Entry 9

I don’t postulate whether there is a god or not. I’m not interested in the answer to it. So, too, devils and demons.

August 16

The morning brought an eerie stillness to the cabin porch, as if our surroundings did not want to disturb us. There was birdsong, but muted, and I was certain I heard running water in the distance, as if a stream were hidden in the woods.

The woods. For some reason I hadn’t paid much attention to them the day before. I’d been busy meeting my retreat mates and getting settled in, and of course our dinner last evening.

“Where are we?” I asked.

I was sitting in one of the six wicker chairs that lined the front wall. My question was to Larry, who had been sitting there when I came out just as the sun was beginning to rise. It was clear he had not gone back to his bed after waking me from my dream—it may have been as disturbing for him as it had been for me, although he did not indicate this.

“I’m not sure, really,” he said.

Looking at him, I realized he was more handsome in profile.  It made me think of my own younger days—as if being forty-two made me past my prime. There was a pensiveness to his expression as he stared out at the trees, as if trying to determine for himself where we were.

“I went where the GPS told me to,” he added.

“We probably all did. This retreat center did not show up on my map. It was simply my destination.”

It was true. We had been given an address which, when entered into my navigation system, had indicated nothing was there—just land. As if we were in the middle of a field, or in this case, a forest.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “We’re here. It’s only three days—”

“Two more nights.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out what the program is today.”

Ah, I thought, the program. It had not been provided, and the only information I had to go on was the advertisement.  I had no idea if we would be doing morning exercises, or walking silently around the property. Mindfulness had been popular for a long time, and I’d even wondered if silence would be required of us at some point.

“What did you think of Phillip’s story?” I asked.

“I thought it was preposterous, but entertaining. A ghost story told round a campfire, or in this case a fireplace. And you?”

“The same,” I said, without as much certainty. “I’m an atheist, at least by inclination. I don’t postulate whether there is a god or not. I’m not interested in the answer to it. So, too, devils and demons. I’m not invested in the reality of them, if that’s even possible.”

“Witches and covens.”

“Tree people and walking sticks.”

“Although I’ve met a few wooden people,” he said, laughing lightly. “We’re sharing a cabin with one of them.”

I presumed he was talking about Harlan, a stuffy man from start to finish, but I didn’t offer it.

“When do you suppose we’ll meet the person who orchestrated this retreat?” I said.

He turned and looked at me. “That’s an unusual way of putting it. We were invited—”

“We applied.”

“We were accepted, then,” he said. “But orchestration implies … I don’t know … something sinister.”

Just then we heard it: a strange, almost mournful animal sound, as if something in the woods were pleading for attention. It wasn’t the cry an animal makes when its life is threatened. I’d spent my share of nights in my cousin’s country house and knew how alarming an animal can sound when it’s face-to-face with a predator. Nor was it the baleful cry of a wolf or coyote.

“What is that?” I asked, almost rhetorically—I didn’t expect Larry to know, although he may have.

Then the sound stopped, as if its purpose was to get our attention, and once it had it could go silent again.

Wondering in those moments about Larry and what he may or may not know, I became more curious. Turning to him, I said, “So tell me about yourself.”

That was the beginning, and the time would come soon when I wished I had never questioned him.

— Anonymous