Connor pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and looked across their campground, quietly nestled inside a forest in the Colorado rockies. He gestured with his hand wildly at the distant orange glow of the other camp - the girl camp’s - fire, speaking in a thick Irish accent that was slurred with the copious amounts of alcohol he had previously downed. “Don’t you think that’s a bit close eh?”
Miles glanced at his friend sideways and shook his head, “Connor, our camp and there are plenty far apart. Plus,” He grunted, “Even you’re not dumb enough to go across that gully at night. Heaven knows what’s in it.”
Connor squinted his eyes, “Aye. Coyotes or somethin’ rotten.”
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as Connor took one last drawn out sip from his bottle of whiskey. With a satisfied grunt, he placed the now-empty bottle on the ground next to the ever-expanding pile of beer cans and whiskey bottles that reflected the light off of their own campfire. “When I was a young lad I could run er, say three times that distance!” He leaned forward and placed the end of his cigarette in the flames of the campfire, “Besides Miles, this camp is full er lads much stupider than I. They might just try it!”
Miles shrugged his shoulders, “I have my doubts. They’re plenty mature, definitely not stupid. Not enough to go try and spy on some girls. Heck, some of them drove themselves here and that’s plenty more than you can do.”
Connor blew smoke out of his mouth, “I drove myself here didn’t I?” The smoke blew back in his face, sending him into a coughing fit.
Miles raised an eyebrow, “You sure aren’t driving yourself back.”
“Oh?”
“Look at you man! You aren’t the prime example of a healthy person are you?”
Connor laughed between wheezing chokes, “Ah! I’m not in my prime now am I!”
Miles chuckled and took a sip of his root beer, “That pacemaker of yours still running smooth?”
Connor looked up at the full moon that illuminated both the campground, and the expression of contemplation that rested on his face. “Mmmm.” He looked down, “Something’s not right.”
Mile’s smile faded, “With your pacemaker?”
“No…No… Not the pacemaker.” Connor started tipping the empty cans and bottles over one by one, “…Just feel like somethin’ missing.”
“Something?”
Connor knocked over a few more bottles, mouthing something as each one fell to the ground with a clink. He paused on the last one, and then frowned, looking up at Miles. “How many bottles did I drink?”
“I’d say four? Why?”
“Ah… I’a brought five.”
Connor flicked his spent cigarette into the fire’s flames. A faint cheering echoed through the night air, warm as the light illuminating the inside of a large tent some fifty feet away from where they stood. “I think I might know wher’ it is.”
-–
“Who’s got the bottle!”
The tent was packed with boys - fifteen at least - all members of the camp, all whooping and laughing in reply, “You!”
One boy hoisted a bottle of whiskey high into the air above his head, and grinned wildly, “And who am I?”
“Tyler!”
He took a swig out of the bottle, “And who has the bottle!”
“Us!” The tent shook violently.
Tyler shoved the cork back on top of the bottle’s neck and shouted, “And who wants it next!”
A cacophony of different voices yelling their names filled the tent, covering up the sound of footsteps that grew closer to them with every second that passed. Tyler tossed the bottle back and forth between his hands, “Loudest person gets it!” He laughed, feeding on the group’s energy, “Who’s got the bottle boys!”
“Tyler!”
A gust of chilly night air sliced through the tent as the door flap flew open. The group quieted as Connor stepped in through the open tent flap, face twisted into a scowl as icy as the draft. “Aye, Indeed you lil’ rats!”
Connor pushed his way through the crowd of boys, grabbed Tyler by the collar of his whiskey stained coat jacket, and yanked him out of the tent. The bottle of whiskey flew out of Tyler’s hands and shattered on the cold dirt-covered ground. Shrapnel and spirits ricocheted into the air and splattered over Connor’s pant leg. He narrowed his eyes, “Lad, yer gonna pay for that.”
The sound of footsteps followed as Miles ran in. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, gasping in exhaustion. “How did you run that fast?”
Connor ignored the question and pinned Tyler under the boot of his foot. “And you said these lad’s weren’t stupid eh?” He pointed at Tyler, “This lad seems stupid to me!”
