For 15 years I’d worn myself ragged carrying mail in the dense urban core of one of the nation’s largest cities. For 15 years I had gotten up at the crack of dawn and found myself returning home often well after nightfall due to the seemingly endless torrent of letters, magazines and parcels of every imaginable size and shape. I felt as though I lived in that dingy mail truck more than I lived in my own home. After a particularly grueling holiday season I had finally decided a change of pace was in order. I had been exhausted with the traffic, the noise, and having to maneuver my way through dense crowds of people while also trying to keep all my letters in order. I was sick of that lifestyle, and ready for a change. With each passing holiday season, with the ever-growing exhaustion and frustration, I grew more and more determined to make it a reality. Finally, one day I caught wind of an open route in a small town far north of the city I worked in. My eyes lit up at the thought of escaping the sardine can I felt trapped in. I could practically smell the fresh country air and feel the volume in my satchel lighten. I envisioned a scenic small-town life as I cruised my way to retirement. I couldn’t apply soon enough.

  Waiting was tense but soon enough I learned that I had been approved for the transfer. My heart lit up like the fourth of July when I read that acceptance letter. I started packing immediately. I couldn’t wait to get away from all the commotion and transition to a more laidback work life. It only took around two weeks for all the paperwork to go through and then I was expected to report to my new office. It was surreal, like a dream come true. On the many nights when I was out late, delivering the last few packages and letters to the upscale businesses at the end of my route, I feared I would be stuck in that overburdened big city post office for ever. Escape seemed like a pipedream until I got that glorious letter. The time frame made for a somewhat hasty move, but it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t even care if a few nicknacks got damaged as I threw the boxes together. It was all just stuff; I could replace it. What was irreplicable was the opportunity I had received, that was what I really cherished. Before I knew it my last day in the old office came. A few equally exhausted coworkers gathered around that morning before work for a brief going away party. We stood around a store-bought cake with some cheap cups of coffee, and despite the modest celebration, I felt like I had won the lottery. I could even sense a bit of jealousy from my coworkers as they congratulated me on the transfer. Even in the few congratulatory handshakes I received, I felt a tinge of bitterness. Frankly I didn’t take it personally. If I was stuck in that wreck of an office, seeing one of my coworkers making their getaway to a cushy small-town route, I’d be jealous too. I worked late that last day as well, but I wasn’t even angry. I knew all that would soon be behind me, and I even whistled a tune with a spring in my step as I delivered the mail. Some of my customers must have thought I had finally gone insane, seeing me in such a sunny disposition. Over those years I think they’d grown more used to seeing an exhausted grimace plastered on my face as I flipped through the thousands of letters for each building. None of it made any difference to me then, however, because I was soon to be free as a bird. That night I slept better than I had in years, knowing that I had a truck booked the next morning to whisk all my belongings up to the nice little house I found way up north. I woke up bright and early and savored what would be the last morning coffee in my musty old city apartment. Shortly after that, I was dressed and on the road. It seemed that with every mile I drove up towards my new life, I grew more and more optimistic. It was supposed to be a real new beginning for me. Between a work pace I couldn’t stand, a relationship that fell apart, and feeling as though there was truly nothing left for me in the city, I was intent on making the most of the fresh start and never looking back.

  It’s funny how we can get so attached to the idea of what something will be like that we refuse to acknowledge when those expectations aren’t being met. Like children meeting their favorite celebrity and struggling to accept that they aren’t all they built them up to be in their minds. As I first drove into the town, I must admit that it wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for. A bit off the mark of a quaint northern paradise, and a bit more of a truck stop with a few rows of houses around it. But I was excited for the fresh start, so I told myself it would be nicer than it looked at first. I wished to believe that the peeling paint on the buildings, the rust on all the cars, and the embattled, worn-out expressions on the few faces I saw were just bugs and not features. Perhaps I had just entered on the rough side of town, I told myself as I passed through the less than idyllic scenery. After all, it was too late to turn back, I thought. My new home wasn’t anything spectacular, but I knew I could make the most of it. After all, I had the salary of a very low-level government employee, I didn’t expect to be living in a mansion. However, even as I unpacked my belongings into the tiny house, I noticed that just as with the town, the house was not exactly what I was hoping for. I recalled when viewing it, the realtor had rushed me through, and admittedly put a suspicious amount of pressure on me to buy, but I had little other options, so I settled on it. Upon further inspection, the bitter feeling of having been taken advantage of began to creep in. The cupboards, which I hadn’t been given the time to look through, were filled with cobwebs. The tiny upstairs bedroom had a terrible draft that I hadn’t noticed earlier, and the water heater was like something from the Roosevelt administration. Despite being less than satisfied with the accommodations thus far, I held onto hope. I wasn’t looking to live like a kind, I told myself, I simply wanted to have time to breathe, to not be suffocated by my job, tethered to it like a dog on a leash. That still seemed like it would be what I could expect, and that thought helped me push through the earlier disappointing discoveries of my new life. As I found myself chasing a whole ecosystem of bugs from the crawl space, I repeated to myself like a mantra, no more traffic, no more honking, just a peaceful drive through the country every day.

