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The Harvest Moon hung low and swollen in the sky over the Pine Barrens; its faint light kissed the tops of the trees so gently, much like a mother kissing the crown of her child’s head. That normally pearlescent glow was vaguely stained in rusty orange—like blood diluted in water. There was something different approaching on the horizon. She could feel it.
From the top branches of the tallest pine tree, she gazed out at the distant, twinkling lights of society, as she so often did once darkness fell. She could see the dusty glow of New Jersey in the distance, and New York beyond that. If she concentrated, she could hear their abundant noises and smell their pungent odours—all shipyards and traffic, garbage, piss, and shit. The constants of humanity. Normally it all filled her with such distaste. But not that night.
Her great, leathery wings rustled against the pine needles as she caught the scent again: strong, dark coffee, barely overpowering a delicate balance of cedarwood and sage. It culminated in a frighteningly enticing human musk, the likes of which she had never smelled before. All she could discern from it was that it originated from a male and he was closeby, on the outskirts of the Barrens.
Kallikak. The small community floated into her mind’s eye and she sneered at the mere thought of it. He’s in Kallikak, and he’s afraid.
Her long, tufted tail rapped against the branches of the tree, suddenly restless, and her golden-yellow eyes narrowed into vicious slits. If he’d been in Kallikak for any amount of time and was now headed into her part of the woods, he obviously knew all he cared to know about her.
A shame, she thought bitterly. But oh, how she adored it when her prey wandered so willingly into her path.
***
1 week ago - Brooklyn, New York
“Hello, everyone, and welcome to another episode of Solo Supernatural : your go-to podcast for everything otherworldly. I’m your perpetually cyrptic host, Ben Solo, and here with me as always is my good friend and known wussy, Finn.
“This week, we’re keeping things close to home, for a special reason I’ll reveal shortly. But first, tell me, Finn: have you ever heard about the Kallikak Cat?”
“The what?”
“No? How about the Beast of the Barrens? No? The Jersey Devil?”
“The Jersey Devil! I know that one.”
“Good. I knew we’d get you there eventually.
“This creature goes by many names and, as is the case with most cryptids, its origin is blurred by legends and lore.”
“Go figure.”
“Here’s what we know: the Jersey Devil is described as being bipedal, with massive, bat-like wings, deadly claws, the body of a woman and the features of a feline—yes, this allegedly includes a tail and fur, all over.”
“Sounds like my kind of gal,”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Finn, my boy. There are legends about this thing surrounding the little backwoods community of Kallikak that span centuries, and they’re frightening:
“Locals have been saying for years that the beast can move faster than light itself. Not only that, but it’s said to have the ability to emit a scream at such a frequency that it can fully incapacitate any victim. And of the victims, there’s been plenty—mainly livestock, but every now and then it’s said to have snatched up any person who wanders too far into the woods around Kallikak.”
“Wait, like—people have actually gone missing because of this thing?”
“That’s what legend says. There are a suspicious number of missing persons reports from the area dating back several decades. And do you want to know what’s really weird? This thing hunts in a cyclical fashion.”
“Explain.”
“I mean that for centuries the people in Kallikak have been reporting livestock losses and unexplained property damage at regular intervals—like, every thirteen years and always during the month of October regular.”
“That’s...bone-chilling, horror movie shit. And this is real?”
“The reports are. But the answer’s inconclusive. Law enforcement always says it’s just your average wildcat or some other normal predator.”
“Of course they do. But I see that freaky little glint in those pretty eyes of yours, Ben. Dare I ask what you think?”
“I think I’m greatly intrigued. And let me tell you exactly why.”
“Oh boy, here we go—”
“I’ve told you what it can allegedly do ; I haven’t explained how it supposedly came to be. The legend goes like this: on a dark and stormy night in the year 1735—”
“Oof, I hate it already.”
“Let me finish! Along the outskirts of the pine barrens, where Kallikak is now located, there existed a lone cabin on several acres. Inside that cabin on this particular night, a mother was in the throes of labor with her thirteenth child.”
“ Thirteenth? Damn, lady!”
“After hours of pain, she birthed a daughter—or rather, a demonic nightmare disguised as one. The child had slanted eyes with slitted pupils, wet fur over her entire body, bony black horns on the crown of her head, leathery wings, and sharp claws. The family was horrified by the abomination and they started to pray to Jesus, but it only triggered something carnal in their newborn child.
