The King of the Mountain

By: Tommy Sitz, Staff Writer

The sun is a warm yellow that slowly heats my face as it climbs higher in the endless blue sky. The bushes are starting to green as spring slowly ascends its way up the mountain. The tops of the far, ridged peaks are still snow-capped from a long, cold winter. As I look around through my binoculars, I see a chocolate boar grizzly walking up the mountain two miles away across the massive drainage. He climbs up the mountain above the animals below, as if to let them know he is the ruler of this vast domain. There in the highest meadow on the mountain, he beds under a large pine in the middle of the opening. He lies there with a kind of swagger because he knows how much authority he has. He sits there, munching on the newly chartreuse grass to fatten up as the warming of the spring year starts. He likely emerged from his winter den about two weeks ago. Now he roams the mountain as though he owns it.

I return my focus to what I am up here to do. Get bear meat. The amazing flavor of bear meat that I want so badly. It is the twenty-third of April, and I am armed with my recurve, a beautiful wooden masterpiece that was passed down to me by my father. It is my go-to weapon, and I have had a great number of successes with it in my hand. Hopefully, it will be my lucky charm today as I try to find a black bear. 

The black bear is an animal now known for having bad meat and diseases. But the bears are highly misunderstood. During the mid-1800s, black bear was a staple meat and preferred across the American frontier. Their meat is excellent as long as you find the right bear. If you shoot a bear that was feeding on fish or a dead carcass, it will taste bad. But here in the high mountains, where the bears are feeding on fresh, green grass, they taste excellent. These bears are scarce and hard to find due to their sneaky nature and scattered populations. You can find herds of 500 elk, but when you see a black bear, there is usually only one, or possibly two. They are mystical creatures, sometimes seemingly impossible to find, but if you are successful, it is one of the most satisfying feelings I have ever felt. 

I pick up my binoculars again and keep looking. I have seen nothing other than the giant grizzly. I can still see him in his meadow, and he is now walking around, still feeding on the grass. As I glass the many meadows on the mountainside, I see a black dot in the middle of the green. I throw my spotting scope onto my tripod and quickly get my eyes on the dot. It is probably a mile away, but very approachable. I am mapping how I am going to get to him. A stump. A burnt stump. Of course, it was just a stump. I do that to myself about every time I come out. I guess it’s probably time to move after sitting in this spot for three hours. 

I pack up my gear into my bag and head down a finger ridge to the other side of the drainage. I want to get up on the other side to see what I can see, but I also want to be careful to stay away from the big boar grizzly. I get to the bottom of the drainage and walk across a downed log to get on the other side of the creek. Now the climb up begins. I start heading up a ridge that should take me to a meadow that I had seen from the other side of the drainage. The ridge is rocky and bare, and should not be too difficult to navigate. The meadow is about a mile away from the big griz, which is plenty of room. I start the slow ascent up the steep ridge. It has been thirty minutes, and I am totally out of breath and about halfway there. I think. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, but do not want to turn around now. It is the first really big climb of the year, and I can tell. After about another 45 minutes, I am at the meadow and immediately lie down. I sit there for five minutes, not moving a muscle.

  I decide it is time to start glassing again, so I sit in the comfortable, freshly green grass and grab my binos. Instantly, I pick up a black bear about two ridges over up the drainage from me. I've got to get moving. I practically throw everything in my bag and start hiking. I estimate that the black bear is about half a mile away, so it shouldn’t take too long to get over there. I do not even care about the pain in my legs right now. I basically run over to the meadow and get there in fifteen minutes. I start to slow down. I can see the opening where the bear was 100 yards in front of me. I slowly inch my way to the meadow and check the wind. My wind is perfect. Blowing in my face. Black bears have one of the best senses of smell in the animal kingdom. If something is going to blow a stalk on a bear, it will probably be your scent. I have my bow in my hand, and I nock an arrow. Fifty yards from the opening. When I saw the bear, he was at the far side of the opening, which is perfect because the opening is about thirty yards wide. That would put me at about a thirty to forty-yard shot. Twenty-five yards from the opening. I can taste the bear meat, it's so close. Ten yards from the opening. CRASH.

In a flurry of brown hair, I am suddenly on my belly, being crushed by an immense amount of weight. The grizzly bear. In the excitement of seeing the black bear, I forgot that I was headed right in the grizzly’s direction. He must have been headed my way, too. I put my hands behind my neck to protect him from ripping it open. My nostrils are filled with his terrible musky scent. I can hear him breathing like a madman, as if he is about to do something horrible. But he just stands there on top of me, breathing hard. I can now smell the scent of death on his breath. My face lies on the ground against the dirt and branches, and I feel them sticking to my face. I can see his hind legs on my right side. I want to groan in the pain of being crushed, but do not make a sound. His front paws are on my pack, and his hind legs are to the side of me. I can feel the moisture on my face from his heavy breathing. I lie there waiting for what seems to be an eternity, but he just stands there on top of me. His long, soft fur brushes against the back of my pants as he starts to move. Finally, he gets off and walks away. I lie there as he slowly walks into the darkness of the thick, spiky pine trees. I just got jumped on by a bear, but I do not have a single scratch.

Why? Why did he just leave me be and not do a thing? Normally, when people get attacked by a bear, they do not come away unharmed. But I did. Obviously, he did not like me in his territory, but for some odd reason, he did not harm me. 

“I think it is time to get out of here,” I mumble to myself. I get up and start the long hike back to the truck, pondering what just happened to me. I am not sure if it was real or not. It is only about midday, but I figure I’ve had enough excitement for the day. I work my way back across the rocky ridges and thick creek bottom. I get back to the last ridge before the trailhead and look back through my binoculars. There he is, sitting in the same meadow I first saw him.

“Thank you God,” I say as I walk over the ridge.

Flower Field

By: MJ Whelan

The fluff fell off the dandelions and danced in the wind with the girls' laughter. The edges of their white dresses dancing around their ankles and brushing against all the flowers of the field.

Green, red, blue, pink, purple, seemingly every color as far as one can see. A rolling field or meadow, whatever one prefers to use to describe the vast space. With laughter dancing through the air, smiles carried on the winds.

Grass stains on their bodies after running and dancing all day. Green stands out on the white of the cloth. A mark of the day's happiness and joy. Stains on their knees, hands, and even feet. From running barefoot and falling. Petals in their hair, from rolling or from the other. Does it matter? It's beautiful all the same.

Clouds soft as goose down drift past, over their heads. Sometimes they stop and watch, other times letting them pass as they move. The sky was the perfect blue overhead, not a hint of rain either. Blue and white over the entirety of its vast expanse. The perfect day.

The one tall oak in the field provides the perfect place to rest. They sleep in its shade sometime after lunch. White dresses make the perfect blankets for their legs; they sleep in the peace of the shade. The oak towering above them like a gentle guardian. One wakes earlier than the other and pushes her companion's hair behind her ear.

More dancing and running, putting new stains on them. Soft music plays, real or imaginary? It doesn't matter to them; it's still playing as they dance through the flowers again. It's not a fancy dance, but it's theirs and that's all they care about.

The red and white checkered blanket stirs faintly with the wind. The wicker basket keeps it weighed down as they dance in the distance. The great oak keeps shade on the remains of their picnic.

Night is falling, blue skies fading to yellow and orange as they finally wind down dancing. The sky is red and pink when they finish packing their picnic and radio, and walk back to the edge of the field.

It's purple and blue when they finally get in the truck, headlights flickering to life. Stars start appearing in the sky as they drive the dirt road home. To their little place off the beaten path, the flower field fading behind them. There, waiting for them to come back.

Forgotten Strengths

By: Danielle Foote

I breathe in the fresh mountain air as I step out of my cabin. It’s my second day at one of my favorite ski mountains. Grand Targhee Resort, Wyoming. It is mid-February, and over the past week, the mountain has gotten a good three feet of fluffy powder. I step out onto my icy porch, careful not to slip, and grab my skis from the rack. The cabin is a few hundred feet from the slopes, so I carefully make my way towards the trail winding through the other cabins. I clip on my skis one at a time. I specifically brought my powder skis because today is not a normal ski day. Today I’m going all the way to the top of the mountain, the ungroomed runs, where the untouched snow lies. 

“Charlie, wait up!” My friend Jonny calls after me.

Oh, right, Jonny. Jonny has been my best friend since we were toddlers. I invited him on this trip to get him out of the house and to bring him outside in general. He tramps over to where I am, clips into his skis, and gives me his iconic grin.

“Ready?” he asks.

“So ready,” I reply.

We push off with our poles and head to the double-seat chairlift that will bring us to the highest ski run on the mountain. We load onto the lift, pulling down the overhead bar to rest our legs. I look out over the hill. The rising sun adds a peaceful glow to the snow-covered trees. We are some of the first skiers on the mountain, and everything was still coming alive. Moving over a patch of frosted willows, an Ermine was nestled into its den, keeping warm from the chilly air. We crest a ridge, coming closer to the summit of the mountain. We lift the tips of our skis and slide off the chairlift. There are no trees around for miles, and a slight breeze blows snow dust into our eyes. 

We head towards a sign labeled 'The Gulch.' My stomach churns as I look down the ravine. This morning, I was excited and had no nerves, but now, standing here in person, the experts-only cliff started looking more intimidating by the second. I take a deep breath and scoot my way closer to the edge. Jonny comes up beside me, a smile crossing his face. Then, without a word, he drops down the edge into the ravine. With no time for hesitation, I follow close behind, watching his every turn to mirror. After a few minutes of being surrounded by jagged cliff walls, the ravine opened into a steep, open mountainside. The nerves I was feeling this morning are starting to wear off, making way for the excitement I felt a few days ago. I let out a hoot of excitement, and Jonny does the same. I take a left, in search of untouched powder. It feels like I’m skiing over clouds, nothing slowing me down.

I can see the bottom of the mountain, a bittersweet feeling. I’m about to shout at Jonny, but I get cut off. It sounds like a herd of cows is running behind me. I look back, confused, then I see it: a giant wall of snow and debris is flying down the mountain fast, coming right towards Jonny and me. There is no time to think about what to do next. The avalanche envelopes both of us. The force is too much to handle, and I get knocked off my feet, my skis unclipped as I get pummeled into the ground. It’s hard to breathe, and my mouth is being filled with snow. I tumble down the mountain for a good two minutes before I slowly come to a stop. Everything is dark, and it’s hard to move my arms out from under me. I’ve heard stories of this happening to people, but I’ve never thought it would ever happen to me. There is a small pocket of air between my mouth and my balaclava, giving my shocked brain some oxygen. Suddenly, I feel dazed. My head hurts and my ears are ringing. I know that the adrenaline is wearing off, and my eyes close, giving in to the shock.

“Charlie, Charlie!” I hear a voice shouting from somewhere distant. 

I remember that I’m lying under a good three feet of snow, bringing my survival instincts back. I try shouting, but there’s no room for my mouth to move. All I can do is lie there and hope someone rescues me. I can hear shouting all around me, Jonny, and the local search and rescue team. 

After what seems like hours, I hear a voice shout, “I think I found something!”

I hear footsteps vibrating overhead, followed by the sounds of shovels digging into the snow. The sounds slowly start getting louder, and all of a sudden, I’m blinded by the sun. I feel a firm pair of hands grab onto my shoulder and slowly hoist me out of the snow. The pressure of the heavy snow has been lifted off my limbs. As soon as I am all the way out, I immediately feel dizzy and tumble into whoever is carrying me. 

