down deeper into the woods. It must have been some kind of weird geological thing from the mountain. The trees kept getting thicker, and pretty soon the moon was blocked out so it was really dark. I reached into the pocket of my duffel and pulled out the little mini-Maglite that I had packed before I left. The flashlight cut the darkness a little, but not much, and it was still spooky. I could hear things rustling in the woods and scampering around in the underbrush.
Once I heard a horrible screech that nearly made me jump out of my skin. After my heart rate returned to normal, I did a very fast and convincing job of telling myself that it was just an owl. Of course, being fromBeverly Hills, I know nothing about owls and for all I know it could have been the Blair Witch after me. But saying “it’s only an owl” sixty-seven times made me feel better.
Soon I came out of the ravine and the woods flattened out before me. Now I had another problem. The ravine, with its winding course, had left me totally lost with no sense of which way I needed to go to reach the road. I couldn’t see the moon through the thick trees, and I had gone far enough into the woods that I couldn’t see the school either. I thought I needed to head to my right to reach the road, but I couldn’t be sure…maybe it was my left. Maybe I could have figured it out if I had a compass. Of course, I didn’t know how to read a compass, but if I had one, at least I’d look professional as I got more and more lost. Then, when they found my body in the woods, dead fingers clutched around the compass, they’d say, “Ooh, that’s what happened. She headed south/southeast instead of due west.”
Even when I’m about to die, I crack myself up.
There was only one decision as far as I was concerned. Pick a direction and go. I was in eastern Pennsylvania, not Siberia, so eventually I’d run into aroad somewhere. Or so I thought. Except the trees made it hard to go straight, and there were a lot of thick bushes and big rocks that I had to go around. So I went as straight as I could, which was not very straight at all, and I walked for what must have been another hour, and I was still no closer to anywhere civilized as far as I could see.
I felt like I wanted to cry again. I hadn’t cried since I was eleven and Fluffy died. But ever since my trial it seemed like all I wanted to do was cry. I’m not a crier. I am a witty and intelligent young woman with a bright future, I told myself. But I felt like crying anyway. I was exhausted, lost, and out of ideas.
My flashlight battery was starting to go dim, and I had not brought a spare. Great planning, Rachel. I decided I needed to rest for a few minutes, so I sat on the ground by a giant boulder and leaned my head back. I reached into my duffel and pulled out my white UCLA sweatshirt and shucked it on. It was still early autumn, but it was getting colder. The boulder felt cool against my neck and head, and that was soothing. I tried to clear my mind. I’d have a good idea any second, I was sure.
Instead, of course, I fell asleep.
And I had the strangest dream. I almost never dreamwhen I sleep, or if I do, I never remember them. But I remembered this one. I was running down a hallway or a corridor, or it might have been the ravine in the woods. Someone was chasing me. He wore some kind of large golden medallion around his neck, and for a second I could swear that his head turned into the head of a bull, with giant horns sticking out the side. He was getting closer and closer. I kept running and turning corners and trying to get away from him.
I turned a corner and ran into a large storeroom that was filled with big boxes or crates. Except that the crates weren’t really crates. They might have been boulders like the ones in the woods. I ran back and forth among the crates, trying to find a place to hide. Finally I huddled on the ground next to this big crate, only it wasn’t a crate, it was the boulder I
Once I heard a horrible screech that nearly made me jump out of my skin. After my heart rate returned to normal, I did a very fast and convincing job of telling myself that it was just an owl. Of course, being fromBeverly Hills, I know nothing about owls and for all I know it could have been the Blair Witch after me. But saying “it’s only an owl” sixty-seven times made me feel better.
Soon I came out of the ravine and the woods flattened out before me. Now I had another problem. The ravine, with its winding course, had left me totally lost with no sense of which way I needed to go to reach the road. I couldn’t see the moon through the thick trees, and I had gone far enough into the woods that I couldn’t see the school either. I thought I needed to head to my right to reach the road, but I couldn’t be sure…maybe it was my left. Maybe I could have figured it out if I had a compass. Of course, I didn’t know how to read a compass, but if I had one, at least I’d look professional as I got more and more lost. Then, when they found my body in the woods, dead fingers clutched around the compass, they’d say, “Ooh, that’s what happened. She headed south/southeast instead of due west.”
Even when I’m about to die, I crack myself up.
There was only one decision as far as I was concerned. Pick a direction and go. I was in eastern Pennsylvania, not Siberia, so eventually I’d run into aroad somewhere. Or so I thought. Except the trees made it hard to go straight, and there were a lot of thick bushes and big rocks that I had to go around. So I went as straight as I could, which was not very straight at all, and I walked for what must have been another hour, and I was still no closer to anywhere civilized as far as I could see.
I felt like I wanted to cry again. I hadn’t cried since I was eleven and Fluffy died. But ever since my trial it seemed like all I wanted to do was cry. I’m not a crier. I am a witty and intelligent young woman with a bright future, I told myself. But I felt like crying anyway. I was exhausted, lost, and out of ideas.
My flashlight battery was starting to go dim, and I had not brought a spare. Great planning, Rachel. I decided I needed to rest for a few minutes, so I sat on the ground by a giant boulder and leaned my head back. I reached into my duffel and pulled out my white UCLA sweatshirt and shucked it on. It was still early autumn, but it was getting colder. The boulder felt cool against my neck and head, and that was soothing. I tried to clear my mind. I’d have a good idea any second, I was sure.
Instead, of course, I fell asleep.
And I had the strangest dream. I almost never dreamwhen I sleep, or if I do, I never remember them. But I remembered this one. I was running down a hallway or a corridor, or it might have been the ravine in the woods. Someone was chasing me. He wore some kind of large golden medallion around his neck, and for a second I could swear that his head turned into the head of a bull, with giant horns sticking out the side. He was getting closer and closer. I kept running and turning corners and trying to get away from him.
I turned a corner and ran into a large storeroom that was filled with big boxes or crates. Except that the crates weren’t really crates. They might have been boulders like the ones in the woods. I ran back and forth among the crates, trying to find a place to hide. Finally I huddled on the ground next to this big crate, only it wasn’t a crate, it was the boulder I
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