In the pines of Canada you can’t see much of what’s above you, you can only see the behemoths of trunks and thin clumps of needles stretching for miles; as for hearing - you can hear every sound that is made in the forest, no matter how loud the sound - or how big the forest. At night all you see is the hands infront of your face and the repeating cylinders of trees that stretch up into a limitless abyss of sky - an abyss that changes from the daytime chirps and buzz of forest life, an abyss that if you stare at for too long - will stare back.
Often you will find yourself taking walks through the pines to clear your head, and night is the best time; nothing but you, your thoughts, and the pines. This man was doing just that - his guilt was choking his mind, and so he and his dog took a late night stroll: out the cabin, and into the pines - he had no need to turn the lights off, he knew he wouldn’t be long; The abyss that stole the sky seemed to suck away all but the long standing trees, trees that had never once been disturbed by any man, animal or beast.
His footsteps weaved between the natural giants, treading the path he had once trod with his father - and his father before that, for this path was an old family trail, and he knew what lay upon it. His dog - a hunkering old St Bernard, padded a few steps ahead of him, sniffing the fresh air and scouting the trees. It was on this footrail where his dog stopped - understandable to anyone but this man, as his dog was as much of a hiker as he was; and had never once questioned anything on this night-time walk that was becoming all to ordinary nowadays.
When he caught up with the dog, his face lost all colour. His dog was frozen, a gaunt expression overtook its face and in a way of an otherworldly possession, it stared up into the abyss - making no sounds but a heavy pant, a pant that sounded as if it was struggling to cope with a heavy weight: a weight like a boulder. He followed his dogs gaze to the unseen sky - the needles and brances that couldn’t be seen; but he saw nothing.
At first, he attempted to entice his dog up the road, then he tried to pull it, the he tried leaving it and waiting for it to follow - but still it stayed at the foot of one of the great pines: the same haunted expression on its face, the same heavy pant. Again he looked up and saw nothing but the same blackout - and then his dog moved; his dog moved faster than he had ever seen… to the foot of another tree. This time; the pant turned to a wimper, then a bellowing bark, then a screaming jolt back along the path to the dim light of the cabin. The man felt no need to follow, he knew his dog was well trained - what he didn’t know was what scared the brute into squealing like a pig.
Staying still as a stone, the man listened and watched for any telltale sign of the abyss dwelling devil, but he got nothing. After 10 minutes he was ready to give up and walk back, filling his own mind with lies and deceit on possible causes for his dogs fright.
drip, drip, drip
He felt the rain start to drizzle on his hair and started to stand up from his resting spot.
drip, drip, drip
until it fell on his neck; rain wasn’t warm.
drip, drip, drip
and rain wasnt red.
thump.
The body of the St Bernard fell from the trees hard. Its fur was stained red and its body was mangled; each and every bone seemed to stick out of its grizzled fur.
The man scrambled towards the cabin; its dull glow echoing through the void of the night, he didn’t even look up to see what had killed his dog, he didn’t need to - because it was right infront of him.
It’s feet were prehensile, possessing both toes and a thumb. Its legs were large and buckling - ready to kick. Its body was shaggy and great - the size of an average man - though its arms were greater, covered in blood and gore, great enough to crush a man with a single hit. It’s face was that of a monkey, however it was mad - enraged and full of adrenaline, its eyes were firey and satanic, staring daggers into the man. Its mouth was a gaping maw of canines, its tounge forked like a serpent - a mouth that let out a bloodcurdling screech that removed this man from his paralysis, and caused him to flee - making him stumble off the trail and into the woods, not daring to look back at that thing that was causing the ground beneath him to shake - that thing that filled the stale night air with shredding, evil screeches; that thing that just lacerated his back with its claws. Still, he kept running, clenching his teeth with pain, pain that distracted him of the lack of thumping, the lack of screeching, the lack of chasing.
He reached a point of exhaustion after running and bleeding that he had to stop in his tracks. He looked around at the trees and abyss of the night and saw nothing; he kidded himself, saying things like “I must have outrun it” and “It must have lost me in the wood” until…
russle, russle, drip, drip, drip.
His own blood trickled from the shaking brances above him. He took one final look up at the abyss - and it stared back; not with eyes, but with the face of a snarling, wicked, half monkey/half dæmon that splayed its fangs as it jumped down from the high pines: And as it let out yet another macabre yowl, he let out his final scream.