“Dang, Charlie, you scared us all real bad,” Jonny says sarcastically.

I take a look around and see where the avalanche came down. Trees are down, the lifts aren’t moving, but one thing stayed the same. The beauty of the mountains. The peacefulness that the snow brings. When I started doing activities in the outdoors, I knew this was what could happen, and I accepted it. Though I might’ve had the scariest encounter with nature ever, I still feel that it was necessary. I can now fully appreciate the power and strength nature has.

The Acceptance Of Fate

By Alex Sitz

At the head of the drainage that seems to run on forever before it twists and turns down to the south where it twists and turns again to the north out of sight. On the north side of the river,  hills roll up steeper and steeper towards the sky where they finally pick into mountain tops, brown grass swaying slightly in the wind, scattered with the humps of dusty green sagebrush, all the way to the top of rocky hills. The south is mostly the same except for a few patches of emerald green pines rising up with the mountain and running all the way down to the river’s edge. In between the river and the mountains on the north side, there is a dead zone, where nothing makes its home there except the sage and the rattlesnake that crawls on his belly only to frighten anyone who passes through. And that is all anything ever does in that mid-section of the mountain; pass through.

The river’s edge is different though, not dead as the mountainsides, but full of life and greenery. On the banks of the river, thick willow patches grow only divided up with animal trains, along with the great pines separating the sagebrush from the river. Rocky sandbars emerging from the river itself where tracks of every animal, from the great grizzly bear to small river hopping birds, can be found. In the far distance, snow-capped mountains soar up, there the lone goat or occasional sheep are seen there at the highest top of the mountain.

Right where the mighty pines come reaching down from a north-facing slope to the river's edge only stopped by a sandbar, where a long curve cuts through the bottom of the drainage by the constant water flow. A small rapids rumbles through, just loud enough that it drowns out any other sound once on the river's edge. The speckled golden head of a small cutthroat trout comes up to sip a gray mayfly off the top of the water. On the other side of the river, there is a thick patch of willows only broken up by an animal trail and a single dead pine with a bald eagle sitting in it scanning over the river, as if expecting someone to come onto the open river bank. At the head of the rapid, a frightened cow moose comes high stepping across the water, only stopping for a moment to make sure her calf was following, then continuing on under the eagle and into the willows. 

Right downstream of where the moose was, a man dressed in buckskin clothes comes riding out of the trees into the open on his brown and white painted mare with a mule, heave buried with animal skins from this year's trappings and other supplies the man needs, being led behind her. The man's shaggy blond hair moving in the wind and his breaded face worn from many winters with a scar on his left cheek below his eye from a run-in with a Shoshone warrior some years ago. Across his lap, a flintlock rifle lay with a large antler-handled bowie knife in his belt. His broad shoulders moving up and down with the movements of his horse. His eyes looking warily across the river.

With a jerk of the rains, he stops the mare and starts scanning the open area of the river bank. Climbing off his horse with his rifle now in hand, he leads both her and the mule out onto the riverside, going between watching the ground and the thick willow line. Looking up for a moment to notice the eagle watching his every move as he walks along the river. The roar of the river now in his ears as he looks down again to scan the sandy bank. 

Walking up along the rocks of the river looking for a place to cross, something seemingly catches his eye in a small patch of sand with a singular large track in it. Moving closer to it, he starts seeing more and more detail in the sand. Finally standing right over the track, the trapper kneels down to put his hand next to the track, that is almost twice the size of his hand, only to utter a single word with his gravelly voice.

“Bear.”

As he said this, the eagle let out a startling screech and flew off upstream out of sight of the man. The trapper then looked back at his horse, talking to her.

“It’s the same one that got into the food and been stealn’ the fur out of our traps. He’s been circling us for weeks.”

Looking back down at the track and standing up, he went on.

“I’m tired of this. Damn thing won’t show his ugly face, but he always knows right where we at. Tonight this its gonna end. Tonight we kill this beast.”

The mare lifted her head and snorted as if in disapprovement of the decision. The man then remounted his white mare and rode off across the river, above the rapid into the willow and under the dead pine.

Up the river a couple miles or so, in the shade of a circle of pines maybe a hundred yards off the riverbank, the trapper sits on an old downed log. The horse and the mule were tied to a pair of trees off to his left and a small fire going in front of him with a pot of coffee boiling over it. His rifle leaned up against the log within arms reach and an ax next to that. On his lap, a young pine shaved of all its limbs sits as the trapper takes his knife making a fine point at the end. Then inspecting his work, throws the newly made spear into a pile of ten or eleven others. 

Looking around and seeing that the pot of coffee was done boiling, he steps over to it, takes it off the fire, and pours it into a cup sitting next to him. Grabbing the cup, the man takes a sip and looks back at his horse who is already intently watching him.

“You know how we gonna do it?” He asks his horse,” I'm going kill a deer. I saw some fresh tracks and a pair of does as we came in here, so finding one shouldn’t be a proble. After I kill it, we’ll bring it back here before I start cutten into it. I'm gonna put that deer in the middle of a ring of spikes with one opening to walk into and build up a bunch of little fires around to make sure the bear goes for the deer the way I want him to. Then, I’ll take you and the mule to go hide somewhere safe. I’ll come back and hide out of sight, maybe in that tree or something so the bear can’t get to me. When the big buffoon comes for the deer I have a clear shot and if he comes runnin’ at me he’ll have to go through the spike to get me, given’ me enough time to reload.”

Looking around he could see exactly what would happen tonight and how it would play out. The bear would come right for the deer, he would take his shot if that one did not kill it, then before the bear could reach him, he would reload, take another shot and kill the beast. It seems simple as any trap could be, but yet it seems as if it was too easy. With the sun high in the sky, there was plenty of work to do before he could set his trap perfectly.

With the sun now going down over the mountain, the river drainage entered a deathly quiet, as if knowing and awaiting for the up roar that will surely come. The horse and the mule now gone, hobbled in a safe meadow to graze, the trapper walks back into the place where his trap will be sprung. The deer hanging up enclosed be spiked almost all the way around it. Eight small fire pits placed around that, sit ready to be ignited with a touch of flint. The man, walking up to the deer, leans his rifle against one of the spikes, cuts a slab of meat off of it for himself. He then grabs his rifle and walks over the largest of the fire pits. Setting the rifle and the meat down on his right, he takes out a piece of flint and steel from his pocket. 

Grabbing the ball of grass he had felt for this purpose, the trapper starts clicking the flint and steel together making sparks fly into the dry grass. Finally landing one big spark in the middle of the grass clump, he raises it to his face and begins to blow vigorously on it. As smoke rises into his face, clouding his entire vision except the grass clump, a small glow springs out of the grass as a newly born flame begins. The man adds more grass to keep the flame going then takes it and puts under a premade teepee of small sticks. After a moment the sticks ignite too and the man starts gradually adding larger and larger sticks till the fire is going enough that he can lean back for a moment to take a look at his work.

As he does, a small movement catches his eyes. Looking up to find the motion out infront of him where the trees begin again in the circle, he finds it standing there, right out of the pines staring right back at him with his white teeth snarling, was the beast he was waiting for. The bear that has been stalking him, stealing out of his traps, and rummaging through his food on nights passed, has finally shown its ugly face. This bear was no normal grizzlie, this griz was bigger and stronger than any other bear the trapper had ever seen before in his life. Kneeling on the grow, the bear seems to tower over the man while being on all fours. It’s grizzled fur marred with scars of past fights. Its breath coming rapidly in and out with its obvious musculature tensed ready for the fight to come. But the man was not ready yet, had not repaired the trap or started the fires or anything. It was too late for any of this now.

The man took in all this information at once, while he and the beast were staring right at each other. To the trapper, the stare down in the dead silence of the mountain seemed to take forever, but in reality it was not more than a few seconds.

  Breaking the silence, the griz let out a huff and with the huff the man darted for his gun, landing on his side and cocking the hammer back all in one fluid motion, as the bear barreled down on him. Without aiming he fired a shot, pointed in the direction of the bear, ending in a cloud of white smoke. For a moment there was a pause, but then charging out of the veil of the smoke came the beast.

  The force of the charge knocked the rifle right out of the hands of the trapper and flung it ten yards off into the trees. With the bear now on top of him, the man started punching at the head of the beast, trying to wrestle it off of himself while its massive paws tore at his flesh. As he took a hard left swing, the bear, catching his forearm in its mouth, bit down sinking its teeth to the bone causing the man to let out a cry of anguish. 

Being face to face with his arm in the beast jaws, the man looked into the bear's eyes. In them he saw one thing. He saw that the bear was going to kill him and the only thing he could do was kill it before it finished him.

Accepting his fate, he pulls out his bowie knife with his other arm still trapped in the bear's mouth which had begun to thrash him around. As he goes to sink the first jab, the bear stands up on his hind legs, lifting the man five feet off the ground. Being thrashed around in the air, the trapper stabs the bear over and over again all around the shoulder and neck area, each time sinking the blade all the way to the hilt.

As the bear thashed the man around like a rag doll, he swatten his massive paw leaving a gaping gash on the man's upper right thigh. Immediately, blood started running out and down his leg, dripping all across the ground. With this newfound pain, a fury started to burn inside of the trapper. Tapping into this fury, he raised his blood washed knife and drove it deep through the griz’s skull.

Without delay, the bear let out a wounded roar with its eyes rolled back in its head as it released the man's arm from his muzzle, sending him crashing to the ground. Holding his damaged arm close to his body, the man, using his good leg, scooted quickly away from under the beast as it came stumbling down, only to take a couple wobbly steps then slump over dead. 

With blood still running out of his leg, and all his other wounds he had not noticed till now mainly the gashes on his chest and rips, the man crawled back against the base of a tall pine to brace himself. Having his back probed against the tree, the trapper took what was surely going to be his last look around before he bled out.

  The sky was now dark and the first stars had started to show through the black mat. The small fire that he had built, that had been kicked around by the bear's charge, was scattered, but still glowing in the darkness enough to illuminate the silhouettes of the ring of trees. The skinned deer and the stakes around it stud as if nothing had happened. A map drawn with blood and scuff marks lay across the dirt and pine needles that make up the forest floor. An enormous heep of scarred grizzled fur and blood, which used to be the beast that had stocked him for weeks, lay silent with an antler handled knife still sticking out of its massive head.

Though he seemed to be meeting a violent end, the man was content having gone out in a blaze of glory in this wild and beautiful place. Taking a deep breath, sucking in the chilled night air and letting it out darkness seemed to enclose around the man as he passed out from the loss of blood in his leg.

The quiet of the night surrounded the ring of trees. From some distant hill side a lone wolf sounded off for a moment then all went quiet again. Coming opposite the man's slumped body, a shadowy figure appears through the trees right outside the glow from the broken up fire. The figure stops and stands still as can be, taken in the entire scene from the battle that ended a few moments ago.

