07 Feb Don’t Look for Lady Bluebell

They say that things change when you observe them. For example, my mom would look so proud at my childhood soccer games, but she’d immediately change the moment she noticed me on the substitute bench. A moment of observation, intended or not, can change everything.

One summer, my parents drove me out to a nearby national park. They had a Junior Ranger Club where kids were introduced to all manner of wildlife knowledge and survival trivia. I wasn’t sure about it at first. It seemed like just another thing on a long list of nothings.

But I gave it an honest shot. Along with a dozen other kids, and the chemically positive ranger accompanying us, we had craft sessions, survival training, cave exploration, and all kinds of games. Unlike sports, it wasn’t just about beating an opponent. This was about cooperation; to work together. Seeing us all work towards a common goal changed something in me. Brought out something good.

I enjoyed that.

Back in July of ’98, all twelve Junior Rangers set out on a spotlight night walk. Along with our guide, we were to pack our own survival kit and make our way to one of the ranger stations. There we’d unpack and be graded based on what we’d chosen to bring. There was this excitement in the air; it was like a graduation of sorts. We were to become official “wildlife stewards”, they called it. We excitedly paired up in a buddy system, two-by-two, and followed the trail.

It was supposed to be uneventful. The man in charge, Ranger Dan, had done that walk every summer for the past 12 years. He was prepared for a lot of things, but nature had other plans that night.

I remember him holding up a hand, silently asking us to stop and listen. There was this deep groaning noise off somewhere in the dark. I heard rustling bushes and crackling saplings. I saw two gleaming stones, reflecting the shine of our flashlights.

A black bear.

Looking back at it, it really wasn’t as bad as it sounds. The bear sniffed at Ranger Dan for a bit and wandered off, but to a group of 10-year-olds it was like staring at death itself. My buddy panicked, and bolted into the woods. We’re not allowed to ever leave our buddy, so I did my best to keep up with him. I yelled at him to stop, but by the time he did, we’d been separated from the rest of the group. I couldn’t even see their flashlights anymore.

Luckily, they used to have a system in place to help lost visitors navigate. They called it the “Lady Bluebell” system. All over the park, they’d wrap blue tape around the trees and tie a bell in the direction of the closest ranger station or trail. Even in the dark, you could hear a bell go off every now and then, and you could check the bell to get a direction. Spotting that blue tape immediately improved our odds of survival. We’d been taught that if all else fails, all we had to do was to follow three simple rules.

Stop, Listen, Look. Lady Bluebell takes you home. Those were the rules.

That first moment when I realized we were lost was horrifying. I could barely breathe, like I was choking on the darkness. My buddy was having a panic attack. But I did what I’d been told to do; to stop, listen, look. Lady Bluebell would take me home.

And I swear, not only did I hear that bell – I saw her.

A tall woman in a blue dress, off in the distance. A sun-tanned arm pointing us in the direction of the trail. Long dark hair framing a brilliant smile. A warm presence in the dark of night.

Maybe I remember it wrong. Maybe she wasn’t really there.

But I think she was.

My buddy and I were probably lost for no more than 20 minutes. We made our way back to the trail. Not long after that, we spotted flashlights in the distance. The rest of the night was nothing but praise from Ranger Dan, all the hot dogs we could eat, and scary stories told by a roaring campfire.

I never told anyone about seeing Lady Bluebell. Not a living soul.

My mom thought that night would be the end of my interest in the Junior Ranger Club. That it’d scare me away. But strangely, it had the opposite effect. I had used what I’d learned to survive; to win. And this wasn’t just winning a game, this was winning at life itself. I’d faced real, actual danger; and lived to tell the tale.

That’s when I knew I wanted to be a park ranger.

I got my Bachelor of Science in forest and natural resource management from MSU, worked a few different jobs, took a sabbatical, and ended up with a position at the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources in 2009. Nowadays I’m the one running the Junior Ranger Club. Ranger Dan retired back in 2018, but still volunteers for the club in the summer.

