The Ozark Howler and the Search for the Snawfus

Chapter 5 - The Others

The first thought to cross Eleanor's mind when she woke up the next morning was that she must be still wearing the same clothes she had put on to go hiking two days before. She checked beneath the quilt that had covered her through the night, and saw that it was true.

At first flush, she was relieved, knowing that she had been taken into this small cabin, unconscious, by a strange man. After a minute or so, however, she began to feel a sensation that on another day she would have categorized as dirty, but was, she realized, something else. It was unfamiliar to her, simultaneously a physical and emotional sensation of thickening, as if her skin had grown, and along with it, other parts of her, in her armpits and crevices elsewhere. It was the feeling of something more than what she was accustomed to.

It occurred to her that this was probably not healthy, and should be washed away, but she did not feel unwell. In fact, she was extraordinarily well rested. Pervading her was the delightful sense of having nothing to do. So, for a while, she did nothing at all but watch as the light coming through the cracks in the siding of the cabin grew more certain.

Only when she realized that she had become curious about what might be outside, on the other side of those cracks, did she move to get up. In 20 seconds she was through the door.

She stood upon a small wooden platform, with a short set of wooden stairs that led down to a well-worn footpath leading up toward the crook between two hills covered thickly with an evergreen tree that she could not name. It was a pine of some sort, she presumed.

Looking behind her, Eleanor saw that she had been staying in a wooden shack with a corroded metal roof, the very picture of a rustic country home, she thought. All it was missing was a front porch with a bentwood rocking chair.

Turning to look down the path she had glimpsed the previous evening, she saw that these emblems of rural authenticity weren't missing after all. Perhaps one hundred feet away on the right of the path was another cabin, this one with an ample porch. An empty rocking chair, unpainted and unvarnished, moved back and forth gently, as if someone had gotten up from their seat just moments before.

At first, Eleanor was uncertain about whether to approach the cabin. Then she saw that there was a pot of tea on a table next to the rocking chair, with a line of steam emerging from its spout.

Before she could seriously consider whether to engage with this domestic scene, a middle-aged woman leaned out the front door of the cabin, holding a ceramic tea pot. Before Eleanor could say hello the woman asked, "Care to join me for a cup?"

Two minutes later, after a ritual exchange about how Eleanor couldn't possibly impose, after which her host insisted, Eleanor was sitting in the rocking chair, accepting a steaming hot mug into her hands. On the side of the cup was an advertisement for a farm machinery business in a town she had never heard of before.

The drink itself was dark, without any cream to lighten it. It smelled earthy, in an unfamiliar way.

The older woman seemed to sense Eleanor's hesitation, and explained, "It's a local tea, made from the good stuff that grows out here in the forest. It'll nourish you, 100 percent natural. Give it a try."

Eleanor took a small sip, and felt something like the feeling of being wrapped in a thick blanket on a cold day. She closed her eyes to feel the warmth as it slid down her throat and raised up into her nostrils, and found herself absorbed for a moment in an image of a huge tree, with roots sinking down into soft soil covered with the thinning remains of last year's leaves. Without reason, the thought came into her mind that she could wrap herself around those roots and be at peace. 

This image was interrupted by the voice of her host. "Soothing, isn't it?"

Eleanor blinked and remembered herself. "Yes it is. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, and I'm glad to share it with you. My name is Arlene."

"I'm Eleanor."

A long pause enabled Eleanor to notice the songs of birds nearby. Their singing made it feel not at all awkward to be quiet with a stranger. She took another sip of the tea, confirming the comfort.

"Is this your place, Arlene?"

"It's where I sleep, for now." 

"I spent the night just up the path."

"I know. I saw. I hope you had a good rest."

"I did, thank you, but..." Eleanor stopped herself. For a reason she couldn't explain, the question in her mind seemed rude. She wanted to know where she was and how she had gotten there. Instead, she took another sip from her mug, and the question seemed to ease out of her mind. She was where she needed to be.

Arlene smiled. "You stay as long as you need. It's good to have company."

They sat together in silence again, and this time the pause was one of those moments that seems to go on forever, without any need to worry about counting the minutes as they passed. The very idea of counting anything seemed irrelevant to Eleanor. A breeze picked up, and Eleanor's attention was captivated by the feeling of it on her skin, as the hairs on her arms waved like the tall grass along the path.

After what could have been ten minutes, or could have been an hour, Eleanor looked down and saw that her mug was empty. She hadn't remembered drinking any more of the tea.

"This place feels..." Eleanor began to say, with an exact idea of how it felt, with the sharp focus of a concept that ought to have had a word.

"It feels like you should have been here a long time ago," Arlene said.

Eleanor nodded. "And yet, there's something else. I can't say exactly, but..."

"You've heard it."

"Heard what?"

"We all heard it. Even in your deep sleep, it would have been unmistakable. Through your ears or through your dreams, there's no stopping it."

Eleanor felt the feeling of a deep, absurd memory about to crest into her consciousness. "You're talking about..."

"The howling in the night." Arlene sighed, and continued, "You'll hear it again tonight."