The Skeleton Tree

When I wake in the night, I’m afraid.
I lie staring through blackness, listening for every sound from the forest. I can’t see the ceiling or the walls of the cabin. I can’t see Frank, and for a moment I’m sure that he’s gone. But then, through the dark, comes the fluttery sound of his breathing, and I feel safe to know that he’s near.
I used to be scared all the time, and nights were the worst. When the sun went down, I felt like screaming. I’m not the same anymore. I’ve learned many things about the forest and the sea, and many things about myself. But when I wake in the dark, I’m afraid.
Out in the forest, something is waiting. It’s staying as still and silent as I am, both of us listening.
Is it the grizzly bear? I can imagine it standing huge and shaggy right beside the cabin, just the thickness of the wall away. But it might be a wolf. We’ve heard them singing, every night a little closer. It could be a man. Or it could even be a skeleton. I’ve heard them stirring in their coffins. These are things from my nightmares, and they loom in my mind in a terrifying cycle.