He shifted his weight onto the boy’s shoulder, making him squirm. “Chill out Connor!,” He grimaced, “God that hurts. I wasn’t going to-”
Connor flashed him a hostile look, “Drink it?”
Tyler stopped squirming, “Uh, yeah. I didn’t drink it or nothin’. Honest! I was uh, just having some fun you know? With the guys!”
Connor pressed his boot down hard on Tyler’s shoulder, making the boy cry out in pain, “Right.”
Miles shoved him off of Tyler, “That’s enough Connor.” He rubbed his temple, “I’ll send him to go grab another one out of your pickup truck. It’s far and the case is heavy. Should be good enough punishment.”
“Aye, and what if he runs off with it?”
“I’ll… send my nephew with him. He’s a good kid.”
“Chris? That shrimp!” Connor threw his head back in laughter, “Aw, Miles ye crack me up.”
“I’m not trying to.”
Connor wheezed, “Aye but ye do. Ye do.”
Tyler chimed in from the ground, “I think it’s funny too Mil-”
Connor stopped laughing and glared at Tyler, “Shut it lad. Nobody asked for your opinion.”
“Sorry. Sir.”
Connor raised his foot up in the air again, but Miles shut him down with some panicked hand gestures. “Everyone just shut up. I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m babysitting toddlers around here.” He reached his arm out and offered it to Tyler. “Get up.”
Tyler grabbed Mile’s outstretched hand and pulled himself up to his feet. He dusted his jeans off with his hands and then folded his arms in satisfaction, “Thanks.”
Connor rolled his eyes, “Don’t thank him. Yer about to run an errand for me lad.”
“Oh. Right.”
Connor pointed to the dirty table behind him and made eye contact with Miles, “I’m going to clean this up while yer two wake up the shrimp lad.”
Miles sighed and started walking off in the opposite direction with Tyler. The boy drudged along the path reluctantly as they walked, the mood permeated by the pale white glow of the moon, illuminating the cloudless sky. The walk felt abnormally long, and the awkward lack of conversation between Tyler and Miles started to occupy the back of Mile’s mind like a fog, clouding his confidence. He could only feel relief when they finally reached the small two-person tent. Miles unzipped the tent door and turned on his flashlight, poking his head inside. The tents were incredibly disorganized and messy. Plastic bags and crushed empty soda cans littered the tent’s inside edges. In the center, two crumpled sleeping bags laid horizontally across a large sleeping mat. One empty, Miles’s. The other, occupied with Chris, curled up and fast asleep, softly snoring. Miles spoke with a voice just louder than a whisper, “Hey, Chris? I need your help.”
The Chris-shaped lump occupying the sleeping bag let out a faint mumble.
“I’ll let you choose tomorrow’s breakfast?”
Another mumble.
Miles tilted his head, “And I’ll get you dinner on the drive back.”
Chris sat up and grinned with his eyes closed, “Deal.”
Miles could hear the tent rustle and sway as Chris climbed out of his dirty sleeping bag, walking over to put his boots on. His long, blonde hair poofed up into the air from the tent’s static buildup, and his face was smeared with something -probably chocolate - evident of whatever snack he had eaten before dozing off.
Tyler leaned on a nearby tree tapping his foot impatiently. “Hurry up man, what are you? Eight? Does your uncle Miles need to help tie your shoes?”
Chris poked his head through the tent flap and stuck his tongue out at Tyler, “Twelve. And no,” He stepped out on the dirt-covered ground, “He doesn’t.”
Tyler smirked and walked a short ways off, face shadowed despite the pale moonlight. “Come on.” He looked at Miles, “An escort? Dude, I’m sixteen.”
Miles shrugged, “You’re also dumb enough to take some of Connor’s whiskey. You should be lucky you got away from him without anything broken. Plus,” He patted Chris firmly on the back, “This guy will keep you safe.”
Chris winced, “Yeah.”
Tyler threw his hands up in the air, “Let’s just get this over with.”
Miles shouted at him as the two started walking off, “And no sneaking over to the girl’s camp!”
“Sure camp director. Whatever.”
