The Winter Wraith

This is what happened.

On a chill day between Christmas and the New Year I was up in the heights past Kilbronemore forest. The low winter sun took its leave from the day and the lying snow was like a finely sprinkled dust. The cool air stung my skin. Amidst all this and the fading light I was the only living soul thereabouts. What a view! I could see across the Lough to the hills and plains beyond. In the other direction I could see the high peaks of the Múghdorna Mountains: Shanmore, Cairlinne, Slainge, and, hiding in the distance, the faint, round summit of the king of the range itself; Domgard.

Rounding the corner before the Slieve Máirtín mast I was engulfed by trees that had not protected the tumbling path from the cold and it now hosted a thin film of flaky ice. To my right was a steep upward slope thronged with trees with the glistening silver tip of the mast far above and to the left the wooded slope continued downwards with my trail in between. As such the path would continue down on a gentle though frosty gradient for two miles more before bending back to the car park. The last vestige of daylight cast intermittent rays through the pines but it was a miserly sun for in the wooded depths it gave no heat. The trees grew denser and the light dimmer yet the frigid air did not alter its condition in the slightest as I walked steadily yet cautiously on the precarious road.

I was in no hurry at that point as I had thoroughly enjoyed my walk so far. Taking my time I paused to examine a frost-encrusted branch, the ice-conquered base of a tree, a frozen stream and, looking back, the way I had come. Far behind was a blur of yellow light from where the forest path began that led me inside this tunnel of natural white. Several times I stopped thus and glanced back for a while. It had become a strange compulsion. After perhaps the fourth time looking back I noticed the fallen tree. I had remembered it for on its side it had a strange natural indentation that crudely resembled a twisted human face. I looked again. Surely it could not have been the same one? But it was. There could be no doubt. The image it bore was identical. Yet how was it that I came upon it a second time when surely I had seen it at least a quarter of mile further up the path? I had no answer to this and being of a somewhat lazy disposition resolved that in intermittently glancing back I had lost track of my bearings and hadn’t really moved since I had seen the tree the so-called first time. That was that. It had now begun to snow ever so gently therefore I quickened my gait having no desire to stay in this wood any longer than I had to. Looking around I marvelled at the white flakes cascading between the trees. You see it does not snow very often here so it is always an amusing novelty to us even though it frequently brings the country to an unwelcome standstill. I relaxed again to savour it. Any thought of the face, I should say tree, was gone from my mind. Stopping, I looked down through the trees.

It sounded like a bird; the noise far behind me. Or was it? Four more times I heard it in quick succession; a frail, abrupt honk. Could it be an old-time bicycle horn?
One, two, three, four, five.
Closer this time.
Much closer.
I didn’t want to be seen here, standing ominously. I walked on more briskly, still ignorant as to the source of the sound. The snow fell more strongly and stuck to my winter clothes and hat.
On and on.
Faster!
I don’t want to get stuck in this!
Stop!

Before me was a wall of white. My eyes having been downcast hadn’t seen it beyond an incline on the path. Was it snow? No. Was it fog? I could not tell. It had the qualities of fog about it yet was as blank as paper. I peered into it. Nothing! I looked to the right. There were bare trees. Could I go around it? No! For now it seemed to expand and encompass me entirely! Beneath me I could make out a trace of the icy path. I was an island in the sea of this fog-like hell. Utter silence prevailed. I was about to step forward into this new unknown when the silence was broken, broken by the indistinguishable noise I heard before. I spun around, my head hot with tension, to face its source.
Nothing.
Then after a moment it broke the air again.
And again.
Louder. Closer. Coming closer.
Was it a bird, a bike or something else? Then, as if in answer, the image of the ghastly face on the dead tree leapt into the forefront of my mind.
Louder.
Closer!
I turned as in a fury and plunged into the white inferno.

Moving frantically down the hazardous path, blinded by the whiteness, I stumbled forward in a frenzied walk that yearned to become a sprint but was hindered by the visibility. I could see nothing and could only feel the crunchy ground below me as it pressed against my boots. Each stride was a labour. I heard it again.
And again.
In this haze it had an otherworldly resonance. A faint yet steady crunch mingled with it now. Something was moving towards me. I felt tempted to call out but did not. It would know where I was. I leapt down the path regardless of any natural obstacle and not caring if I slid or fell. Somehow my anxiety improved my co-ordination and I stayed on my feet.
Louder. Closer.
Faster I went through the white. Soon the path would turn leftward.
But when?
Oh God, don’t ever come here alone again!
If I slipped and fell now…

Closer and louder!

It was nearly on top of me. The grinding gravel warned of its proximity as I vaulted round the bend. Half a mile more and the forest would end. However the white did end – as if it vanished! And the forest was clear to me again. Still the snow fell. I chanced a glance backwards.
Nothing! Relief!
But still I pressed on.

Moments later the same noise came from directly above! My heart bounced around my chest as I ran. Ran and fell. A shadow passed. I glimpsed it for less than a second, the outline of a dark figure on top of two large wheels. I landed flat on the frosty grass beside the path I swore!
Idiot! Holy God, watch where you're going! To be out on a bike in this weather…
Rising, I prepared to admonish the rider who no doubt blazed carefree down the trail but….
Nothing!
Here the path was long and straight with no visual impediment. No sign of him. He was out of sight already! Such reckless speed! It’s the biggest killer on our roads. No matter, he was gone. At least he’d rung his horn! Rung it about a million times! Still, not to stop and say sorry! Ah well. I wanted to get home. Flustered, I continued on down to the bottom and was relieved to leave the forest as I looked back up the way I’d come. The woods were white, silent and still. Watchful. I managed to drive home before it got fully dark.

That night my cousin paid her annual Yuletide visit and over tea by the fire I told her of my afternoon walk. I omitted my irrational notions about the face, the sound, the mystery fog. Chased by a thing in the snow! In fact I laughed! How strange and absurd our fears seem when we are safe and sheltered!
“You’re crazy going up there in the snow,” she admonished. “It must be twenty years ago, in the winter of eighty-nine, we had bad snow at Christmas.”
I listened.
“I remember in that December there was a man killed up where you were today.”
She shook her head, contemplating the fragile nature of life and the suddenness of death.
“Fell off his bike. Smashed his head open on a tree.”



© Ciaran McVeigh 2009