I got tired of letting corporations and governments control me, so I decided to move into the forests of Northern Maine and build my dream house: a modest, fully off-grid, sustainable homestead. I have everything I could possibly need out here. Now I can finally spend my days hoping the night creature I hear stalking through the forest doesn’t take a liking to my warmth.
I just finished installing my own solar array, meaning this little patch of heaven settled deep in the New England wilderness is fully self-sustaining. I’m fifty miles beyond the nearest town or settlement. It feels good to know if this whole country goes to shit, which it very well might, I’ll be completely safe out here. Just as long as Gristle the Gregorian Night Gremlin who once inhabited this land feels I’ve fed him enough deer meat to last the next fortnight.
It’s a cold winter, I’ll admit. Particularly because Gristle continues to scrape his long razor sharp claws along the walls of my log cabin, sending shivers down my spine that no blanket can warm.
He is a twisted creature, born on the whispers of the forsaken, cursed by the forest spirits for betraying the trust of his kin. Legend says he was once a man like me. Perhaps he had a composting toilet and rainwater collection system, too. Who knows. All I know is that he is soul bonded to this land, cursed to haunt its shadows and feed only on the terror of those who inhabit it.
I will say my chicken coop has been a really wonderful addition. They lay delicious eggs, and provide me with a monthly offering to Gristle and his roving band of swamp sprites whose eyes light up the bushes all around me every night. I can use the chicken’s manure for fertilizer, which is great for my vegetable garden. Too bad I know Gristle actually loves the smell of fresh chicken dung, because it reminds him of his human childhood as a farmer’s boy.
My friends and family have told me that I’m going crazy. They say things like “Gristle isn’t real,” and “you’re losing your mind out there, Darryl.” But they’re wrong. I know Gristle is real, because I’ve seen him dashing past the window just as I look away. No one understands. They don’t see how vital it is to have your own freedom, to be able to breathe deeply and imagine Gristle severing my limbs from my body and reattaching them in the wrong places.
The truth is, I don’t mind Gristle, I really don’t. How could I? I’m living in my dream home, my greatest creation ever. I’m surrounded by perennial root vegetables and herbs for my essential oils. I have a beehive to keep my flowers healthy and provide me with fresh raw honey. My patio has a sauna and an ice bath right next to each other. Why would I let that be ruined by a vicious harbinger of the night, cursed for a thousand years, sent from the underworld to haunt me for the rest of my days.
I mean, seriously, if I can handle walking through the woods to the outhouse, I can learn to live with Gristle whispering to me through the cracks in my walls “wake up Darryl, I’m watching you again” just as I fall asleep every night.