The Snare

TW: Suicide, Violence

The air is frigid. Silence bounced off the snowcapped cedars, only interrupted by the patter of small footsteps in the snow. A red fox crouched among the trees in the vast white, tracking prey. Across the trail, a lone mouse began the search for sustenance as well, burrowing in the snow. The fox bolted from behind a tree, slowing its pace as it neared the mouse. The fox stopped, listening for the mouse under the snow. Before it could pounce, a single shot rang far. Echoing, sending both predator and prey running in instinctual fear away from each other. The fox ran east as fast as it could towards its burrow deep in the trees. As the forest became denser, the fox slowed down to a shuffled pace, nearing its den. The fox followed the faint trail with its hungry head down. Before it could escape, a brass snare closed in on its neck, and the fox let out a whimper.

There was pain, sudden and sharp. Tight around the neck. Like a snake constricting its prey, the snare trap choked the fox until it no longer fought against the brass serpent. In its final breath, the fox thrashed once more against the trap without success, and then eased into the snow as the last remnants of its life slipped away. The sound of struggle dissipated, and once more silence returned to the cedars, and the only color among the still white was the red of the fox.

Piercing screams are a good omen to a hungry hunter. Elijah had just shot a mountain goat. A young buck. Large and as white as the snow peaks in Snoqualmie, this buck would offer enough meat and hide to keep the hunter and his son fed and warm for at least three weeks. Elijah and his son, Elliot, moved quickly toward the goat, now sprinkled with the red warmth of its own blood, trudging through the deep snow down the eastern peaks. The sun reflected against the mixture of bloody snow as if it were a landmark in the cold desolation. Elijah looked back, slowing his pace to let young Elliot catch up. He would be six this winter. The goat continued to yell until Elijah and Elliot hovered over the body, when it quieted and made eye contact with the man who would take its life. Playing God, it seemed to Elijah. He laid his Hawken rifle across the body of the goat and brushed his hand near the mane. Elliot watched, soaking in everything, as young boys do. Elijah took his trusty Bowie knife from its sheath and thrust deep into the heart of the buck. In an instant, the goat bore life no longer. Like a graphic painting, the red against the white began to coagulate into a dark brown, and Elijah returned his knife to its sheath. He took a deep breath, thankful for his new bounty. His eyes met Elliot, who smiled in awe at his father. His small pink nose was runny, and his brown hair had wet snow on the ends. They’d been outside all morning in the cold, collecting foxes and minks from traps, but Elijah could not miss the opportunity to put food on the table for him and his son. He wondered if his son understood the weight of it yet. Elijah pulled the goat up on his shoulder and felt the crushing weight of it against his back. A trail of blood followed them back to their pack mule, Jenny, as he stowed the beast upon her. Three red foxes already hung from her near side, shoved against saddlebags. Jenny brayed from the weight. Elijah slung the rifle over his shoulder and took Jenny’s lead in one hand and Elliot’s in the other. The three worked their way down the trail, collecting another red fox along the way.

Elijah and Elliot live near the frozen lake, south of the mountains. In the distance, Elijah could see the cabin, neighboring the hut in which he processed his animals. Jenny’s lean-to shelter was nearby as well. They kept a bit of clearing away from the wilderness that surrounded them, which allowed Elijah to spot storms more clearly across the range. The snow hadn’t budged much since they had returned home. The journey returning to their rugged homestead was always long and difficult. One more year, he would say to himself. The fur trade wasn’t profitable anymore, and it had cost him more than money. Mary, his wife, succumbed to the cold last winter. Elijah wished to return east, just close enough to a city to not worry about Elliot’s next meal or if the warmth would be enough for him through the blizzards. He had built up a small collection of pelts and hides he’d take to the trading post. In about a week, he would make the journey to the post. And maybe one step closer to a better life for Elliot.

Elijah had warmed the cabin up for young Elliot, loading dried fir boughs into the open hearth. The elk hides on the wall helped insulate the one-room cabin and absorb the frigid air. There were two cots, one for each of them, Elliot closer to the door near the hearth. Elijah slept near the back corner, a gun rack for his rifles above his bed. There was a rough table in the center, where children's books were read and meals were eaten. Elliot sat at the table practicing his words while Elijah quickly threw together a stew, made of leftover goat meat,