Satisfied, Miles watched as Chris and Tyler slowly moved out of view down the poorly lit forest trail. He quietly let out a sigh of relief and turned around to start walking back to the center of the camp. Only five steps forward however, he paused. A sickening feeling of unease slowly crawled up his spine, creeping into his head. Permeating his every thought. It was almost as if a diseased hand had clamped over his consciousness. Perturbed, he turned back around and stepped back into his tent. Reaching though the clutter, he grabbed a small metal safe that rested next to his sleeping bag. He stuck his hand inside his coat pocket and pulled out a set of polished keys and fumbled through them. His finger rested on a red key, and with a slight tremble in his hands, he stuck it inside the keyhole. With his worry rising, he twisted the key and unlocked the safe. A fully loaded handgun rested inside, its shiny barrel gleaming softly in the moonlight. He flipped the safety on and slipped the gun into his pocket, stepping back out of the tent.
-–
Connor cringed at the grimy mess that caked the wood-log dinner table, “Miles, don’t ye think we should have the laddies take care of this one?”
Miles paused momentarily and then resumed scrubbing the gas grill down. His focus directed to cleaning solely to combat the uncanny sense of unease he felt, “We are the camp directors Connor. And I just dismissed them to their tents for the night.”
“Aye I know, I know. Just hate this kinda thing.”
“Tell me about it.”
He tossed the steel wool he was using into a nearby black plastic bag and stood up, glancing around his shoulder. The darkness of the night seemed to envelop the campground, everything felt claustrophobic, despite the openness of their location. Miles shuddered.
Connor noticed the expression and set his towel down on the table. “Miles, friend, ye alrite’?”
Miles turned his head back around to look at Connor, “How long have Tyler and Chris been gone?”
“Oh, an hour an’ a half or so. Why are ye askin’?”
“Connor, that’s too long.”
“There be something on your mind, innit?” Connor asked.
“Yeah. I feel terrible sending them off without an adult. What if something happened?”
“I doubt it,” He paused, putting his hand to his chin, “Though your lad is a bit small isn’t he?”
“Not helping.”
“Sorry, point is they’re alright. That whisky of mine is’a heavy stuff, and in more ways than one. Takes time for sure to carry it over.” He jabbed his finger at Miles’s chest, “So that means a’nuf worrying.”
Miles sighed, “Probably yeah. Still, something feels wrong.”
Connor nodded, “Aye, I feel it too.”
He froze, “What?”
“Feeling’ o dread. Haven’t felt anything like it before. Not about the laddies though.” Connor looked up at the sky and squinted, “Miles, do you remember what phase the moon were?”
Miles frowned, confused. “Full moon, why?”
“Well it’s gone.”
Miles’s heart sank. Slowly he turned his head and looked up at the sky. The moon was gone. The stars, the clouds, everything. Every single thing in the sky that had illuminated their surroundings only moments ago had disappeared. Completely absent from existence. Miles’s world seemed frozen in silence, like the peaceful calm before a catastrophic storm. No birds chirped, no crickets sang.
The only light that still existed was the beam of his flashlight and the two campfires. One within their campsite, the other far more distant, faintly wrapping the girl’s camp in a flickering, warm glow.
Such warmth was absent in Miles’s mind, his every thought laced with an icy feeling of doom. In the dim flashlight’s glow he could see Connor instinctively reach for a cigarette in his pocket. Connor’s hand lingered there for a moment, and then abruptly clutched his chest, a flash of pain shooting across his friend’s rough face.
Miles’s flashlight flickered off.
Silence was broken by a sudden incredibly high pitched noise that pierced through the inky black darkness like a firework, mixing chaotically with the sound of Connor screaming out in pain.
With a thud Connor collapsed to the ground, and the night faded back into perfect silence. In a panic, Miles fumbled forward trying desperately to find his friend. A handful of dirt, a shirt, a body. His hand connected with Connor’s neck, and he frantically checked for a pulse. Where movement should have been, was stillness, and where the familiar beat of a heart and the whirr of a pacemaker should have resided, was nothing. The only thing present was Connor’s quickly fading body heat. “What the hell. What the hell.”
A scream echoed off in the distance as a hand grabbed his shoulder tightly. Miles recoiled backwards in shock, slamming against whoever, whatever had touched him. Spinning around he faced his supposed opponent. In the darkness, he thought he could faintly make out the form of a boy - one of the camp’s attendees - clutching a phone close to his chest.
