The creature moves, silent beneath the weight of the heavy night air and the first full moon of summer. Safe in the shadows beyond the bonfire’s glare, she watches the teens exude their youth, immersed in music and oozing with raw energy. A boy gives in to his girlfriend’s disinterest and breaks away from the group, trudging toward his dirt bike. The creature sinks further down and slinks along the treeline in passive pursuit.

The bike is caked in sandy mud. It doesn’t have a headlight because it is not meant for public roads. The boy hops on, eager for the thrill of riding fast with only the moon to separate pine shadows from potholes along the unfinished path. The rumble of the engine drowns the music and reaches into the stillness beyond the bonfire’s light. The creature mewls softly as if physically struck by the high-pitch whine of the bike speeding away into the darkness beyond.

After a few runs on the dirt path, the boy grows bored with his vanilla dare-deviling. He forms a new plan: I’ll do midnight wheelies through Oak Glen Crossing! Almost too excited to get there quietly, he slowly low-rumbles his bike the quarter mile to the southern end of the main drag through Oak Glen, the neighborhood adjacent to the teens’ party spot. He takes in a deep breath and the calm street before him.

The first time he rode here was just three years ago, when the road was not yet paved and orange tape offered vague suggestions of the houses to come. The Oak Glen Crossing development was the latest step in the so-called march of progress that defined Brunswick County in the twenty-first century. The teens had been relieved the development had not quite reached their bonfire spot, a natural, rocky clearing exposed by logging roads two generations back. But the next development is surely coming, and just as surely, it will be the end of a tradition.

Three… two… one! The dirt bike screams to life, the wheelie is perfect, and the houses awaken one by one, as if his bike is flipping on each porch light as he glides past. The boy knows this is the greatest thing he has ever done. He wishes someone was watching – the rush is amazing.

Along the north end of Oak Glen Crossing, where the street lights are further apart, the creature is watching. The boy slows down for a triumphant fist pump, but just as his hand leaves the handlebar, he is separated from the bike in a single motion, fast as lightning. The creature’s rush was amazing. The riderless bike wobbles into a retention pond and sinks. The boy wastes no time brushing the gravel from his road rash as he limps back the way he came, stumbling forward in the dark, looking back in terror at what might be following. But the creature is already back in the shadows, and wrapped in the silky silence she sleeps.

Gillie Garnier of Oak Glen Crossing has been sleeping late a lot since returning from her trip out west. Worst jet lag ever, she thinks. She starts the coffee and picks up her phone. On social media, she scrolls past conjectures about coyotes and missing cats. Her neighbors are complaining about the awful noise from the local kids last night. Gillie taps the angry emoji and scrolls.

Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash

Editors Note:  Doug Ensley is a new writer for Cape Fear Voices,  he is also our new Web Master.  We welcome him to the team.