3CWP Award Winner

“The Night That Holds Us”

She stood silently on the edge of the field, waiting. The atmosphere was heavy with a humidity that clung to her skin, the tangible weight of a muggy, sticky, and damp summer. Grabbing her long, auburn hair, she wound it into a bun and secured it on top of her head, as a bead of sweat beneath her t-shirt ran down her spine. She listened to the panting of the large dog to her right and peered down at the fuzzy beast, who always appeared to wear a smile. The one on her left was quiet and observant. He focused beady eyes on her with his head tilted, listening for his next command. She felt secure with them at her sides and turned to watch as the remaining orange and pink hues of the summer sun slipped below the horizon. Too late to turn back to the safety of my shelter now, she thought. 

            She turned her head back to face the trees that lined the field, listening to the whip-poor-wills as they began to sing their night song. The trees lengthened, their trunks and spindly limbs, previously dressed in hues of green and brown, now darkened silhouettes against the night sky. She took a deep breath and reached her trembling hands downwards until she made contact with the soft head of each dog. Stroking their fur, she stood still and allowed the familiar feel of them to soothe her anxious mind. Glancing up beyond the trees to the sky, she wondered at the shade of twilight blue, and how quickly it would fade to black on this cloudy, starless night. Her mind began to drift back in time to another starless night, and this same forest in the middle-of-nowhere town. “No,” she whispered audibly, and the dog on her left pushed his wet nose into the palm of her hand. “No,” she thought, “the dark is nothing to be afraid of”. 

            Now her eyes had adjusted to the encroaching darkness, and she spoke to the dogs, “Let’s go.” She moved forward, relying on her eyes as she carefully navigated tree roots and jutting rocks until her sneakers met the squish of mossy earth. The well-trained dogs followed at her heels for the next 10 minutes. “Wait.” She said, as she paused. She knew she would be approaching the creek soon, and she scanned from left to right, listening for the water as it washed over the creek bed. Just up ahead, she could hear its gentle gurgling and gave the dogs their command again. The three of them moved forward, the dogs following her lead and careful to not rush her pace. 

Again, her mind went to remembering that dark and distant night and how she ran through these same trees barefoot. She felt her heart pick up its pace even now, as her breathing had quickened with the memory. Redirecting her attention to the creek, she stopped just short of the water’s edge. “Free,” she said to the dogs, and they trotted over and lapped at the cool water. She stooped down and began removing her shoes, glancing up as she heard the beady-eyed dog approaching again. He never went far, and she knew he was gauging the undercurrent of her fear that threatened to pull her back towards the safety of shelter and light. Tucking her socks down inside her shoes, she placed them on a rock and began removing her backpack. She resisted the urge to glance around for signs of danger and instead continued with her task. Tonight was his birthday, and she would not retreat; she wanted to find their secret place. She opened the backpack with shaky hands and shoved her shoes down inside before placing it back on her shoulders and moving towards the creek. 

Her eyes had fully adjusted to the dark now, thanks to the help of the moon that had grown large in the sky. Its light cast a soft glow, giving shape and form to the landscape around her. She looked for a good spot to make her entrance and braced when her feet plunged ahead into the cool waters. Slowly, she began to wade across the creek, giving her feet time to feel out the creek bed, stepping lightly to avoid sharp rocks. Halfway across, she recalled falling in this very creek, and the sting of rocks cutting through her palms and knees, and the shock of winter-chilled water. As fear began to mark time through her veins again, she fought to remain present. Stopping in the middle, she closed her eyes and attempted to banish her fear by engaging her senses. Flexing her hands out in front of her, she smoothed her index finger over each palm and felt for the healed edge of the scar on her right hand. Healed. Redirecting her focus, she noted how the water wrapped itself around her calves as it flowed downstream. She felt it’s cool relief as sweat continued to bead in her hairline and roll off her brow, and down her belly, and back. The smooth stones remained firmly fixed beneath her feet. She listened intently to the cicadas overhead, their buzzing rising above the babbling of the creek, and imagined their stout bodies and transparent wings. She remained still as a breeze drifted across her face, bringing with it the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and mimosa. She felt the release of tension in her shoulders, and her body relaxed. No, she would not be afraid here tonight. 

Opening her eyes, she began moving forward again, testing each step with caution. Once she was back on dry ground, she gave the command, and the dogs darted across the creek to heel at her sides. The ground beneath her feet was covered in a soft moss, so she decided to remain barefoot as she pressed on toward the center of the copse of trees she was searching for. She stopped, and the dogs stopped with her. “Sit. Wait.” She swore she could feel eyes on her, and she glanced at her surroundings, tempted to give herself over to the anxiety that waited like a crouching lion, and placed her backpack on the ground. Kneeling beside the bag, she reached inside it and brought a small hand shovel out. The sounds of the night around her remained, and they helped to steady her. She rose to standing and willed her body to move in the direction of the third tree from the left. The oak tree stood tall against the night, and as she positioned herself in front of it, a bat flew overhead. She imagined herself as prey, captured mid-flight, and shivered. 