The boy’s voice was tainted with concern, “Camp leader Miles? Are you okay?”
“What? No! Absolutely not.” He pointed a finger at the barely visible shape of the boy’s phone, “Call an ambulance, now. Camp director Connor’s pacemaker isn’t-” He checked his friend’s pulse again, “Still nothing… Make the call!”
They boy’s voice tightened, “I can’t”
Miles felt a surge of confusion, “Of course you can! Isn’t your phone right there?”
“That’s why I came over here in the first place.” He paused, “Nothings working. Phones, flashlights. Everything electronic.”
“Just give me your phone.”
“But it-”
“Give it to me!”
Miles yanked the phone out of the boy’s hand and started pressing the power button down, desperately trying, and failing to bring life back to the phone. Maybe he could revive it if he… Revive. Panic stabbed through Miles’s mind as his attention turned back to his friend lying lifeless on the ground beneath him. Still warm, for now. He quickly turned to look at the boy, “Kid? Do you know how to do chest compressions?”
“It’s Mark, and yeah, I do.”
Miles brought Mark over to where Connor had collapsed, his eyes only now beginning to adjust to the blinding darkness. “I’m going to take Connor’s truck and go find help,” He pointed at Mark, “You stay here and keep his blood pumping. Can you do that?”
Mark stared wide-eyed at Connor’s lifeless form, “I…”
“Mark. Can you do that?”
The boy nodded his head, and determination filled his voice. “I can.”
“Good. I’ll be back with help.” Miles said, “Hopefully.”
Without another word Miles half ran, half stumbled his way towards the dying campfire. His body ached with fatigue only further aggravated by the overwhelming, stressful feeling that something was watching his every step, trip, and bound. Despite the faint warmth of the fire he now stood beside, the night felt cold and lifeless.
Rummaging through a nearby pile of wood he found a stick and leaned it against the campfire’s rim of stone. Miles ripped his left shirt sleeve off and wrapped it around the end of the stick, pulling it tight. He shoved the stick into the campfire’s dying flames. With a colorful burst of light it ignited, sending ash and embers into the air alongside smoke that billowed and banished into the barren, black sky.
Miles flinched at the sudden heat of the torch, regardless of how comforting and safe it should have made him feel. A horrible feeling of despair rose within him as he looked down the trail where Toby and Chris had left down hours before. Tall, dead trees loomed over it, intersected by rocks laid across the dirt path haphazardly. With a shudder, he took a painful step away from the campfire and its blanketing light, and began to walk down the dreary path.
His torch crackled against the deafening silence that permeated the night, it’s flames casting looming shadows across overarching decaying flora. The sickeningly damp air caused beads of sweat to drip down his neck, only worsened by the torches’ heat. His shirt uncomfortably clung to his back like glue. In the distance, Miles could hear an anguished sob that faintly echoed its way towards him. Every step he took brought him closer to the eerie sound, every stride bringing his fear to greater heights. He winced at every leaf and every stick he stepped on, and prayed that he could avoid alerting any unwanted attention from whatever presence he felt lurking in the shadows.
The sound grew closer, louder, until it finally peaked. Miles strained his eyes as he moved closer to the source of the noise. Lit up in the warm, yet, somehow deathly cold light of his torch, was a truck. Connor’s truck.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Blood oozed like sap from a gaping hole that completely parted through the truck’s passenger side. A giant slash ripped across the roof of the vehicle, as if the wrath of an angry god had been unleashed in one brutal strike. The truck was completely wrecked beyond anything Miles had seen before. He hesitantly began walking towards the pickup truck, a distressing feeling of sickness overpowering him. The sobbing quieted as he reached his hand towards the single intact door. Blood fell down the door frame and flowed over his fingers as he grasped the doorknob and pulled, sending the door swinging open with an unsettling pop.
Torch in hand, he stuck his head inside the truck and peered around. In the fiery orange light, he could see something, someone, shaking on the other side of the truck’s back seat. A boy, holding a case of whiskey tightly in his arms. Chris.
Miles’s eyes widened in shock, “Chris?”
The boy jumped, alarmed. “Uncle?” Tears welled up in his eyes, “I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry.”
