text: I was walking out of the park this afternoon when I ran into some trouble. It is July 27th, 1974. My trouble began at approximately 3pm. It dark now, though I am not certain of the time, and the difficulty has only gotten worse. In fact, it has spiraled into something quite terrible. I was in the middle of a great jog; the weather overcast, and plenty of people in the park, so I felt safe. Sometimes Cherryville Park turns into a dark and seedy place. Sometimes the wind carries with it restless transients from all over the state, who seem to sniff each other out and join forces, magnetically, as if one transient sees another and thinks, ‘Oh. Another transient. We are so light and feathery, without mortgages to pay or pantries full of food, that perhaps if we join forces we will carry some weight. Perhaps if we glue our feathers together they will formulate some purpose on this earth that we lacked individually.’ And the transients form together and help each other get food and look out for the vulnerable in the park. The child. The lone woman running. We are grateful to have our transients. It is when the transients decide to get up and *leave* the park that the trouble starts. But when I began my run at precisely 2:33, there were plenty of the benevolent creatures, cooking their street animals and their roasted vegetables over their fire pits, tipping their sooty hats to me as I slugged by (I am not a very fast jogger). Despite my snails pace, I began to feel a runner’s high, and fell into sort of a trancelike state, staring intently at the trees, and even sensing that each individual leaf on them has a life of it’s own. Then I tripped. It was a shallow nodule in the root of a tree, or a stump. It could have been a rock. Whatever it was, my toes slammed hard against something, sending me head first into the grass, and had I not reflexively thrown my arms in front of me in that split second, my head might have suffered some injuries, and an ambulance would have been promptly called to whisk me away. If only that had been case! I sat up, perched in a state of shock, and then I tried to stand. My ankle was completely torn from the fall; I couldn’t move it. There I was sitting in the grass, wincing and cursing, when a transient approached me. This was a delightful-if-somewhat-odorous man wearing a long trench coat that must have been black in it’s better years. He had on fingerless, moth-eaten gloves and a top hat that was shorter than an actual top hat (I do not know what to call those things). He was thin, tall and cheerful. He seemed malnourished, but happy. His malnourishment suited him, if such a phenomena is even possible. He knelt to hand me a fresh daffodil to cheer my hardship, smiled, and reminded me that there were children in the park, so please do not curse. I sheepishly apologized and thanked him for the flower, though I would need more than that to be able to walk home! As if reading my mind, he held out an index finger, signifying to me to wait, and ran several yards away where his transient group was herded over a trash can, sorting through their knickknacks I suppose. He returned swiftly with a roll of white tape. Amazed, I saw it to be just what I needed to fix my ankle! I thanked my transient friend, and began to pull some tape off the roll. He gestured for me to stop this nonsense, waving his arms about and making a big show of things, insisting that I rest and let *him* do the work. I wasn’t sure if transients knew the ins and out of wound-mending, as I barely knew the basics myself. But as I watched him work, I realized that his sort probably knew how to fix injuries better than most, and out of necessity, as transients are rarely seen at doctors’ offices and only go to hospitals in cases of dire emergency. And before I knew it, I was on my feet again, having thanked my transient, and limping my way back to the park entrance, ready to take the four block journey home at a slow and steady pace; grateful for the help of a kind stranger. The last thing I remember is seeing the backside of the Cherryville Park welcome sign before my knees buckled, I went crashing back to the ground and I blacked out entirely. When I came to, it was pitch dark out and the park was entirely empty. There are only a few flickering street lights to show me my surroundings, and from their light I discovered in horror that I was, and still am, on the ground again and sitting upright, yet this time strapped to a large tree with hundreds of strands of that damned tape holding me in place! There must have been multiple rolls of it used! It is a very thorough job. My torso is completely covered in it, from shoulder to waistband, and my hands are at my sides so I am utterly helpless to move! For several minutes I called out, only to hear the echo of my own voice. There is not a person in sight, not even the transients who make the park their home! I soon realized that, while this is strange, and my situation helpless, what *really* terrifies me is the lack of noise. The locusts and fireflies have been beaming and buzzing all summer long, especially in the nighttime, yet I do not see or hear one. Not even a moth hovering by the street lamp. Not one sound of a bird calling or a car engine in the distance. Not even the wind. I know that my ears are not damaged because I can hear the sound of my own voice. So where did the other noises go? Where did the other *life* go? The trees and bushes are entirely still. Not one blade of grass sways in the air. The more I stare, the more it seems that I am not in the park at all, but I get the feeling that *someone* or *something* wants me to believe I am. There is nothing to do but wait. And now, to my terror, there is a wolf approaching me. I heard it a moment ago, just as I was contemplating the stillness of the leaves. Just as I had unfolded, in my mind, the notion of being watched. There came the noise of footsteps pressing upon the grass, creeping, piercing the stillness. And when the thing emerged from a large bush several yards to my left, I shuddered with my entire being. I swear it is the height of a small car. Scrawny, with a filthy grey coat, matted and mangey, but piercing blue eyes. Starving, angry, evil, about to consume me.