Cold rain/nightmare

[Van Canna]

Cold Rain

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ShadowWm's Forum: Stories by ElkRobe: Cold Rain
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By Elkrobe (Elkrobe) on Sunday, November 5, 2000 - 08:20 pm:

<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>The rain taps its cold fingers, endlessly, against the back of a darkened world. Naked branches shiver in the wind as winter lashes its dominance. Altered by distance, a coyote's howl wavers in mournful distortion.

Walking alone, a woman hurries, choking back panic.

She cusses vapor into saturated air, rain seeping through the shoulders of her coat. She shudders. Prophetically, the flashlight flickers dim.

The face of her watch glows the time, almost three hours from the deserted car. Looking back, the blackness seems to reach for her, with hands shadowed and black. She shivers again, violently, not from the cold.

Maybe she should go back, the car at least was dry. But it seems worlds away, swallowed by the night and rain. How much farther? She isn’t sure, maybe miles, maybe just beyond the halo of light. She presses forwards, trembling with apprehension.

Vaguely she remembers. A farm, near the river, with a fence of cedar. There would be a phone there, one not dependent on signal strength. Thoughts focus on envisioned hugs of relief by mother and daughter. She stops. There's a noise, a drone, maybe a plane… no, a car, far away, approaching.

Encouraged, the pace quickens with visions of rescue, and thoughts of a soft seat, and warm air. The rain is harder now, as if to counter the rise of hope. In the distance, the car moves closer.

A cold lick of water finds its way past her collar, tracing the curve of her spine. She is miserable, her clothes chilled and clinging. Another wail comes from the dark, different from the coyote, baleful, nearer. An ill feeling flushes through her stomach.

Doubt seeps in, cold like the rain. Rescue suddenly seems lined with danger. Why would someone be driving around in the hills? It was late, stormy. She is alone, unarmed, vulnerable to malevolent intent. The odds seem to climb, from sure bet, to sudden-death high stakes.

Stopping again, she listens. Behind, the faint aura of headlights plays against the mist. Her heart pounds, warm breath billowing.

Indecision spins between scenes of comfort and horror. If she stayed her course, it would lead to safety, eventually. But the flashlight is nearly gone now, a weak, flickering shield against blackness. She moves ahead, the only action that, for now, needs no decision.

The wind hisses through the firs around her, trees bend and twist in dance to the storm's symphony. On the treetops, glows the jittery reflection of headlights.

She feels closed in, suffocating, floundering within her anemic bubble of light. Turning the bend, the vehicle stares towards her, with brilliant white eyes.

Panic is instantaneous, complete, primal. She turns towards her left. There is only sheer bank, a wall. A sweep to the right shows brush, and vacuous shadows. Nearly exposed, she jumps.

She is falling, landing hard on her side. Pain flashes from her hip; headlights flash above. Cold- thickened fingers search for injury; her face twists in grimace. She is bathed in darkness; the flashlight is gone.

A motor churns above, exhaust steaming up into the headlights. To her horror, it stops. It's a truck. The lights blink, as a figure crosses before them. She sees only glimpses, pieces of shadow moving in front of the vehicle.

A flashlight beam sears through the darkness above her. Recoiling, she tries to slink down, deeper into layers of brush and moss. Through dripping branches, she watches a black figure, directly above her.

She tries to hold her breath, to control the vapor, but it escapes in ragged puffs. The light sweeps to her left; a scream wells in her chest.

"Hello?" The voice is warped, distorted by rain and motor. The beam passes over her black pants, in its erratic route. Discovery seems imminent. Again, words are shouted, indiscernible. The figure retreats towards the vehicle. She croons her neck; in the glow, she sees it’s a truck, light green.

Realization is slow, fighting through fear and panic. Green truck… the Forest Service! The form, standing in the illuminated doorway, focuses familiar. It is her husband, a ranger, whom she left at High Station, hours ago.

She struggles for footing, her voice squeaking in her throat. The truck door slams, her scream for help unnoticed. Desperation drives her upwards; she cusses into the rain, scrambling towards the road. A dim light shines near the top; it's her flashlight, nearly out. The truck pulls away.

On the road, she tries to run, screaming. Her hip balks at the strain. Hopelessly, she flags the little light, crying pleas to the disappearing taillights. In moments, they are gone.

Limping, she continues after the dimming sounds of the truck. She turns off the light, saving the precious remaining energy. She is no longer afraid; anger burns red in its place. Waves of shivers, violent, wrack her body. Movement is her only chance. She drifts to thoughts of family, stumbling along the blackened ribbon of dirt and gravel.

Something diverts her attention; she stops. Ahead, lights dance on treetops. Exhilaration sweeps through, charging her tired legs. She races forwards, ignoring pain.

The lights are blinding, but she waves her dim beam towards the truck. In her mind, she is talking to him already, explaining, hugging his neck, kissing him.

The truck skids to a stop, rain flickering in the lights. She is crying now, overwhelmed.

Her husband steps into the curtain of light, but in the rain, the image wavers. The smiling face distorts, becoming unfamiliar. In his shadow, she sees the truck is red.

"Well, what do you know Jimmy boy. First a ranger, then a pretty lady, all within a mile. Who says huntin in the rain is no good?"

She turns to run, the flashlight slips to gravel.

The rain harasses a darkened world. A wail rides the night on a cold wind.

A little flashlight flickers to black, and from the night, distorted by distance, comes the mournful call of a coyote.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

[Van Canna]

<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>I saw the signs, I knew you were approaching,
I know I’m lost, I must proceed, am I strong enough
I feel you drawing nearer, the forboding signs, the depth
I don’t want you to envelop me with your intense force

To my right the calm sea, restores my self esteem
To my left an immensity of rocks overpowering me
In front luring me, inviting me, there’s only You
Behind, someone forcing me forward, I cannot turn back

I have to look ahead now, have to face the truth
Have to be strong, go forward, face my fear
You are beckoning me on, overpowering me I
Have to enter into your chasm, bearing down on me.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>


[This message has been edited by Van Canna (edited August 19, 2001).]