Miles climbed into the truck and sat down on the other side of the backseat, resting his torch carefully on the ground outside, making sure it stayed lit. “What… happened?”
Chris looked down at the case in his arms and sobbed, clutching it tighter.
Hesitantly, Miles scooted closer and placed his hand firmly on the case Chris was holding. “Is it alright if I have that?”
The boy slowly released his death grip on the case of alcohol, letting him take it and carefully place it on what remained of the passenger seat. Miles scanned the interior of the truck and looked back at his nephew, “Where’s Tyler?”
“Something took him.” Chris pulled his legs up to his chest and sobbed harder, tears flowing down his face.
Miles’s heart ached seeing his nephew crying. It was all-too familiar. The boy had cried like that before. The same tears that flowed when Miles answered the door to a man bearing news. Miles’s sister had died. That he was left to take care of the boy. That he was the only one who was left. The boy left crying on his doorstep.
He searched his mind hoping to find something to say, something to console the boy, but his mind felt heavy with dread. Dread, and fear of whatever thing could have done such incomprehensible damage to Connor’s truck. He paused, and looked back at the crimson fluid leaking down the back window. Every window. “That’s Tyler’s blood, isn’t it.”
Chris nodded.
“When did…”
“I don’t know.” Chris looked up at him, “There was this… high pitched sound and Tyler said…” His voice faltered, “Tyler said he saw something. Something really bad.”
“Something?”
“Yeah. We went back to the truck to hide and then there was this horrible noise,” Chris’s hands clamped down onto his legs, pulling them in tighter. His tone of voice became far more distressed, “The truck started shaking, and Tyler started screaming like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Then… And…” His head fell back down to his knees and he cried.
Miles put his arm over Chris’s shoulder and hugged him tightly, “It’s alright kid. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. You’re safe.” The lie left a bitter sting in his mouth.
Chris shook his head, “It’s still out there. I know it.”
Miles furrowed his eyebrows, “How do you know that?”
“I saw it going somewhere.”
“What?”
Chris slowly sat up and turned around, wiping tears off his face with his sleeve. With his free hand, he pointed out the bloodsoaked back window of the truck. Through the glass, Miles could make out a faint point of light off in the distance. A campfire.
“It went that way.”
Miles’s neck tensed, “The girl’s camp…”
He shifted his body over to the open door on his left, moving to pick up his torch. He could feel his adrenaline levels spiking. Locking eyes with his nephew, he spoke. “I need to help them.”
Chris’s eyes immediately welled with panic, “No no no… please don’t. It’ll come back. You won’t be safe!”
“I know.”
Miles picked up the now-dimmer torch off the ground and placed it in Chris’s hand, “You,” he pointed to the torch, “Are going to take this, and walk back down the trail,” He gestured down the darkened pathway, “And tell Mark that help is not coming. You tell him and all the other boys at the camp to start running down to the base of the mountain.”
“But that thing-”
“That thing, whatever it is, is about to kill everyone at the other camp. I have to go warn them, and if you don’t warn our camp, all of us are going to die.” His voice changed to pleading, “Please Chris. Trust me.”
Chris stared at the torch in his hand, and his face hardened, “Okay. I’ll do it.” He paused, and the corner of his mouth raised into the slightest grin, “But only if you get us all dinner after you come find us.”
Miles smiled faintly, “That’s a deal kid.”
-–
Miles stood on the edge of the wide, forested gulley that separated where he now was from the distant fire of the girl’s camp. He guessed, or rather hoped the gulley was shallow, despite the overwhelming darkness that made it impossible to gauge its true depth. His skin crawled at the idea of crossing it, let alone without a torch or flashlight to light the way ahead. He kept his eyes locked on the only source of illumination he could see; the painfully far away glow of the girl’s campfire, and said a silent prayer, beginning to make his way into the dense gulley.
Tree branches and weeds caught on and punctured his clothing as he walked, covering him in burrs and disgusting amounts of what he could only hope was just moss and dirt. Pain erupted from his left arm as a jagged outcrop of a boulder sliced across his bicep. He let out a quiet groan of pain. Despite the carnage he had seen only minutes before, there was something far worse about the claustrophobia of the gulley. The darkness. The silence. All suddenly disturbed by the sound of something breaking a tree branch behind him. A coyote. Maybe.