I’ve acquainted myself with the area for over a decade, I’m confident when I say that I know my way around. I know what animals roam which areas, and I can tell by the shifting seasons what is to come. I know how flash floods smell, and I can tell by the taste of the air when a lightning storm is coming. Still, every now and then, mother nature surprises me. And sometimes, she gives way to something different entirely.

The park has changed a lot too. The Lady Bluebell program, for example. Over the years it evolved into a sort of mascot. She was portrayed as this radiant woman in a blue summer dress. She also had her sidekicks, like the mischievous Ricky Raccoon and the ever-somber Sunny the Sad Sunflower. There were comic books, trading cards, stamps, merchandise… she was a beloved icon.

They hired a woman to dress like her every summer, to welcome the Junior Rangers and teach them the system. Lady Bluebell was sort of our Smokey the Bear, telling kids how to behave in the park to keep themselves, and others, safe. I loved it. Long after the end of Junior Ranger Club came to an end, I still collected all sorts of Lady Bluebell memorabilia.

But there were issues.

Over time, some visitors to the park began stealing the blue tape, keeping it as a souvenir. Others just took the bell. Some moved the bell around, purposefully pointing it in the wrong direction. Over time, the effort and resources required to constantly fix the system started to outweigh the benefits.

They officially ditched the “Lady Bluebell takes you home” motto in 2008 and retired the mascot entirely in 2011. I was sad to see her go, but it made sense. It just wasn’t practical anymore. Times change.

Now that you know me a little better, I want to tell you about one particular incident. Something I haven’t been able to share with my friends and colleagues.

It was late August. I was following our south-easternmost trail, mapping the movements of an elk herd. The leaves were just about to change color, and there was a tinge of cold in the air. Branches had started making snappier sounds, and the days were rapidly growing shorter. Autumn was just around the corner. That day, I was ready to head back when I spotted a plume of smoke just off my trail. Nothing big, possibly a campfire. I decided to give it a once-over, just in case.

I came upon a small camp. A rough-looking one-man tent, neon orange. A hastily constructed campfire with what looked like a grilled squirrel. I caught a whiff of sweat coming off the tent, giving me the impression that whoever lived there had been around for a while. Looking at their choice of meal, I figured maybe a bit too long.

“Hello?” I called out. “Anyone here?”

I heard a shout in response and hurried footsteps. Someone falling, getting up, and then sprinting in my direction. At first I was taken aback, thinking it might be a wild animal. Seconds later, a young woman crawled into camp.

The best word to describe her was “disheveled”. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she was deeply sunburnt on her arms and face. Her lips were dry and pale, and her hands kept shaking. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled up with tears.

“Yes!” she cried. “Jesus Christ, yes!”

She got up and flung her arms around me, crying onto my shoulder. Not just a sob either, but a full-on wail. She tried to say something, but every other word got stuck in her throat.

“Did… did I make it?” she sniffled. “Am I out?”

I sat her down, offered her some of my water, and asked her to calmly explain what’d happened.

“I just… just… can’t believe my luck,” she said. “I thought it was all over.”

I choked on my words. Nothing had prepared me for this. We weren’t out looking for anyone. We hadn’t been for months, maybe years.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Let’s pack up. Let’s get you home.”

Her name was Anya Baker. She’d been part of a company retreat and got lost somewhere along the way. She figured she’d been on her own for about two weeks, but there was no way to tell for sure.

“The days kinda blend,” she sighed. “You keep walking, and it might’ve been an hour, or two days. It messes with your head.”

She was malnourished and dehydrated. I didn’t think she had the strength to make it back, the closest ranger station was quite a way off. I asked if I could help her carry something, but she brushed me off.

“I got this,” she insisted. “Please, just… get me home.”

We got back on the trail and started making our way back. I took out my radio to call it in.

“I used to come here all the time,” Anya said. “Never thought I’d get lost.”

“It happens to the best of us,” I smiled. “You made it, that’s what counts.”

“I thought I did it right. I stopped, listened, and looked. Followed the bells. All of it.”

“We don’t do that anymore.”

“I figured.”