  That first day of work felt as though it snuck up on me. I was barely a quarter of the way finished unpacking before my two days were up and I would be expected to be in the next morning. I was excited but also nervous. Given how little of that new chapter I had begun matched the expectations I had for it, a fear grew within me that perhaps the new route might also fall short of what I was hoping for. A nervous voice in the back of my head spoke in a panicked tone, ‘what if you’ve simply jumped from one frying pan into another?’ I did my utmost to shake that thought from my mind. Again, it was far too late to turn back. Whatever my new work life balance in that little northern town would be, I would have to learn to make it work. At the very least, as I prepared for bed, looking out the back window of my little shack, and seeing the wide-open field behind my house, with nothing but a few pines dotting the landscape, I did feel some peace. I had made my escape. No more traffic, no more crowds. I must have been worn out from all the unpacking because I ended up falling asleep right there on the couch in the living room. My eyes shot open like a reverse beartrap as the sound of my alarm blaring pierced my ears. I rolled off the couch and proceeded to prepare for the first workday, albeit clumsily given my unfamiliarity with the new home. The drive to my new post office gave me some relief, it was less rundown. Not that the buildings on it were in better condition than the ones I had seen while driving to my new home, but rather that there were fewer buildings in general. The drive took me past a long winding creek, over a few bridges and past a small neighborhood. The post office was so much smaller than what I was accustomed to that I almost missed it. It stood as part of a little strip mall, with a vacant restaurant right next door which it shared the parking lot with. The sight of it almost made me chuckle, I could hardly believe that little shack of a post office was where I’d be working until I retired.

  When applying to move within the postal service, they don’t exactly give you a great deal of details about the route in your new area. Yes, you could try and reach out to the local postmaster, but when I did that, he kept his comments on the route almost suspiciously blunt. I think I was just so excited to get out of the city that I didn’t even notice it. As I found myself getting settled into my workspace, I asked some of the carriers around the new office what to expect, and they too, seemed hesitant to say much about the route. It was as though there was something about it that they all knew, but some kind of pact of silence prevented them from discussing it with me. “It’s not terrible, you’ll just want to be done before dark.” Was the most common response. I heard it from at least three other mail carriers in the new office. I started to think it might have been some kind of prank, but it didn’t seem very funny to me. At first, I just shrugged my shoulders in response to it. Again, my desire for an idyllic fresh start brought me to intentionally overlook what I otherwise might have met with more suspicion.

  After preparing all my materials for the day and being pleasantly surprised at how much less there was to deliver, I packed it all into my new truck and started the engine. I pulled out of the parking lot and before long I was at the first delivery point. To my satisfaction, the route was quite beautiful once I finally got to it. The pine trees and the vast rolling hills were like something out of a painting. The houses on the route were few and far between, just a handful of little homes, much like my own, that didn’t get much mail in the first place. Several of them were simply unoccupied vacation cabins. The route seemed to simply go on like that, twisting and turning through the countryside, it honestly felt kind of therapeutic being out in nature, the fresh air gracing my nostrils as I pulled up to one house after another. I wasn’t sure why all the other mail carriers I had talked with were so weird about me making sure to finish before dark. The route was a breeze, forget getting done before dark, I thought I’d need to take my time otherwise I’d finish before lunch. I carried on the path of delivery for a few hours, and in no time the last leg of the route was in view. It extended towards the very edge of town, and seemed to mostly consist of one long loop, a circular stretch of road in a clearing. As I approached the area, the whole circle could be seen from the hill that led down into that circle of houses. The pine trees rapidly disappeared as the land below the hill came into view, except for a small patch of them in the middle of that large circle of road. There were about ten or twelve houses, all spread apart quite some distance like much of the rest of the route. I couldn’t help but notice there was barely any mail for those houses, but I quickly realized why. Out of the dozen or so buildings in that circle, maybe just a few of them had anyone living there. That wasn’t terribly strange in an area so remote, and at first, I thought they were just more vacation cabins. However, as I got a better look, I could see that was not the case. They certainly weren’t cabins. In fact, the closer I got, the more I noticed how big they all were. Frankly they looked like they were nice too, at least, maybe when they were new. They seemed to look a bit dated, maybe built in the 40s or 50s, but damn did they know how to build houses back then. If I could afford it, I would have loved to live in one of them. I was even considering asking any of the residents that were still there what the going mortgage might be for any of the vacant ones. But the closer I got, the more an uneasy feeling about the area came over me.