He quickened his pace, stepping over a mound of dirt that piled over what felt like dead tree stumps and pebbles. The light that was once so far away grew ever-closer, beckoning for him to reach the end. If only-
Miles felt his shoe latch onto an exposed tree root, and collapsed forward onto the ground with an unpleasant thud. Another branch broke behind him.
In a dazed panic, he righted himself and started running, fear overriding whatever discomfort he had felt before. Leaves and branches painfully smacked into his face while he ran, and the sound of footsteps - now nearly indistinguishable from his own - grew louder and louder. Dead foliage fell from above as he finally felt the ground beneath his feet gradually slant upward. He could feel hope. A drive. The campfire was close, he was close. MIles could almost feel the warmth of the fire now. Eighty feet. Forty. Ten.
With a burst of energy he ran out of the thicketed gulley and bolted through a small clearing towards the raging campfire. Miles caught his breath and fell to his knees, and exhaustion filled him almost immediately. The world seemed to compress down to just him and the comforting warmth of the campfire’s flames. Reality came crashing back down as the sound of a woman screaming broke through the night air.
He was too late.
Miles slowly looked down. The ground he knelt on was stained a horrible dark red, and the nauseating metallic smell of blood attacked his nose just as intensely as the fire’s heat. More screams erupted some ways off inside what he assumed was one of the camp’s tents. He could see something immense moving, bending over, and entering the tent. A series of agonized cries sounded out, and then were silenced. Miles crouched low and slowly walked away from the campfire, trying to put as much distance between himself and the tent as possible. Sneaking behind a large rock, he peeked around a corner and analyzed his surroundings.
A row of large tents were sprawled out near where he hid, most of them ripped open just like Connor’s truck. Others had flaps that were open, stained completely dark with blood. Cautiously he moved towards one of the tents with a partially ajar door and poked his head inside. Empty. He backed out and made his way behind another tent, hearing a tent aways off zip open, followed by another series of screams. He shuffled around to the front of the tent, running his hand across its side. Once he reached the front he glanced towards where the screams had come from, straining his eyes. Hoping to see something. Anything.
His eyes made contact. Two glowing yellow eyes stared right back at him, straight across the campground. Miles felt his soul dive down into an icy ocean of fear. Whatever that thing was, it had seen him.
The sound of a tent unzipping followed by the feeling of a pair of hands suddenly pulling him backwards shook him from his stupor. The tent door -now in front of him- closed, plunging him back into absolute darkness.
Miles heard someone trying, and subsequently failing to ignite a lighter. The muffled sound of it being passed to another person preceded the light of the lighter sparking to life. He shielded his eyes, and after letting his eyes adjust to the flame, he looked around.
The tent was filled with girls. A lot of them. Most of them Miles guessed were all Tyler’s age or younger, all huddled together. In front of them a woman crouched, holding a lighter in her dark brown hand. She spoke in a panicked whisper, “Please tell me it didn’t see you.”
Miles flinched.
The woman’s face fell, “No…”
A girl whimpered in the corner of the tent, another sobbed while she held a small rusty pocket knife tightly in her left hand. The girl whispered, her voice filled with fear, “We’re all going to die. Aren’t we?”
Another girl nearby awkwardly put her arm around her, “We won’t Emily, okay? We’ll get out of here. I know it.”
A series of abnormally loud footsteps came from outside the tent.
Miles instinctively scooted away from the tent flap and faced the woman holding the lighter. “I came to warn you all before it got here but.. When I finally made it across the gulley…”
The woman shook her head, “It’s been here for at least twenty minutes already. We tried fighting it off but it just kept-”
Another footstep shook the tent, closer this time. The woman held a finger up to her lips and flipped off the lighter. An eerie yellow glow illuminated the walls of the tent, growing gradually brighter as the monster moved closer. An unsettling half-breathing half-clicking sound moved with the light. The stink of rotting flesh mixed with the smell of blood that began to slowly seep through the tiny holes of the tent zipper, pooling on the tarp floor.
Miles pushed himself backwards as quietly as he could and slowly pulled his revolver out of his back pocket. He rested the gleaming firearm on his leg and hardened his face. The woman’s eyes locked on the firearm, and she glanced at him sideways. “What in the hell are you thinking?”