“Apparently, she went ballistic and murdered her parents and all twelve of her siblings that night before escaping out the chimney and flying off into the woods, where locals say she still remains.”
“Wow, I—and what about that mess greatly intrigues you?”
“The fact that there is zero evidence of its existence despite there being so many different variations on this story. No video, no blurry photos that may or may not be faked. Just a whole slough of folktales, and they all have the same ending: an immortal, humanoid, cat-like creature with demonic capabilities and sacrificial habits that lives in the barrens which are, when you think about it, just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Brooklyn...”
“I see where you’re going with this and I don’t like it.”
“I’m not asking you to go try and get evidence with me...at night, in October...but I am telling you that’s my plan.”
“...Yep. Don’t like that.”
***
Kallikak, New Jersey
Ben Solo swallowed hard. The great field of pines stood before him like an immense, shadowy wall—penetrable, but never-ending. A guaranteed mistake. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated. “It’s only the woods” was not a mantra he could chant anymore, now that he had heard what supposedly lurked within.
He gave his body a quick shake from head to toe, cleared his throat, and pulled his voice recorder from his jacket pocket. The small red light flared, reflecting devilishly in his wide eyes.
“Hello and welcome to a special episode of Solo Supernatural . I’m your rattled host, Ben Solo, and right now, I’m walking deep into the New Jersey Pine Barrens, searching for a legendary cryptid—a monster known most widely as the Jersey Devil.”
Twigs broke beneath his feet and hidden birds rustled in the low-hanging tree branches—or were they really even birds? Now that he had entered the barrens, it felt like ten thousand mysterious eyes were tracking his every movement. His nerves were like livewires sparking dangerously within him.
“Before embarking on this journey, I stopped at the Kallikak Tavern and spoke to a handful of locals about this strange creature. I’ll include some of their testimonies here, but there’s one I didn’t get to record that sent a nasty chill up my spine.
“This person informed me that they believed the cryptid’s mother had been a witch; her father the Devil himself, summoned forth by the sorceress so that she could birth the antichrist and bring about the end of days. So, as you can imagine, that did nothing to ease my nerves and I am absolutely fucking terrified right now.”
He was completely encircled by the trees. Their skeletal trunks rose like ancient columns in every direction; their misalignment a natural maze he couldn’t puzzle out. If he looked over his shoulder and squinted, he could just barely see a couple Kallikak yard lights, flickering dimly through the gently swaying branches.
A drooping pine bough brushed against his cheek as he had his head turned, and he yelped sharply, instantly panicking. He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise and tried to calm his rapid breathing as he came to terms with what had just happened.
He shook it off, thankful no one was around to see, and carried on, bringing the recorder back to his mouth once he’d caught his breath.
“Now, yes, I do have a goal of capturing photographic and/or video evidence of this thing if I find it. Even though at this point I kind of hope it’s a hoax, I’ve been given the best chance a person can have at actually seeing it: the exact location of its alleged ‘nest.’”
Ben took a deep breath, cursing inwardly.
“And, for those of you wondering: yes, I am starting to think I may have a death wish.”
The air smelled different this far into the barrens. The scent of pine sap was rich, barely overpowered by the earthiness of the uneven carpet of dry pine needles, grass, moss, roots, and fungi which covered the ground. Ben took in great lungfuls of the air, finding a soothing balm in its woodsy freshness, despite the pungent perfume.
The farther he walked, the quieter the world became, until he was almost certain someone had filled his ears with cotton when he wasn’t paying attention. The trees were grouped closer together now; even his footfalls were muted as the ground became softer, and more coated by moss than by dry tinder. The buzzing of night bugs, which had been ever-present at the start of his journey, now seemed miles away. He realized, with a spine-gripping chill, that it was the perfect environment for predators sneaking up on prey.
Eventually, he reached the edge of a small clearing around the base of a tall and peculiar rocky outcrop. It was comprised of one large monolith, about eight feet high, with smaller boulders and rocks spreading out from it on either side in a crescent formation. He could see the moon clearly overhead, along with a smattering of sparkling stars. He would have found it almost peaceful, if his heart didn’t feel like it was about to burst from his chest.
