text: Everything starts in darkness. It’s a lesson taught to us when we are young, when we are naïve enough to ignore the question, but listen to the fear. What’s in the darkness? Why are we so scared? In the flickering firelight, my shadow-hands make shadow-ducks on the wall, to the great amusement of my comrades. It’s an exciting life, being a trekker, but without jokes and banter, soon you start to feel tired. But not us. We’ve been in the jungle for 3 weeks so far, and nothing bar a few moths and spiders have come to see us. Yesterday the trees moved in what might have been some monkey business, but even with the binos, all we saw was green and disappointment. Green fills the jungle at day. The trees, the snakes, the ground; it’s all full of green. It’s a beautiful, peaceful green, coming in varying shades, a calm in the midst of the chattering noise. But at night, everything changes. The bright, vibrant green gives way to the comforting night. A blackness which fills everything, yet harms nothing. The kind of black that begins with a mother’s baby, still cuddled in the womb. The “good” side of black. The black we are sitting in now. The light of the campfire criss-crosses our faces, and every now and then it floods into a stream. But the others are beginning to start unpacking, getting ready to sleep. Not me. I feel alive. Every night, in this beautiful, dangerous forest, I stay awake to watch the jungle. It’s perfect, even with its flaws. In some ways, I believe that the flaws are what makes it perfect. A thing without error is the most imperfect thing in the universe. The fire dies, and I am left alone in the darkness. But that suits me fine. I’ve always walked alone, and often in dark places. Maybe that’s why I came on this trip. To escape from it all. To run. No. I will not brood over the past again. It’s time to look to the future, to forget what happened to me. With her. I’ve never been good at facing my feelings, and that hasn’t changed yet. Maybe one day in the far, far future, but for now, I should just accept what is. Just be at peace. In the black stillness, something moving catches my eye. Something that seems big. Finally. Something good. One of the night creatures, perhaps a panther, or maybe a late-night tiger. I daren’t wake the others, this is my reward. After I see it fully for myself, then they can find out. But this is for me, something for my eyes alone. I creep out into the darkness, stalking the occasional flash of motion that leads me out, deeper into the jungle. I can remember my way back, just follow my tracks. This thing, whatever it is, has come to a river, and appears to have walked a little further up the banks, before leaving my sight. I scour the ground, yet I can’t find any footprints, which strikes me as strange. Everything, no matter how small and light, leaves traces, so why doesn’t this? I must have imagined it. It is late, and I am a little tired. I turn to go back, to follow my footsteps, but I find, they are gone. The river. The muddy banks, which can be so easily washed away. And further down, there it stands. It shouldn’t be here. It should be dead. The dead stay dead, they are not supposed to come back. But sure as I am lost, there it is. Whatever this unholy reincarnation is. For some time, we are just staring into each other’s eyes, but after an age of silence, its sharp, papery voice rasps its way into my fear.*“* *Where were you?”* Three words. Three words which ask a question only I can answer, a question I will never answer. I am too afraid to answer, too ashamed. You can try and bury the past, but, much like this... this... thing, it catches up with you. I have no choice. I run. I can hear it behind me, screaming with such rage and anguish, and underlying it all, the steel of betrayal. I can’t stop to think about it, I have to get away. But the jungle is not kind to those that walk its corridors whilst scratching off the wallpaper. Those that burn its body to fuel their own. The jungle does not like us, however much we may love it. And all of a sudden, the tree roots seem larger, the creepers seem denser, and all the spiders and bats and animals crawling around me in the darkness seem much, much scarier. But it all pales to what’s behind me. I keep running. Until finally, the jungle strikes back. The tree root was such a dark brown that it seemed camouflaged against the soft ground. But my foot caught, and I felt my self airborne for what seemed like infinity. And with my face in the dirt, something carefully caresses my neck. Something hard yet soft, dark yet pale. Something with more than four fingers. And now a 2nd hand reaches out to me, and grabs the other side of my neck. It lifts me then turns me to face it. I try to let out a scream. I breathe in. I don’t breathe out.