In a bison hide teepee, a fire cracks and snaps as a stew in a pot, suspended by cooking sticks, boiled above it. Smoke rising from the fire and wafting out the hatch in the top of the structure as a single beam of light shone down onto the grass floor. A man sitting cross legged next to the fire, leans over to stir the pot. His long black hair tied into a braid with multiple painted feathers sticking out of it, runs down his drown colored bareback. Behind him, a shaggy blonde headed man lay under a buffalo pelt blanket asleep. His breaded face worn from a life of physical work with a scar from a past battle sits under his left eye. His left arm wrapped in a white cloth bandage stained with blotches of red blood. Under the blanket, there is a second bandage wrapped around his upper right leg with a third larger one wrapped across his back and chest, each spotted with blood. His torn and blood stained shirt hangs at his feet, with his rifle with an antler handled bowie knife, also stained with blood, resting underneath it.

It was the trapper. All of the sudden, his eyes shoot open, wildly looking all around the teepee. Not knowing where he was or what had happened to him one question entered his mind. 

“I’m alive, but how?”

What a Snake Thinks

Inspired by An excerpt from Mink River by Brian Doyle “What the River Thinks”

By Nico Fuhriman

The dirt above me startsssss warming as I lie beneath it. The morning sunrise always feelssss pleasant, but it’ssss when I know it’ssss time to hunt, as the hunger stirs within. Unburrowing from the red, ionized soil, I flick my tongue, tasting the air for any hint of food. The scentssss are faint, coming from unseen creatures moving slowly across the earth. Passing by the blue bunchgrass, I pick up tracesssss of fringe sage, feeling every shiver in the grass beneath my scales as I search. Then, a scent, life hidden below. I burrow my snout into the soil, attempting to stir something up. I lunge, my jawssss snapping shut, biting down with force. fangssssss sinking deeper as venom flowssssss, slowing my preyssss movements until it ceases altogether. Adjusting my mouth, I swallow, feeling the lump slide slowly down my body. The sun grows warmer against my scalesssss as I slither through the clumps of Indian ricegrass, needle and thread wheat grass, the mule deers trotting near me coming close to squashing me. Suddenly, I prick myself on something and instinctively shift into a defensive position, flattening my head, ready to strike. But the threat is nothing more than a prickly pear cactus, and I ease back. As I stray there are other snakes though made of dirt from something below, that the prairie dogs make to escape and hide from the black footed ferret. Finding a limestone rock, I coil up to bask in the warmth, letting the heat seep into my skin. Then, a screech pierces the air above, a cry of danger. I tense, slithering quickly,  head flattened to appear larger, more dangeroussss. The screech comessss again, unmistakable. A red-tailed hawk circlesssss overhead, its shadow cutting across the ground.  Body  movessss faster now, every sense alert, ready to evade the predator that watchesssss from the sky. Hiding, waiting, listening for the danger of the sky to pass. The day is slowing. so am I. The warmth of the sun, once sharp and bright against my scalessss, begins to soften as shadows stretch across the ground. movement is slower now, more deliberate. The hunt is over. I’ve had my fill, and my musclessss, once taut with purpose, relax. I taste the air, faint, familiar scents drift lazily by, no longer carrying the urgency of danger or prey.. Instinct pullsssss me towards the soft, loamy ground. A patch of earth, cool and welcoming, beckons me to burrow down, to nestle into the dark where I will be safe and hidden. There is no fear in the coming night, only trust in the earth that holds me, that cradlesssss me as I slow my breathing, coiling gently into myself. I feel the cool dirt press against my body, closing me off from the vastness of the open world. Here, beneath the surface, I am no longer part of the day. the movements of the night’s a mystery. I am simply a part of the earth. wrapped in its quiet embrace. As the last light fadessss. surrendered to the comfort of stillness. knowing that with the dawn, soon to rise again to feel the sun, to move, to hunt, and to live. But for now, I let the darkness take me, content in the slow rhythm of rest.

Salted Cereal

By Julian Denney

The cereal is salty and sour when I bite down. My gaze lingers on the jar of sugar in front of me, then moves to the salt shaker by my hand—it’s the second time I’ve done this now. It’s the third time that the milk I’ve used has been expired.

I can feel my face scrunched in appall as the rest of the bowl is poured into the trash, the taste still lingering in my mouth despite having rinsed it several times with water. It’s hard to place when I began to get such wide gaps in my memory—it’s difficult to recall something you forgot. Nonetheless, I find myself trying, scrolling through my camera roll in a mindless attempt to call back what glimpses of my days I’d lost. It’s fruitless, even as I stare at the documentary laid out before me; every photo, despite showing the moment in real-time, does nothing more than that. I can only feel the moment the picture was taken, with a graceful few seconds tacked on to either end; I took that photo at a restaurant after nearly choking on my drink, and I dropped the glass the moment the shutter closed, but the rest of the day stays hazy. I can’t even remember what the name of the place was, or who was there to laugh with me at my mishaps. It’s all obscured.

Most of my days go by in blur. I get glimpses of them sometimes, small memories that stick for no apparent reason: a ripped-up note I found under my dresser, the odd looks cast to me at a store, staring at the blinding window where the night’s snow reflected the morning sun. I keep my window shut to keep in the air of days past, in hopes that the scent may trigger a remembrance.

Even sitting here writing this, I can no longer recall what my end goal was—sitting with a carton of curdled milk and a box of cereal, I don’t know why I sat at this table, nor why I picked up the pen.

Lost and Found: Chapter 5

By: Savanna Proffit

Chapter 4 Recap:

Waylen looked into her eyes and found sadness and hurt; in the eyes of his only sweetheart, ever. She still looked the same as she stood in the moonlight. The silver light lit her blond braids up and made her eyes sparkle with the tears that still lingered. She was beautiful; the most precious, dainty, thing he had ever set his eyes on.

Chapter 5:

“Why don’t we find a place to start a fire and eat something,” Waylen said, as he mentally told himself to make sure she was not hurt.

“Ok…” Kayla nodded and clung to his arm as they turned around a tree and started searching for a small clearing.

Waylen kept one hand resting on hers as she clung to his arm while they walked. He could barely see a little clearing up ahead with the help of the moonlight. He could feel her shivering and sometimes he could have sworn he heard her teeth chattering. 

To him, this felt nice, this walking through the woods holding “his girls’” hand, and her clinging to his arm was more than nice; it was pretty much all that he wanted since high school. And now it was happening! A soft and hopeful smile curved its way across his mouth. 

“This looks good… there are some nice trees here to hang hammocks and it's a good place to set up a tent too if you want…” Waylen turned to look at her and see what she thought but his breath and words caught in his throat; she was so sweet-looking, so innocent. 

“Sure, that sounds fine. I'll go get some wood for a fire,” Kayla whispered, slowly walked away, and turned her headlamp on.

She seemed so gloomy. Waylen also turned his headlight on, bent down, and started to dig a shallow hole in the ground to build a fire. He made sure he had his matches ready then went to check his satellite phone to see where they were since he had gotten all twisted around in the dark. He pressed the on button and nothing happened. He pressed it again, and again still nothing. No, no, no, no!! He inwardly raged as his head went back, dragged his hand over his face, and turned around in a full circle. Wait, wait….I had a solar portable charger…where…is…it? Waylen Asher scrambled through his pack for what seemed like forever before he found what he was looking for. 

“Yes! Thank You, Jesus!” He whispered the words of gratitude up to Heaven. He opened it up and went to turn it on so he could charge his satellite phone, but the light wouldn’t come on. 

“No! Not again. He shoved the charger and phone in his pack and sat with his arms resting on his knees, staring at the ground trying to figure out what to do.

“What’s wrong?” Kayla asked.

“My satellite phone is dead and so is the charger. I don’t know exactly where we are, or how we are going to get out of here. And your satellite phone is dead…wait, do you have a charger?” Waylen said with the faintest flicker of hope.

“I do. let me see if I can find it,” She bent down by her pack, rummaged through it, and pulled out her solar charger. She pressed the “On” button but nothing happened.

Waylen stared at the blank, empty bars on the charger for a few seconds then stood up, looked at the sky, and sent a silent prayer to God. When he turned back to Kayla, she was sitting criss-cross in the dirt, her head in her hands, crying, saying the word, “Why? Why?... Why?” over and over again. His heart melted when he saw her. He wanted to go to her, to hug her, to tell her that whatever God’s reason was for allowing them to go through this situation, was a good one and that He would work it out for their good in the end. Suddenly, he did not question if he should do what he was thinking or not, he went to sit beside her, put his arm around her shoulder, and said, “I’m sorry that this is happening… I’ve never been in this situation before…and I’m not quite sure what to do. But, I do know, that God loves us very much and whatever this,” he gestured to their surroundings, “is, He will work it out. There is a reason for us being here…together…completely lost…and I know He will bring good out of our circumstances. We just need to have faith that He will keep us safe… and we need to keep praying.”  Kayla had turned to him with a few glistening tears lining her cheeks, listening, grasping onto every word he said. Waylen looked back at her and, when he had finished talking, it was like time stood still. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

Kayla realized that what he said was completely true, they needed to trust and have faith in the God who loved and cared for them more than anyone else ever could.

“So…”

“So what?” Waylen asked looking a little puzzled.

“So, are we going to pray? Isn’t that what you just said we should do, silly?” Kayla giggled as she wiped away her tears.

“Oh, yeah…” he chuckled. “Let’s pray. Do you want to or do you want me to?”

“Why don’t we both say one?”

“That’s fine with me, I’ll start.” Waylen closed his eyes and was about to start when he felt Kayla lean her head on his shoulder. He paused and smiled to himself. Then started, “Dear Lord, we know that Your ways are the highest, Your plans are the best, and during whatever…trials You bring our way, You have our best interests at heart. Please help us to trust you and your plan. Amen.”

When the prayer was done, they stayed in that position for a good while. Waylen did not want the moment to end. I missed this. I’ve wanted to get back in touch with her for a long time. Why didn’t I? I’ve loved her for years, why did I think I could live without her? I’ve got to tell her…now is the perfect time…

Kayla did not want the moment to end either. She felt safe with his arm on her shoulder and God watching over them. She felt secure like nothing bad could happen as long as they were together. She remembered that this feeling welling up inside of her was the same one she had back in high school when they had professed that they loved each other. Kayla was puzzled now. If things did not work out in high school, why would they work out now? What if they worked for a little bit but then we hurt each other again? I don’t think I could handle another break-up…with him…

“I’m going to start a fire and cook some baked beans with bacon bits, then we should probably get some rest,” Waylen said as he stood up and walked to the hole he started to dig earlier.

Kayla started going to her hammock to grab an extra jacket and get everything situated for the night. Then, she walked towards a rock Waylen had set next to the fire for her to sit on. The two sat in silence, engulfed in their thoughts, waiting for the beans to bubble so they could go to bed. When the beans were done, Kayla carefully placed a scolding spoonful on her tongue and let the warmth spread through her.

“Thank God for beans,” she said closing her eyes and savoring the flavor.

Waylen looked at her, laughed, then agreed.

The Car

written by Josie Schultz

The bright sunlight seemingly caresses Conrad's features, emphasizing his masculine beauty. He watched from the bleachers as his friends played some intense game he wasn't interested in, feeling the cool breeze as he did so. Mornings like these were his favorite. He felt like he could actually breathe; it didn't feel like the air around him was suffocating. It was one of the few times he genuinely felt free. He felt truly like himself without the pressure of everyone else beating down on him. 

“HEY CONRAD!! WATCH OUT!” 

