Scary story contest adult winner

By JOHN GIBSON

Qualicum Beach

It was dusk, that mysterious time at dim twilight when eyes strain to believe what they see. The mist was gathering, shadows deepening as we crossed the rail track on our walk.

A flicker of movement in the trees caught my attention.

“A deer,” I thought, but little dog Tom had not reacted. “Strange,” my mind said, as Tom will bark at any strange movement. He sniffed the grass.

My next step halted in mid-air. A slim figure had flitted along the far bank of the ditch. all in green from hair to tow, her skin-tight body suit was partly covered by a long brown cloak which streamed behind her. No sound of snapping twig or rustling leaf betrayed her passage as she twinkled along the rough path. She vanished into the dark driveway of the old house and was gone!

“What was that, Tom?” I breathed. Tom smelled a weed. My foot came down and we moved on up Laburnum Road.

I cast my eyes left and right, trying to pierce the mist. Nothing moved.

“What perfect camouflage,” I thought. “Surely there’s no Robina Hood in Qualicum! Nah, it doesn’t make sense!”

We continued the walk, did a circuit of the school and started for home.

“We’ll go the rough way, Tom,” and he knew enough to turn right at the power pole, a way that would take us along the ditch and closer to the trees.

It grew darker. Clouds had rolled in. An owl hooted. Bushes and trees rocked in a sudden wind. Dry leaves clattered and branches creaked. A sense of strangeness grew.

The dog walked closer to me. His eyes were saucers.

“I’m not turning back to the road now,” I thought grimly. And there she was again!

Outlined against the last light in the sky, she danced and floated and twirled along the railway. Sharp rocks and uneven ties did not seem to bother her. The green hair streamed, the slender arms pointed and gestured, then she was at the culverted crossing to the trees. I hurried forward, hoping for a closer look.

The had came down to a bent arm wrapping the cloak tight about her and she glided into the dim space.

“Hello!” I called, arriving at the nearest cedar. I peered into the small clearing. Was there a swirl of brown or outflung arm across there?

All was still. I turned to go and caught my breath. Surely, trees don’t have eyes and they don’t blink, do they?

Tom dog howled, an unusual thing for him to do, and wee made it home in record time.

I saw the green woman several times after that. IT was always at dusk, always dancing never making a sound. She made that little group of trees by the railway her own refuge. Her face was never seen until ... until ...

It was Halloween night. Deciding to change my route slightly, I crossed the rail track, then over the earthed culvert of the ditch. That brought me closer to the green woman’s clearing.

I stopped, facing those dark pillars. Two paces forward and ... she stepped out from the darkness almost at arm’s length, staring straight into my face!

Staring? ... The eyes were a pale film with no centre. My spine shivered, my knees shook, but I was ready to run!

We were frozen in time.

A chill wind blew and she swirled away into the clear space behind her. Faster and faster she rotated. Eyes in the trunks gleamed as she became a blur of green mist. Then there was only a disappearing cloud, seeping through the blackness.

The shining eyes blinked and dimmed and went out.

That was the last I saw of the Green Woman of Laburnum Road. Perhaps she’ll be back nest year, but the eyes are still there ... waiting.