“Mildred, you should see the new neighbors moving in. What a bunch of fruitcakes,” Phil said as he stared out the living room window.

As usual he was gawking. Couldn’t he just watch the stupid TV like every other man?

“Yes, I’ve met them,” she said.

“Really, you didn't’ tell me that. Did you get a good look at them? Jeez what a pack of freaks. They all wear black and look like they’re dressed for a flipping funeral. The old guy has a cheap cape on. What kind of a weirdo wears a cape when it's not Halloween?”

“They’re very friendly you know. They make interesting conversation.”

Phil laughed. He never took his eyes off the spectacle outside the window. “Yeah, sure, and so does Dracula. There’s a little girl out there and she looks as white as a hospital sheet. I bet they love that it’s a rainy day out and you can’t see the sun. What whackos move when it’s pouring out?”

“They probably didn’t plan it. You know you have to book movers a long time in advance,” Mildred said as she walked further into the room.

“Yeah, but did you get a load of the movers? Where did they get them? Transylvania? They look like extras from those lousy horror movies you watch all the time.”

“I like those movies,” Mildred said as she stepped up behind her husband.

“That doesn’t make them good. Hey, look at that, wow, what the heck? That skinny pale guy is. . . How can he be carrying a piano all by himself? What is going. . ." Phil started to turn just as Mildred brought the shining axe blade down on his head. It cleaved right into his skull. His body fell twitching to the floor. Bloody bits of meat and bone splashed all over the carpet. It was a bit messier than Mildred thought it would be, but it was worth it to shut Phil up.

And now she had a nice welcome gift for the new neighbors.

One mid-summer evening in Maine we were sitting at the bar of our hotel for a nightcap. It was crowded. This surprised my husband and I. A bleak emptiness greeted us earlier in the day. Only signs advertising two “Happy Hour” times to come had occupied the lounge previously. It was now in the peak of happy hour, the place had come alive.

We had a quiet chat while watching the other guests enjoying cards, private discussions, and some comparing itineraries. Our bartender was a quiet, pale, blonde man most likely in his late 30’s, early 40’s. He was polite and serious, not the type for idle chatter. He just did his job very efficiently.

A middle-aged couple walked in and sat a couple of seats down from us.

“What do you have for whiskeys here?” The slightly plump man asked as he adjusted his seat next to his blonde wife. The wife's smartphone reflected her bored face as she ignored her husband.

The bartender answered in a slightly Slavic accent that I hadn’t noticed before. “Jamison’s, Johnny. . .”

“Nah!” said the man cutting him off. “I want a man’s whiskey, I don’t drink that stuff, Jamison’s a woman’s drink.”

The bartender started to answer him. “Vell, we ..”

“Give me the Johnny Walker because I’m a man!” He pointed to one of the bottles at the back of the bar. The bartender poured his drink quickly.

“And for the lady?” asked the bartender.

“She’ll just have glass of merlot,” said the obnoxious man. The wife continued looking at her phone, ignoring them.

 The bartender asked her, “Is house alright, madam?”

“That’ll be fine,” said the man.

The bartender poured her a glass.

“Hey, where are you from?" The older man asked. “Sounds like you’re a Russian?” He said.

“I’m Romanian,” said the bartender.

Ignoring him the man continued. “Hey it’s chilly here, I’m from New Jersey and our summer hasn’t been this cold, but you must like it coming from Russia and all.” He rambled on as if the world was all his. “Hey, speaking of that, I think I’d like a white Russian from a white Russian. Ha! Ha!”

He swilled down his whiskey as the woman continued to text on her phone.

“Hey,” the man said to the bartender as he was given his white Russian. “I used to work in Russia, we have an office there. Damned cold! Bet, you’re used to it, huh?”

“I like it here, I don’t have a problem with the cold,” he answered.

“Women are hot in Russia.”

The bartender looked at the woman sitting next to the man. She was still engaged with her phone. "Oh my wife doesn’t mind.”

After about three more whiskeys the man and his wife left. A pale red haired bartender came on duty and the blonde one went into the backroom.

We decided to take a walk down to the peer after our drink. Sitting on a bench looking out at the water we saw three shadowed figures in the dark distance, an plump man, a woman and a younger, slimmer man.

Our quiet interlude was disrupted by a scream coming from the woman. We rushed over to see what was the matter. It was the wife of the obnoxious man. Her face was in her hands and she was kneeling over her husband’s stilled figure. My husband called 911 on his cell and soon the EMT’s arrived. They found two puncture wounds in the man’s neck. His body had been completely drained of blood. The wife was in hysterics, not much help in giving the police any information.

After the ordeal we went back into the bar for another drink. There we found the bar deserted once more. We caught the blonde bartender off guard cleaning a bloodstain off of his uniform. “Sorry, I apologize for my appearance, you see an obnoxious bug was bothering me. I swatted the pest, but vhen I did, I got blood all over myself.”

He smiled and I noticed that he had more color in his face than he had before.  We decided to skip drinks. Happy hour was over.

Nothing can save you from the beast within. There is no warning. I know that now. Perhaps you’ve heard the legend of Rennfield Forest? It lies in the northeast region of the country. It’s an idyllic setting with a small pond and lots of walking trails. In winter it’s a frozen paradise perfect for ice skating and snowshoeing. In the spring and summer it's green and lush with wildflowers dotting the hillside. In autumn the woods are ablaze with color lighting up the countryside. But beware. Looks are deceiving. Creatures roam these woods at night, some natural - some supernatural.

