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Skylar

My legs are on fire, and the darkness is suffocating as the woods close in on me. The brush is so thick on either side that it corrals me towards a fate I cannot avoid. While the darkness steals my sight, I can sense something lurking in the dense shrubbery. Its eyes follow me as I stumble along, tripping and falling over stones and branches. The palms of my hands are scraped raw, mirroring the flesh on my knees.

It is never-ending, sapping my strength until finally, I cannot run anymore, my lungs burning with exertion as I fall to the floor, vomiting from the adrenaline and rush of fear coursing through my body.

I crawl forward, not even bothering to dodge the pool of sick in my path. I just need to get away. I can feel something behind me. Watching. Waiting to make its final move. Waiting to get me at my most vulnerable. In the darkness, my hands find the edge of the cliff, the steep drop-off swallowed up by this never-ending night not scaring me as much as what lies behind me.

There is no escape.

On trembling legs, I rise, the small breeze that lifts my hair carrying with it a swirl of slate-gray and midnight-blue smoke that strokes my skin, wraps around my body like a blanket. It brings with it the aromas of sandalwood and pine. Apt that I should see my favorite scents as I'm about to perish.

Gathering my wits, I turn to face my destiny as I hear a branch nearby snap. The creature lunges, and without hesitation, I fall backwards, enveloped by sandalwood and pine as sparks erupt, starting at my hands and then traveling up my arms, and out, until my whole body is a live wire. This is it. This is the end. And then...

I wake with a start, clutching my sweat-soaked pillow to my chest as I gasp for air, my heart beating erratically in my chest. Remnants of tears wet my pillow, making the skin on my face feel tight and dry. Why I even shed tears was beyond me. This was a recurring nightmare, this instance breaking my streak of five weeks since the last one. The longest so far.

Ten years of this terror. The first one woke me on my eighteenth birthday, with tears streaming down my face and a sheen of sweat coating my body. Much like now. And while small details have changed over the years, its theme remains the same. I've scoured dream books, trying to interpret it, but in relation to my very normal life, it means nothing. And so I just accept it as part of my life now. Something I deal with when it happens.

Which is what I do as I roll out of bed and head for my second favorite place aside from my bed. The huge claw-foot tub in my en suite bathroom. Nothing like a hot soak to wash away the sweat, tears, and lingering uneasy feeling that always remains after the nightmare. When my fingers turn to prunes, I finally get out and get ready. Donning some boho pants and a loose strappy top, I get in some yoga and meditation, hoping it will help settle my mind, before heading to the kitchen for coffee and cereal. The morning is warm, a slight breeze carrying the scent of pine and earth through the large kitchen windows, framed by multicolored tiles, overlooking the forest.

"Little Benny, do you want a nut?" I ask when the squirrel I have made friends with appears at the window, its twitching bushy tail and jagged movements always making me smile.

"Here, be brave and take it," I say, offering him one of the chestnuts I have bought solely for this purpose.

Benny eyes me, then the nut, before shaking his tail.

"Not today then," I mumble, throwing the chestnut out onto the dusty forest floor and watching as Benny darts down from the windowsill, grabs the nut, and disappears into the woods with his treasure.

Dishing muesli and pouring myself some coffee, I head to the cluttered dining room table, shifting files out of the way to make room for my mug. While there is a small study in the passage, it is as unused as the guest room beside it. This was where I did most of my work. The light was great here, the kitchen was close, and the open-plan layout, with the kitchen leading into the dining room and then the lounge area, made me feel less claustrophobic than the small study. If I weren't working here, I would be working in the large sunroom that led out through two large sliding doors in the lounge area. The perfect place to grow plants year-round and a necessity for my business.

After finishing my cereal, I take my coffee outside to my other favorite part of the property, a small bench and chairs under an enormous pine tree. I placed them here last summer after buying this cottage on the outskirts of town just over a year ago. It's off a dirt road in a clearing surrounded by pine trees, with not a neighbor in sight. Just the way I like it and exactly what had appealed to me when I was looking for a place.

While my closest neighbor was miles from me, the trip into town was only ten minutes by bicycle, my preferred mode of transport. While I owned a vehicle—a beat-up jeep in the small wooden garage on the other side of the house—I only used it when it was freezing. I preferred cycling. The scenery was beautiful, and by the time I got to town, I was awake and ready to start my day.

Town is a place called Willow Falls and is home to around nine hundred residents. It's a small, close-knit community, with most families having lived here for generations. The fact that this town is so small and out in the middle of nowhere is why I wanted to settle here. I wanted a place where no one knows me and where I can be closer to nature, away from the noise and bustle cities are renowned for.

That being said, people in this town don't take to newcomers easily, and I was still struggling to fit in. I wasn't bothered by the fact that I didn't; I was used to living on the periphery of society. But I needed the local population to support my shop, and thus I had to foster relationships in some way.

I rented a small premises in town called Sky's Naturals, selling handmade creams, balms, shampoos, conditioners, herbal teas, and tinctures. Along with a wide variety of indoor and outdoor plants, herbs, succulents, and a small section of esoteric items such as crystals and candles. My love of nature and my desire to move towards organic products led me on the path I am on now. Making natural products and using plants' medicinal properties to make my items more effective. I grow most of the herbs I need. My affinity towards plants and the unnaturally green fingers I have, coupled with my ability to create medicinal tinctures that work, made this a good fit.

I'm broken out of my thoughts when Benny catches my attention, climbing up one of the pine trees nearby. Usually, the smell of pine is calming, but after this morning's nightmare, it is only acting as a reminder.

"Time to go," I say to Benny, who is already high up in the tree and not paying me any attention.

I down my coffee and head back inside, washing my mug in the now lukewarm water while marveling at the view. I love my cottage. I managed to get this place at a steal, as most people want to stay in town. The real estate agent, in any case, suggested that a place on the edge of town would suit me better. I assume it is due to the lack of warmth newcomers receive, and this place was available, so it worked out well.

My aunt and uncle, Trish and Robert, adopted me shortly after my eighth birthday, after my parents passed in a car accident. They left me a large sum of money on my eighteenth and twenty-fifth birthdays, set aside in the event of their death.

A blessing, as it allowed me to purchase this cottage outright and start the small business doing what I love. While some thought my attitude towards my parents' death and the money they left me was cold and blase, the fact that I cannot remember them without the help of photographs has distanced me from them. All memories of them are gone. Dissociative amnesia, they call it. I was diagnosed when I was younger.

I tried hypnotherapy a couple of times to see if I could remember what happened, but the therapist could not hypnotize me. After the fifth unsuccessful session, I realized I was wasting my time and money. I have come to accept that, maybe with time, the memories will come back, and if they don't, it could very well be for the best.

Grabbing a loose jersey from the rack, my sling bag, and a pair of slip-on shoes from the shoe stand, I lock up before hopping on my bicycle. When I reach the end of the dirt driveway, I stop, hesitating before turning around. As usual, the feeling of someone watching me lingers, scorched onto the skin of my back as if their eyes have marked me. I scan the scenery, looking for the source, but just like yesterday and the day before that, and the one before that, there is nothing. Nothing but a lingering uneasy feeling. And so I leave, telling myself that the erratic beat of my heart is due to exertion and not fear. Convincing myself that it is nothing.  

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