I don’t like people much. Never have. As a young boy I left my parents home to become a Park Ranger in the Great Smoky Mountains because I thought it’d mean I could be in nature all day. I was a glorified janitor and tour guide for most of my tenure there.
Nothing makes me angrier than some yuppy fucks asking me “You know the closest gas station?” I do but I could give a shit less whether you find it. Or “You know any great stories?” No, I don’t. I lasted about two months before I was fed up with it and left to find work that fit me better. I tried to be a fisherman since I loved to fish, but I hated it after five months. Nothing appeased my young mind, so I up and left society.
With whatever money I had left I bought as many tools as possible, and went out into the woods of the Smoky Mountains. After some time I found a beautiful clearing in the woods. Flat, covered my trees, and most importantly miles from any town. It took me about a month to build myself a little cabin straight out of The Little House on the Prairie, and plant some food so I could survive.
I’ve been out here for god knows how long, maybe a decade? But every day is the same just how I like it. I wake up to the sun shining into my room, covering the walls with warm light. I walk out onto my porch and sit there and think for most of the morning. Once I feel as though I’m ready for the day I get up to go hunt or fish down the hill. If I catch something, I’ll come back and clean it. If I catch a raccoon or a rabbit I’ll skin them and dry the hides for selling at the flea market ten miles away. I know I said I hate people but sometimes there’s something I just can’t build on my own. I’ll eat dinner by myself then roll into bed to start the next day. That’s how it’s been, and that’s how I like it.
But the past couple of weeks I can swear I hear someone talking to me from the surrounding woods. I assume it’s just the wind. Or maybe I’m finally going crazy after all these years. Most of the time I can barely make out the words. I know something is being said but I’ll only catch a few syllables here and there. It doesn’t scare me one bit, but I just find it strange. Finally, last week about five days ago I heard my first full sentence.
“The woods are no place for a man like you.” It startled me, that’s for sure. It seemed to be coming from outside the house, near my front porch. I flung my wooden door open almost knocking it off it’s hinges and pointed out into the dark with my old Remington.
“You fuckers don’t know who you’re messing with” I shouted. My voice traveled through the trees but nothing responded. Angry that someone may be on my property, I sat in my living room gun across mt lap for the whole night.
I awoke in the morning startled by a loud noise at my feet. I had dropped the Remington onto the floor. My heart beat fast, but quickly subsided to its usual lub dub.
My day was normal yet again. I decided I needed some more ammo so I went into town and sold some skins to the locals and made my way back to the cabin.
Night rolled in and I sat on my porch until the sun had long left my side of the mountain. It had started to get pretty chilly so I made my way into the house and threw some logs into the woodfire stove and sat in my lounger. I tried my best to stay awake but my head kept bobbing like I was listening to some old rock and roll as a young kid.
I was seconds away from slumber when I heard something close to my ear.
“That gun isn’t going to save you from us.”
My eyes sprung open and I shot up out of my seat. Panting, I looked around the room and saw nothing. Heard nothing. I was so damned angry I stomped my foot like a little kid and yelled.
“If I see you I’ve got a bullet loaded with your name on it!” I stormed off to my room and locked my door. I could say I wasn’t frightened, but does someone who isn’t scared clutch a rifle to their chest and stay up all night? I couldn’t tell you.
By this time I had been pretty sleep deprived and decided to stay in my cabin all day. The voices started to appear in the early evening before the sun went down. They increased in their frequency and volume.
“This land is not meant for you. It is ours, and we will rip it from your hands.”
“We can see you.”
“Only a matter of time before your skin and bones become dirt.”
At this point I couldn’t eat, drink or sleep. I moved my chair to face directly towards the door and sat there. The night passed into day and the voices taunted me. I never waivered. I never moved. Day rolled into night again and I sat with my bladder full and my colon ready to explode. But I wasn’t fucking moving. The voices became so loud that I tried to cover my ears. It didn’t help. They seemed to be coming from inside my head.
All of a sudden they stopped around 10 PM. All was quiet. Except for the light crinkling of leaves outside my cabin. Each crinkle came closer and closer by the second. Until the crinkling stopped and I could hear feet thudding on my wooden porch. I readied my rifle at the door and waited. The footsteps stopped in front of the door. Two knocks rand through the wooden door and to my ears. I pulled the trigger and a bullet travelled straight through the door. A heavy thud hit my deck, and I ran to the door and swung it open.
On the ground lay a short, young man in a Park Ranger uniform. In his hand was a letter. I picked it up and brought it to my face to read it better. It was a notice of wild fires increasing in the area and to let them know if I see any. I crumpled to the deck and wailed. The voices never returned.