He was suddenly snapped out of his moment of bliss by his best friend, Josh, yelling at him, warning him of the ball flying at his face. Instinctively, he put his hand up, catching it. “Thanks, Josh,” he said as he tossed the ball back towards them. 

“I'm going to head to class, see ya guys,”  Conrad said, picking up his backpack and starting towards the school. There was a chorus of different goodbyes from his friends as Josh ran up next to him. It was still early, seeing as it was 7:30 and school didn't start until 8:15, but Conrad liked being early, and Josh was wherever Conrad was. 

Conrad and Josh were inseparable. You could tell they were best friends just by looking at them, but their friendship didn’t start like that. Throughout middle school and freshman year, Conrad was considered a loner. He had a few friends, but they were embarrassed to be seen around him, and many of his other classmates were flat-out scared of him. His parents had a lot of influence in the town, so everyone wanted to be his friend. He formed a large group of people whom he considered all to be his best friends and would do anything he could for them. 

One day, he found out his childhood best friend, Luke, was being severely bullied. He stumbled upon a group of older kids harassing Luke and stepped in. He defended both himself and Luke to the best of his ability until a teacher found out and split them up. The other kids were fairly beaten up by the end, especially compared to Conrad. He had been interested in kickboxing and lacrosse, taking lessons for both, which allowed him to stand his ground in a fight. After hearing about how he acted, many of his friends distanced themselves, eventually avoiding him altogether. The only one who stuck by him the whole time was Zach. They were inseparable, but the keyword there is ‘were’. Zach's bullying didn’t stop, it got worse. 

He went through years of consistent bullying and couldn’t handle it anymore, even with Conrad’s help and support. He had thought the best option was to leave, so he took his own life. At such a young age, 14 to be exact, this had a horrible impact on Conrad and many others around Zach. Conrad, having fallen into depression shortly after, would lash out when people brought up his change in mood or Zach’s death. That was until halfway through his freshman year when Josh first transferred. 

Josh was dead set on being Conrad’s friend, despite all the nasty rumors that had formed. In the beginning, he would consistently try to talk with Conrad but to no avail. Nearing the end of freshman year, Josh was able to break down his walls, becoming Conrad’s (only) friend. They became fairly close throughout the summer because Josh constantly bugged Conrad to hang out or at least do something with him. Slowly, Conrad opened up to Josh and improved a lot through their friendship, the pair quickly becoming inseparable. 

As the next school year started, more people became friendlier with Conrad. They’d ask him about his day and make small talk in the hallways. At first, he was a little taken aback by it, skeptical even. He thought they had alternative motives since they had ignored him just the year before. Gradually he became used to it and gained a lot of popularity, being sucked into a group quickly. 

Though this group did everything to make him feel welcome and like he was a part of it (per Josh’s request), Conrad always noticed a weird air when they hung out. Like they weren’t happy he was there. Like they were pretending and stepping on pins and needles around him, he felt awful about this, so he made up excuses not to be too close to them. 

Conrad blinked, realizing he had made it to class. Thinking back, he had probably been there for about 15 minutes. Josh was next to him, continuing on the random stories he tends to tell. Josh knew that Conrad didn’t often listen to them, but having the silence filled them both comfort and allowed them a time of peace. They still had about 20 minutes until class started, but people were starting to trickle in. 

Josh and Conrad had the same classes, the teachers thought it would be best this way. Many students, and teachers too, were afraid that Conrad would explode in anger at something. The solution they came up with was Josh. They noticed how Josh was able to keep Conrad from getting angry and could handle him when he was. So they were always partnered together. 

Classes flew by as Conrad continuously got lost in thought, reminiscing about the past and how he was able to get where he was. 

“Hey, Josh, Conrad, you guys should come to my party tonight!

 It was one of Josh’s friends. Conrad didn’t know him very well, but felt almost happy he was invited. He had never gone to any parties before, but was feeling different about this one. Josh looked towards Conrad, his eyes pleading with him to say yes to the party.
“Sounds fun. What's the address?” Conrad sounded almost bubbly when he spoke, the complete opposite of only two years ago. 

“I’ll text you guys it. can't wait to see ya there.” 

Though the interaction was only a few seconds, it would dramatically change the rest of the year for everyone at the party.

T.B.C

Food Service

By Julian Denney

If life is a prison, restaurant work is Guantanamo Bay. Picture it: you woke up with a fever of 101, but you’re still on your way to work because it’s short-staffed and someone else already asked for a shift cover with no luck. It’s a Friday night, so you can’t even dream that it won’t be busy, because it undoubtedly will be—especially with tourist season creeping up. You’ll have to be coordinated enough to balance a tray of thirteen dirty cups and plates precariously stacked atop one another, even though you nearly swerved onto the wrong side of the road while driving there. The moment you step foot into the restaurant, the smell of stale fries is already making you nauseous, and finally, you get the warm, warm welcome of:

“The regular that *#$% herself called ahead, she’ll be coming in again.”
“She’s still not banned? She’s gotta be a health hazard at this point?”
“She and her husband spend too much money here to ban them.”
And that’s how my shift started. I was a busser for two years because I was too scared to ask for a raise and only got upgraded to host in the third year because I was more tired of getting $11 an hour than I was scared of my manager. Even with that, I still got the privilege of continuing to buss, having to touch everybody’s plates even when I saw them cough all over it. Despite that, I finally felt grateful to miss out on hosting (after three weeks of being put with too many hosts to make my own host money) solely because I thought I might get a migraine if I had to talk to anybody. 

However, my luck stopped there, because even if you’re not arguing with an old lady about a wait list or telling the fourth person to ask if you have filet that you don’t, you get a coworker twenty years your senior chewing you out for anything they can gripe about. Not even an hour into a shift, and I’d heard enough about booths two, three, and four needing plates grabbed and water refilled to last a lifetime. Nothing can quite recreate the feeling of rage ignited when asked, “Can you go _______” while you are visibly mid-task and trying not to vomit. By hour four, I’d sent off several texts, including but not limited to:

“Everyone’s catching [kind] attitudes with me. I could throw up on this [beautiful] floor right now and make ALL of your guys’ shifts a lot less fun don’t play with me,” and “So help me god if [my favorite coworker ever] says one more thing I’ll [give her a hug] swear on HER life.”

While I’d forgotten water in someone’s water glass (presenting them with only ice), shattered several wine glasses in a full restaurant, and otherwise humiliated myself plenty, the final straw to make me consider quitting was when the restaurant was void of customers. I was made to clean the bathrooms, apparently not having played the sick card hard enough, and was not informed that the floor was freshly mopped. Everyone else was cleaning and celebrating the final table leaving, and I was so out of it that I mistook their laughter for the color green.

With my coworkers preoccupied, the only people to see it were me and god. I hit the floor like a brick, watching the basket of towelettes drop beside me. I could immediately feel the bruises forming along my entire side, my work of rolling up towels was completely undone, and my pride was more bruised than my body. The mop water was quick to seep into my cheap uniform, and clung to me as I made myself finish cleaning. 

After it all, I still (unfortunately) didn’t quit—jobs for highschoolers are finite, and so is my checking balance. 

I still have yet to quit.

The Coin For Charon

By Nico Furhiman

I wasn’t supposed to be in the museum after hours, even worse I had to steal the key from my dad to even get in here. Unfortunately, there's something about a dare, especially one that was given to you by the entire friend group that you just can’t say no to. It was a stupid dare anyways, I just had to grab a pamphlet to prove I broke in. 

I unlocked the back door and slid through hoping it wouldn’t creak as I closed it behind myself. All the exhibits were dimmed as I walked past. I had been in this museum many times but something about it being so quiet and dark gave me the creeps. I had seen everything a million times, the old pottery, dusty scrolls, ancient languages, and the cracked statues. Nothing was new until I saw the boat. It was in the middle of an exhibit, it seemed to be almost out of place. The ship was small, probably no bigger than a bathtub. There was a glass case in the middle of it. Inside was a black stone, smooth like a river rock. It was carved with Greek symbols that I didn’t recognize. Underneath was a sign that read:

“Obol for the ferryman— offerings once placed here were believed to guide the dead safely to the underworld”

I reached into my pocket, reaching for a quarter. The glass case had a coin hole that I dropped it into. It landed in the case, on top of the rock with a soft clink. Visitors have dropped coins in here before as there were plenty of quarters. Nothing seemed to happen so I stepped away from the boat and suddenly–the lights flickered and then it went dark. It felt like the floor was shifting underneath me as the light started to fade back on. The light was dimmed and it was a foggy atmosphere. I was no longer in the museum.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

I looked around, there was an eerie feeling about this new environment. There was a river, and that same boat from the museum. Except this time there was a cloaked figure standing there. 

As I approached the figure he said “ You’ve paid your fare.” He gestured for me to board the boat "Are you ready to cross the river Styx?”. I stopped and asked “What fare and who are you?” The figure looked at me as if he was pondering how to respond, then after a suspenseful wait he replied “ I am the ferryman of the underworld, Charon. I am responsible for transporting the souls of the dead across the Styx and the Acheron Rivers.” Now I’ve heard the stories and myths, but again these are stories. I thought this must all be some kind of weird fever dream, so I pinched myself hard and I was very much awake. “I’m not dead so this doesn’t make any sense” I replied thinking this must at least be some kind of prank. “But you have paid your fare, no? If you are not dead then you wouldn’t be here”. 

I was confused on this whole matter and I didn’t want to stay here longer than I had to. The ferryman was still gesturing for me to get on the boat. 

Charon spoke “If you do not wish to board you may stay here with the lost souls to roam the riverbank”.

I looked around at the miserable souls and decided I would try my luck with the ferryman so I hopped on the boat with him. 

“If I wasn’t dead, how can I get back to the museum?” I asked nervously as the boat was pushed off the bank.

Charon didn’t answer. We floated down the river Styx. He simply kept his grip on the oar, pushing through the water. The water was thick as if it was made out of these souls. It didn’t have the form of what a natural river would, with no waves or ripples, just hands ripping through the surface. 

After what felt like an eternity, Charon responded “Few return, fewer return unchanged. Hades will judge you when we arrive” 

Not exactly the most comforting thing to hear when you’re trapped in a mysterious place floating down a river full of lost souls. I looked over my shoulder to where we had left, mist had already covered the bank. There was no turning back. You could hear faint wails from the lost souls who just wanted to get off the bank and out of the river.

“I didn’t mean to pay my fare” I  said quickly “It was just a quarter! there were already tons in there and I was just curious!”

Charon looked at me, The hood he wore shadowed his face. “Intent does not change the currency of the dead. A coin placed on the Obol stone binds the offering” 

“Binds the—” I stopped. My mind raced. Was this happening? A dare turned into a one-way trip to the underworld? I never believed in any of that mythology stuff. At least… not until now.

I turned to Charon looking at his hooded face. “There has to be a way back to the living. I’m not supposed to be here.” 

Charon gave a slight nod “There is a path but it is dangerous. It’s been taken by very few but even fewer have actually made it back to the living. I cannot grant you passage, you will have to talk to the queen. She is much more empathetic than Hades. When we reach the other side you must seek out Persephone.”  

As he spoke the names it clicked that these were the Greek gods I’ve learned about back in middle school. I, a dumb teenage boy who worries his mother, had to go seek out a goddess. As Charon was speaking all I could hope was that I’d wake up and this was just a dream.