I told Anya about how the Lady Bluebell program had been discontinued for over a decade. I complained about the sabotaged bells, the stolen tape, and all the stupid things that tourists had done over the years. Frankly, I found it strange she’d found any bells at all; I hadn’t seen them for years.

But there were more immediate concerns. I’d never had trouble with my radio before, and now it was dead as a doornail. I brought out my backup batteries, but the radio stayed silent. Still, Anya was in better shape than I’d anticipated, so I figured we’d make it back by nightfall if we kept a good pace.

About two hundred feet down the trail, something started to feel wrong. The trail should’ve turned by then, heading west. Instead it kept going north. Looking around, I couldn’t see any of the usual landmarks. We continued for another 10 minutes, only to see the trail suddenly stop. Not slowly disappear into the moss, but stop altogether.

There were no trails like that. Not on that hike. Not for as long as I’d been there.

I wasn’t taking any chances, and there was no point dwelling on it. The radio was busted, so I picked up my flare gun. It was only one shot, so I had to make it count. I aimed it up, asked Anya to step back, and fired. The light soared into the sky with a whoosh, bathing the treetops in an intense red glow. Those things are louder than you think; it’s nothing like the movies.

“Now we sit tight,” I said. “They can’t find us if we keep moving.”

“So we buddy up,” Anya smiled. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

“That’s right,” I nodded. “You a Junior Ranger?”

Anya made herself comfortable on a log and took a swig from my canteen.

“Lady Bluebell takes you home,” she sighed.

She shook her head and handed back my canteen. A twinkle in her eye came and went.

“Not anymore, it seems.”

We stayed out there for hours. We shared a protein bar, and Anya helped me set up a campfire. To my surprise, there was a stream nearby. There wasn’t supposed to be, but there was. We boiled some water, refilled my canteen, and made ourselves comfortable. It could be hours before someone got to us.

It didn’t take long for the sky to turn black. I figured no one would find us in the dark, so we set up camp. Anya had her tent, and I had a hammock. We both went to bed early, but I couldn’t get any sleep. My new buddy was out cold though. I guess the excitement of seeing another person for the first time in weeks was enough to wear her out. I, on the other hand, was anxious about not finding my way back. It didn’t make any sense. I’d walked that trail a thousand times.

Somewhere in the space between the waking world and an uneasy sleep, I remember thinking about Lady Bluebell. Her three rules were simple; Stop, Listen, Look. First to stop, so you don’t get more lost than you already are. Second, to listen. The sound of the bells usually travels much further than the sight of the blue tape. And the third rule, to look, was a reminder to identify which way the bells were positioned.

I remember thinking that we’d already done the first part. We’d stopped. A part of me wanted to listen, like I’d done back when I was a kid. To hear that bell and find my way back.

As sleep faded from my mind, my eyes drifted into the dark. I noticed a strip of blue tape wrapped around a nearby tree.

Strange that I hadn’t seen it before.

Maybe it wasn’t there until I started to look for it.

Anya was awake long before I was. She’d heated up a bag of chickpeas from my pack and sliced up some salami. Simple stuff, but all you needed to keep going. I went to refill the water canteen again but couldn’t find my way back to the stream. Realizing it just wasn’t there anymore made my blood run cold. I wasn’t used to doubting myself. I knew these woods like the back of my hand, and suddenly it felt like I’d found an extra finger. None of this made any sense.

I checked my map and double-checked my compass. There was nothing even close to a landmark in our vicinity. There were no obvious elevations, lakes, or rivers. I was running out of options. It took me a moment to realize the Anya was staring at me from across the campfire, having picked up on my anxious fiddling. She gave me a reassuring smile.

“I saw her once, you know,” she said. “Back when I was a Junior.”

“It’s not uncommon,” I added. “Lots of kids think they see her. We all made her up in our minds, trying to convince one another that she was real.”

“No, I mean, really saw her. Dress and all. Tall as hell.”

Anya finished up her last spoonful of chickpeas.

“I was out fetching firewood. I wasn’t even lost. She just stood there, looking at me.”

“Shadows can play tricks on us.”