in his Dutch oven. He had to work fast before the sun settled, or the goat he’d shot earlier would freeze stiff. He placed the Dutch oven into the hearth and kissed Elliot's forehead as he read aloud to himself. For the next few hours he processed the goat in his hut. Fox and mink hides hung over him as he made the first cut at the pelvis, through the belly, and stopped at the throat. While Elijah worried about his worthiness of being a father, he had no insecurity about being an expert hunter. He worked with ease. Each cut precise. The metallic taste of blood in the air tinged on his tongue, and his hot breath fogged in the air. Working quickly, he began sectioning the meat while the hide dried, stretched across a wooden frame. He would salt each quarter to prevent spoilage before stashing it away in a chest. Before long, the goat and four red foxes had been processed. Elijah breathed in through his nose, smelling the flesh and sinew that was strung across his workplace. His clothes and hands were bloodied. He stepped outside, cooling off, taking in the orange that warmed the valley. Jenny brayed in the distance; he’d have to feed her before he went back inside. So much fell on him, and many times Elijah had felt he was the wrong man for the task. But in moments like these, overlooking the white valley and vast snowy mountains, he felt stronger. He felt optimistic for Elliot and himself. If only Mary were here to see it.

The darkness had come rapidly. The orange glow faded from the valley, and soon the moon had illuminated the darkness of the forests. The harsh rhythm of cougars and owls could be heard in the distance. Elijah and Elliot ate together in the lamplight. The stew was rich and gamey, but no longer tough after a few hours of cooking. The chunks of brown meat were salty and plain-tasting. It wasn’t anything special, but Elliot didn’t know any better. The two practiced words and sentences together while they ate. They had one copy of McGuffey's Reader that Elliot loved dearly. Elliot asked questions, and Elijah answered the best he could. A storm began to roll in as they concluded their meal. Like a white curtain draped across the mountains, seeing more than a few feet in front of you was impossible. The rooftop pounded with hail, and the howl of the great winds could be heard outside; a dissonant choir. It took a few winters for Elliot to no longer fear the sounds of the storms, but he had braved them especially well this year. Elijah prepared Elliot for bed, helping him undress from his heavy winter clothing into his wool long johns, draping him in a fur-lined bear skin blanket. They still wore many layers to bed to stay warm. Elliot had a woolen nightcap he donned himself before crawling under his thick quilt. Elijah read quietly next to Elliot as he drifted into the night peacefully. Calmly, my son, Elijah thought to himself. He moved carefully around the room they shared. By now, the storm had peaked for the evening; it was close to midnight. Elijah struggled to sleep at night, usually, and if not for his son, he probably would have given up getting out of bed to check traps in the morning. Elijah began to undress himself. He was exhausted, yet he dreaded the insomnia to follow once he lay down. He grabbed the heavy coat he slept in from the armoire next to his bed. Underneath it was a gown worn by Mary. It was dusty by now, as it hadn’t moved from its place since last winter. Memories faded in and out in his eyes. The day they met lingered, and the day she agreed to marry him. He recalled the birth of Elliot and the wretched evening she begged to travel with Elijah to the Washington territory. Tears welled, but eventually slipped deep back from whence they came. He should have stood his ground. This was no place for a woman, and especially a young boy such as Elliot. And so to his slumber he fell. Easily, to his surprise. He relaxed. A dream came to him, a funny one, he thought in his lucid state. He heard a knock on the door and saw Mary in her gown across the cabin, reaching for young Elliot. The fire had grown cold and the lamp unlit, but he could make out her pale legs and dark hair against her white gown. What was she doing? he thought. He made out Elliot’s innocent face and heard him speak.

“Mama?” Elliot said.

Elijah’s eyes shot open. He was sweating and freezing at the same time. It was just a dream, he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and rolled over, facing the room of the cabin. The door. The cabin door swung wide on its hinges, and wet snow had begun to seep into the floor. He sprang out of bed, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized; Elliot was missing. Panic set in, and his heart began to race. He stumbled for the lamp, his hands shaking, struggling to light it. Light cries echoed in the room from Elliot, as if he were trying to speak in a dream. Except this was real. There were bare footsteps to and from Elliot’s bed on the frozen meltwater across the cabin floor. Mary? He grabbed his boots, slipping them over his cold feet, and reached for his revolver underneath the Hawken rifle. Six shots he counted. Grabbing the lamp, he stepped outside. The blizzard raged. There were no tracks in the snow, and he could barely see in front of him. He began to trudge through the deep snow towards the forest, relying on instinct. Jenny made no noise from her shelter as he left the cabin. He looked back, and the storm had swallowed the cabin whole. It looked like a blank canvas where the cabin once sat. In front of him lay the entirety of the Snoqualmie forest. He watched his step as he moved between trees. His hands began to shake, not just from fear but now the cold. He had forgotten his gloves. The snow danced around his vision, around and through the trees, and the wind howled with all its might. Anxiety bubbled up inside. He had lost Elliot and had no way to find him. And just as he had given up, the world was silent again. The winds had whimpered to a cool breeze, and the snow in the air began to fall to the ground, easing his vision. Elijah raised his shaking lantern, ice clinging to his hands now. In the distance, he saw a lone figure. As he stepped closer, his eyes adjusted. The figure bolted the instant he saw it. Far too fast. Elijah’s heart skipped a beat. He turned around searching for the figure. Could it have been Mary? He thought to himself.