Miles looked at her, “I’m going to distract it. Give you all the time to escape.”
“I doubt that will work.”
“Well if you can come up with a better plan let me know.”
The clicking breathing outside grew louder, and the zipper at the top of the tent began to slowly move, rising upwards like an executioner’s axe preparing to fall.
The woman cursed under her breath and turned around. She moved through the group of girls and motioned to the back of the tent. “There’s another door over there. If you want to kill yourself.”
The zipper raised another inch, and then two, three more. Miles felt dread surge through his body. He lowered his gaze, “Not like I really have a choice.”
The woman shook her head and chuckled, “Man you’re an idiot.”
“Name’s Miles.”
“Tesa.”
Miles nodded his head in appreciation.
Tesa spoke, addressing the crowd of girls around her, “When Miles gets that thing’s attention, everyone run down the trail like your life depends on it.” She looked down, “Because it does.”
The girls all gave a mix of reluctant nods and grunts. The zipper was nearly the entire way up now, and accelerating. The glow from the creature’s eyes became more intense as it began to move inside the tent.
Miles made eye contact with Tesa, and with a rush of determination, opened the tent’s rear door and stepped back out into the horrible blackness of the dark mountain.
He pulled his gun’s hammer backwards with a click and sprinted around to the side of the tent. He came to a stop and faced the immense shadowy figure in front of him. Hands trembling, he raised the revolver above his head and fired a shot towards the vacant sky. “NOW!”
The thing snapped its head to face Miles, and once again locked its menacing gaze onto him. His heart skipped a beat as the monster took a step towards him, then another, and another. Miles fired another shot into the air and sprinted in the opposite direction, running back towards the gulley.
In the corner of his vision he could see Tesa and the group of girls moving quietly out the front of the tent, down the trail away from where the creature was. He felt momentary relief at the sight of them escaping, but the feeling was quickly crushed by the closing sound of the creature’s menacing steps. Without a second of hesitation, he dove back into the gulley.
The claustrophobia he had felt before was nothing in comparison to the raw terror that he felt now. Whatever thing was following was set on killing him. Ripping him to shreds. Behind him he could hear the sound of the monster breathing, clicking whatever noise it was making. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It was getting closer.
The sound of trees collapsing grew nearer as he frantically shoved his way through the dense gulley. Branches slammed into his face as he sprinted, rocks threatening to trip him with every stride he took. Another thud, another unnatural clicking sound. Miles’s lungs burned like a raging fire, the cool night air only fueling his pain. If he could just make it out to the clearing, to the openness of the trail ahead. Then he could make it down to the base of the mountain. Back to Chris. With his last bit of energy he ripped through the rest of the flora and ran out onto the dirt trail. He paused, gasping, and looked behind him, a feeling of unease sinking in his gut.
There was silence. Deafening and utter silence.
The monster had stopped its pursuit. It was gone.
No.
Miles stumbled backwards.
It had turned around. Back towards the group. Down the mountain.
Miles limped down the trail, his legs aching with exhaustion. He didn’t care. If that thing followed the group of girls to the base of the mountain, it would catch up with Chris’s group. Chris would die. Everyone would die.
Dirt kicked up into the air as Miles limped his way down the trail, clouding the path behind him. Not like it mattered anyway. He wasn’t going back. The ground beneath his feet began sloping downwards as he made his way down the mountain, giving speed to his hampered pace. Conflicting feelings of determination and utter dread filled his mind as he ran, eating away at his hope like termites in wood. No light, external or internal lit his way ahead, save for the distant menacing glow of the creature’s horrible eyes. In that far-away yellow light, he could see its gargantuan form looming over - and slowly catching up with - the silhouettes of Tesa’s group. In front of him, nearly two hundred yards away, was a group of boys sitting at the base of the mountain. All gathered around a boy holding the blazing light of a torch high above his head.
A blood curdling wail of pain came far off his left as he saw the silhouette of a girl fall to the ground. Miles saw the shadow of a long, clawed and jagged hand extend from the monster, slowly dragging her towards itself.
