Terrified,

she pushed open the door

of the dilapidated cabin,

squeezed into stale darkness,

away from

the something on the trail—

a rustle sound 

simultaneous

with the swishing of her clothes.

No.

Not simultaneous—

there were always

those few milliseconds of echoes

intruding into her breathless pauses!

She knew the stories.

Push them back.

Don’t think about—

Safe here—

just close the door.

Someone will come.

When?

Troy would never quit fishing

with daylight remaining.

Would he

come back this way?

Or would he slip

farther down the river,

bypass this trail?

Those stories—

no!

Yes.

News stories of people—

always little people.

Kids,

small women,

attacked

in a deserted area just as—

Why had she

decided to find Troy?

It was a silly whim,

a stupid, stupid mistake.

Her news could have waited—

for weeks—

or months!

Now—

She surveyed cluttered forms

shaping in dim light:

lumpy

old

spotty

camelhair coats

on a sagging cot

in a corner,

a pair of missing boards

at the back

allowed filtered twilight

to bathe

her grasping eyes.

Goose bumps rose—

she had smelled

something

like this before.

A zoo?

No!

She would not

think about that.

Should she go back outside,

take her chances

on the darkening trail?

She knew now—

she couldn’t stay here.

A weapon—

she had to find something—

A squirmy sound!

Camelhair moved,

mewled

at a new presence.

Cubs fawned,

epiphany dawned,

she mouthed

a voiceless scream.

A large

tawny shadow

blocked twilight—

and

garnered

fiery

yellow

reflections

of

her

little

lost

soul.