I was walking in the snow, but I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten into the darkened woods through which I was now trudging. I could hear the crunching sound my boots made as I walked through the wintery spectacle.  Ice hung from the strong branches of the trees.  I felt a trickle of something running down my face.  Sweat?  I thought to myself.  I wiped it away, but looking down at my hand, the liquid pouring down my face was red. Blood! I thought.  I stopped and touched the open wound on my head; it didn’t hurt. Probably a combination of this cold air and the shock, I thought.

I walked on, hoping to find someone who might be able to tell me where I was or how I got here with this wound on my head.  I tried to ignore all the noises coming from the nightly forest, but it filled me with terror.  I tried to rationalize the noises — just animals, I thought.  But even that thought scared me.  Suddenly, something tripped me, and I fell face-first into the icy snow.  I was tangled in the branches that tripped me.  I turned to free my feet from them when I noticed something strange.  There were no footprints in the direction from where I’d just come.  “What the hell?” I muttered.

I got up and walked a little farther. I was hearing the crunching of the snow, wasn’t I?  Then I looked down to see if there were any footprints coming from the other direction but found nothing.  I looked down at my feet and the snow.  My breathing had become more rapid.  I was afraid.  I could hear my own labored breathing.  And for the first time, a chill ran through me.  I started to run; I ran as fast as I could through the forest.  I stopped, breathing hard now.  I turned around, scared to look but knowing I had to.  “Nothing,” I whispered.