Last Trip to the Pines

The soft patter of rain echoed throughout a secluded meadow in a Northern forest. Branches and leaves crunched as a lone figure emerged through the evergreen armada. A good deal of time passed since Erik had made the journey, but he trekked this secluded trail with a confidence born through many years of experience. His very core was chilled from each breath of steely autumn air, but he continued on at steady pace lugging his two worn fishing poles. Life has been rough as of late and he needed to get away. Nature was the only remedy to the turmoil brought on by the daily grind. The haunting songs of the loons in the distance gave him some comfort in knowing he was nearing his destination. Reaching a clearing before a barricade of reeds guarding the lake, the rain let up and the heavy dampness now gave way to the minty onslaught of wet pine prickling his nostrils. He began to remind himself why no one liked to fish at this particular lake. Bad things happened in these dark woods. There were wild stories passed on through the generations as his father had passed on to him. This kept away many would-be anglers but the peaceful seclusion it always provided was enough to risk tempting fate. After Erik reached the center of the clearing, he was stopped in his tracks by a murder of crows that suddenly began cackling mockingly from the water's edge. Startled by the approaching intruder, the murder jolted up in a swirling obsidian mass. Shaking off a shudder, he began to walk again as he reached up and zipped his jacket higher towards his chin.

He began to meander away from the patch by the water where the murder sat but caught a glimpse of something strangely pale within the earthy tones and curiosity got the better of him. Hearing the loons wail louder against the backdrop of the water lapping against the murky shore, he prodded at the debris around the spherical object with the tip of one of his fishing poles. “Gotta be a giant toadstool", he muttered. Wiping the fog from his glasses he stooped down and reached towards the object with his naked hand. Expecting the spongy warmth one feels when touching something organic, he was taken aback. Cold, hard and smooth. “Maybe someone’s poachin’ again.” Mustering his courage, he dug in all of his fingers beneath the object and lifted it from its nest. Erik quickly dropped the object as the blood drained from his face. Growing faint, he fell to his back in horror. A skull. Unmistakably human. Too small to be a man. Freezing in place, he kept his gaze fixed on the cavernous sockets that once were a gateway into some poor soul. Erik jolted up from his seated posture and fumbled for his mobile phone. “Of course, no signal out here.” His gaze darted between each tree and shrub. He broke out into a sprint back in the direction he came, completely disregarding his grandfather’s fishing poles.

The song of the loons grew more distant. But the commotion of Erik’s departure did not go unnoticed as the crash of his clumsy escape floated into a huge set of ears still by the lake.

The cold air began to sting Erik’s lungs. His mouth was filled with a metallic taste. His legs burned as the damp soil tugged at his heavy hiking boots. But his wild thoughts kept his wits sharp and his body impervious. The tang of the pine became almost unbearable. The ancient trees watching him from all around began to disorient him. But he knew he had to reach his truck. His head began to spin. Coming to a stop, he rested against an ugly boulder that frowned at him from beneath a mat of lichens. As he panted, a set of immense yellow eyes rapaciously followed his every movement. Another chill up his spine sent his eyes scanning the forest. “Someone’s watching.” He pulled a stumpy pocketknife from beneath his coat and snapped it open. Holding it in front of him, he spun around searching for an invisible adversary. He let out an ironic chuckle. “Three inches of steel between life and death…”

“Run. Gotta make it.”

With the small knife in his hand, he made a final dash in desperation towards the trailhead where his truck would deliver him to salvation. Dark thoughts began to enter his mind between the furious steps.

“Am I gonna make it? Will I see my parents again? It’s not fair! I never had the chance to tell her how I really feel about her…”

“I shouldn’t have come out here…”

A loud crash from an undeterminable distance ahead of him broke his daze and forced him to come to a stop again. Holding up his knife with a tremble he called out, “W-Who’s there?” The forest replied with a morbid silence. The wind died. The sad ballad of the loons disappeared. Only Erik’s labored breathing disturbed the air. Moments dragged into minutes. Deciding to press forward, he meekly crept up the path, cautious not to draw any attention to himself. But he still heard and saw nothing in the emerald maze. These trees, now backlit by the dying throes of the last bit of daylight, had always brought him peace but now they seemed to herald his demise by concealing his pursuer. They just stood around him and jeered silently as if they already knew his fate was sealed.

Erik could see that the path ahead which wound up a ferocious incline, was now blocked by an enormous tree which was torn at the very base near its roots. The only way up would be through a narrow drainage ditch snaking through the dense brush up the hill. Too convenient. Against his better judgement, he started up. Taking a deep breath, he reached up to his face to relieve a phantom pressure on the bridge of his nose when he realized his glasses had fallen off. Trying to quicken pace, each treacherous step curbed his haste. Nightfall was fast approaching. He began to murmur “The Lord’s Prayer” through gritted teeth.

A rush of heat behind Erik knocked him to his face. Wildly clutching the half-frozen soil, he spun around to face his pursuer. Something dark, well beyond his field of vision. His eyes were drawn up by the magnetism of the stare that has been following him. The blazing yellow eyes seemed almost as tall as the trees, cradled in a tower of sickly skin hanging from unnatural bones protruding from all directions. In the dimness, Erik could make out the rhythm of its breath, pulsing with the frenzied anticipation of the coming violence. Staring into the hollow yellow eyes, Erik could not help but be reminded of the empty stare of the blank skull, unknowing of life. He began to think of the countless walleye he fished from the lake, how their desperate flopping gradually ceased in acceptance. Beneath the eyes were endless rows of jagged teeth as large as steak knives. Erik closed his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have come out here.”