  As I made my way through, I noticed that the circle seemed to go on for much longer than it should have based on how large it appeared as I approached the path, and that thicket seemed to grow much larger than it looked from a distance as well. As I delivered mail to that stretch of homes, I couldn’t help but feel strange about that dense thicket. It was the same feeling I recall from my childhood about the dark corner of my bedroom that always made me uncomfortable. Even as I grew older, I knew that there was nothing in that shadowy part of my room, but it still made me nervous. That thicket gave me the same childish feeling of unease. Even though it was larger than it looked, it seemed so much denser than it should be. As I circled it, delivering to each mailbox as I went, I compulsively kept peeking back at it. I told myself that it was out of curiosity, that I just wanted to see if there was any portion of that wooded patch that I could see through to the other side, since it seemed like there should have been. After completing those last two houses, and circling the entirety of that wooded thicket, I could see that there was no such opening. The entire stretch of trees was as dense as any I had ever seen. Even though I told myself that I kept rubbernecking to see if I could see through it, part of me knew that wasn’t entirely honest. Truth be told, something about it made me uncomfortable. I felt exposed when circling that thicket, vulnerable, unsafe in a way that’s hard to explain. Like a field mouse that stumbled into a portion of the prairie where no tall grass grows, exposed to the watchful eyes of hawks and foxes looking for a meal.

  I did my best to brush off the sense of unease that thicket gave me. After all, it was just a short portion of my day, passing by a patch of forest that gave me a weird feeling in my gut. I spent very little time there and before long I was driving back to the post office. I should have felt some relief as the odd thicket grew smaller in my rearview mirror, but I didn’t. As much as I hate to admit it, my eyes kept instinctively darting back to it, as though part of me expected something to come bursting out of the bramble, chasing my truck. It was such an oddly paranoid state that thicket put me in, so different from my typical professional disposition. Its ability to set my nerves alite didn’t sit well with me, but as soon as it was completely out of view my shoulders relaxed and I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. As with everything else about my environment that wasn’t quite as picturesque as I had hoped for, I tried to reassure myself that it was nothing. I dug further into the mentality that I could make it all work and truly enjoy the fresh start I had wanted so badly.

  Once back at the office, I tried to make some new friends, and my efforts had some moderate success. Mornings at a post office are all business, or at least they’re supposed to be. Any chit chat while you’re supposed to be sorting out mail for the day might get you a scolding from the office supervisor. In the evening after everything is delivered is a more laid-back time, where some chatter around the punch clock is more tolerated. At the desk next to mine, there was a portly older carrier with a distinct salt and pepper beard, looking to be a few years shy of retirement if I had to guess. He had a disarming presence, one that made him feel approachable. I heard him making jokes with the mail carrier on his other side and while I couldn’t quite hear the punchline, it had the two of them in stitches. The bellowing laugh he let out as the other carrier started cackling made me feel he’d be a good first coworker to really make a connection with. I introduced myself and was pleased to find that he and the carrier beside him were quite hospitable. Allen was the older, heavier set man, and the younger trimmer carrier on his other side was Jerry. I quickly built up enough of a rapport with them. We talked about the job, what the office was like, and Allen let out a big laugh when I told him about my old office. “Finally got sick of the city huh? Can’t blame you. This place might be a better fit if you can stomach that route.” When he said that, it once again made me uncomfortable. Yet again, the same sentiment I had been told several times that morning reared its ugly head. I found it even stranger after having carried the route and found it to be a breeze aside from that odd forest at the very end. Given that I had gotten to know Allen and Jerry a bit better, I mustered the guts to just come out and ask them why everyone seemed to have a problem with my new route. “About that.” I started. “I asked a few people about the route this morning, and they all told me something similar. Like there’s something wrong with the route, but honestly it seems like a cakewalk. What’s the deal with it?” At that Allens face soured a bit, and Jerry excused himself to empty out his outgoing mail in the bin on the other side of the floor. His relaxed attitude practically evaporated as he made a face like he wanted to tell me something but felt like he wasn’t supposed to.

  I thought I saw his eyes glance behind him for a split second, like he was checking to see if anyone else was within earshot of our conversation. He looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually the words spilled from him like a leak in a dam. In a slightly hushed tone, he explained why everyone acted so oddly about my new route. As it turns out, the area has an interesting history. If Allen was to be believed the town was the site of a major battle of westward expansion during the days of manifest destiny. The legend was that the tribe that lived in the area was unlike any others. Other tribes in the area shared unsettling stories about them. Rumors of dark arts, old religions, even abduction of travelers who got too close for nefarious purposes. They were told if they valued the safety of their travels, they would leave that strange native nation that lived there alone. But in their vanity, the settlers pushed on anyway, many thinking those were just tall tales meant to dissuade them from claiming the land they felt was theirs. Supposedly, the peculiar tribe held out for as long as they could, but eventually when things ground out to a stalemate, the settlers blocked off the valley that led to the central village and starved them out over the course of a long cold winter. Just as the last man was about to perish, the legend says that he invited a cruel spirit, a thing older than the land itself, to plague the settlers in revenge for that terrible mistreatment. The spirit was supposed to be something dark and malicious that stalked the woods at night, tormenting the townspeople, the descendants of the settlers who had been so cruel to the original inhabitants. He concluded the story by detailing the fact that the thicket at the end of my route was rumored to be where that cruel spirit would come from each night, and that was why everyone warned me not to be out after dark.

