Rayna Wilson
“Man or Bear?”
Run.
Run.
Run.
Sweat seeps into my right eye. My vision blurs. Do I wipe it? Precious time.
Between the throb of my ankles aching and my thighs chafing and the burning sense of limited oxygen in my lungs, I can’t weigh the cost.
I don’t have time for this. I take the chance and glance behind me.
It’s not there. It’s disappeared. But is it a trick of the forest? It’s so dark. I couldn’t tell if demons were two feet behind me.
I use my shoulder to wipe the sweat out of my eye - running it back over with my hand for good measure. The zipper of my hoodie scratches that same eye. My poor eye. I don’t have time to care. There’s no time for pain in the woods.
Not when the top of the food chain could be right behind me. It’s faster than I am. More relentless. More brutal. One of the more intelligent animals.
What would I do if it cornered me?
I inhale for a moment.
What if there are multiple?
I notice a rock in my peripheral, but not soon enough. My exhaustion has kicked in and I don’t have the stamina of a fourteen year-old.
I trip over it, landing on my wrists. They sting.
All I can think is,
Oh God, what if it was after a fourteen year-old?
I hear the rustling of leaves behind me. It’s enough for me to spring to my feet. I feel a warm liquid running down the side of my face. Something deep within me registers that it’s blood. I don’t think I care.
My one goal is to make it to the parking lot. To my car. That blessed vessel that I drive to work every morning while listening to true crime podcasts. I want to cry as I realize I might end up being one of the many, many victims.
But I can’t cry. I can’t wallow. It’s behind me and there’s no stopping it. I start to gag. I want to hit myself. Choking only makes my location more obvious.
My husband had told me not to go for a run this late at night. Richie is his name: a calm, teddy bear of a man that had put a ring on my finger the year after college graduation. And even with the pathetic $5,000 we had shared in savings at the time, I unashamedly said “yes.”
“People are crazy this time of night,” he had said as I gathered my pepper spray, wallet, and phone at 8:00 PM, “not to mention the animals you might see out there.”
In the navy blue workout set and white hoodie I thrifted, I had bounced on over and planted a kiss on his lips. I said, “I run this trail during the day all the time. I got busy today,” and I reached into my pocket (yes, in the leggings!) to show him my pocket knife, “I’ll be fine.”
I had been so confident in that statement.
Now, the blood from my temple rushes down onto the sleeve of my jacket. Tears burn my eyes. All I can think is Richie buying it for me, jokingly saying, “Now you’d better not stain this one.”
I’m so sorry, Richie, I think as I run.
The sun had set long ago. At some point, I had abandoned the trail.
I wince, and chance a glance up at the moon. I’m pretty sure I know the direction I should be running, but everything on ground-level looks the same. I could be running in circles.
I hear audible footsteps behind me. I gasp. It’s getting closer.
I want to scream at the pain in my feet, toes, and calves, but bite down instead.
Then, a miracle. The trail. I can see it! Right around another tree. I almost sob. I might survive the night after all. I think about my husband. My daughter, Elle. I had accepted she would be growing up without a mother, or at the very least a maimed one.
I’m crazy, because I smile as I pound down the gravel road, and follow the barley-illuminated signs to the parking lot.
All I can think of is Elle's hair.
Elle’s hair.
Her hair.
Richie wouldn’t know what to do with her hair. It’s too curly. He’d have to take her to a stylist.
But I’ll be there, so no he won’t. I’ll be there to help. And I’ll teach him and her how to braid and twist and hairspray and slick back and do makeup and we’ll be the happy family we’re supposed to be.
I pump my arms into the crisp night air, feeling safe even in the open parking lot. I reach in my pocket for the keys and click “unlock.” My red honda civic flashes like it was waiting for me.
I glance behind me once more, but there’s just woods. Nature. Seemingly untouched apart from the gravel trail, and I think to myself:
Please, for the love of God, stay like that.
I’m so happy and proud of myself for getting out that I don’t even check underneath my car. I don’t flash my trunk with my flashlight before opening the driver’s door and throwing myself in there.
I rest. Every single muscle in my body releases. For the first time, I feel the throbbing in the back of my head. I think I need an ambulance. I pull my phone out of my pocket and place it in the hands-free device on my dashboard. I freeze.
I see the reflection in my phone.
A pair of green eyes stares back at me.
I try to scream, but it slams my head into the dashboard.
My last thought is that the monster left the woods and crept into my car, the only one in the lot.
It knew how to unlock the doors. It knew how to be quiet.
Because it’s a man, not a bear.
Rayna Wilson is an award-winning short story author. Her publications include The Exemplar, Tributaries, and Andromeda Literary Magazine. In May of 2023, she graduated from Dalton State College, and since then has been excited to add ghostwriting, proofreading, and beta reading to her resume. You can find Rayna on Instagram personally @rayna_mary_ann or professionally @writingreadingetc.
