I stiffened as I heard that blood-curdling scream. The soft blue covers on my warm bed comforted me as I shivered in fear. I gathered up enough courage to poke my head out of the covers. My eyes shifted warily around the room and soon rested on the open window where the curtains were blowing in the gentle wind. My heart skipped a beat as the scream once again sounded throughout the pitch-black darkness. I slipped out of the covers and my bare feet padded softly on the hardwood floor as I scuttled over to the window. I slowly shut it and, satisfied, slipped back into bed. I shut my eyes tight, and soon, sleep overcame me.

“Carson Dolling.” My mom called from downstairs. From the tone of her voice, I was in trouble.
“Yes mom?” I called timidly.
“Come down here this instant!” Mrs. Dolling said in a threatening voice.
I went down the stairs with my blue jeans, a T-shirt and one sock on. I went slowly, so as to preserve the cheerful morning that was about to get turned upside down.
“What is this?” Mom asked, holding up her favorite white shirt, that was, at the moment, bright pink.
“Your shirt?” I answered.
“Yes, this is my shirt that was with a collection of laundry that was white, and is now, pink.” Mrs. Dolling said, with her clean white teeth clenched.
I thought back to the day before, right before going to bed - right before hearing the scream - I had tried to be helpful and thrown into the washing machine, my red sock.
“Go to your room, NOW.” She said, her face a shade brighter than the pink shirt that was still dangling from her thin, bony fingers.
I ran up the stairs and closed the door, hard. I thought about my options at the moment. I could stay in my room all day or, being the rebellious teenage boy that I am, go check out that scream. The choice was obvious in my mind. I put on my other sock, grabbed a sweater and climbed out of the window I had shut the night before, and shinnied down the pipe that was hugging the side of my house.
I jogged to the other side of the street and straight into the forbidding woods beyond. As I leaped over broken twigs and tree roots I enjoyed the fresh wind billowing in my face. I had explored these woods thoroughly, but there was one particular spot that I had not yet investigated. Past the No Trespassing sign stapled onto the barbed wire was a darker wood, one that looked as if it held unknown dangers.
I gingerly avoided the barbed wire as I crawled under the fence. I walked the rest of the way into the Dark Wood. That was what I was going to call it, I decided.
The Dark Wood was not that different from the woods that I had already crossed through. It had the same broken twigs and tree roots and the same sky hung above my head. There were even spots of sunlight throughout my long walk. I wasn’t really going in any particular direction; I was just following my instincts and hoping I would stumble upon something interesting. And stumble I did!
A run down house stood alone in a small clearing. It didn’t look occupied but this was exactly the direction that the scream had come from and if it had come from much farther, I wouldn’t have been able to hear it so clearly. I crept up cautiously and rapped on the front door, when no one answered I turned the door handle and pushed on the door.
With a creaking sound the door gave way. It swung open and a small hallway with a dirty rug faced me. I wandered down the hallway and inspected the walls. I saw pictures of dogs playing poker and a lady whose eyes followed me wherever I went. I knew what these paintings were called, somewhere in the back of my head, but I knew they weren’t real because they were on shiny paper instead of old, genuine paper you would expect them to be on.
I entered into the kitchen and saw an old wooden dining room table with four old chairs circled around it. There was also an old fashioned living room. Everything was dusty and old. The room that interested me the most would have to be the downstairs because what greeted my bright blue eyes was a young girl, about my age, in a chair, looking out the small window. At sixteen years old she was very pretty with dark brown hair, in contrast to my white blond hair, and brown, hazel eyes. She looked up at him suddenly, startled.
“Who are you?” She asked, a hint of genuine fear in her voice.
“Who are you?” I asked back.
“You have to get out of here!” She whispered to him.
“Were you the one screaming last night?” I asked her with concern.
Her pretty eyes welled up with tears, and she burst out crying. “Leave! Now!” She yelled at him.
“Why? Are you in some kind of trouble?” I asked. It didn’t seem right that a young beautiful adolescent was in this kind of distress.
“Please help me, but you can only do that if you leave right now and then go tell the police where I am.” She stared at him with pleading eyes.
“Ok, I’ll go now.” I said, turning to leave. I dashed up the stairs and left the house at a full sprint. I weaved my way through the Dark Wood and the woods across the street. I finally entered into town and burst into the small police station.
“Please---help!” I gasped.
In a minute or two the story was out and police cars were ripping up the soft forest floor and were abandoned outside of the No Trespassing sign. Six cops stationed themselves outside of the house.
“We have you surrounded, bring out the girl safely and no one will get hurt.” The policeman shouted.
After a few seconds a burly man had the girl in his arms, carrying her as easily as carrying a sack of potatoes. “Here’s the girl.” He said. He set her down with surprising gentleness. He let the police strap on handcuffs and forced him into the squad car. The girl was put with me into a different squad car. She told her story on the way back to town.
“He took me but was very kind about it. He explained to me that it was for the money. I guess he wanted me for a ransom, I don’t know why because my family isn’t exactly what you would call rich.” She finished.
“What about that scream I heard?” I asked, puzzled.
“A coyote got into the cabin and came downstairs. The man came down and fought it with his bare hands. The coyote bit and scratched but the man was stronger. He-he killed him. It scared me to see the strength of that guy.” She shivered.
“What’s your name anyways?” I asked.
“I’m Lisa.” She smiled and stuck out her hand.
I shook it and responded, “I’m Carson.”
The police car stopped in front of the perfect storybook house. A white picket fence stood in front of the pretty little white house with blue shutters and a nice stretch of green lawn that was spread out evenly on the dirt.
“Here we are!” The jolly policeman said.
“Well, goodbye.” Lisa said as she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the car. She ran into the house with her pretty white skirt bouncing behind her. She closed her front door as she went inside the house. The police car drove away and Carson found himself in front of his own white house. He went in through the front door and was quickly embraced by his mother who was weeping joyfully. After Carson explained his story he went upstairs and crawled into bed. He was going to sleep early, at only seven o’clock, but he was exhausted. Between the hot summer sun and running around all day, he quickly fell asleep.

In the months that followed, school started and Lisa happened to be going there too. She had just moved to Pennsylvania from Calgary some short weeks before she was taken. Carson and Lisa became very good friends, very close friends. Eventually, became more than friends, but that’s another story to be told at another time.

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