  As he concluded, I stood there in shock for a few moments, unsure of what to make of it, or how to respond. I wanted to believe Allen was just hazing me, having some fun with the new carrier. I waited and waited for him to burst out in laughter, to tell me that he was just messing with me, but that moment never came. He must have noticed the shocked expression on my face, because he then piped up once more. “Look, it’s just a story, but some people around here are very superstitious, and that’s why we have a hard time keeping that one route covered.” Finally, after ascertaining that he was in fact serious, I was able to settle on a response. “It’s just a story though, right? You’re seriously telling me I only got this route because the other mail carriers around here fear a boogeyman that lives on my route? It’s not like anyone’s seen anything around there, right?” The man who was a jovial ball of laughter just moments before, was completely transformed into a shifty eyed nervous figure by the nature of our conversation. He seemed to swallow uncomfortably before responding. “Well, no one’s seen the thing, per say, but anyone who’s ever been by that thicket past sundown has reported strange things happening. For one thing, no one in that neighborhood seems to even think about leaving their porch lights on, almost like they feel the need to remain hidden. Multiple carriers have said they’d heard strange sounds coming from those woods if they stuck around too long, and feelings of being watched grow stronger if they don’t get out quick. Even the least superstitious people here who have had to cover that route say they just don’t like how they feel in the presence of those weird trees. But if you finish before dusk, you should be fine. Hell, I think we’ve got a few retirements coming up, if you can stick it out on that route long enough, you can hop onto another route and leave those freaky trees for the next sucker.” He punctuated that last sentence with a laugh that felt less like he was trying to convince me, and more like he was trying to convince himself. I gave a brief chuckle and a nod myself and told him I didn’t believe in ghost stories so I should be fine, but perhaps I was also just putting on a brave face.

  I finished the rest of my evening duties and before long I found myself punching out for the day. I told myself that Allens little ghost story had no effect on me, but as I walked out to my car, I found my heart racing as my eyes glided over the patch of pine trees at the edge of the parking lot, scanning for even the slightest hint of movement. After fumbling with my keys for a moment, due to a slight shaking of my hands, I scrambled into my car much more quickly than usual and tore out of that parking lot like I was a reckless teenager again. Though I hate to admit it, as I drove home, his story replayed in my mind like a skipping record. I think it impacted me not because it was compelling in and of itself, but because it confirmed that it wasn’t just myself who was unsettled by that odd thicket. Once home, I ate a hasty dinner, as I tried to push the story out of my mind. Ultimately, doing so was too much of an uphill battle, and before long I found myself typing the town name plus local legend into my computer. I stumbled upon a local historical sight, and to my dismay, Allen seemed to be telling the truth. At least about the legend being a true local folktale. I did my best to calm myself down as I read an article detailing local folklore that lined up too well with Allen’s story for it to have been something he was just making up to punk me out. It was still just a story, I told myself repeatedly. Every town had its own urban legends, right? I unpacked a few more boxes, trying to busy myself to keep my mind off it, before eventually settling into bed for the evening. I didn’t sleep well.

  I carried on with the route throughout the blooming of the flowerbeds of spring and the sweltering summer heat, eventually growing to look past the townspeople’s aloof nature and the somewhat isolated feeling of living out there. Part of me even grew to appreciate the fresh northern air enough to forget about the hint of unease that still crept about my mind. But still that circle of road stretching around the thicket continued to unnerve me each day I made my usual delivery to that stretch of houses. No matter how hard I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me, I still found myself hurrying, working as promptly as I could to ensure there was no possibility I would find myself there past sundown. As the summer went on and gradually turned to fall, I noticed that the thin stack of letters I delivered to those houses grew yet thinner as the leaves began to change color and fall from the trees. It started to seem as though all the remaining residents too, would disperse with the falling leaves. The continued exodus drew my curiosity like a magnet. As my luck had it, one day, one of the few remaining residents received a letter that required a signature, it was a bill from a utility company that paid extra for confirmation that the resident received it. It was the perfect pretense to inquire as to why everyone was leaving that circle. I wondered, could it have been that they felt the same uneasy sensation as I?

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  As I approached the house that the letter was to be delivered to, I began to wonder if it was appropriate to pry into the personal affairs of the residents. I thought about simply getting the signature and moving on, suppressing my curiosity for the sake of maintaining professionality. However, as the resident opened the door, I felt my curiosity resurge, rekindled like a dying fire receiving a splash of kerosene as I saw the look on the mans face. He looked like the most tired man I’d ever seen in my life. Deep wrinkles creased his face like a ravine carving through mountains, making him look much older than I suspected he was. Heavy bags hung underneath his eyes hinting at a lack of sleep verging on severe. If there was anything I could assume about him, it was that there was something deeply troubling the man. I asked him to sign for the letter, and he barely registered my request. It took him an uncomfortable moment of vacant staring before my words registered in his burdened mind. With a shaking hand he reached out to offer his signature. As he did so, I couldn’t help myself, the question just shot from my tongue. “I’m sorry if this is a bit personal, but it’s been driving me crazy. Do you know why everyone on this street can’t seem to move out fast enough?” Once again there was an uneasy delay from when I spoke the words to when his ears registered them. He remained in a trance-like state of exhaustion for a moment longer, leading me to briefly suspect he wouldn’t answer me. But then he responded.