The very world around him seemed to have stalled to watch his next move. His first instinct was to run, and his legs trembled with indecision. But he had a duty to his listeners, and even though it was stupid and entirely his own design, he was determined to see it through. So, somewhat reluctantly, he began recording again.
“I’ve reached the approximate location of its nest,” he narrated into the small recorder. “And it looks...like I really don’t want to get any closer.”
But closer he got, however frightened he was. The light of the moon cast eerie shadows on the face of the rocks, like broken, crooked men in hooded cloaks watching him from afar. Something round and ghostly white, hidden in the grass at the base of the monolith, caught his eye. It reflected the moonlight as though it were a piece of the moon itself; nestled carefully into the earth like a sacred object.
“There’s something here...hang on…”
Ben felt a droplet of cold sweat trickle down his spine from the back of his neck. Every hair on his body lifted at once; his skin prickled and pebbled all over, warning him, much like the voice that screamed inside of his head. Run. This is not safe. Do not look at it. If you look at it, you will die.
But he could no more stop himself from looking at it than he could stop his heart from pulsing madly in his chest. He was close enough now he could see it better; it had a smooth, almost polished quality to it, and one hairline crack down the centre, barely visible from any sort of distance.
His legs seemed to move on their own accord. Before he could even think to stop himself, he was kneeling down to inspect it closer, pushing away the overgrowth as best he could. With one hand he cupped the thing in his palm and pulled it out from its resting place. Upon doing so, he found himself staring into two vacant, black eye sockets, so menacing in their depthlessness as to almost seem alive. Though it lacked a bottom jaw, its grin was undeniably malevolent.
Ben dropped the skull and screamed, falling back hard onto his tailbone. He dug his heels into the earth and pushed himself away despite the pain that arced up his spine. Only then did he realize that what he had originally assumed to be rocks laid out on either side of the great, singular monolith were not rocks at all. They were smaller mounds of bones, human and animal alike, stacked so tightly and so neatly so as to appear perfectly natural to any careless beholder. If this was a nest, it was sacrificial in nature, and there he sat at the centre of it.
Something flew over his head, maneuvering through the tightly-knit trees behind him with barely a sound before taking off like a bullet towards the top of the stone, with enough force to ruffle his hair. He heard the snap of large wings, followed by an ungodly growling noise that seemed to only get louder with each passing second.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t get his legs under him even if he knew what direction to run in. The entire world had stilled, and so had he.
Two yellow eyes glinted at him from the shadows at the top of the standing stone. They held him in their grasp so tightly, he forgot all about his voice recorder and camera, which he had dropped in his panic.
“Holy shit…” he gasped, chest heaving. It’s real.
“W-what—are y-you…?” he stammered. How was he meant to address a creature that by all means should not exist? Could it even understand him? It was part human, after all.
The growling grew to a fearsome pitch, practically a snarl, before an angry yet oddly feminine voice spoke to him from the shadows.
“Why do you ask a question to which you already know the answer?”
“Oh my god...the Jersey Devil…it’s real...”
“That’s supposedly what I am. It’s not who I am.”
The beast expanded its immense wings, an effective intimidation tactic if ever there was one, and leapt off the standing stone to land mere feet away from Ben. Finally, he could see her clearly by the light of the moon, and he very quickly realized that every single legend he’d been told was, in some respect, a complete fabrication.
She was, by the most basic description, a fearsome hybrid somewhere between a human and a lion, that much had been true. She had curved horns atop her head, fangs for teeth, deadly claws for nails, and her wings were undeniably bat-like. But despite all of that, she was not as horrifying as they said she would be. Unexpected and unbelievable, yes. But an abomination?
Her body was covered in a thick coat of silky short hair, the colour of beach sand. Around her head there flowed a mane of warm chestnut, vibrant by its contrast. And in her face, despite the menacing snarl she had it pinched into, there existed something nearly familiar to him—it could have been as simple as the soft curve of her chin, or as complex as a hidden emotion. Regardless of the answer, he could not look away.
One of her hands was splayed out over his video camera, tightening into a fist. Ben could hear the crunching sounds of the device withering beneath the pressure points of her claws.
“But you do not care who I am!” The beast snarled, and showed him her teeth. “You came here to film me! Others have come before you with these strange contraptions, talking about selling footage and making money. You would exploit me for your personal gain! For that, I will kill you, like I killed the others that came before.”
