The THING in the NORTH WOODS

by Leigh Lundin

The forest was dark that night, winds whipping through the trees, battering the eaves. The temperature plummeted below freezing into negative numbers, but the house was warm and dark, a cocoon in the scattered reaches of the state park.

The sound in the corner of the house part rattled, part hissed, an angry bit of both. The ferrets, Sid and Felix, afraid of nothing, arched their backs and glared, giving off ehn-ehn-ehn sounds. The lynx-like cat, Debit, possessed all the intelligence of a table leg, but she was smart enough to evacuate the bedroom.

Panicked, my significant elbowed me. "What is that?"

The noise came again like a throaty, warning roar. She ducked under the covers. "K-k-k-kill it or something."

At these times, feminist rules of engagement evaporate like breath in the cold outdoors:

The party of the female part may immediately suspend rules of gender equity so that the party of the male part shall utmost protect party of the female part against invasions, incursions, monsters, and all things big, potentially lethal and vewwy, vewwy scary.

I slipped out of bed.

The noise came again, menacing. At first, I thought the sound came from outside, from the other side of the wall. My famed hunting skills kicked in as I noiselessly slunk toward the invader in bare feet. I discovered the cat hadn’t merely evacuated the bedroom, she’d evacuated in the bedroom.

The noise now a snarl. I realized it wasn’t outside, but behind the dresser… or in the dresser.

Squirrel? They were noisy. Rat? They were nasty. We once let a fox in the house, but the fox didn’t make that sound. We sometimes found snakes, and I wondered if a rattler made it inside.

"A bear or wolf would have to be mighty, mighty small," I said.

"Could be mighty, mighty and small," came from beneath the covers.

Badger? They were fearless. Skunk? Potential rabies carrier. Wolverine? They had evil reputations.

When I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, the noise picked up pace and volume. I couldn’t see anything hiding in its depths.

Closed the drawer. I tried the middle one. My significant "eeked", making me jump. The noise was louder, uglier, but I couldn’t see anything in the drawer. I slid it shut.

I reached for the top drawer and…

A Word from our Sponsor

Friday, Steve wrote about animals in the attic or bats in the belfry and he managed to work in a lesson about novel writing. I’ll speak a moment about suspense.

Usually, we associate suspense with thrillers and horror flicks, wondering if or who or when someone gets snuffed. Many other situations apply. Suspense kicks in as we worry if the poor minority school for the blind will prevail over the evil land developers, if Rocky will win the fight or the girl, or if the Black Stallion will win the race.

When we care about characters, we become susceptible to suspense. In Elizabeth Peter’s Egyptology stories, I became concerned when Amelia Peabody’s son Ramses appeared cowardly. While reading Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason’s The Rule of Four, I called the girlfriend who’d recommended the book to ask if it was going to turn out the way I wanted. Watching The Night of the Living Dead, I wanted the black kid to make it. But did he?

Without caring, there is no suspense.

After posting my comment to Steve’s article, I received this message:

This is krooool and unusual punishment for one with my quiziosity! I want to know, I want to know, I want to know (bouncing up and down) – please, please do tell (she begged, imploringly). As one of my kids once said ‘The suspension’s killing me.’

And now, back to our story…

The hissing rattle sound grew louder, barely pausing. The first two drawers were empty. I reached for the top drawer and found…

A sort of toy. A special sort of toy. Battery powered. For adults, see. Forgotten for months.

In the interim, the electrical contacts oxidized and it managed to, well, (How do I put this?) turn itself on.

After that, lots of relief, lots of nervous laughing, lots of joking. Thankful the danger was past.

And that is the point of suspense.