Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

My skin turned cold, my stomach full of dread, but I forced myself to walk over to the spot in the woods. I searched the ground, looking for any strange depressions or rises, but didn’t see anything more than a normal forest floor.

I turned my attention back to the barn. It was in bad shape, one of the walls had collapsed, the roof nearly tumbling to the ground, ferns and trees growing up through the old stalls, every railing coated with damp green moss. The closer I got, the more my throat tightened. And by the time I reached it, my stomach was rolling with nausea.

It’s just a barn, it can’t hurt you. You’re safe.

It almost worked, but when I took that first step into the relic, keeping an eye on the ceiling to make sure it didn’t fall down, my heart felt like it had slammed up into my throat, and someone was gripping my chest tight, my breath coming in quick, short pants. For a moment I thought I might actually pass out as darkness closed in on me. I was hot all over and cold at the same time.

In here, something happened in here.

I turned and ran, getting halfway through the commune before I stopped myself, feeling like a fool. I looked back at the barn, my heart pounding and my breath still wheezing out of me. Stay calm, Nadine . It’s just a barn . But it wasn’t just a barn. Every cell in my body was telling me it was dangerous, that something could hurt me in there—something had hurt me.

Not something. Someone.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest, channeling my energy, concentrating on the feel of the ground beneath my feet, the cold breeze against my face, trying to remember: What had happened?

Then the hair on the back of my neck lifted, as though from an unseen hand, at the same time as a bird flew cackling up to the sky to my left.

My eyes shot open, and I stared at the dark woods, my body rigid, blood roaring in my ears, wondering what had startled the bird. I began to slowly back up, keeping my eye on the spot, searching the thick underbrush for an animal. Behind a large stump, just out of the light, there was a shadow, tall, like a man. Was someone there? I called out, “Hello?” No one answered. I stared at the shadow, sure that I felt someone’s gaze on me. I spun around and made my way swiftly back to the car, barely stopping to take a breath until I was inside and had locked the doors. I sat, waiting for my system to settle down, telling myself I was foolish—no one had been watching me. But when I looked back down the trail, I felt an overwhelming urge to get out of there as fast as possible.

I started up the car and reversed so quickly my tires slipped on the loose gravel, almost shooting me over the side of the bank. I put the car in drive and sped away. Not slowing down until I reached the turnoff down to Victoria. I’d finally found the source of my claustrophobia—but not the reason. I told myself it was just childhood memories blown out of proportion. I’d probably fallen down the haystack, or maybe got trapped in one of the stalls with a horse. That’s all. But still, I heard a voice in my head. Something bad happened in that barn.

The next day, Saturday, I was still trying to shake off the events of the afternoon before. I spent the morning going through some moving cartons that I hadn’t dealt with yet, unpacking, rearranging, storing the boxes in the basement, wishing it was that simple with memories. I stirred up some more when I opened a box from Paul’s office. I picked through his favorite pen set, medical books, the model plane that he’d wanted to fly one day. I remembered that I still had his old tool set. They hadn’t interested Garret at the time, but I’d kept them, thinking he might want them when he was older. He’d be thirty-two now. The last time we spoke, when I first moved to Victoria, he mentioned that he was house-hunting as well. It reminded me that we’d also talked about going for lunch in the New Year.

We’d kept in touch at the holidays after Paul died, but when Lisa moved out, the calls dwindled. I’d sent Christmas cards for a while, but then they started coming back with Return to Sender scrawled across the front. His mother had been a nightmare—moody, histrionic, passive-aggressive, and controlling. We’d tried to take Garret as often as possible, and Paul always made sure he was still part of his life. I’d also tried to bond with him, remembering my own longing for a family. But Garret was a temperamental child, and he hadn’t made the transition easy. He’d resented Lisa terribly, and with seven years between them, they hadn’t had much in common. But when Garret was around eighteen they’d finally developed a friendship and become quite close. That’s why it was so sad when she also stopped communicating with him after their father died. Garret had tried a couple of times to find her when she moved back to Victoria, but she’d cut both of us out of her life. I’d also missed Garret. Then, finally, when he hit his late twenties, he started calling me once in a while to chat, and we’d go for lunch or coffee when I was in Victoria, and we’d talk about his dad and Lisa.

When I’d done all I could in the house, I headed outside to get my bike, holding my breath when I spotted the black cat perched on the roof of the shed. She was still, her body tense, watching me. She looked thinner than last time, one ear missing a chunk. A battle scar from the fight? I went back to the house and got some food from the kitchen. Then I cautiously walked to near where she was sitting, eyeing me. I reached up and set the little blue bowl on the lowest edge of the roof. We stared at each other. I blinked first, then backed up, but stopped halfway to the house, still partly in the driveway.

If you want it, kitty, you’re going to have to eat it when I’m here.

The cat nimbly made her way down the roof, then strolled over to the bowl, head high, saying, I’m not scared of you. She gobbled up the food but still stopped every once in a while to stare at me, tail flicking. After a few moments, when I continued to talk soothing nonsense, telling her how pretty she was, what a good kitty, the tail flicking slowed to a calmer rhythm, and toward the end, a low purr at the back of her throat. When she was done, she sat, licking a dainty paw. I may be a street cat, but I’m still a lady. Then her head snapped up, she stared over my shoulder, streaked across the roof, leaped over the fence—and was gone.

I spun around, wondering what had startled her. I didn’t see anything at the end of my driveway, or at the front of the house. I frowned, all my nerves standing at attention as an edgy feeling of being watched spread over me. Was someone there? Ever since I’d made my police report, I’d been jumping at every sound. Then a man called his dog from the end of the street. So that was what scared her—a dog running by. I let out my breath.

I grabbed my bike off the back deck, where I now stored it instead of the shed, tossed my purse in the front basket, and pedaled down to the waterfront walkway along Dallas Road. I paused to watch the winter waves against the breakwater. In the summer, enormous cruise ships docked at Ogden Point, and the Inner Harbor teemed with camera-happy tourists and the clip-clopping of horse-drawn carriage rides. Victoria came alive with music and arts festivals, concerts in the parks, fireworks celebrations, float planes zooming in and out of the harbor, boats from all over the world dotting the water. I was looking forward to the summer season, but I also enjoyed these last few days of winter, when Victoria still mostly belonged to the locals.

I took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, glad I’d decided to get out of the house. After a moment, I continued on to Fisherman’s Wharf. Paul and I had often taken the kids there to feed the harbor seals—you could buy a bucket of fish for a dollar. Lisa had been obsessed and talked about becoming a marine biologist for years. She’d loved animals ever since she was little, begging to come to the clinic with her father, sitting up with a sick animal. Many nights we had to drag her home. We’d been sure she’d become a vet of some kind, but that was another dream that had fallen by the wayside. I still liked to go down and see the seals myself, though it was lonelier now.