“No, see, that’s the thing,” Anya laughed. “It was the middle of the day.”

We waited all day long.

Morning, afternoon, and long into the night. Still, not a soul to be seen. No flares going up, no sounds in the distance. It was just me, Anya, and miles and miles of forest. A forest that should be familiar to me, but somehow wasn’t. We decided that come morning, we would make our way back on our own. Heading straight north should bring us to one of the main trails, no matter our approaching angle.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Anya that I, too, had seen Lady Bluebell. After all these years, I still couldn’t believe it, even though it’d been just as clear as the way Anya had described it. That night, I stayed up listening to the howling wind. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but to listen. And the more I tried to avoid it, the more I heard it. And there, hidden in the breeze, was something else.

Distant bells, urging me to look.

To look for Lady Bluebell.

The next day we packed up and got moving. Anya was much better off than when I’d first met her, having snacked on most of my backup rations. I still had some left, but we’d have to start foraging soon. Still, the trail shouldn’t be more than a few hours out, at most. But then again, nothing seemed to be where it ought to anymore.

We hiked through a clearing, stepping over collapsed trees and knee-length grass. Then I spotted something in the distance. I waved Anya over, and we took a detour.

It was one of our old “Stop, Listen, Look”-signs. I hadn’t seen one in years. It was a bit roughed up, but still legible. However, it’d been slightly altered. Someone had added “Don’t” to every line with a bright blue paint.

(Don’t) Stop.

(Don’t) Listen.

(Don’t) Look.

Lady Bluebell (won’t) take you home.

“Did you-“

“No,” Anya interrupted. “That’s, ah… that’s new.”

We came to the same conclusion. We weren’t alone out there.

We continued north, but I couldn’t help the feeling that there was something off about the whole area. I started to notice little details all around. Broken branches and paths in the grass. There was a spot next to a large rock that looked like someone had been sleeping next to. The tracks were pretty distinct. I even found a few footprints, and Anya swore that she’d never been there before.

By late afternoon, I was getting worried. Not only had there been more footprints and tracks, but they were getting fresher. We slowed our pace, and I started to take a better look around. I needed to get an estimate of just how many others were out there.

I was following the tracks of about three people when I saw another clearing ahead of us. It took me a few moments to realize that we had, effectively, walked in a circle. We were back at square one. I could even see the “Stop, Listen, Look”-sign in the distance.

I brought out my compass, took Anya by the arm, and stormed off. We had to try again. I don’t know when and where we got turned around, but we couldn’t stop now. We kept going north, and this time I didn’t put away my compass for a second. We settled into a steady jog, making sure the clearing stayed behind us. Anya kept a steady pace, even if she made a lot of noise.

At one point, we stopped to drink some water. I looked back for a second, only to see something in the distance. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it was standing upright. No, not just standing.

Running.

At first, we didn’t understand what we were looking at. It took me several seconds to realize it was even human. A young man, no older than 17, maybe 18. Rough hair, with cuts all over his legs and arms. He was only wearing a pair of torn jeans, darkened by weeks of built-up dirt. He didn’t run like people usually do, he was hunched over and flailing with his arms. He kept doing this strange motion with his neck, like a bobblehead. Never standing still.

As he got closer, I could hear this constant mumbling. Not a scream, or a whisper. It was like he was trying to manically force little words into every exhaled breath. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, I only understood that it was repeating.

Anya backed away, but it was clear that he was heading straight for us.

That’s when I noticed the sharpened flint in his hand.

Before I realized what was about to happen, he charged us. He went for Anya first, but she was too quick for him. As she ducked behind a tree, I moved to intercept. I grabbed my camping shovel from the side of my backpack and took a wild swing. As our attacker turned to face me, my swing clocked him right across the side of his face. There was a deeper cut than I’d anticipated, severing parts of his ear.

He reeled back and fell over. He struggled to regain his balance, but the head trauma made his eyes spin. His mouth kept opening and closing like a fish out of water, forming the same words over, and over, and over again.

“Don’t… don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t… don’t listen.”

