The Outhouse On Trail #9

Burritos were a bad idea.

I knew it the moment I set foot on the trail, and halfway through my hike, I was seriously regretting my decision. But what can I say? I’d been kicking ass in my marathon training, and I hadn’t had anything that didn’t smell like carrots in the last six weeks.

So I celebrated. But thirty minutes later, I was not celebrating.

I knew there was no way I could make it back to the car in my current condition. I needed to go to the bathroom. The problem was, the bathroom was clear on the other side of the trail, near the parking lot. It was inside the shelter building, and as the sun was already cresting down towards the horizon, there was a strong possibility that said bathroom would be closed by the time I reached it. 

That just left two options.

One option was to just pick a tree and go right here. In my current predicament, it was honestly tempting. It’s not like I hadn’t taken a shit in the woods before. But there were some downsides to this course of action. I was knee-deep in poison oak territory, and I had heard horror stories from buddies who similarly relieved themselves, only to wind up with poison ivy in rather unmentionable places. I didn’t want to share a similar fate, and with the sun going down, it would be that much harder to identify troublesome plants, to say nothing of ticks and mosquitos.Thankfully, there was another option. 

An outhouse lay just ten minutes away, at the end of another trail. It was likely placed there just for such circumstances. It was also located in the middle of the woods. This detour meant there was no way I was getting back to my car before dark. But as my stomach growled and I found myself clenching every fiber of my being, I turned down the fork towards Trail #9.

Already the kaleidoscope of sunlight pouring from the trees twisted into shadows unfamiliar and unwelcoming. I’d been down this way many times before, but never this late. Still, I hadn’t been this desperate and I tried not to think about it as I power-hiked down the hill. Within a few minutes, the wooden outhouse came into view. With my salvation in sight, I picked up my pace as I broke into a jog towards the rectangular outhouse in the middle of the forest. The middle of the door opened with a creak. I dropped my pants, sat down upon the cool porcelain toilet and began to do my business. 

It took a lot longer than I thought it would. Maybe it was simply a matter of trying to go to the bathroom in an unfamiliar setting, or maybe I just didn’t like how the cool evening air picked at the hairs on the back of my neck. For whatever reason, it took a little bit longer than I would have liked.

I was just starting to finish up when I heard a noise outside. I almost yelled “I’m just finishing up!” out of habit, but then I thought better of it. Night was falling. I had no idea who was out there. I barely saw any other hikers on these trails, seeing one this late would have been very rare.

So I decided to stay in the outhouse. I stood up, buttoned up my pants, and peered through the doorway. I saw a thick body of black-matted fur a few inches, its long black muzzle scouring the ground.

Was it a dog out there? Had it been separated from its owner somehow? Normally I would have jumped at the chance to help a dog reunite with its person, but something felt off here, something which kept me glued to my position.

A long scratching sound cut across the door. It sounded as if it was coming from the top of the door on the other side of the outhouse. Was the dog’s owner outside? But if so, why didn’t they just knock on the door and ask if anyone was inside?

Something still felt off, so I stayed where I was. I kept peering through the small crack of the door. I saw a pair of powerful paws, far bigger than any dog I had ever seen. I kept looking for the other set of paws, but I never saw any. I refocused on the first set as the large dog kept presumably sniffing around outside.

Then I followed the paws up to see two powerful sets of legs. It trailed off into darkness before I could see much more.

This dog was standing on two legs. I watched the legs kept moving, independent of the outhouse. I caught a brief glimpse of the creature’s face and shrank away immediately. Its head was like a dog, but something was very wrong. Its eyes were red with black irises, and its teeth protruded from its dark-furred lips.

This was no dog.

I now sat in the corner of the outhouse. All around me I heard scratching accompanied by the occasional banging sound. I didn’t know if the creature was trying to get in, or was merely curious. I stayed put for at least an hour.

Eventually, I didn’t hear the sound anymore. I looked out the doorway. I didn’t see any sign of the creature, but night had fallen, and I couldn’t see much of anything else. I decided I didn’t have any option.

I opened the door. I had forgotten about the whining creak it made. With all pretenses of stealth abandoned, I bolted up the path and back down the trail. I didn’t look back, but I heard something coming up the trail behind me. It was getting closer. I kept running.

But it kept chasing me.

I could almost feel its hot breath on the back of my neck, but the parking lot came into view. The shine of headlights in the distance from the late night traffic must have scared the thing off, because I no longer felt its presence. I darted to my car, opened the door and peeled off into the night.

The next day, when I had worked up the courage, I went back to the outhouse in broad daylight. I saw the tell-tale claw marks on the wooden outhouse door. They were longer than anything I’d ever seen on a tree. I also found paw prints all around the outhouse.

I showed them to my buddy, a naturalist. He said they looked like timberwolf prints, but there were two problems with that theory.

First and foremost, the last timberwolf had been driving out of my state a hundred and fifty years ago.

And secondly, no timberwolf walked on two legs.