[Chr24] Stalking in the Woods

The crisp December air stung Jean’s cheeks as he adjusted the straps on his backpack. His breath puffed out in white clouds, mingling with the laughter of his three friends. The four of them had decided that this year would be different. No fake tree shedding plastic needles all over Zane’s studio apartment. This year, they were going to get a real tree—a perfect one.

“Are we sure this is legal?” Rowan asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. He was bundled up in a heavy scarf, his brown hair sticking out from under a knit cap. He fiddled nervously with his gloves.

“Totally legal,” Chance replied, grinning as he waved a small hatchet like it was a magic wand. “It’s just…unsanctioned enthusiasm for the Christmas spirit.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Zane muttered, pushing his fingers through his hair. His sharp features and neatly combed hair made him look like a professor on a field trip. He was carrying a saw, which made Rowan side-eye him nervously. “Let’s just find a tree before it gets too dark. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Jean rolled his eyes at Zane’s usual cynicism. He liked Zane, of course—they’d all been friends since college—but Zane could suck the joy out of even the most cheerful holiday. “We’ll find one,” Jean said, stepping into the lead. “How hard can it be?”

The woods stretched out before them, their bare branches silhouetted against a gray sky. Snow crunched underfoot as they wandered deeper, searching for the perfect tree. It was harder than they’d expected. Some were too spindly, others too short. A few were lopsided, leaning precariously to one side.

“This one?” Chance called, pointing to a tree that looked more like a broomstick with aspirations.

“Hard pass,” Jean said. “Keep looking.”

Hours passed. The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow. Jean’s excitement started to wane. His fingers were numb despite his gloves, and his stomach rumbled in protest of the granola bar he’d hastily scarfed down earlier.

“We should head back,” Zane said, shivering. “It’s getting late, and I’d rather not freeze to death out here.”

“Wait,” Rowan said suddenly, his voice tinged with awe. “Look over there.”

They all turned to see it: a majestic spruce standing tall and proud in a clearing. Its branches were full and even, its dark green needles dusted with snow. It looked like something out of a Christmas movie.

“That’s it!” Jean exclaimed, his weariness forgotten. He broke into a jog, the others following close behind.

When they reached the tree, Chance wasted no time pulling out his hatchet. He grinned as he sized up the trunk. “This is gonna be epic.”

But before he could take the first swing, a soft snort echoed through the clearing.

The group froze.

“What was that?” Rowan whispered, his voice barely audible.

Jean’s eyes darted around the clearing, searching for the source of the sound. The woods were still, the only movement the gentle sway of the tree branches in the breeze.

“Probably just a deer,” Zane said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Another snort came, louder this time. It was followed by the sound of something moving through the snow—slow, deliberate steps.

Jean’s heart pounded in his chest. “Okay, that’s not a deer.”

“I don’t like this,” Rowan said, inching closer to Zane.

Chance gripped the hatchet tightly, his cocky grin replaced by a nervous frown. “Whatever it is, we can handle it.”

Jean wasn’t so sure. His skin prickled with unease, a shiver running down his spine. He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the shadows. That’s when he saw it: a dark figure lurking just beyond the tree line. It was tall and broad, its form obscured by the fading light.

“Guys,” Jean said, his voice shaking. “There’s something out there.”

The others turned to look, but by the time they did, the figure was gone.

“Are you sure?” Zane asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

“I saw it,” Jean insisted. “It was watching us.”

Another snort echoed, this time closer. The sound was followed by a low growl that made Jean’s blood run cold.

“Maybe we should leave,” Rowan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chance shook his head. “We’re not leaving without the tree. Whatever’s out there, it’s not going to ruin our Christmas.”

Jean wasn’t so sure. The feeling of being watched was almost unbearable now, the shadows seeming to close in around them. He turned back to the tree, and that’s when he saw it: claw marks etched into the trunk, deep and jagged.

“Guys,” Jean said, pointing to the marks. “This thing…it’s been here before.”

“What kind of animal does that?” Rowan asked, his voice trembling.

“Something big,” Zane said grimly. “And territorial.”

The growl came again, louder this time. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, crunching through the snow.

“Okay, time to go,” Jean said, his voice firm.

But Chance hesitated, his pride warring with his fear. “We can take it,” he said, gripping the hatchet tightly.

Jean grabbed his arm. “No tree is worth dying for. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Chance nodded, and the group began to back away from the clearing. The footsteps followed them, keeping pace, the growls growing louder.

“Don’t run,” Zane said, his voice tight. “Whatever it is, running will make it chase us.”

They moved as quickly as they could without breaking into a sprint, the shadowy figure always just out of sight. The tension was unbearable, every snap of a twig making them jump.

Finally, they reached the edge of the woods. The growling stopped, and the footsteps faded into the distance. They didn’t stop until they were back at the car, panting and shaking.

“What the hell was that?” Rowan asked, his face pale.

“No idea,” Jean said, his voice shaky. “But I’m never going back there again.”

Chance leaned against the car, his face pale. “I guess the fake tree isn’t so bad after all.”

Jean managed a weak laugh, but the image of the claw marks and the shadowy figure lingered in his mind. Whatever had been in those woods, it wasn’t something they were meant to understand.

As they drove away, the headlights cast long shadows across the trees. For a moment, Jean thought he saw the figure again, watching them from the edge of the woods. But when he blinked, it was gone.

Some Christmas traditions, he decided, just weren’t worth the risk.