On such a night in late October when the moon was full I went into the woods for the last time. I grew up in the area and knew the woods well. At least I did when I used to hike the trails as a teenager. I also knew the legend of Rennfield forest. It was said to be the home of every kind of creature you could imagine from dark spirits to vampires, zombies, and mythological beings who could morph into evil fairies and monsters like werewolves. Shape shifters looking to steal your soul. The theory of therianthropy, but I never believed it. It was utter nonsense. I was a practical sort of girl. 

I came home to visit my folks after moving to the city to work after college. My car broke down near the forest. It would be a long walk to town, the hour was late and the air crisp. My cell phone wasn't picking up any bars. I was in an area blocked by mountains and lack of technology. The shortest way to town was through the woods. The trails cut through to a side street near the center of town where I knew one establishment would still be open. A pub, my old hangout. It wouldn't close until midnight. I had an hour to get there, but it wouldn't take more than 30 minutes if I walked fast. And I did. Only, I never made it to the pub that night. 

I wrapped my thin denim jacket around me to ward off the cold. Despite the moon playing hide and seek with the clouds I found the main path easily although it was so overgrown. It had been a while since I’d hiked these woods. Perhaps the locals didn’t come here anymore. Maybe the legend scared them off. I don’t know. I only knew one story to be true. A teenage girl had gone missing over a decade ago. She disappeared on prom night. Her boyfriend said they had gone into the woods to make out and the girl went into the bushes to pee and never returned. He told the authorities he’d heard an ungodly scream and went looking for her, but he quickly lost his sense of direction. Frightened by strange noises and shadows he ran and eventually found his way out. No one believe him, including me. I had never experienced it.

There have always been stories of beasts and ghosts, inhuman cries or screams at night. I thought about them as I picked up my pace trying not to lose my sense of direction. But with every snapping twig and every wild cry in the treetops I held my breath. I tried not to panic. I would not give into the fear substantiated by dark rumors. I knew these woods. I knew where I was going, yet the trail became lost to me, winding in and out of the overgrowth, twisting and turning so I didn't recognize it. In daylight I would've seen it clearly. I stopped several times to adjust my inner compass. Shadows grew taller and the landscape changed. Most of the leaves were down, rustling beneath my feet, still it was hard to see. Tall pines blocked my view. I didn’t remember there being so many of them. They stood like silent wooden soldiers helping to obscure the moon.

I went on feeling the cold settle in my bones. By now I should’ve found the path that lead to the street. It was getting late, but I had no idea what time it was because my watch had suddenly stopped working. Every time the moon reemerged from the clouds I tried to reconnoiter my surroundings, but things kept changing. I was growing weary and confused. I was walking in circles.

I scrutinized the shadows and questioned every sound. I heard hoot owls and coyotes. I saw bats in the trees. They were normal sights and sounds. I heard unnatural sounds as well. Something perched atop the pines produced a high pitched screech. In the distance I heard a blood curdling sound like an animal being torn apart. I tried to steel myself from the waiting monsters and continued walking, stopping only to find my way while trying to assuage my fear. My heart pounded so I thought sure I'd have a heart attack. Cold and exhausted I couldn’t go on. I could no longer tell what was real and what wasn’t. The line between imagination and reality blurred. 

Finally, I sat on a rock to rest, but the sounds in my head were driving me mad. My brain filled with crying babies, whimpering dogs, and howling wolves. I heard clawing and imagined someone trapped in a chest unable to breathe. My own breath caught in my throat as I glimpsed tall shadows and misshapen things darting in and out of the trees. The smaller shapes were crouched on all fours scurrying through the woods as if they were being chased by something larger and more menacing than themselves.

Then I saw it. A werewolf. It was real. It stood in the pine grove near the edge of the forest. It looked up at the moon and howled. "Oh God!" Did it see me? I panicked, but in that moment I saw something else, the road. I blinked and the beast was gone, but the road was still there. I ran like hell towards it, afraid it would disappear before I could reach it. As I closed the gap between the two worlds, I realized something was following me. Heavy footsteps thundered right behind me and the ground shook. I screamed. The air turned foul and I could feel hot breath on the nape of my neck. I dare not turn around, but from the corner of my eye I spied another figure, a shadow. It came rushing out of the bushes. Sharp claws sunk into my shoulders. Pain seared through me and I went down.

Pale light was streaming through the pines when I awoke, slouched against a tree. I was cold and hungry, but otherwise fine. I had no wounds, but something was different. I saw the teenage girl. She was dressed in a tattered gray gown. I saw hints of blue material with sparkling gems, remnants of its former glory. My heart kicked into high gear upon seeing her. I scrambled to my feet on wobbly legs and leaned against the sturdy oak for support. She was only a dozen yards away. She made no noise as she floated towards me. I couldn’t see her face, just her long dark hair as she stopped in front of me. She pointed and said, “The road is that way,” then she disappeared. 

I gulped air and ran as fast as I could, stumbling as I went. I had to reach the road before the woods swallowed me up. I wanted to ask the girl what happened, but she showed me instead. Her boyfriend was not her killer. She was murdered by a monster lurking in the woods, the human kind. I was grateful to her for saving me though something in me had changed. I would not be the practical girl I once was. No, now I believed in the dark forces that tantalize the mind; the world inside our imagination where terror lives.

I spotted the pub. I couldn't wait to haunt my old hangout tonight and spin my own dark tales.