  Even as he prepared to answer, before the words even left his lips, the direction his eyes were facing gave me my answer. He seemed not to be looking at me, but rather past me, towards that very same confounding thicket. “Well…I think the neighborhood just wasn’t everything the realtor cracked it up to be” he said, adding a nervous chuckle at the end. I could tell what he wanted to say, but that wasn’t enough. Something in me just needed to hear him say it. I pressed the matter further. “Is it something to do with those woods?” I asked, perhaps pushing further than I should have. At that comment, the man grew visibly frustrated. “Look, it’s just not what we were hoping for, ok. I’m actually very busy tonight and need to get back to my evening. Take care.” and with that the door was shut in my face so quickly it nearly collided with my nose. I was left standing there with none of my questions answered directly, but at least with one suspicion somewhat confirmed. Something about those woods gave these people the same feeling they gave me. And to think that they made me uncomfortable during the day, how bad could they have been at night? I perished the thought but felt thankful that I wouldn’t have to find out. Or so I thought. As I walked back to the truck, I couldn’t help but peer back over my shoulder. I noticed every window in the house was tightly shut and not a single light could be seen.

  In all my excitement over starting that new chapter in my life, and the subsequent situation with that eerie forest. I failed to remember that with the changing of the leaves would come a shortening of the days. The sun began to sink into the horizon earlier and earlier and the realization dawned on me; If I failed to work even more quickly than I already was, by the time the winter arrives, I could find myself passing that thicket in the gloom of night. I knew it was part of the unofficial motto of the postal service that such a thing would never deter me from my daily route, but as things started to get closer and closer, the idea of calling in sick to work became more and more appealing. As of the past week, I had just managed to get through that circle around the thicket as the sun was setting. The sense of discomfort seemed to grow stronger the closer to nightfall I found myself in its presence. As I cut it closer and closer, and found myself in a race against the sun, I even found myself sweating on occasion, as I parsed through the letters for the area as quickly as possible.

  Then came that fateful day in late November when we had received a fresh layer of snow. As I looked out my living room window that morning, the scene outside was like something out of a Robert Frost poem. A true “winter wonderland” as many would put it. The way the snow glimmered in the early morning sun was remarkable, like sand made of diamonds had been spread across the front lawn. I always loved the natural beauty of the early winter, when all the snow is crisp and clean. I never even minded the cold all that much; the beautiful scenery made it worth it in my opinion. But as I stood there with a fresh cup of coffee, looking out over the landscape, that sense of wonder remained elusive. The dread I felt knowing that before long I would have to deliver to that damned circle in the dark of night chased off any enjoyment I could have felt. That morning, I looked out my window at all of it and I only felt sick. I briefly thought about calling in. That idea gave a fleeting sense of comfort. Unfortunately, that comfort was dashed when I thought about it more. I recalled how long winters last in the far north, and swallowed uncomfortably knowing there would be no way I could put off delivering the mail to that curved road all winter. I would have to go eventually or find another job. I just had to shake off my nerves. It was just a creepy thicket, I told myself. Nothing more than a patch of wood that made the nearby residents uncomfortable. There was nothing literally dangerous about it, and I needed to be a professional and do my job. These were the thoughts that fueled me through the morning, the encouraging words that sustained me as I went about my usual routine. But still, in the back of my mind, I feared they were the words I would come to deeply regret.

  When I got to work, everyone I saw seemed somewhat shocked to see me. They had no reason to be surprised, I had looked over the schedule the day before and knew I was supposed to be there. Yet still, each of my coworkers seemed almost flabbergasted that I was there. “I-ian, good to see you.” Came a voice from behind, completely failing to conceal their shock, if they were even trying to in the first place. I turned around to see Allen, at his usual spot, but with a look on his face of deep concern, his eyes practically quivering. “Yeah, Allen, I’m on schedule, aren’t I? Is everything alright?” I felt the need to simply rip the band aid off and ask. He seemed to swallow before answering. “Yeah, fine, it’s just, it’s starting to get dark pretty early, you know?” “Yes?” I answered, a bit confused and starting to grow uneasy myself. “Well, just try to finish up a bit early, ok?” And with that, Allen returned his attention to his own work, trying to whistle in an attempt at lightening his demeanor. Ironically, the whistling had the complete opposite effect. The tune was forced, so obviously that it just served to raise my nerves further yet. At that point I felt a flurry of emotions. Frustration, confusion, anxiety. I felt it was beyond question that something was wholly wrong, or even outright dangerous about that thicket. I wanted to demand answers from him, I wanted to forcefully ask what in the world was making everyone so paranoid about that patch of foreboding forest on my route. But I didn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the office. I took a couple of deep breaths as I returned my focus to my work and tried to calm myself down.