His eyes locked onto mine. His pupils widened as a shiver worked its way into his voice. Shaking his head, a tear escaped him.

“Don’t look,” he quivered. “Don’t… don’t look!”

His eyes flicked to something off my side.

A piece of tape, hanging off a broken tree.

As I tried to assess his wound, he burst into movement. No longer able to run straight, he toppled over into a bent-over gallop; bracing himself against trees and stumps as he fled in a panic. I heard branches snapping long after he was out of sight.

Anya just stood there, frozen. I tried to put my hand on her shoulder, but she reflexively slapped it away. I could see she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Barely holding on.

“Just give me a, uh… give me a second,” she said. “Please.”

After that, we slowed down. I kept hearing noises in the distance. Mumbled words and snapping twigs. And sometimes, when there was a sudden gust of wind, there’d be bells. Sometimes one, sometimes several. But we stayed the course, moving north.

As night fell, I realized that I didn’t want to stop. Whenever I stopped, the sounds would get louder. The bells would get closer. Whatever lurked in the dark seemed to gain on us. Even though nothing leapt out at us, and there were no more attacks, I had this constant sense of unease; like sleeping in gasoline right next to a wobbly candle.

Anya wasn’t faring much better. She sat next to our campfire for hours, slowly rocking back and forth. Sometimes I’d see her snapping her head in one direction or the other, as if reacting to a sudden noise that only she could hear.

I twisted and turned for hours, barely keeping my eyes shut. It felt like the night would never end. The more I thought about it, the slower time seemed to move. I remember staring up at the night sky, waiting for the moon to come into view. It never did.

Anya told me she would wake me up before going to sleep so we could take turns keeping watch. It didn’t do me much good though. I was just as awake as she was. I got about an hour’s worth of sleep, all in all. Anya didn’t get anything. She didn’t even bother to set up her tent.

When I finally got up, it was still dark out. I checked my wristwatch, but it’d stopped just before midnight. Anya was still up, staring into the cinders of the campfire. We had plenty of firewood, but she just couldn’t be bothered to put them on. I got up from my hammock and stretched.

“It’s been a… it’s been more than a couple of weeks,” said Anya. “Time stopped making sense long ago.”

“What was the last date you remember?”

“Late July, I think.”

“That’s not too bad,” I smiled. “Just a couple of weeks out.”

I dug out the remaining salami from my pack and cut me a slice. I sat down across from her, at the other end of the campfire. I put a log on and watched the fire crackle back to life.

Then, something whispered in the back of my mind. An obvious question that I hadn’t considered. Up until now, it’d been too absurd to ask.

“What year?”

Anya and I locked eyes. I could see a stark realization boiling in the back of her mind. I repeated the question.

“What year, Anya? Who’s the president?”

She didn’t respond. Something cold crawled up my spine as a thought settled; I didn’t know who the hell was sitting across from me, or what they’d really seen. Where were we even going?

“We should pack up,” she said, breaking the tension.

“It’s still dark out.”

“Sometimes it stays that way for a while.”

As Anya packed up, I felt deflated. She was holding something back. If we were to make it out, in any capacity, we needed to work together. Follow the buddy system.

“Anya, you’re not making any sense.”

“Sometimes, it stays dark. She breaks the rules to keep us here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been here so long that I don’t know what’s real anymore. I thought I-I… could trick myself into forgetting, but she won’t let me. She’s there. She’s always there.”

I didn’t say anything. Anya kept pacing back and forth, scratching the back of her head.

“I wrote the damn sign,” she growled. “Because when you stop, she’s there. When you listen, you hear her. And when you look… when you look…”

Anya grabbed my shoulder and turned me around.

“… when you look, there she is.”

At first, I didn’t’ see anything. Maybe I didn’t want to. But there was that gnawing doubt in the back of my mind – something in my reptile brain telling me I was looking for something.

Slowly, the shadows twisted. They bent out of shape, forming something new. With every blink of my eye, a picture created itself in the distance.

A vague silhouette of a bone-thin woman. A few tufts of hair clinging to a decrepit scalp. A broken jaw hanging like a loose thread; swaying back and forth with a sudden breeze. A sour smell wafted my way, coating my tongue with a spike of ammonia.