Lost and Found: Chapter 4

By: Savanna Proffit

Chapter 3 Recap:

“Think of it this way, we get to leave this spot and get started sooner than we would if we had to wait for Kayla to get here.” Nathen tried to bring a positive tone to the conversation.

So, after the boys finished snacking, they picked more berries for the trail, packed up all of their stuff, and headed off into the woods to travel wherever they felt like going.

Chapter 4:

Kayla slammed the trunk of her car shut and got out her satellite phone to look at the coordinates her mom sent her. Then, with her camera hanging around her neck, her hiking pack on her back, and her dog, Sterling, by her side, she set off through the forest and let her GPS lead her to her family's campsite.

As she walked, Kalya studied her surroundings. Birds flew from tree to tree; squirrels scurried across the ground; the sun shone brightly in the sky without a cloud in sight. There was a small pond down to her left and a large clearing up to her right. There were rocks scattered all across the ground with an occasional boulder here and there. A deer and her fawn stood grazing in the woods beside her, but they quickly bounced out of sight when they saw her.

She looked at her GPS and noticed she was almost there. Another pond, this one surrounded by boulders, sat to her right, and up ahead, as she climbed the hill, was a small clearing. The clearing where her family was waiting for her. She could not wait to see them.

“Hello! I’m here!” she yelled and listened for a reply, but none came. Odd, they should be able to hear me…she thought.

When she reached the top of the hill it was almost one. She looked around her and saw nothing but an old fire pit surrounded by big logs; there were only the signs that her family had been there, but that looked like it was hours ago. Her family was nowhere in sight; no footprints for her to follow; no broken sticks to indicate which way they went; not even a piece of trash. 

“Mom!...Dad!...Christopher!...Josh!...Taylor!” Kayla yelled several times; each time she waited for a sound; a faint yell; something; anything. She walked around some more and looked for clues as to which way they could have gone, but there was nothing. She sat down on one of the big logs and took out her satellite phone and her lunch. Kayla unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite as she tried to turn on the phone. It did nothing. The screen was blank. She held down the power button and it finally buzzed and turned on for a split second; just long enough for her to see that it was dead. 

Kayla was so upset that she felt like crying. Why didn’t they wait for me? She felt betrayed. As she ate her sandwich, she tried to think of the most logical route her parents would have taken. There was a trail going back the way she came and then it turned right and went off into the forest. There was a small trail going up the hill on the other side of the clearing. There were a few other tiny trails, but she did not think her family would have taken them. Her family was very adventurous not afraid to blaze new trails. Kayla figured that they would have taken a random path, but that path could have been anywhere.

When she finished her lunch and decided on what she thought was the most logical route, she put on her pack and started to walk, all the while, she prayed that she was going the right way.

_________________________________________________

“All right men, today we are going to split up,” Mark said.

“Split up? Like in pairs or by ourselves?” Jack asked, a bit surprised.

“By yourself of course,” Mark replied matter of factly.

Jack and George looked at each other and then at Mark. “By ourselves?”

“Yep” Mark chuckled

“Oh, come on guys, it won’t be that bad, right Mark?” Waylen shared a grin with Steven and then looked to Mark for an answer.

“Exactly, you guys will be split up in half-mile sections. You’ll be looking for any signs of hurt wildlife, disturbed plant life, and anything that looks out of place or interesting. You’ll be staying in your area all day and we will meet up here, at camp, for dinner at 5:00 to discuss what you found. Understood?” Mark explained.

  “Yes, sir,” all four of them said in unison. They waited for Mark to go on and tell them where they were to go.

“Alrighty then, Waylen you’ll be going to the north; Steven you’ll head to the south; George to the west; and Jack, you will go to the east. Now, finish up your breakfast and get your stuff all packed up, then get on your way. You can take pictures of your findings on your GPS Satellite phones and make sure to remember which way you went in case it dies.” 

They each nodded their heads and liked the idea. George was the first to go, then Jack and Steven. Finally, after making sure he had everything together and had his breakfast cleaned up, Waylen left and headed for his area of land. He mentally made a plan for his day. He would walk around and explore for the morning, then stop for lunch at noon, after that, he would explore some more and then head back around four to make sure he had plenty of time to get back to camp before dinner and most certainly before dark.

_________________________________________________

Kayla walked along and hummed to herself a pretty song, Bless the Lord Oh My Soul. Night time was coming fast and she was trying to search for a nice little spot to make camp for the night. She could not wait to eat her beef stew. It was her favorite Mountain House meal. All she had to do was add some boiling water, stir it, and let it sit for a while. Then she could let the delicious hot stew warm her to the core.

Darkness was creeping over the forest. Kayla still had not found a spot to settle in for the night. She heard coyotes howling in the distance. 

It was completely dark now and Kayla was still singing and walking along when she heard a stick crack somewhere close by. She stopped her singing and stood completely still, trying to listen. Her heart started to pound a little in her chest and then a coyote howled even closer than before; it sounded like it was coming closer from in front of her. She completely forgot about the stick that cracked somewhere in the woods behind her for a moment and turned around and ran back the way she came. The coyote howled again and it sounded closer than ever as a searing pain shot from her ankle up to her knee. Kayla did not stop even with the pain setting her leg on fire but let out a scream and before she had time to look up from watching her feet run across the ground, she ran face-first into a man. She screamed again, stepped back, then flung her arms around the stranger and started crying.

The stranger returned the embrace for a short minute then, “Mam, Mam, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry. I usually don’t go around crying and clinging to strangers…” Kayla looked up, her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her throat. 

“Waylen?”

_________________________________________________

Waylen was just walking through his parcel of land, on his way back to camp. He was heading back a little later than he wanted. It was dark already.

Suddenly, he stopped. Is that singing? He listened. It was singing. He moved toward the lovely sound of music coming from the little hill below him. As he got closer, it became clearer. It was a woman. All alone in the woods? A woman? What on earth is a woman doing out here in the middle of nowhere in the dark? He walked towards the pretty voice. CRACK! A stick broke beneath the pressure of his boot. The singing stopped and so did he. Coyotes howled around in the distance and out of nowhere the woman screamed and ran towards him. She ran head first, screaming, into his chest. She stepped back from him a second then clung to him and started crying. Waylen did not know what to do, so he returned the embrace and held her for a few moments. 

“Mam, Mam, are you okay?” Waylen asked softly, trying to soothe away her tears.

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry. I usually don’t go around crying and clinging to strangers…” She stopped.

“Waylen?”

_________________________________________________

“Kayla?” Waylen squinted into the darkness and tried to look into her eyes.

“Is it really you?” Kayla asked, out of breath as she wiped away her tears.

“Yeah, it is. What are you doing out here? And all alone?” Waylen asked with wide eyes.

“Well, my family started doing a yearly backpacking trip up here a while back, you remember, right? Anyway, I couldn’t leave with them because of work so they left ahead of me, all except for Megan; she wasn’t feeling well. I was supposed to meet them earlier today. I got to their campsite, the exact coordinates my mom sent me the day before, only to find that they were nowhere to be found; they had moved on earlier this morning. I sat down to eat my lunch and checked my satellite phone and GPS to see that it was dead and had no battery. So, I thought I picked the best route in trying to find them, thinking that they couldn’t have gotten that far. I was wrong.” Kayla looked at her feet and then up into the eyes of her only high school sweetheart.

Waylen looked into her eyes and found sadness and hurt; in the eyes of his only sweetheart, ever. She still looked the same as she stood in the moonlight. The silver light lit her blond braids up and made her eyes sparkle with the tears that still lingered. She was beautiful; the most precious, dainty, thing he had ever set his eyes on.

Twisters Express

By Hannah Bertalot

There was a particularly stony silence as Wren entered the post office one morning. The Postmaster had paged her to let her know she was needed for an important ‘mission’ today, which seemed an odd way to frame anything done at her job as a carrier for the Twisters Post Office.

“Morning, Wren. Thank you for coming in early on such short notice,” the Postmaster greeted. She only nodded in acknowledgment, then fell into step next to him as he led her away from the aviary where her bird was kept. “You won’t be using your usual Hummer today, you’re going out on an Owl.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

“One of our rookies has gone missing—he tried taking a Hummer into The Alpines and hasn’t reported anywhere in over twelve hours.” A weary sigh punctuated the old Postmaster’s explanation.

Wren frowned, then mentally ran down the list of newcomers who had joined the crew recently. “Who was it?”

“Orion Flaxley. Scrawny lad, you’d take him to be fresh out of school.”

“Ah, him.” 

Wren recalled the brief glances that she had caught of the mail carrier the previous few days while he underwent the typical training—she had pinned him as the sort to err on the side of caution, though it was hard to guess at personality based on appearances alone, she supposed. Regardless, a rookie made a rookie mistake, and as usual, it was left to her to clean up their mess. How thrilling. She huffed, then nodded to the Postmaster. 

“Right, then. I’ll get right on it.” 

“Thank you, Wren, really. We’ve been in over our heads with the new crew lately.”

A few hours later, Wren was out on the back of a particularly disgruntled giant snowy owl—she guessed that it was just as thrilled as she was to be headed out into the mountains first thing in the morning. Her breath came in billowy clouds as she scanned over the forest, eyes trained on the terrain below as it passed in a blurry green and white mosaic. 

Once she had been out for a while, boredom nipped at the edges of her attention and nearly caused her to miss the unmistakable flash of color nestled in the snow next to a scattered collection of boxes and deep footprints gouged into the snow. Wren tugged sharply on the owl’s reins, and it chittered at her unhappily as it reluctantly wheeled around to land in the clearing. 

With a flourish, the owl landed, and Wren dismounted. A scowl crossed her features as she looked over to the huddled pile of tropical-colored feathers as a particularly miserable-looking Hummer shivered in the alpine temperatures. 

“Hello? Orion? Are you here?” She called. Promptly, a young man’s head popped up from behind the Hummer; he looked relieved to hear his name being called. 

“Yes, that—that’s me!” He responded as he scrambled to disentangle himself from the bird’s feathers, where he was sheltered from the brunt of the frosty mountain air. He enthusiastically struggled through the snow to meet her halfway as Wren walked over. His overall state was disheveled; his hair was unkempt and dampened by powdery snow, his coat zipped up to cover his face, and a shiver wracked his shoulders.

Wren sighed as he offered a gloved hand to her, “Orion Flaxley, at your service! You’re Wren, right? I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet each other properly, yet!”

His energy seemed entirely disproportionate to the predicament he found himself in, Wren noted with a prick of irritation. 

“That’s right,” Her gaze panned over to the scattered packages, then to the small pile that she assumed he had attempted to pull together after he initially crashed. “You acted against company protocol, you know.” She deadpanned. Orion looked put out as he sheepishly followed her gaze. 

“Err… yeah, sorry…” He mumbled. 

“It’s not me you need to apologize to—you have a lot of superiors to worry about when we get back. Anyway, how long have you been out here?” Wren asked as she stalked past him.

“Uhm, well, we left at around… I think it was six PM? I thought we would get over the mountain before it got dark…” 

Wren inhaled very deeply and caught herself before she snapped at the greenhorn. “That was exceptionally stupid of you.” 

Orion deflated, then sent her a guilty look as she knelt next to the Hummer, which stirred reluctantly as Wren prodded it.

