Don't Stop

Christ, was it STILL that close behind him? He was sure he’d lost it in those pine trees, or had the sound of the mud sucking at his calves and his own frantic, ragged breathing deafened him? Either way, he could hear it again, those wet, snuffling breaths, the sound of something unnaturally tall, crashing through the tangle of the pine trees he now desperately stumbled through. Danny looked frantically around himself for the main trail, but in the fading evening light all the goddamned trees looked the same, and there were no definable landmarks he could see. Wire thin branches whipped him as he ran, leaving razor thin lines of blood on his neck and hands, but Danny didn’t notice, it ran and mingled with the blood already staining the collar and chest of his thin, sweat-dampened gray t-shirt.

What the hell was this thing? Danny had only gotten a quick glance at the creature as it silently stalked towards the edge of the clearing where he’d set up his camp. At first, Danny had thought it was a lost camper. After all, they were in the Boundary Waters, and while it was a popular spot for more experienced campers like himself, people new to the hobby also came here. But the illusion didn't last long. It moved too quickly, made no noise doing so, and stood almost as tall as the trees on the edge of the clearing, and those had to be at least twelve feet tall. Danny couldn't see too well, his electric lantern only barely illuminated the things form, but it was enough to see that it was horribly emaciated for how tall it was, the bones in its shoulders and hips looked like they would puncture the horribly tight skin if the thing moved too fast. The worst of it though, Danny didn't see until the last minute. He’d noticed identical wounds in a documentary once, about mental patients who suffered compulsive self harm. At some point, it had chewed its own lips off. He could clearly see the horrible mouth, full of rotten, jagged teeth, and the gangrenous black gums they sat in. Coagulated blood stained its chin and naked chest, black in the cold, moonlit night. Danny could see that in its right hand, it held the head and partially consumed corpse of a bull moose, gripping the base of one of the antlers. In the moment before Danny ran, he looked up from the nightmare of a mouth, directly into It’s eyes. He was struck, held in place by fear, like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. What he saw there was the most horrifying thing yet. It was looking back. Not with a blind, dumb predator's gaze, but with the kind of hate, cunning, and madness that only man can feel. And, layered over it all, an overwhelming, ravenous hunger. It had gazed down at him as if it had already decided which parts of him it would consume first. Danny felt his bladder release, the warm sensation spreading down the front of his jeans, and in that moment, his paralysis broke, and he turned to flee.

A burning , stabbing pain was building in Danny’s side as he ran, his breath escaping in ragged, gasping sobs. He wasn't sure, it may have been his imagination, but he swore he could smell the thing, the sickly sweet smell of rotting meat swelling in his nostrils, his latest meal rising back up his throat threateningly. Loose stones and grasping roots threatened to bring him to his knees, and ultimately, the end of his life. So he ran. Danny ran faster than he’d ever run in his life, faster than he would've thought possible before today. The pounding impacts of his heels on the dirt jolted through his legs and mixed with the thudding noise of his heart, but it wasn't enough to cover the offbeat of that monster's footsteps, and they sounded like it was gaining ground. Panic raced through him, throwing his thoughts into a jumble. Running wasn't working, and he could feel the stitch turning into a knife, plunging deep into his side.

Danny's eyes caught on a familiar sight, some faint glimmer through the trees, a soft silver light. After a moment, his brain caught up, and the moonlight glimmering on the expansive, dark lake grew clearer and clearer as he approached. If he could make it back to the lakes edge, he could follow it back to his own camp, and more importantly, his backpack.

As Danny reached the shore, he noticed the monstrosity pause, almost seeming hesitant to emerge from the edge of the dark woods, pacing along the fringe of trees, the piercing, hateful gaze never leaving his. Whatever was causing this new reluctance was beyond Danny, but he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He turned and bolted, small pebbles scattering around his heels. As he ran down the beach, Danny couldn't help but throw the occasional glance at the treeline on his right, and every time he did, he saw the same shifting, flickering form. The thick undergrowth and tree branches, combined with its unearthly speed and gait, allowed it to all but disappear from his sight as it moved, but he still caught nightmarish glimpses of its eyes, which were reflective, like a predatory cat. As Danny fled along the beach, a loon call echoed in the night. It was a sound he usually loved, its haunting beauty something he admired, but on this night, it sounded less like a song, and more like a mournful lament to mark his last night on this earth.

He was near his camp now, and he could see his canoe beached ahead, no more than a hundred yards ahead of him, and his camp only another twenty yards or so into the forest from the shore. As he ran, the smooth pebble beach beneath him shifted with small whispery grating sounds, providing a constant and infuriating need to readjust. He was slowing down, and whatever chased him had the advantage of firm earth. As this thought flashed through his mind, he glanced again, and to his horror, realized he had lost it in the tangle of alder along the shore. No matter how desperately he scanned, he saw nothing, and the less he saw, the more he felt the terror ripping at his lower belly grow. Danny cursed any god that was listening for his awful luck, while simultaneously begging any who would listen to spare his life. Indecision tore at him as he thought about his next move. Had it grown bored and moved on, or was it waiting for him, deep in the undergrowth, mad eyes shining maliciously?