  For as long as I’d worked at that job, a few deep breaths had often been what kept me employed. Taking a moment to pause and collect myself, as opposed to immediately reacting, had often made a tremendous difference in how I handled a variety of situations, but not that one. It was unlike anything I had encountered before. Those few breaths that had been so reliable so often, those few breaths that frequently kept me from uttering words I may have regretted or steadied my hand as I worked so many times before, at that moment did little more than assist me in keeping up appearances. Those few breaths helped me look normal but just beneath the surface I was still ready to crumble beneath my anxiety.

  Still though, what could I do? Should I tell my boss I couldn’t do my job because I was scared? I was an adult man, that was out of the question. I had no concrete proof that I was in any danger on my route, I had nothing I could cite as sufficient reason to avoid my responsibilities. There was nothing I could do or say at that moment to get out of the situation. Although, repeating to myself that I had no proof of any real danger in that area did in fact allow me to steady myself throughout the day. All I had ever experienced was an uncomfortable sensation, I hadn’t seen anything in the woods, not even a flicker of movement. An odd feeling, and nothing more. As I worked through the rest of my route, this was what I continued to tell myself. It was the mantra that kept my hand steady and my focus on my work. As I was almost two thirds of the way through my day, I had just about managed to convince myself that everything would be fine. Even as I saw the sun begin to creep below the horizon, my resolve remained. Then I began to approach that infamous circle. As it came into view, I felt that same resolve crumble like a sandcastle washed away by the tide. As I descended below from the top of the hill, the trees looked more sinister than before. Something about the eerie light of dusk made the branches look more like gnarled hands reaching out to ensnare any unfortunate passerby that wandered too close. They didn’t even look like the same woods as before. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my anxiety or not, but I didn’t recall those woods extending as far back into the horizon as they did at that moment. I had been there every day before, and for a moment I even thought I had somehow gotten my directions mixed up. But as I arrived at that first house, I came to understand that was not the case.

  My breath caught in my throat as I saw the sun sink below the horizon just as I pulled up to the mailbox. I had worked in the dark before but somehow the foreboding dark that evening was unlike any I could have prepared myself for. It was as though night had descended upon me hours before it should have. The headlights of my truck seemed like they could scarcely cut a few meters into the deep dark of winter that surrounded me. I could barely see the houses just at the end of the driveways as I began to deliver the mail. As I rolled down the window, I couldn’t help but feel my heart rate increase as the thin glass boundary between myself and the outside, that fragile barrier that had managed to allow me some sense of security, was stripped away, leaving a sense of vulnerable exposure as though I were a buck out in a wide-open field during open season. I found myself working much faster than I usually did, all the while cursing the misplaced confidence I had earlier. Despite the frigid cold of the outside air, I could feel myself begin to perspire as my eyes darted between the tray of letters and the woods like a tennis ball being volleyed between two professional players. I felt a desperate need to keep an eye on it, to be ready for whatever horrors might emerge from it. What that could be, I couldn’t say but my gut screamed at me to be vigilant. Soon enough the temptation was too much and after every home I found my head jolting back to gaze at the forest, I dreaded the thought of losing sight of it for just one moment. Like it was a fearsome beast that would ambush me if I were to lose track of it.

  As I approached the halfway point, I felt my resolve begin to return. Despite the increasingly biting cold and the hammering of my heart in my chest, I had come that far, and nothing disastrous had occurred. I was making my way through just as I always did, despite the all-consuming darkness around me. I began to feel a sense of relief at that point, as though everything would be fine, as though I was just jumping at shadows. However, that fleeting sense of relief was dashed in an instant by a sudden alarming beeping, that nearly caused me to hit my head on the roof of the truck from how high it made me jump in my seat. The sound came from my “scanner”, the handheld device we use to electronically confirm that packages are delivered, as well as communicate with the office. The scanner could also be used to send alerts out to the mail carriers, and as I reached for it, my heart rate spiked right back up as I could feel dread welling up within me. What on earth could they want? I thought as I checked to see what the notification was.