He looked away just before her screams finally came to a horrific stop. A revolting crack echoed across the opening. Miles gagged, but kept moving. Whatever it just did had slowed it down. For now.
He arrived at the group of boys at the same time Tesa did, the sound of conversation beginning to smother the silence of the night. A girl limped over to where Tesa stood comforting another girl, face in her hands, sobbing. The girl with the limp sat down and stared off into the distance, a haunted expression in her eyes. “It… ate Emily.” She started to cry, “It actually ate her.”
She looked up at Miles and glared, sorrow radiating from her expression, “I thought you led it away? What happened?”
Tesa glanced at Miles too, and nodded her head slowly, “What did happen?”
Miles’s throat caught, “I… don’t know. It just-” He tore his gaze away from the crying girl, ashamed. “-it stopped following me.”
Tesa folded her arms, “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“I believe you.”
Miles looked down, “Really no I should have fired another shot or…”
“It’s not your fault.” Tesa said.
“I’ll try to believe that.”
Behind them, Miles could see the creature stand up and begin moving closer to them. Its fast rhythmic clicking started up again, louder than before. Its eyes seemed locked at the center of their group, staring at something. Or someone.
Chris held the torch defiantly ever-higher, standing his ground, staring right back at the monster. Miles pushed his way through the crowd of people and made a beeline straight for his nephew, orange firelight flickering in his vision. Miles reached his hand out and placed it on his nephew’s shoulder. “Hey kid.”
Chris looked at Miles and his hard expression lifted into a smile, “Guess this means you’re getting us dinner huh?”
Miles shook his head and laughed despite the situation, “Persistent, aren’t you.”
Chris nodded, “Me and that thing.”
Miles turned back around. The monster, now only paces away from their group, began to step into the fire’s light. He still couldn’t make out its features, but the people at the front let out horrified shouts as they clambered backward, trying to put distance between themselves and the creature. Every step it took was slower than the last, almost as if it was wary of the torch’s light. Hesitant.
Suddenly an idea clicked in Mile’s mind. A dangerous one. He reached his hand out again towards Chris’s. “Can I borrow that?”
Chris heasistated, and then handed the torch over to his uncle, confusion evident in his posture.
“Thanks.”
Miles moved his way back through the group, hearing them begin to notice him holding the torch above, walking towards the approaching creature. He took another step forward, and so did the monster. As he moved closer, he could begin to make out the beginnings of its features, the depth to its clicking breath. He slowly put his gun behind his back, clicked the hammer, and raised the torch upward to the sky. Miles’s spirits sank.
The thing that loomed over him - only two feet away from where he stood - was horrific. Where its chest should have been, was a ribcage that split down the middle, open, moving, with uncountable rows of glistening razor sharp teeth. Its entire torso breathed, moving in and out, opening and closing like a mouth would. Where its hands should have been, were horrifically long claws, stained and dripping with blood. Where a head should have been, was an elk skull, antlers branching out several feel like a tree made of bone; And in the sockets of the elk skull, were glowing, yellow, human eyes.
With the stench of a thousand corpses, it let out a whisper as intense as the loudest scream imaginable, “LEAVE…”
Miles lunged forward with a burst of energy and rammed the flaming torch into the thing’s ‘mouth’, whipped his gun forward and pulled the trigger, shoving it point blank to its skull. “For Connor, you bastard.”
He pulled the trigger.
Blood splattered into the air as the monster let out an all-too human scream and fell backward, crumpling to the ground. The creature wailed in one last moment of pure unadulterated rage, and fell silent, motionless. Gone.
-–
The Wendigo oddly felt peace, despite the excruciating pain that filled its burning body. Peace that its endless suffering had finally been put to an end. Peace with knowing that what it had done ensured the ground it now burned on would never be disturbed again. Humanity would no longer tread its disgusting filth on the land it held as its own. The land it was cursed to protect.
In the fading light of its eyes mixing with the firelight that illuminated the trail ahead it could see the group of trespassers walking off in the distance. The Wendigo saw a man, carrying a boy on his shoulders, laughing. A woman, comforting a small girl, all the while holding the pinpoint glow of a burning lighter.
With a final clicking breath, with its final moment of life, it looked upwards at the full moon, returned to the endless, star filled sky.