“Poor thing…” she murmured.

After a short check-up, she concluded that with the condition of the Hummer, it wouldn’t be able to fly far.

“Hand me the spare canteen of nectar in that Owl’s bag, then pick up the rest of the packages you dumped in the snow.” 

“Right, right! One second!” Orion said, then ran to where the Owl had settled in a shallower part of the snow. He fumbled through the bags for a moment before he ran back over. In the process, he nearly tripped and dumped what little precious nectar Wren had on hand, and won himself a sharp glare. He relinquished it to her quickly, and she then offered it to the Hummer while Orion went to clean up the packages.

“Right, then. Now, since you so brilliantly brought a tropical species into the Alpines, it needs to rest before it has any chance of flight. We don’t have that time, and here is not a good place to rest. So we’ll have to find an alternative way to get ‘em home.” Wren said pensively. A beat of quiet passed before Orion made a distant ‘Ooh!’ sound as he rifled through her bags. 

“You have rope in here! What if we rigged up a harness of sorts and the Owl flew it back?” He suggested. 

That actually… wasn’t a bad idea. Wren nodded in approval. Once the Hummer had its fill of nectar, she capped the canteen and grabbed the rope. 

A few minutes later, with some struggle, they had figured out a way to carry the Hummer home in the least stressful fashion possible for the bird. 

“Right then, all the packages are accounted for?” Wren asked, climbing back onto the back of the Owl. 

“Yep!” Orion affirmed as he joined her on the Owl’s back. The bird snapped its beak irritably at the increase in cargo weight but, as Wren prompted it, reluctantly took flight. 

“Let's high-tail it out of here then; I’m pretty sure there’s a storm on the forecast tonight, and I’m not keen on getting stuck out in the Alpines.”

Look-Alike Haunting

Look-Alike Haunting

It was an eerie day in Silver Creek Bend, South Dakota, and a deadly night for a fellow named Jeremiah Shout. The 30-year-old coal miner was savagely murdered by his 25-year-old wife. They had been married for five years, and the insanity had caught up to his wife, Rebecca Shout. She stabbed the poor man 15 times with a kitchen knife and tried fleeing before getting caught by the local police department. After extensive questioning, it was determined that for the better of the town, she had to be locked away in the Winterwood Institution for the Mentally Insane.

She was locked in there for 25 years, and the entire length of her sentence, she swore strange things would happen. Eerie, creepy, unexplainable, and downright terrifying experiences, from her door shaking violently in the middle of the night to her food being flung into the air and ruined before she could grab it. She often received bodily harm from these experiences, but nothing that would be fatal. Eventually, with only 12 years left of her sentence, they scared her enough that she sadly took her own life to escape the horrors. 

55 years later, a group of adventurers who call themselves the Soul Snatchers decide to explore the now-abandoned insane asylum. The group is made up of the group president, Shirley Smith; the tech genius and younger sister, Scarlet Smith; and Alejandro and Miguel, the two brave knuckleheads who joined for the money and stories and stayed for the crushes they’ve developed on the sisters.

The squad decided to explore the asylum due to locals claiming the building was extremely haunted. So one dark and stormy night, they headed into the dark and decrepit building. 

As soon as they step foot into the main entrance hall, Miguel, who could sense feelings and the moods of the environment around him, speaks up and says, “Guys, this place holds some dark, dark energy, and all I can feel is hatred and grievances.” With no hesitation, everyone quickly spits out an agreement. To break the eerie silence, Alejandro jokes, “The front desk ladies must be on break,” getting a small chuckle out of Shirley, making him blush and smirk. Scarlet pulls out multiple tools and spreads all of them out in front of her. She debates what to use since she and her sister are the only two who know how to operate the harder tools. 

The boys immediately take the proximity sensors, which emit a loud beeping sound and start flashing the small LED bulbs when they detect movement, and set them out and around the first room they would explore. Shirley grabs the EMF reader, another basic stepping stone in the ghost-hunting world. EMF stands for electromagnetic field, and the tool measures the electromagnetic waves a ghost or spirit puts out and lights up little lights correspondingly to the intensity and magnitude of the waves it detects. Scarlett then grabs a digital thermometer to detect if the room suddenly changes due to ghosts and spirits, which causes the room temperature to drop. Shirley and Scarlet quickly determine what else they would need. Swiftly, they chose the first room they would begin testing in: the cafeteria.

The cafeteria had been the meeting place for guards, doctors, and well-behaved patients to enjoy their food and socialize before continuing their day. The patients who absolutely couldn’t be in the presence of anyone but the doctors got their food taken directly to their rooms. 

Shirley immediately feels that there is something else in the room with them. Pushing past the feeling, they begin asking the potential spirits if they were there, or if they could hear them. 

“If there’s anyone else in the room with us, could you touch the black device in my hand or the lights in the doorways?” Before the words fully leave Shirley's mouth, the proximity sensor on the opposite side of the cafeteria flies as if it was harshly pushed or kicked. The group, all spooked and on edge, immediately stands up in case they need to run back to the main lobby. 

Shirley continued asking questions. “If that was you who just did that, could you do something to tell us you’re here?” Anxiously, they all waited for something to happen. After a couple of minutes, Scarlett screams and whips around to look behind her. Miguel quickly runs over to check on Scarlett, who is now crying, to see if she is alright. 

“Whoa, whoa, it’s ok. You’re alright. What happened?” Miguel asks, now hugging and holding the traumatized Scarlett. 

“I don't know, it felt as if someone was strongly grabbing the back of my neck,” Scarlett declared, now feeling somewhat safer with Miguel comforting her and still recovering from the attack. Alejandro, typically laid-back and careless, is now in protection mode, standing next to Shirley and looking around quickly. Shirley ultimately determined this spirit was mad, and it wasn’t scared to show it.

BANG! The group whips around, hearing something crash behind them. 

“The wind?” Alejandro jokingly asks. Shirley steps forward and pushes into the next hallway to explore further and to see if she can find the source of the loud noise. Suddenly, a sound ripped through the asylum. A scream that made everyone freeze where they stood.

Written By: Kaleb Dorale

The Deal

Ted sat in his car, firmly grasping the steering wheel with both hands. He leaned back against his seat and stared at the vehicle's roof. All the windows were down in hopes of catching an unlikely breeze. An empty water bottle lay on the seat next to him. He sat with his mouth agape, taking in the fine details of the car ceiling. A single strand of fabric stood adjacent to the rest. He pinched it between his thumb and index finger and twisted it back and forth.

A faint crunch of moving gravel and dirt echoed through the barren land around him. Ted sat up in his seat and looked into the rearview mirror, seeing a cloud of dust coming up the road toward him. He sighed disgruntledly and stepped out of his car. 

He watched the dust cloud slowly approach, leaning against the hood with his arms folded impatiently. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down his forehead, he hated being in this part of the country. Always dry, even when it wasn’t summer. He loosened his tie more and pushed the hair back from his forehead. He thought his days of meeting secretly in the desert were behind him when he finally took the corner office in LA.

The SUV slowed to a stop in front of Ted. He stood up fully and took a few steps forward. The door swung open, and a man in a suit stepped out. He held a single brown bag in his left hand. 

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago, Daniel. I was starting to get worried," Ted said with a distasteful look.

“Sorry, Teddy, we had a problem lower down on the ladder,” Daniel said.

“Anything I have to worry about?” Ted asked.

“Absolutely not. I know how to handle my side of the business.”  Daniel stood at a short 5”7, always wearing his cowboy boots in a pathetic display of ruggedness. 

Ted grimaced, his eyes glancing at the blacked-out windows on Daniel’s SUV.

“Are you alone, Daniel?” Ted asked, his eyes darting back to the man a few yards ahead of him.

“Do you think I would bring someone to a deal like this?” Daniel answered, not breaking eye contact.

Heat waves swirled around them. Faint noises of crickets sat quietly in the air. Cactuses sparsely filled the landscape as rocks jutted out of the infertile dirt. 

“What do you mean by that?” Ted responded. Daniel smirked and threw the paper bag to Ted’s feet.

“What is this?” Ted asked, looking down at the paper bag.

“Open it,” Daniel said, nodding his head upwards.

Ted leaned down and scooped up the paper bag. Something in the bag jostled as he picked it up. He glanced back up to Daniel before ripping the bag open. Rolls of money fell to the ground. 

“How much is this, Daniel?” Ted asked, nudging a fallen roll with his cowboy boot.

“That right there is 100 thousand dollars in unmarked bills,” Daniel said while resting his hands on his belt loops. 

Ted looked up to Daniel and then peered into a mangled bag, picking up a single roll and bringing it up to his face. 

“I have to say, I don’t like where this is going,” Ted said. 

“We want you out, Teddy.” Daniel is not smiling anymore, his face set deadpan on Ted’s.

Ted continued to stare up at the roll of money in his hand. As much as an idiot he could be, Daniel was not stupid. He looked back down at the man in front of him. He could not stop a wide smile from coming across his face. Maybe Daniel was stupid.  

“You drag me all the way out here, in the middle of the desert, to try and buy me out? You know I have never thought a lot of you, but this is ridiculous even for your standards. You really only offered me 100 thousand dollars?” Ted said.

Daniel reached into his SUV, pulling out four more paper bags. Tossing them over in one throw, the bags landed with four distinct thuds, leaving small craters in the coarse dirt.

Ted reached down to pick up a bag, ripped it open, and dumped the rolls of money back onto the earth. 

“How does 500 thousand dollars sound to you, Teddy?” Daniel said proudly. “All you have to do is get in your car and drive off. That’s it. You won't have to see me ever again. Is that deal finally going to be enough for you?” Daniel said, outstretching his hands in a motion of friendship.

“I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest,” Ted said, still looking down at the fallen money.

“Of course Teddy,” replied Daniel.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Ted said slowly, raising his head to look at Daniel. Daniel’s smile quickly faded.

“Do you know how much I make in a month? I don't think you realize everything I do for this company. I am the one who handles all the moving of the product. I am the one who maintains the relationships with our manufacturers. Don’t forget who brought you into this,” Ted took a step forward. “You wouldn’t be anywhere without me, do you understand? I am the one this entire empire relies on.” Ted took a few steps closer. “Your feeble little mind can’t even begin to comprehend how much weight I pull,” Ted spat in Daniel’s face. “I am the only one who matters, not you… you greedy… you…” 

The side door of the SUV swung open, and a loud pop rang out across the desert. Ted looked over at the open side door, a smoking gun barrel emerging from the dark interior. The color drained from his face as he looked down at a red mark slowly growing on his side. His hand quickly moved to its location as he gasped for air, vaguely feeling himself fall into the hot dirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Daniel shouted in horror as Ted wheezed on the ground. 

“What you hired me to do,” said the gunman nonchalantly as he stepped out of the car. 

“I told you to only step in if the situation got out of hand!” Daniel said, panic setting in on his face.

“You were not handling the situation,” said the man, holstering his pistol and walking over to the money Ted had dropped on the ground. Daniel dropped to his knees beside Ted, his eyes frantically looking up and down his collapsed body. 

” I… I'm sorry, Ted,” he said shakily. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but this is for the betterment of the company.” The man bent down and picked up the fallen rolls, putting them back into the ripped bags. 

Daniel stayed bent over Ted as blood started to pool around him. 

