lifeless.

         Just below the top of the ridge a deer had stopped to listen. It heard something down below. It stood there silent until the sound had stopped. Nature had programmed it well. Then it continued its nightly ritual of moving through the woods.