As Danny closed the distance on his canoe, his eyes raked the shore to his right, where the forest grew close, but thinned out significantly, making a small clearing near the lakefront. It was here he had set up his camp, and even from here, he could see the dim light of his lantern bleeding through the night, a sickly electric blue, unearthly and flickering. As he passed the canoe, the thought of launching the small craft into the silent water and heading back to his dusty red Ford Ranger briefly flitted through Danny’s mind, but he quickly realized there was still far too many of his own personal belongings in the campsite. If a DNR Officer or another camper were to land at this camp, the Thing stalking him through threw the undergrowth would be the least of his problems. Fear coursed through Danny’s veins, his heart beating a frantic rhythm in his chest, as he wrestled against his own sense of self preservation. Had he finished cleaning before the Thing stalked into the camp? No, he didn’t think he had, could still see the small mound of fresh dirt, the spill of bright camping gear and loose clothing scattered near the lantern.

His nose wrinkled as his upper lip rose in an unconscious snarl of irritation. Had she needed so many fucking clothes? The portage to this island was already over an hour, and with all her fucking clothes it had taken close to two, with her bitching the entire time about the bugs, how sore she was, and how she hadn’t had service since they left town that morning. He couldn’t even remember her name. Kendra? Cassandra? He had liked how it sounded the night before, when she slurred it drunkenly at him in a cartoonish southern greeting at the bar, the drink he had sent her carelessly clutched in her hand. Of course, he had been five drinks deep himself by that point, and she was perfect. Rings glittered on multiple fingers, she swung a small expensive bag when she yelled her stories, and most importantly, she was here alone for work. He nodded where he needed to, smiled when she smiled, and by the time he had finished his sixth drink, she was sliding him a cheap plastic rectangle under the bar, breathing too heavily into his ear. The card had a room number and the image of a smiling cartoon moon printed on it,a keycard for a cheap motel down the road. The rest of the night was a blur, but he was pretty sure they had been asleep well before last call.

Danny took one last desperate look at the trees around the campsite, and, seeing nothing, steeled himself. He just needed to make it to his tent on the far side of the clearing, where he had a Ruger chambered in .44 Magnum. If he had his Ruger in his hands, he was confident that whatever this Thing was could be dealt with. As he started his mad dash, a strange calm swept over him, and everything around him became unnaturally clear. He could smell the rain that would wash over the area within the next few hours, and the dark, rich soil in the center of his camp. He also saw, with perfect clarity, the bright turquoise bracelet hanging on the wrist hanging out of the grave dug in the middle of his camp, flashing in the moonlight. But something was wrong. The bracelet was moving. Danny was sure of it, even from this distance. The light kept glinting and shifting across the polished surface, and he slowed slightly, a new horror rising in him.

Was she alive??

Already Danny was shaking his head slightly, a frown creasing his mouth and forehead. No. She couldn’t be alive. Couldn’t be. The empty chamber in his Ruger was proof of that. Usually he choked the people he brought here, to keep it quiet, and limit any possible evidence. But she had talked so much, bitched constantly, and the crack of a pistol shot had already started echoing across the lake before Danny had time to comprehend that he had shot her where she was kneeling, having started to unpack her bag. He could see his tent well now, pitched about thirty feet away, just on the other side of the grave he now dashed past, carefully avoiding the loose dirt and tacky, slick blood that pooled near where she had fallen. As Danny passed, he looked down to the body he had been in the process of burying, and noticed three things at once.

The body had been mostly exhumed, and in the process, had exposed the body of the man he had brought here three weeks earlier. Danny then realized he had been correct, the bracelet (and the arm attached to it) HAD been moving, bobbing up and down occasionally, causing the random shining he had seen as he approached. Finally, he noticed that the arm and some of the shoulder was all that was left of the womans body, and the Thing he had seen stalking through the trees stopped consuming them, tilting It’s hateful eyes upwards to meet Danny’s gaze.

For the second time that night, Danny ran the fastest he had ever run.

He heard the Thing clawing out of the grave behind him, and even as he dove into his tent and felt the familiar rubber grip of his Ruger, Danny felt massive, gnarled fingers catching at his boots, one being torn straight off his foot. He rolled onto his back, aiming at the front flap of his tent, where the shadow of the Thing outside was cast by the glow of the lantern, distorting and stretching. He fired, once, twice, three times, rapid sure shots that came naturally from his twice monthly range days. As he fired the third shot, he screamed, a high, primal sound, as he felt the fingers grasping his left calf tear into the flesh behind his knee and on either side of his shin, and before he had time to comprehend the pain he was feeling, he was being dragged out of the tent, back into the clearing. He saw the Thing, crouched in front of him, its awful hand buried in the ruin of his left leg. He fired a fourth shot, screaming mindlessly, and heard it crack into a tree to the Things left. He felt lightheaded, and the light from the lantern was swimming in and out in a sickening way. Danny’s scream died suddenly, his throat tearing under the strain. His fifth shot went directly into the Things left eye, the sickening red light dying and the emaciated head snapping back on its bony shoulders. Dannys’s brief flare of hope faded as the head slowly lowered again, one remaining eye locking with his gaze. The comforting weight of the ruger in his hand, Danny closed his eyes, nestling the barrel under his chin. He felt those horrible jagged teeth start to tear the skin and muscle from his left thigh, and pulled the trigger, eager to escape this horrible fate.

The click as the hammer fell on the empty chamber tore Danny’s eyes open, and the memory of his kill earlier that day drifted back to him now, and he remembered the round he had used on the woman.

It was Carrie. Her name was Carrie. I remember now….