Dropping to her knees in front of the tree in the dark, she smoothed her hands over the bark until her fingers caught on the rough edge of the carving. Z & A. She placed her hand over the letters, and fresh tears tracked down her face and dripped on the ground in front of her. Removing her hand, she found the base of the tree and smoothed back the grass until she found a place to strike with her shovel. After half an hour of working on the soil, she finally hit the metal surface she was looking for. She worked around it until she could dig her fingers down in the soil and unearth the old military ammo can, turned time capsule. Twisting her body, she placed her back to the tree, and sat with the can on her lap. She looked into the eyes of the watching dog and allowed his attentive nature to steady her. Opening the can, she felt inside for its contents; A bundled stack of glossy polaroids, a lock of hair, a leather journal that had been worn to the touch, and a key. To her relief, they all felt intact and perfectly preserved. She grabbed the strap of the backpack and pulled it over to herself. She reached inside, brought the blanket out, and with care, emptied the contents of the can into the bag. Zipping it tightly, she set it beside her and rolled the blanket out at the base of the tree. “Free,” she called to the dogs, and they moved from their spot by the creek and made their way to her with their noses to the ground. 

She eased herself onto her back, the hard-packed earth was firm beneath her. Gazing up at the sky, she wished the cloud cover would clear and the stars would make their glittering appearance. She lay there for some time while she tried to bring his face to the forefront of her mind, along with a happier time. A time before their carefree youth slipped away like the sun sinking beneath the horizon. She remembered his dazzling white smile and the dimples in his cheeks as he peered up at the stars beneath this same canopy. She smiled as the fireflies began their flashing above her. Zach loved to come here and watch them flit through the trees, and he’d say, “See Allie, darkness isn’t something to be afraid of. Without it, you wouldn’t see the light of the lightning bugs as they dance around the forest. You might not hear the song of the whip-poor-will or the owl. You wouldn’t get to see the stars or the moon or how their glow lights up the world in a different way. Darkness doesn’t make monsters, Allie, but it can hide you from them.” 

She swiped at the tears as they rolled past her cheekbones towards her ears, his face and voice so strong in her mind. She wanted to always remember him this way. The smiling Zach O’Connel, the boy who fished crawdads out of this creek by day and admired the fireflies at night. Instead, memories of his final moments fought to take up residence in her mind. His dimples disappearing as his blood drained onto the kitchen floor, and their stepfather standing over him, shifting his attention to her. “Allie, run!”. His final words to her seemed to break through the night here and now. She recalled the screaming behind her as she fled, alone in the dark, into the forest. She remembered the fear as she tore through the underbrush, branches swiping at her face, arms, and torso, as if they were hands grabbing to restrain her. She felt the deep-seated grief that settled over her that night, as she entered this place that had once been theirs, without him. 

Glancing around, she noted that the smiling dog and the watching one both lay at the edge of the blanket, their gazes penetrating. She sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. This past year and a half, the night had become something that bound her in fear because her life had shattered as the sun slipped from view, and she fled into the night. Sitting here now, in their favorite childhood place, she recalled that her fondest memories of Zach were in the pale moonlight, as they slipped through the trees and into a magical world that was hidden away from the monster in their home. She had allowed the fear to continue to pursue her long after the monster had ceased. Not anymore. She lay back on the blanket and gazed up at the sky, allowing a peace to settle over her. The grief would always be there, but she determined within, that the fear wouldn’t be. She watched the night, and the clear signs of life going on all around her, and she smiled as the clouds had shifted and the constellations appeared in the velvet sky. 

She was suddenly awakened by the wet tongue of the smiling dog sliding across her cheek. Glancing at her watch, she realized the night had slipped away from her and the dawn would soon be approaching. Gathering the blanket and her backpack, she gave the command to the dogs, and they started back across the creek. It had taken her too long to remember that her brother never wanted her to fear the dark or the monsters who prowled the edges of it, and every chance he got, he had reminded her to find the beauty that the night produced. As she left the woods, the whip-poor-will gave a final serenade as the bats returned to their roosts, and the fireflies dimmed their lights beneath the grasses on the edge of the forest line. “No, Allie, the darkness isn’t something to be afraid of,” she said to herself as the dogs followed at her heels and they walked into the light of a new day. 

Author information: Tina Shockey is a creative writer interested in themes of identity, resilience, and

emotional transformation. She enjoys crafting character driven stories, and draws

inspiration from the natural world, as well as from the strength and complexity of the

women in her life.