“No! P-please, profiting off you wasn’t my goal!” Ben urged desperately. “I-I didn’t even think I’d find you! I didn’t believe you were real. I just wanted to tell people about you. I find your story interesting, that’s all.”
She narrowed those cat-like eyes in suspicion but withheld her attack nonetheless, though her hackles were raised. Slowly, she came closer to him. His body jolted involuntarily and she jumped, then when neither made a move she stretched her neck out towards him and sniffed the air.
“Hmph,” she huffed. “You know nothing of my story.”
“I know, but I’d like to,” he said with bated breath. “Only if you’d tell it to me.”
She stared into his face, considering him, for what felt like a long time. Ben didn’t even dare to breathe too deeply. Eventually, she sat back on her haunches, though her wary eyes did not leave him for even a second.
“What is your name?” She asked.
“My name? My name is Ben Solo. I-I host a radio show called a podcast about para—”
“I did not ask what you do; I asked only for your name,” she interjected brusquely.
“Now, Ben Solo, I want you to tell me what you think you know about me.”
So he did. The legends spilled from his mouth in a slurry of words that seemed hardly recognizable to his ears. He told her everything he’d read online, and the haunting stories he’d heard from the locals. Everything, until his tongue fell limp inside of his mouth and his lungs heaved gratefully on the air.
After a lengthy silence, she rose clandestinely onto all fours and began to slowly circle him.
“And which of these tales do you believe?” She inquired. Her voice was a gravelly murmur by his ear.
“I-I don’t know that I believe any of them,” he answered, too afraid to be anything but sincere. “Honestly, I didn’t even believe you existed at all. I thought they were all bullshit.”
She returned to face him, closer now; so close he could see the strange flecks of amber scattered throughout her irises. He could smell the rich, animalistic scent that clung to her fur.
“Is that so?” She queried. “I suppose you thought of me as just another malevolent warning to children, then; a nightmare, designed by their parents in an effort to keep them out of the woods? Just another terrifying, terrible work of fiction, is that what I am?”
“N-no! No, I don’t think that!”
A lie. Partially, at least. He had thought that, once or twice. But he was rethinking it, currently, and he just hoped that might count for something.
“What do you think, if you think at all?” She snarled.
“I think you’re misunderstood!” He blurted it out without prior contemplation, and braced himself for the no doubt grisly outcome of making such a brazen assumption.
When she did not lash out at him, but instead gazed openly at him with a mixture of shock and begrudging respect, he seized the opportunity to encourage her.
“Aren’t you? I-I’d like to try and understand you, if you’d let me.”
Those eyes narrowed again. Her upper lip twitched, and he caught the briefest flash of one perfect, long canine. He had to choose his next words very carefully.
“I’d like to know your truth. Would you tell me what actually happened to you?”
“What would you stand to gain from that?” she questioned. Her retractable claws flexed and Ben could only imagine them piercing through the vulnerable flesh around his neck.
“Nothing,” he replied. “No one will believe me if I try to tell them. I’ll just have the satisfaction of knowing about something so...special. But maybe you’ll gain something from it.”
She made a low sound in her throat, somewhere between a hum of thought and a threatening growl. Ben braced himself, but for what he did not know.
“My story is much less dramatic than any of those abhorrent retellings you’ve heard,” she confessed bitterly.
“Tell me.”
A look of unprecedented pain passed over that feline face like a crossing shadow. Quick and fleeting, but Ben managed to see it nonetheless. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to see her as a beast. There was something innately human about her, something so agonizingly sad, that he found himself suddenly conflicted on the matter. And yet, this fear remained inside of him, like a sharp piece of glass that only seemed to grow more pronounced as she began to tell her tale.
“I was born during a terrible storm in a cottage on the outskirts of the barrens in 1735, that much is true,” she murmured. Her long tail, tufted like a lion’s, twitched back and forth anxiously. “The thirteenth child to be born to my family. An unlucky number, to be sure; all the more unlucky to a family whose superstitiousness bordered on the puritanical.”
She cast her eyes upward, to the tops of the trees and beyond, where the stars twinkled in the night sky, undisturbed by the radiating lights of the city. The moonlight became the sleekness of her fur; it shimmered like pale silver raindrops over sandy plains. Strangely beautiful, Ben thought idly to himself. A once-in-a-lifetime sight only for his eyes to behold.