Elijah heard scratching; low, rough, like a bear against a tree. He turned. The figure, clad in a torn, white gown, slid its way around the fir tree in front of him, its long talon-like nails trailing behind as it disappeared behind the tree. He fired towards the direction of the figure, and it bolted once more to the north. He jogged towards the defaced tree, revealing talon marks in the light. The scratches weren’t like the work of an animal. They were deep and large, like that of a logger’s axe. What the hell? His heart rate increased as he shifted the light towards the snow. Tracks in the direction the creature bolted, spiraling like the rut of a one-wheeled wagon in the snow. He ran, followed the tracks, and his feet began to numb as he pushed forward. He recognized the area, as he had trapped here before. He jogged for minutes before he realized the tracks had disappeared in the snow. He slowed and assessed his surroundings, walking backwards as he turned. The mountain had begun to steepen as he walked. He heard it before it happened. The snap a snare makes when its prey enters its loop. He stumbled, hitting the snow hard, and his ankle twisted. He screamed. The wire had cut through his clothing, choking the circulation to his foot. Blood seeped into his clothes and the snow around his ankle. He tilted his head to the sky in agony. Tears froze as quickly as they streamed down his face. His body began to numb, and his fingers were bitten with frost. He closed his eyes and saw Elliot. His mind raced with thoughts of Elliot, cold and scared. When Elijah opened his eyes, the face of fear looked into him. In the trees, off a branch, the figure crouched. It had no eyelids and its skin was as pale as fresh snow. Parts of the skin sagged, and its teeth were exposed, broken and yellow. The creature leapt down, an impossible height. Bones twisting as it landed erect. Snow flew from the ground around it, and its talon hands dragged in the snow. The nails were sharp and yellow. He thought he recognized her then. It looked like Mary. The deep black hair, now balding and mangled in parts. The eyes were dark like hers, but now lifeless and sunken into her face. It was remnants of Mary, but it wasn’t her. This was no woman he loved. No memory. No mercy. A thing from the deep woods, wrong in every way God made the world. Elijah cowered in fear as the creature crept towards him. He reached for his gun in the snow and fired. He watched as bullets flew through its body, tearing away the gown and exposing the dead skin. Four shots, and it continued towards him. The creature bore no emotion or response. Elijah screamed and cursed into the wind, unable to take his eyes off the dark eyes of the creature. Fear swelled up inside him; his heart felt like it wanted to escape his chest, begging for mercy. In his mind, he saw Elliot once more. Elijah’s tears had begun to freeze near his eyes, blurring his vision. He envisioned Elliot safe one last time. Elijah pressed the gun to his temple, met the monster's dark blur with his fading eyes, and fired.

“Daddy?”

Elijah woke. The sun shone through the cracks of the cabin. Elliot stood over him at the edge of the cot. His soft face smiled with warmth. He had dressed himself, coat and all. His brushed hair peeked under his cap. Elijah rolled out of bed and embraced Elliot, sinking his face deep into his coat. The faint scent of goat stew and ash lingered on it. Elliot embraced him. Elijah dressed himself and put Elliot's shoes on the right feet. He brewed coffee and opened the door to the snowy wilderness. Thoughts of his dream came and went as he looked out into the woods. He remembered some of it, but not all. He remembered the fear he felt and Mary being there in some way, but nothing more. He stepped out of the cabin, his left ankle a little sore and his head aching, to feed Jenny. Near the tree line, he saw a figure. One that stood out amongst the sea of white, and one he knew very well. A red fox trotted in the trees. Elijah smiled. No traps for you just yet, he thought. He looked back for Elliot. Elliot? He wasn’t in the cabin. The cot was empty. Elijah glanced around the room. His heart raced, and the world around him darkened. The figure in his dreams seeped back into his mind: the blood against the snow, the sound of screaming bullets, the wind swallowing his voice. Cold air ran down his spine like a crooked hand. He turned back into the wilderness and saw something. He saw her. Not the fox. The menacing figure in white rags grasped onto scared Elliot. Its talons hooked across his chest. Elijah trembled.. Mary reached out to him and called.

“Come home, Elijah.”