Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

of Niles's stone and pulled myself to my feet so awkwardly, I tottered uncertainly for a moment before gaining a secure stance. Then, my tears still flowing, I turned away from the grave and hurried toward the wooded path.
    I had made a terrible mistake. I had gone too far. Fear and anxiety seized hold of my legs and made each step an ordeal. My stomach grew twice as heavy and my breathing grew shorter, faster. How my back ached with every turn. My head began to spin. Suddenly, my foot got caught under a tree root and I fell forward, screaming as I caught myself on a bush and felt it scratch my arms and neck. I hit the earth with a thud, the collision sending a resounding clap of thunder down from my shoulders, through my chest and into my stomach. I groaned and turned over on my back. There I remained for minutes, holding my stomach, waiting for the storm of pain to end.
    The forest had grown quiet. The birds were in shock, too, I thought. What had started out as pleasurable and wonderful had become dark and frightening. The very shadows that had earlier looked cool and inviting now looked dark and ominous, and the wooded pathway that attracted me and promised enjoyment had turned into a formidable journey fraught with danger and peril.
    I sat up, moaning softly. Just the idea of standing again seemed an enormous task. I took two deep breaths and struggled to my feet, rising like a woman of ninety. The moment I did so, I had to close my eyes because the woods had begun to spin. I waited, sucking in short breaths and holding my right palm against my heart as if I wanted to be sure it didn't pound its way out of my chest. Finally, my breathing and my heartbeat slowed and I opened my eyes.
    The afternoon sun had dropped more quickly than I had realized. Shadows were deeper; the forest was colder. I started down the path again, trying to move quickly, but trying at the same time to avoid another unpleasant fall. The effects of this one had still not left me. My stomach continued to ache ominously, the dull but continuous pain traveling farther and farther down until I felt needles in my groin and every step became harder and harder.
    I thought I had been walking for so long, but I recognized the surroundings and markings and knew that I was merely halfway back. Once again, fear had a strong hold over me and with it came a rush of heartbeats that took my breath away. I had to stop and take hold of a sapling and wait for the attack of anxiety to lessen. It did but it didn't disappear. I knew I had to continue and go as quickly as I could, for something strange and new was happening inside me. There was turmoil where there had never been turmoil before. The problem was that each and every new step forward only increased the pain, only encouraged the commotion.
    Oh no, I thought. I'm not going to get back; I'm not going to make it. I started to shout, small, low cries at first, but then stronger and more desperate cries as I experienced more pain, more aches. My legs were rebelling, too. They didn't want to move forward and my back . . . it was as if someone were driving nails into it every time I moved forward. After a while I realized I had gone only a dozen or so yards. I screamed again and this time the effort made my brain reel and my eyes fall back. I gasped and sank to the forest floor once again, when all went black.
    At first, when I regained consciousness, I thought I was up in my room in my bed dreaming, but the sensation of small ants and other insects crawling over my legs inside my skirt quickly reaffirmed my location. I brushed myself down and when I did so, I felt the warm, wetness trickling down my calves. There was just enough daylight streaming in between the trees and leaves for me to see it was blood.
    This new panic left me cold. My teeth actually began to click. I turned over and pushed myself up into a sitting position first. Then, I used the nearby sapling to lift myself to my feet. No longer aware of the pain, too numb with fear to realize if I were being scratched by bushes or nicked by branches, I plodded onward, moving forward ponderously but continuously. The moment I set eyes on the plantation house, I released another scream, this time calling on all my strength. Fortunately, Charles was just returning some equipment to the barn and heard me.
    I suppose the sight of me was shocking: a pregnant young girl coming out of the forest, her hair disheveled, her face streaked with tears and mud. He