“I don’t know why I was born the way I am,” she answered in a quiet voice—a small voice, almost pitiful in its agony. “I don’t know why I was cursed with immortality. I’ve thought about it again and again. By all rights I should have been born a normal human girl with a much shorter lifespan, and yet—this is the face my parents looked upon that night I was born.
“They didn’t know what to do with me. Clearly I was something demonic to them. They were afraid of me; afraid of what I might do to them. But I was an infant, horns or not. I was not capable of murder—and I could barely see let alone fly off anywhere. They didn’t think of me that way, though. I was not a baby to them.”
She looked down, sounding incredibly solemn. It was only then that Ben noticed she was not without her wounds. Jagged scars crawled up the leathery coverts of her wings like silvery veins. Some were thicker—much thicker, as if someone had at one time attempted with quite a lot of determination to sever them.
A pronounced wave of nausea rolled over him, but Ben fought it off with a few deep breaths. He could feel that cold sweat, trickling down between his shoulder blades.
“What did they do to you?” he dared to ask.
She looked at him, contemplating. Weighing her odds. He watched with an odd sense of satisfaction as she finally accepted the fact that he was absolutely no threat to her—it played across her face like sheet music.
“They kept me in the cellar behind the house for the first four years of my life,” she answered bluntly. “It was cold, and dark. I assume they thought I would die down there; that they wouldn’t have to get their hands dirty. In the cellar, I was hidden. In the cellar, I could be kept blinded by the darkness, weakened without any sunlight, and therefore easier to handle when they eventually decided what to do with me.”
“How did you manage to stay alive?”
“They fed me goat’s milk in a dirty bucket at first, but that soon turned to raw meat. Typically it consisted of a rotting carcass they found in the pines, or if I was lucky, a rodent. They’d open the cellar door, throw it in, and that would be all I’d see of them. That, and the sounds of them praying for forgiveness outside the cellar, were the only interactions we had. ‘Lord, we beg of you to forgive whatever unholy sin hath resulted in such demonic punishment.’ ”
“That’s terrible,” Ben commented, for whatever good it did her now.
“Yes, it was,” she agreed. “I was young, and I couldn’t comprehend much. I didn’t even have a name. But I knew what they thought of me. To them, I was a mistake. I was lesser-than. I was backwards, unholy, and forsaken by God Himself; in their eyes, I did not deserve a chance at life. I knew this, even at a young age and in such a deprived state. But what could I do? Nothing. So I waited in fear for the day when those cellar doors would open, and I would see death waiting for me on the other side.
“That day came shortly after I had aged four years.”
Her tail had ceased its twitching. Ben couldn’t take his eyes off of her even if he wanted to; so enraptured was he by her story, and the pain in her golden eyes. She had felt the heartache then and she felt it now, centuries later. It was the everlasting impact of inhuman trauma, playing out like a movie before his very eyes.
“Only my father came to the doors that day. He had an empty potato sack in one hand. He looked at me the same way he always did: with a mixture of disgust and terror. I always thought, out of everyone in the family, he loathed me the most. His dislike for me went far beyond the boundaries of religious impurity. He bade me to stand and come out of the cellar and I did so, crawling the whole way. I can still remember the way my limbs hurt to move so much; they were so stiff from the cold, earthen floor of the cellar.
“He made me crawl all the way over to the well on the other end of the yard. I was very exhausted by that point, and he knew it. He threw the potato sack over me and picked it up with me inside. And all I remember was feeling this incredible surge of panic. I knew I needed to do something and quick or he was going to drown me like a bag of unwanted kittens. So I used my teeth and claws, which I hadn’t been able to file down very well trapped as I’d been, and tore through the bag.
“I remember the fear on his face when I cut his throat, and I remember flying away into these barrens as far as I could get before I came crashing back down.”
Ben swallowed, his throat painfully dry.
“You killed your father?”
“Yes. And why shouldn’t I have?” she hissed, lip curling. “He was going to kill me , just because I didn’t look right. I didn’t act right. Because I wasn’t ‘made in God’s image.’ So, does that just make me like any other animal? A pest? An impurity in dire need of being eradicated, so that only those deemed to be ‘correct’ may thrive?”
