19 April 2010


The scene, tranquil on the face of it was subtly horrible. The tracks leading off into the forest, the trees louring over, darker as they drew my eye onward, until at last I was gazing into a black hole.
Stuff of childhood nightmares, I was never able before to bring the fear over into waking life. There was a picture of a woodland scene at Granny & Grandad's bungalow, above the fireplace. The colours were wrong too, oil paints in daubs of too bright yellows, olive splotches and the hint, but only that, of the darkness at the end of the track.
One day though, I opened a book, a classic, and read for a while until I got to a scene where four hobbits cower at the side of the track on the edge of the wood while unknown dark beings seek and sniff for them.
The memories then came flooding back, a nightmare where the monster lurks, I try crouching down in the wood, a tangle of roots I hope will hide me and prevent the monster spotting me. And the book has me hooked, there is nothing more evil than the nine black riders who search for you. Primal fear of being discovered. Being looked at. Freud would no doubt have a field day, as long as it is not walking tracks in the forest I don't give a damn.

Published at ThinkingTen in response to On Location Monday challenge
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