Each step was felt mundane, the darkness was starting to become more disorienting. I no longer knew how far or how close I was to the road or even if I wanted to backtrack to the cabin, just how far had I marched? This was bad, really bad, shit! I’m in a fucking nightmare right now; a simple romantic trip has somehow turned into something out of a damn Stephen King novel.
There’s a reason why so many horror movies are set out in the woods after the protective warm rays of the light are gone. There’s a brooding dread of not knowing what can’t be seen in the cold dead of night and what you can’t see can see you. What the eyes can’t see can play terrible tricks with the imaginations of the mind pulling forth the darkest boogie men and things that goes bump in the night we’ve grown to rationalize from budding youth into adulthood. But my boogie man was real, Mr. Sullivan Gray; every twig snap, every slight breeze of the wind felt like it was being made by him somewhere out there; stalking me from the shadows eager to do to me what he had done to Roxane. Part IV