Her claws raked the earth, sinking into it like needles into flesh. The trees quivered in the face of her growing rage.
“But how am I truly different, besides my appearance, which I cannot change? I feel emotions; I have dreams and nightmares. I contemplate life’s meaning. I have impulses, some of which I act upon. Mistakes I make. My family called me a demon, but don’t we all carry demons inside, which we constantly battle? Is that not a part of human life? So what if these horns, and these wings, are simply my inner demons manifested to reality? Does wearing it on the outside rather than holding it within make my darkness any less human?
“Many times I can’t help but wonder why or how I came to be. My thoughts grow increasingly negative until I inevitably fall into a perilous state, in which I try to fix myself,” Her hands ran absently across the scars over her wings. “But even still, I possess the strength to overcome something so complex, again and again, as I’ve done for centuries. Humans do it too, all the time and in ever-changing ways.”
She turned her doleful face to him once more, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of apprehension hidden there.
“So I ask you again, now that you know all of this: what do you think I am?”
He took a moment to really think about it. When he had first laid eyes upon her, he quite easily could have called her a demon. Before he even thought she existed he called her a beast, and talked about her as if she were no more than another blockbuster monster.
He’d told her when she’d first asked that question he thought her to be misunderstood. That still rang true. But there was so much more to her, now that he knew her true story.
“I think you are painfully, but beautifully, human,” he answered in earnest. “You have been so mistreated, not only by your family, but by the stories people tell of you. You’re not some fearsome, devil beast at all. Different, but not terrible. You’re just...lonely. Aren’t you?”
She was looking at him in shock. Clearly, whatever answer she had been expecting of him, that had not been it. Those eyes, so harshly cat-like up until this point, had smoothed from slitted pupils to wide, humanoid orbs, taking all of him in with a fresh view.
Slowly, she nodded her horned head.
“Yes,” she whispered, “I am.”
“You don’t have to be anymore, not if you don’t want to be,” he said, daring to sidle closer to her. She flinched imperceptibly but did not back away.
“I can help you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re quite honestly the most amazing creature I’ve ever seen. And I believe you could have killed me a dozen times over tonight but you haven’t. Now, why is that?”
“I...suppose I sensed something different in you—something I can’t quite explain.”
“I feel it, too. That’s why I think I could help you, be a friend to you. If you’d let me.”
She got close to him, close enough that he could feel her slow, warm exhalations on his face.
“You’re really not afraid anymore?” She asked quietly.
“I’m not sure if I ever really was afraid, or if I was only misled,” came his gentle reply.
Her padded thumb drew itself across his lips like a warm breeze.
“What if I stole you away, tonight, and kept you to myself forever?” she whispered. “Would you be afraid of me then?”
Excitement rolled through him and caused his heart rate to spike. There was something lethal hidden deep in the childlike quality of her questions, but if it was something for him to worry about she gave nothing away.
“Would you steal me?” he inquired.
“I could, very easily,” she purred. The confusion upon his face prompted her to continue, “If I told you to run, to run away right now, could you find your way out of these woods on your own? Do you even remember how you got to this clearing?”
He looked around him and all he saw were the tall, spiny trunks of the pine trees, fading into amorphous shadows in the distance. The dim, silvery light of the moon did not seem to penetrate through the trees outside the small clearing.
“I-I don’t—” he stammered. He was suddenly overtaken by the arresting experience of mild claustrophobia.
She sighed longingly at him and backed away a touch, as though to give him room. He stared at her, confused and on-guard but still completely hypnotized.
“Breathe,” she coaxed gently. “I have one final question for you, Ben Solo. Have you ever walked past a shadowy room and gotten the feeling you were being watched? Where the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end for just a fleeting moment—but in that moment you find yourself questioning everything?”
“Y-yes...I have,” he answered. He felt as though he’d been in that moment from the second he entered the barrens.
She nodded sagely.
“Then for now, you will rest. When you wake, you won’t be able to discern whether all of this was real, or, simply a dream. But the next time you feel a pair of eyes watching you from out of the darkness, and you enter into that desolate instant of doubt, know that that is where I exist. It is from there I will watch you; from there I will keep you.
“And, if you ever linger for just a little too long, it is from there I will steal you into the pines for good.”