And of course, there it was.

Her signature blue dress, assuring to one and all that there could be no mistake.

Lady Bluebell.

“Anya, what… what is…”

I looked back, only to see Anya backing away. She was packed and ready to go. She’d taken my canteen, and I could see my pack lying next to the campfire; wide open. There was a palpable fear in her eyes, like a wild animal.

“I can’t let her take me,” Anya wheezed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Before I got the chance to process what she’d done, a sound cut through the forest breeze.

Bells.

So many bells.

I turned to see the broken woman towering over me. She was so much taller than expected. My legs buckled as I looked up at no less than a 9-foot-tall monstrosity. Her torn blue dress was lined with bells that chimed against every branch and root she passed over.

She wasn’t going to let me leave. She refused to be forgotten.

I shouldn’t have stopped. Or listened. Or looked.

I stepped back, and she stepped forward. Her feet barely touched the ground, floating inches above the moss. Her ivory eyes burrowed into me, shrieking with desperation.

She wouldn’t let me go home. She couldn’t.

I turned to flee. I ran, and jumped, and crawled, and forced myself past every obstacle. I snagged my foot on fallen rocks. I tumbled down a sudden slope, dropping half my gear. I stepped through a shallow mire, drenching myself in cold water all the way to my knees. I bloodied my hands, and feet, and face, but I kept going.

And somewhere along the way, the sun rose. Wheezing for air, I realized I couldn’t hear the bells anymore. But the moment I stopped to listen for them, I heard one.

“No!” I yelled out loud. “No! No! No! Stop! Stop thinking!”

I bit down on my thumb and screamed. I shouldn’t listen. I shouldn’t stop, either.

I had to keep going.

It all reminded me of what my teachers had said, years ago. How the world changed when we observed it. Maybe if it wasn’t for people coming listen and look, there would be nothing to see there. Maybe by keeping people around , a part of her collective self remains.

I don’t know how long I was out there. At least a couple of days. I kept moving, stopping only for short bursts of rest. Sometimes I’d dream of bells, and I’d wake to hear them. The slightest thought of Lady Bluebell drew her to me like a moth to an open flame. I’d hear the bells long before I saw her, but one would always accompany the other. She was always there; a stray thought away.

I survived by eating boiled pinecones, roots, and eggs from warbler nests. I tried to track my progress, but there was no way to navigate. I’d either end up where I came from or going in the wrong direction. I saw that same sign, in that same clearing, at least a dozen times. Don’t Stop, Don’t Listen, Don’t look.

My feet chafed, and I’d grown a solid bear stubble. Having barely slept, I was having trouble shaping cohesive thoughts.

I remember sitting by a stream, not knowing how I got there. Maybe the same stream I’d seen that first day of meeting Anya. I was wringing out my socks and trying my best to ignore my shivering hands. I felt so weak that I couldn’t remember what strength felt like. Just getting back on my feet felt like such a monolithic task that I couldn’t force myself to do it. I resigned to sitting there with one naked foot in the ice-cold water. My skin color faded as my blood cooled from a painful purple to a sickly blue.

It took me a few moments to realize I wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t Lady Bluebell.

It was Anya, just across the stream.

She looked at me with this air of pity. Apologetically, even. It took me a few seconds to notice the makeshift spear she’d whittled; using the Swiss army knife from my pack, no doubt.

“I really am sorry,” she said. “After she feeds, she calms down. When she’s calm, you can get out. I had to bring someone new in, the others are too fast. Too clever.”

I didn’t even care. I couldn’t bring myself to curse or scream. I just hated Anya and what she’d turned me into. I kept my eyes on the stream, watching the water turn my foot a new tint of blue.

“Just take a nap,” she said. “Lean back, and let it happen. No fuss, no drama.”

I barely listened. All I could think of was that tinge of blue forming at the edge of my toe. It made me think of her. It made me think of bells. It made me look for her.