  When I read what the text alert said, I felt the pang of anxiety return with a vengeance. ‘Warning, an animal alert has been reported in your area. Exercise caution and situational awareness when delivering.” The pit that built up in my stomach felt as though I had swallowed a stone. Of all times, and of all places I could have received such a notification, it seemed as though fate itself was trying to communicate to me that my sense of relief was mistaken, that I truly was in danger. Having no other options that I could think of, I just worked faster. I couldn’t see any animal or anything out in the thicket, so I just worked faster. I pictured the finish line in my mind, the comfort of a warm fireplace and a stiff drink waiting for me in the safety of my home. I think it may have been the adrenaline at that point that was moving me forward, I was experiencing a state of fight or flight, and I was surely attempting my best to fly. As I found myself approaching the final stretch of the road, by my memory I had only about ten houses left to deliver to, I was noticeably sweating, and working in a frenzy, but the steady confidence had started back up, it seemed as though I was almost out. Then I heard it. SNAP! A piercing crack of what must have been a tree branch from what sounded to be perhaps a few meters behind me. My whole body jumped, and a panicked gasp involuntarily shot through my lips. I could hear my own heart beating like a drum in my chest as I stopped in my tracks. I froze, staying completely still, trying desperately to discern any subsequent sound. That night there was no wind, no breeze of any kind, nothing that could have caused a small branch to snap, let alone what sounded like a substantially large limb. There was something behind the truck, I knew it. Part of me didn’t even want to know what it was, part of me just wanted to forget everything I had left to deliver, to just bring it back and deal with getting chewed out by my boss. But a larger part of me, perhaps spurred by macabre curiosity, felt compelled to know what it was. Against all the other voices in my mind screaming at me not to look, I simply couldn’t help myself. I slowly craned my head backwards and saw it. A scream tried to escape my throat, but I used every shred of my willpower to swallow it.

  In the thicket, was something unlike anything I had ever seen. I didn’t get a close look, but I saw enough to know it wasn’t a wolf or bear, or any familiar animal from the wild north. What I saw looked to be human shaped, but it was utterly enormous. The thing was crouched down, seeming to be standing on the limb it had just crushed, even in its lowered stance it must have been at least eight feet tall, it seemed grey with a dingy matted fur covering it in patches. I couldn’t believe my eyes; I wished I were dreaming. The thing looked like something out of a nightmare. At least for a moment it just crouched there, I wasn’t sure if it knew that I knew it was there. Perhaps that was to my advantage. I returned my trembling hands to the wheel and decided to try and act as though I was just continuing with my route, as though I hadn’t seen the thing, because if I had just peeled away, I thought it would be more likely to give chase. I decided I would move normally until I started to approach my next destination and then I would slam my foot on the gas and escape the presence of that horrible creature. My throat felt as though it had closed as I initiated my plan. I kept my eyes trained on the misshapen giant humanoid gawking at me through the trees as I lightly pushed on the gas pedal. As the truck moved, it jerked its head in a way that made me jump again but it remained in its position. I couldn’t get a good look at its face as I began to move away from it, but perhaps that was for the best, I thought. Everything about that monster looked all wrong, my mind couldn’t even begin to guess what it was, all I knew was that I wanted to get away from it as quickly as possible. I made my way to the next house, gradually increasing the distance between myself and the wretched creature. With each meter I moved towards that next porchlight, my sense that I would prevail grew. I had just about made it to the curbside mailbox when I decided that was the moment to make my escape. Instead of stopping again as I’m sure the thing expected me to, I pushed on the gas and moved down that old country road as fast as the lousy little mail truck would go. Soon enough the creature was entirely out of view, and I found myself laughing nervously as I was on my way back into town. For a moment, I thought I had done it, I thought I had outsmarted that beast, I could practically taste the whisky old-fashioned waiting for me at home. But then I felt the traction of my tires sliding. Just as I was moving through the road that passed through the lightly wooded fields leading back to the office, the horror returned with my noticing that I had unwittingly sped right through a patch of black ice and my vehicle was no longer under my control. It glided almost gracefully along the road at an awkward angle, and I braced myself for what was to come.

  I was completely at the mercy of the frigid roadway, I could feel myself practically come to tears as the truck began spinning out of control, my body jerking with each twist and turn. As I careened off the road, everything was a blur. The last thing I could recall was the jolting slam of the truck against what must have been an old oak tree, abruptly halting me in a brutal crash that left me dazed and in pain. My neck was thrown by the collision but besides that, I was relatively unharmed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same for my vehicle. The side opposite the driver’s seat had slammed directly into the tree, crumpling the door, the wheel and part of the interior mechanics of the engine. The truck was totaled but the wreckage seemed to miraculously stop right before it would have caused me any more bodily harm. I had precious little time to savor my good luck with the crash before the memory of what caused me to drive so recklessly had returned. My heart sank, my eyes widened, and I wanted to weep as the dreadful realization washed over me, that the thing was still out there and I no longer had means of escaping it.

  My mind spun like a whirling dervish as I attempted to conjure up a plan. My eyes darted around what was left of the truck, desperately looking for anything I could use to defend myself, but as I was looking around, I noticed that while the front end of the truck had been a wreck, incredibly, the back, where extra mail and packages were normally stored, was intact. Most importantly, that included the sturdy metal hatch door that locks. It could be used as a makeshift shelter. The thought had never occurred to me before, but I saw no reason why I couldn’t barricade myself in the back of the truck and call for help. I did so promptly as I could see no sign of the creature, at least not yet. I shut the door between the back and the cab as quietly and quickly as I could, realizing with frustration that the sliding door could only be locked from the outside. With myself in the back of the truck I could only hold it shut as best I could and hope that whatever that monstrosity was that lurked outside didn’t have the mental or physical capacity to open doors. Once in the back of the truck I sent out a distress message from the scanner as quickly as my trembling fingers would allow me. Hoping that the office would call the police, animal control, or whoever to come get me, or better yet, take care of my abominable pursuer.