“Hey listen,” the gunman said, “It's not your fault. If he wasn’t such an ego-driven monster, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” 

Daniel did not respond. 

“You can’t do anything, he’s hit in the lung.” The man made his way back to Daniel and the crumpled Ted, his breath slowing. Ted could vaguely see the figure standing above him, and all he could feel was hate.

Looking down, the man said,” Nothing personal Ted, just business.”

As the sun began to set over the arid plain, hues of purple, orange, and yellow streaked across the sky. A patch of freshly uncovered dirt lay, only visible if one was paying close attention. The only other disturbance was two tire marks leading into the side road, far out in the middle of nowhere. One set led in and back out, and the other led to a burning car, its flames starting to die down. A single bill, picked up by a rare gust of breeze, gliding to the burning car. Blowing closer until it too was lit, fading into the sun setting sky.

Lost and Found: Chapter 3

By: Savanna Proffit

Chapter 2 Recap:

Nathen Anderson studied his wife’s face. Her usually sparkling, joyful, green eyes held a hint of sorrow; a slight frown turned her beautiful smile upside down. She looked slightly older when she was sad. She was 47 years old and still looked the same as when Nathen met her in 1994, except for the little gray hairs sneaking into her naturally brown hair that reached to her waist. She was born on April 4, 1971, in Oakton, where they now live, and graduated from Oakton High School in 1989. She went to college at Vermont State University and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Home Economics. During her last year at the university, she met him, and his, and her life had not been the same since.

Chapter 3:

Since they were the same age and in the same grade in college, they both went to some of the same events. They were at a party that the college put on every year for the students who were graduating with a bachelor’s degree. There was dancing, food, soda and punch, and games. Caroline had gone with a few friends but they had left her almost as soon as they got to the party so that they could go dance with their boyfriends. Caroline stood by herself with a cup of punch in a corner and watched her friends dance across the floor as happy as they had ever been. Nathen was on the opposite side of the massive room and she caught his eye. She looked sad, lonely, and somewhat hurt. He watched and studied her for a few minutes then made his way over to the food table to get a plate of crackers and cheese. He then slowly made his way over to the corner where Caroline stood. 

“Are you here alone?” Nathen asked as he stood next to her and looked out into the dancing crowd trying to figure out who she was watching.

“No, I came with some friends but as soon as we got here, they found their boyfriends and took off,” Caroline, with a voice so small and hurt sounding, said as she looked into her cup still full of punch. 

“And you don’t have a boyfriend, so you couldn’t do the same?” 

“Yeah…why aren’t you out there dancing and having fun?”

“Well, I’m kind of in the same boat as you are. My buddies left me all alone too and well, I don’t have any girlfriend to dance with.” He said as he tried to be relatable.

“Oh…” she said kind of forlornly.

Caroline studied the dancing crowd for a minute, looked down at her feet, then looked around the room again. Nathen noticed her cheeks were rosy and complimented her red dress. The dress was not too tight or short; it was just below the knees and had a flowy skirt with a pretty short-sleeved top. Her hair was done in pretty curls and put up in some kind of bun. She was beautiful. He did not want to take his eyes off her. 

“Ummm…I need some air,” she said with a little more red in her cheeks than before.

Now you’ve done it! That’s why you don’t stare awkwardly at a girl, he thought as she walked out the doors beside them. He followed her. She was leaning on the railing of the cement porch, drink in hand. A curl slipped in front of her ear and hung on the side of her face.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “ I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by staring. I just think you look very pretty tonight.” He watched her turn around and face him. He hoped he did not look too hopeful.

Caroline studied him, “Thanks. In truth, you did make me a little uncomfortable but I was getting pretty hot in there and was thinking of coming out here before you came over.” A small smile curved on her lips at him. Nathen’s heart pounded in his chest. 

“Can I stand with you for a while?” 

“Sure, if you want to, I guess,” she answered, as she watched his face and movements as he made his way to stand beside her. The smell of his cologne drifted to her nose with the slight breeze that wafted through the night.

They talked of school, life, and past loves. They laughed and had tons of fun together which turned out to be the start of something great: a whole lifetime together. 

A year later they were married and lived in Oakton in a small blue house that suited them perfectly. A year after that their first daughter was born on February 14, 1996, Megan Ruth Anderson. Another year later, Kayla Sage was born on February 23, 1997; two years later, Christopher Nate entered the world, making them a family of five on July 24, 1999. Just when they thought they might have the perfect size family, little Joshua Luke arrived on September 6, 2000; then last but not least Taylor May was born two years later on May 1, 2002.

Once the kids got old enough, they got two dogs. Ruby, a beautiful Irish Setter, and Cocoa, a gorgeous chocolate Labrador Retriever. Then they got a Golden Retriever for Taylor on her eighth birthday whom she named Muffin. In 2010, they moved from their quaint little blue house to a bigger green farmhouse with a small barn. With owning a barn, the kids begged for horses, a cow, pigs, goats, rabbits, chickens, and ducks. So, Megan got a horse, whom she named Pearl because she was white, and a pig, who was called Pork Chop; Kayla got two goats, named Lily and Iris, and a rabbit named Pretzel; Christopher got a cow and called her Espresso; Joshua got two pigs, Bacon and Ham, and a boy goat he called Scruff; and Taylor got two bunnies, Dandelion and Juniper, and a horse named Misty. All of the kids pitched in to get twelve chickens that they called, Classy, Tootsie, Doodle, Nugget, Poppy, Betty White, Thumbelina, Chick-Fil-a, Ditsy, Curry, Sesame, and Truffle; and a rooster they named, Albert Eggstein. They also wanted ducks, so they bought six named, Puddles, Waddles, Holly, Mrs. Featherby, Molly, and Wiggles; along with a gander called Maverick. The kids wanted animals so badly that they each got summer jobs and worked for the money to pay for their animals, which added up to two horses, three pigs, three goats, three rabbits, one cow, 13 chickens, seven ducks, and their food. Mom and Dad only pitched in a “little bit”.

In 2009, they started their summer tradition of backpacking for a week, as a family, in the Green Mountains. They took the dogs with them and had great fun; everyone was always able to block off their schedules for priceless family time. They loved their life; their kids; and everything the Good Lord had given them. 

__________________________________________

As Nathen continued to study his wife’s face, he noticed she was staring at Chris, Josh, and Taylor. He guessed that Caroline was messaging Kayla, who was not with them yet, and was sad that Meg could not be there with them all. She eventually turned and looked at him. He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes, “What’s wrong?”.

“Kayla just texted she can’t make it. So now there’s two missing; three if you include Nick,” she said sadly. She looked into her husband’s deep blue eyes; she could see sadness there; as well as compassion and sympathy for her. 

“I’m sorry…come here,” he wrapped his arms around her. Her frame was so small up against him. He stroked her hair that hung in a braid down her back.

“Me too…we haven’t had a ton of family time lately…we needed this as a family,” Caroline spoke softly as she hugged her husband and laid her head against his chest. Wrapped in his embrace, she could feel how muscular he was. At 47 years of age, he stood at six foot three inches tall with blond hair that made him look younger than he was. Some would say he had the perfect face; eyes perfectly in place on either side of his nose that was just the right size; below his nose, full lips surrounded by a full thick beard that covered his firm jaw line; his lips framed a smile that could brighten the day of anyone. His hands were big and strong to go along with his giant feet and strong, masculine frame. 

“I know we did. Let’s go and sit by the fire.” He led Caroline to a log to sit down; one arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

The kids were sitting around the fire as well, eating tons of berries. “Want some?” Chris offered with berry juice-stained lips. 

“No thanks,” Caroline said with a chuckle. 

“Good!” all three kids shouted in unison.

“We have some bad news. Kayla can’t make it this year either.” Nathen said as a frown transformed his face. He studied the sad looks that appeared on the faces of Joshua, Christopher, and Taylor.

“Really…how come?” Taylor asked as she looked from her berries to her parents.

“She probably got stuck at work,” Caroline answered while she watched her boys fill their cheeks with the red fruit.

“I was hoping to be able to share my tent with her. I don’t want to be stuck with just these two the whole trip.” Taylor gestured at her brothers who looked more like pigs at the moment than the teenagers they were. 

“Hey!” Chris and Josh said together between chewing and swallowing. 

“Think of it this way, we get to leave this spot and get started sooner than we would if we had to wait for Kayla to get here.” Nathen tried to bring a positive tone to the conversation.

So, after the boys finished snacking, they picked more berries for the trail, packed up all of their stuff, and headed off into the woods to travel wherever they felt like going.

The Lies He Tells

By: Autumn Purvis

Tyler

The snow fell into Tyler's hair, thick and cold as it coated each strand of his jet black hair. A sheet of powdery white covered the ground, glistening and glittering with each step he took. The only thing he could focus on was the crunch of the powder beneath his feet, which seemed to get heavier with each stride he took further. The sky was approaching pitch black, but that didn't stop Tyler from continuing his numbing walk. The tips of his fingers started going numb as he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He reached into his pocket, almost unable to feel the phone as he retrieved it. I can't do this right now, Tyler thought to himself as he used his icy fingers to hit ignore, then slipped his phone back into the same pocket it was moments before. Tyler wasn't sure what he was running away from, but he knew he couldn't return. Not right now. Suddenly, his focus shifted from the snow under his feet to the conversation just 30 minutes prior. Tyler had only known Ashley for a few months, but it felt like he had known her for an eternity. Ashley always had a flush to her cheeks, and her brunette hair was always styled so effortlessly. Every room she walked into seemed to brighten. On paper, Ashley was not only perfect but perfect for Tyler. He gets pulled out of his thoughts by the buzzing once again in his pocket, now seeming even more antagonizing. Still, he retrieves it from his pocket, his hands even colder than moments before. The name seems to taunt him as it dances across his screen in big block letters. His finger hovers over the answer button before the words suddenly flicker away, and he is met with a photo of Ashley. She is smiling brightly in Tyler's direction as her hands are held in the shape of a heart. He couldn't understand why he was doing this to her. He felt a deep pit in his stomach. He couldn't keep ignoring her calls, so he reluctantly scrolled through his contacts and, with a slight hesitation, hit the call button. The phone hardly made it through two rings before he heard the panicked voice coming from the other side of the phone. “Tyler,” he heard the softness in her voice, and for a moment, it almost took away from the events of the night. The feeling only lasted for a second before a lump formed in his throat, and he quickly hung the phone up and shoved it into his pocket once more. 

Ashley

Ashley sat on her bed, staring at her blank phone screen. Her lips quivered as she slowly stood up and walked to the bathroom. She turned to look at her reflection in the mirror and was met with a pale, damp, tear-stained face. Tyler left the house in such a rush that Ashley almost didn't comprehend what was going on. Ashley and Tyler had been dating for six months. They sat together in their first period, and Tyler swears ever since he first saw her, he was hopelessly in love with her. Ashley never doubted that Tyler loved her. Tyler was the type of boy who walked to her house with flowers. He was the type of boy who would stay up and talk to her until she was able to fall asleep. He was the type of guy who truly seemed like he came straight from a movie. That's what made all of this feel so shocking and like such a blur. Tyler had broken up with Ashley before he walked out of her room in a hurry and then out the front door. The worst part was that Ashley couldn't think of why he broke up with her. Surely he was just having a bad night, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was something else. She tried calling his phone one more time, but still, no answer. 