“That’s it,” said Anya, readying her spear. “I’ll just give you a little tap to make sure we won’t have any problems.”

I looked down at my hands, covered in scabs and bruises. My wet socks clinging to my thigh. Suddenly, a pain shot through my left leg. A quick jab from her spear and my body exploded with damaged nerves. It was as if a burst of electricity shot through me, forcing me out of my lethargy. As my blood mixed with the stream, I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. I crawled backwards, unable to put any weight on my leg. Anya backed away, staying just close enough to make sure Lady Bluebell was properly fed.

And the Lady was already there.

Maybe I had listened too long, or looked too hard. Maybe it was just the blue tint of my toe. Whatever it was, my thoughts had drawn her to me, and this time I couldn’t run. I heard the bells dragging my way, and saw a long shadow cover the ground. I looked back for a moment, catching a glimpse of her dead eyes coming my way.

Lady Bluebell didn’t take you home anymore.

I couldn’t run, but I had to try something.

Anything.

I tied my wet socks together into a makeshift blindfold and put it on as tight as I could. I pushed my wet fingers into my ears and screamed. I figured that if I couldn’t listen or look, maybe she’d be less interested in feeding on me. I focused on the pain in my leg as hard as I could, letting it envelop my thoughts. I knew she was closing in. My pulse went haywire, begging me to panic. To look back, to listen for threats, and run. To know what to expect, and prepare myself.

But I didn’t.

There was the soft touch of a cloth against my head.

Little pieces of metal bells dragged across my body, as Lady Bluebell passed me by.

She didn’t care for someone who couldn’t look, or listen.

But Anya could.

Anya did.

Keeping the sock-blindfold on, I flopped onto my belly. I kept my fingers in my ears, screaming until my throat was raw. I felt a thumping in the ground as something was dropped, and quick footsteps in rapid succession. Someone was running. Then, a sudden stop.

For what felt like an eternity, it was just me and my thoughts. Maybe she got away. Maybe we both made it.

Then, something meaty bumped into me. Something warm, and wet. It splattered onto my clothes and stained my face, drowning the air with a stench of blood. There was a reverb in the air, like the vibration of a scream.

But I didn’t turn to look. I didn’t turn to listen.

And I refused to stop.

Hours later, I made myself a crutch. I pressed wetmoss into my ears and kept the blindfold tight. Blind and deaf, I forced myself forward. It was just inches at a time, and every step of the way shot through me like a bolt of lightning.

And somewhere along the way, I felt a solid trail under my feet. Taking off the blindfold, I started to notice familiar landmarks. My clock started ticking, and my radio burst to life. I was back on familiar ground. Maybe Anya had been right; Lady Bluebell was more relaxed after a feeding.

Civilization was just around the corner, waiting for me to observe it once again.

I’d been gone for six weeks.

It was none other than Ranger Dan that came across me, leading a troupe of Junior Rangers across the same trail as all those years ago.

And yes, he had hot dogs.

Now that some time has passed, and my leg has healed, I’ve retreated to an administrative position. I keep my exposure to the park minimal. I haven’t told anyone about what really happened. Not only because it sounds completely insane, but because knowing about it might actually put them in danger. I might not get along with everyone, but I wouldn’t wish for anyone to come looking for Lady Bluebell.

Anya Baker was, indeed, reported missing from a company retreat; about 8 years prior. The strange young man was a mystery. No one matching his description had been seen for years.

Looking back at it, it feels so obvious. Anya had been so frantically preoccupied with fighting her way forward that she never really considered the very first rule.

To just… stop.

Perhaps there is some greater lesson to be learned. There were so many of us that never wanted Lady Bluebell to leave. We stopped along the trails to listen and look, hoping some part of her was still out there. Maybe we were just looking for our childhoods. I know I was.

I believe that she was some collective consciousness of belief, remaining in a forgotten part of what the park used to look like. A creature we all made and abandoned, like the ghost of someone who never truly was.

Maybe the world changes when we look at it. And sometimes it changes when we don’t.

And in the deep dark of those unseen chasms, things still grow.

Unheard, unseen, and unstoppable.