“Kelly, go to the nearest hunting store and buy a buck knife. Make sure you say it loud enough so the people in the store hear you and know you’re not fucking around.” I get off the phone with my mom as I head back to my cabin for my last night at the residency space. That night, I put a giant chair in front of my door and closed my eyes for a whole hour of sleep. Upon my initial arrival at the residency, I was overcome by the breathtaking scenery, the vastness of my cabin, and the sheer joy of my isolation from the world. However, as nightfall descended, I began to feel the true extent of my isolation. All these sentiments held true.
Bear scratches on the tree outside my cabin
What an extraordinary gift it was to be granted this vast expanse of space and solitary time for introspection and creation. Each day, I embarked on solitary hikes, undeterred even by the rain. Inside my cabin, I explored an array of sounds I could make. I spent hours daydreaming on the front porch and lay supine on the mossy ground, gazing skyward at the towering trees. Nevertheless, the woods possessed a distinct aura, one that did not extend a warm welcome.
During my first day there, I had my regularly scheduled therapy session via Zoom, and when I nervously chuckled about my sleepless nights fueled by fear, my therapist responded, "This is the moment when I should inquire about your feelings of shame, but instead, I'd like to know about the quality of the lock on your door." Upon learning that it was a somewhat unreliable lock, she urged me to contact the resident managers, all while adding, "The woods change at night, and so do people."
While hiking that day, I perpetually felt as if an unseen presence lurked amidst the twisting trees, observing my every move, and as I ventured into the nearest town a few times to gather essentials such as eggs and berries, it became abundantly clear that I had entered deep into the heart of the Appalachian territory. To those from this region, I extend my sincere apologies if I inadvertently offend, as I can only recount my experiences within this particular Appalachian enclave, but these folks were different. In the evenings, as the sun set, my mind would spiral into the realm of terrifying Appalachian hiking tales my friends told me over the years. I would then retrace all the encounters of the day. It wasn't the woods that filled me with trepidation; it was the inhabitants of this remote realm.
My initial intention was to craft a one-woman show (and I successfully completed the first full draft!), but fate had other plans, and I found myself writing a horror film as well. Who knows what will become of this horror film? I did however find that habitats inspire an array of emotional states and circumstances.
Moments that are inspiring this creation:
Walking by a 50-year-old man who stared me down and was wearing a shirt that said “Eat pussy, it’s organic”
Talking to the head of the residency and, when learning that she stays onsite during the winter time with her husband, just the two of them, I cracked a joke about The Shining and was met in return with “IT’S NOTHING LIKE THAT!!!”
Walking through hundreds of cobwebs during my hikes and finding traveling spiders crawling down my arms
Every morning seeing the same ring-necked snake in my living room and transporting them outside
Being yelled at and spit on by people on methamphetamine in the local areas
A local man asking to walk me home at dusk
Going to the local jewelry shop and discovering a bracelet with human teeth as the center jewel
Stumbling upon a dilapidated house during one of my hikes
Taking a brave walk around the circumference of my cabin and discovering a basement level that had broken windows (clearly something was thrown through the windows). There was no way I was going to look to see what was inside
Spending hours staring at the door on the second level of my cabin that led to an empty room