  After I sent that message I hunkered down in there and stayed as quiet as I could. The moments felt like hours as I waited to be rescued, hoping with all my heart that the thing wouldn’t find me. After a few minutes within the trunk, I remembered that there was a slot that could be opened to cool the truck in the summer. I could push it out and see outside. I felt it would be helpful to be able to have some insight into my surroundings, so I kept the slot open and watched it like a hawk, scanning the snow-covered woods of my surroundings from left to right on repeat. Soon enough I received a notification from the scanner that help would be arriving soon. That gave me little comfort as I had no idea if the grotesque humanoid was nearby, but nonetheless I held firm, and continued to watch my surroundings from my makeshift shelter in the back of the mail truck.

  I continued watching those woods for what I estimated was perhaps 15 minutes before my worst fear was realized. The thing was back. From a distance I saw it lumber out of the woods, and into the more open field. It was still quite far away but as it drew nearer, it walked into a patch of moonlight and I got my first good look at it, face and all. As I had suspected earlier, it was roughly ten feet tall upright. The way it walked was grotesque, it moved like a poorly built marionette, toddling on misshapen and unwieldy limbs. It was like it was some kind of Frankenstein’s monster, built out of miscellaneous parts not well suited to motion. Its limbs were long and ended in wide clawed hands. It seemed to alternate walking on all fours, and a somewhat hunched gait on its hind legs. The way it moved in the moonlight drained the color from my face, whatever that thing was, it was a damned thing, something not meant to be. I thought I could loathe it no more, but then I saw its face. It had grey sickly skin that seemed not to fit its form correctly, but that was far from the worst of it. Its face looked like that of a smiling newborn baby with blood red eyes perched atop that sickly body. The gleeful look on its face, like a child seeing its mother for the first time, made me outright hateful of the thing. It felt like it was meant to be a mockery of humanity. Such an uncanny, innocent visage atop such a monstrous form felt, in a way, blasphemous. The face was the same color as the rest of it, but it looked so out of place, almost as though it were meant to taunt its victims. The creature moved closer to the truck, I knew it could see the vehicle as its head bobbed around, but I didn’t think it could see me within it as I sat there and began to pray. I was never very religious, but I think even the staunchest atheists in such a position would find themselves inclined to pray. If the moments before then had felt like hours, the moments as I held my breath and begged god for the thing to leave me alone felt like years. Soon enough I began to hear lumbering footsteps outside of the vehicle. The snow crunched beneath its horrible, clawed appendages as it paced up and down each side of it. It seemed to be inspecting it for my presence. I heard the thing start tapping the sides of the truck, almost like it was trying to find a weak spot or see if anything was hiding in it. Although I couldn’t get a good look at it, I imagined the sight of a bear fidgeting with a closed dumpster on the last camping trip I went on. A brutal creature of the forest, clumsily fumbling with a human creation in attempts to access the contents within. After what felt like an eternity of the thing pacing outside the vehicle and occasionally tapping one of its long, horrid fingers along the sides, it ceased. But did not leave. I could feel tears streaming down my face, partially freezing to my cheeks due to the chilling temperatures but I dared not make a sound. My hands were wrapped around my mouth like a vice.

  It seemed the creature determined it would no longer find what it was looking for, and it began walking away. I heard its shambling steps begin to grow quieter as the distance between it and the truck began to grow. I couldn’t believe my luck. After I had practically consigned myself to be the things meal, the hope that I might survive the encounter was like manna from heaven. In that moment, when the infernal monstrosity that had sought me seemed to be giving up on its search, it seemed that the universe, God perhaps was granting me a pass. That was what I thought, but then, a familiar, abrupt, sharp, and loud beeping alert came from the scanner I failed to realize was still in my pocket. The sound was incredibly noticeable, designed so that I could hear it even if I was a little way away from my truck. I was just about certain the monstrous creature heard it too, and a horrendous gurgling screech confirmed that suspicion. Tears flowed down my cheeks like waterfalls as I heard its horrible shambling footsteps marching back to the vehicle as quickly as its limbs would allow it. The thing began slamming its horrible, clawed hands against the side of the vehicle with a strength that made my very bones quake. With each subsequent slam I could make out the sides of the truck beginning to crumple inward like tinfoil. The meager shelter I had taken would surely be torn apart within moments. I sobbed openly as that horrible screeching gurgle morphed into what sounded like laughter, the laughter of a newborn infant. Just as I could make out the glint of its claws, finally breaking through the mangled metal frame of the truck, I looked at the scanner and saw the alert. ‘Warning, an animal alert has been reported in your area.’ I wished I had just stayed in the city.