Tyler

Tyler finally made it to his destination. He was met by a brick red door with the number 814 printed in black blocky letters. He lifted his fist to knock, but before he could, the door swung open. He was met by the teary-eyed girl with a smile and a hug. She quickly ushered him into the house and then up the stairs to her room. She insisted he sit on the bed, so he reluctantly took his shoes off and took the spot next to her. “Tyler, I was getting so worried about you.” She said in a hushed manner. “I know. I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. I had to get some things figured out before I came back.” Tyler said while reaching his hand out to cup the bright pink cheek in front of him. Tyler may have had a smile on his face, but all he could feel was shame. The events of the night were starting to look clearer, and as each second passed, more and more he realized he had made a mistake. A mistake he wasn't sure he could fix anymore. “Tyler, are you okay?” The girl asked, moving Tyler's hand off of her cheek. Once again, he managed to smile. “Yeah, it's just been a long night is all.” He says as he scoots closer to the girl. He feels her body relax as she lets out a light sigh. At least she feels some form of relief from this. All Tyler felt was guilt. Tyler didn't cheat on Ashley. He was always faithful and never so much as looked at another girl while they were together, so why does this feel so wrong? He watched the blonde girl move a strand of her wispy hair out of her face as she scooted closer to Tyler. After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Maya spoke. “I just can't believe you finally broke up with Ashley,” she said, reaching to grasp his hand in hers. Tyler almost jumped from the bed as her fingers grazed him. “Sorry, I need to run to the bathroom real quick, okay? I will be right back.” Tyler rushed down the hall and flung the bathroom door closed behind him. He locked the door and fell to the floor as tears flooded his face, and his head started to pound. He pushed his palms to his eyes, hoping it would stop the stream of tears, but it only seemed to make it worse. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket once again; this time, it was Ashley. He answered it quickly, lifting the phone to his damp face. “Tyler, are you okay? You left my house so quickly I didn't even get a chance to offer you a ride home.” Ashley spoke calmly into the phone. Tyler tried to speak, but all that came out was the continuity of the tears from moments prior. “I am so sorry, Ashley. please don't hate me,” Tyler managed to utter after a few moments of letting out choked sobs. There was silence on the other end of the phone. Before Tyler could say anything else, there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Tyler, is everything okay?” Maya asked from the other side of the door. Ashley started to speak, but Tyler hung up before she had the chance to. Tyler managed to compose himself before tossing the door open and greeting Maya with a smile. “Yeah, I just had to call my mom back is all. Let's go watch a movie or something,” Tyler responded while reaching for Maya's hand and closing hers intertwined with his. This is fine, Tyler thought as he walked with his hand intertwined with Maya's. This is what he wanted, isn't it?

An Irish Goodbye Part 2

by Cedar Jeffers

“No, Mr. McOleden. This was no suicide; this was a murder,” Nicolas said with a matter-of-fact tone. Walton's face changed from pale and shocked to blank, empty face. Nicholas studied Walton's face. 

“Mr.McOleden, I can't help but notice how your face changed when I told you that your wife was murdered. Most people tend to sob and have irrational responses. But you look as if someone just told you the price of eggs.”

Walton turns, steps over the fallen lamp, and leaves the room. The dark oak door slams behind him, rattling the walls. With his eyebrows raised in surprise, Nicolas reaches for the little notebook and pen tucked away neatly in his jacket pocket. Scribbling in a notebook halts the silence. Nicolas walks over to the fallen lamp and walks out of the room.

“Mr. Harry, will you alert the local authorities? I am afraid that there has been a murder.” Nicolas causally said, walking down the stairs into the lobby. Harry nodded, picked up the phone, and called. Nicolas strolled into the cozy library. The library had emerald green sofas, a writing desk, and a roaring fire. The walls were filled with old, yellow-paged books.  Nancy was curled up next to the fire on one of the sofas; a blanket had been draped over her legs, and a steaming cup of hot tea was next to her on the side table. Her children were on the couch across the room. Sally had been drawing a picture of a house, and David was slumped over the arm of the sofa, asleep. Nancy looked up from her book when Nicolas walked in and was studying him.

“Hello, Mrs. Gresnal. What a lovely spot to read and relax after that stressful dinner we just had,” Nicole commented. He walked over to a bookshelf and looked at the books.

“How long is your stay here, Mrs Gresnal?” 

“Tomorrow is our last day, and then we must get back to London. How come?” questioned Nancy.

“I was just wondering, how long have you been sitting in this room?”Nicolas asked.

“Well, we spent the afternoon in here after what happened, and we came in here once we finished dinner about 5 minutes ago,” Nancy answered in a matter-of-fact tone. Nicolas nodded and walked out.  

“Harry, will you round up all the guests in the dining hall in about an hour? Make sure no one leaves. I do not want this case to get messy,”  Nicolas instructed Harry as he walked up the stairs.

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 “Why are we here? I see no reason for all of this!” Walton complains as he paces around the room. The dining room is washed in a warm yellow, and the dishes are cleared, leaving the table bare, with only the navy blue tablecloth covering it.

 “Walton, love. Just come and sit down. We will learn what all of this is about soon.” Walton huffed as he sat down in the  chair across from Nancy

“Love? Nancy, why on earth did you call him love?” Richard questioned

“Richard, darling, I call everyone love. It's not meant affectionately, I am sorry Walton I meant nothing by it.” Nancy sheepishly explains 

“Well, I still don't like it. You will stop this right now.” Richard scolded. Richard glared at Walton. 

“Don't look at me. I did nothing wrong!” Walton snaps. Walton stands up and walks from the starry window to the opposite side of the table. Richard stares at Nancy with a glare. 

“What do you want, Richard? I didn't do anything wrong; it was just a habit and nothing more.” Nancy snapped

“Nancy, I don't like it when you call other men love. I think that it's not a proper thing for a lady to do, and you have to stop.” Richard  slammed his fist down 

“Richard, stop this! You can't control me. I am my own person stop.” Nancy. She stands up and walks to the door.

“Ma’am, you have to stay in here until Mr. Nicolas comes to question you. The police are on their way, please don't try anything.”  Harry spoke calmly.

Lost and Found: Chapter 2

By: Savanna Proffit

“Clomp, clomp, clomp.” The sound of five pairs of boots echoed through the woods. Ten-foot trees lined the trail that was overgrown with weeds, shrubs, and moss; rocks were scattered across the ground; a fallen tree lay here and there; piles of pinecone debris lay scattered in the forest. Waylen took off his hat and wiped his brow. He studied his surroundings; a bird tweeted over there; and a squirrel scurried over here. He looked at the two men in front of him and the two men behind him. Mark Canfield in the very front; Steven Summer behind him; then Waylen; behind Waylen, Jack Stoneman; and very last in line walked George McKensy. All were respectable park rangers on a training exercise for two weeks in the Green Mountains. Mark was the one leading the group. His broad, strong shoulders stood straight, adding to his huge masculine form standing at six foot two inches. His blond hair stuck to his head whenever he took off his hat to wipe his brow. His blue eyes sparkled with delight as he studied this beautiful day and the beautiful mountain surroundings. He had a strong-cut jawline that was covered with a neatly trimmed beard like a blanket; that complimented the smile that curved on his thin lips as he thought of the week ahead. 

Waylen was so excited about his first outdoor training exercise that he let out a chuckle when he looked at his feet. He studied them for a little while; they were really big, size ten; they made him walk as if he had duck feet, he thought, sometimes. Though he thought they were huge, nobody else did because he was a tall six-foot man with big hands as well. He had a very strong and built frame at the age of 23 that matched his very handsome and young appearance. His brown eyes sparkled like they were sprinkled with fairy dust every time he got excited about something. Waylen Asher Sterling had the perfect shade of brown hair to compliment his deep eyes. He always tried to keep a tidy appearance by keeping his beard trimmed and wearing neat presentable clothes. He felt that being a Park Ranger required at least a little bit of professionalism away from the job. Right then he was wearing his green uniform pants with hiking boots and a tan button-up shirt with a little gold pin that read his name above the left chest pocket; he had his stetson on his head and a little red kerchief around his neck tied in a neat little knot at the front; his pack on his back felt like it weighed 50 pounds; like it was filled with granite. 

The four other men in the group wore the same thing and Waylen guessed that they probably felt like they also carried granite. At last, Mark held up his hand and signaled that it was time to take a rest. They all sighed with relief and found either a rock or a fallen tree to sit on. 

“Thank goodness! I thought we would never stop,” exclaimed Jack; a short stocky little man with black hair and green eyes who was the clown of the group and kept them all in a jovial mood. His crooked teeth showed as he chuckled. 

“I think that goes for all of us,” George chuckled, as he whisked off his hat and fanned himself with it; his little tuft of curly brown hair that hung in front of his forehead moved with the little breeze it created. He was not the tallest in the group but he was taller than Jack. He had deep, dark, brown eyes that matched his hair and made him look like he was a studious man, which he was; George was the team member who tried to keep all of the guys focused and on track.

“Say, Mark, when are we gonna get to that lookout? I thought you said it was only a little way,” Steven said while he eyed Mark suspiciously. He poured some water in his hand, took his hat off, and perched it on his knee; he took the hand of water and combed the water through his straight red hair so that it stuck up on end as if he were a porcupine; Steven sighed as the cool water ran down his forehead and the back of his neck.

“Oh, it’s just a mile or two farther. We’ll get there before sunset,” Mark said after taking a big gulp of water to moisten his parched throat. Then with a gleam in his eyes, “Why, you gettin’ tired already?”

“Well…no. Just wondering, that's all.” Steven looked to the ground, picked up a pretty little rock, and stuffed it in his pocket. He liked to collect little stones and then once he got home he would put them in his little box under his bed to save and look at later when time allowed.

“Hmmm…sure…that’s all,” a little smile curved on Waylen’s lips and the other guys started to chuckle; Steven smiled at the teasing but said nothing.

“Well boys, let's get back at it. We’re not gonna take another break for another hour or hour and a half so you better buck up.” Mark sent a teasing glance at Steven then swept his eyes over the whole group as he thought, This is a good group of guys. Then, again the clomping sound of men hiking through the forest echoed through the trees.

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Giant trees surrounded a little clearing on a hill. In the center of the little clearing, three small tents stood around a large fire pit. Around the fire pit sat several big logs used as benches. Boulders were scattered here and there along with wild raspberry plants with enough ripe berries to feed an army. Birds fluttered in the trees nearby and chipmunks scurried in and out of little holes between the boulders with cheeks full of pine cone nuts. A little pond sat below the clearing with plenty of fish living in it. 

While she stood on top of the hill, above the pond, and at the edge of the little clearing, Caroline Anderson checked her satellite phone to make sure her precious Kayla was still on her way. She was already torn up and worried about her sweet Meg, who could not make the fun trip, not being there. 

Her eyes scanned her messages; there was one new one at the top of the list. It was in the group message with Meg and Kayla. It read, “I’m not coming Mom.” Meg had already told her that she was not going to make it so it must have been Kayla who sent the message; why would Meg send it twice? Her heart sank like an anchor that had just been dropped from a ship into the sea. “Ok,” she slowly typed into the box and sent. Caroline turned toward their camp and studied the three children she did have with her; she was grateful to have each of them there but it just would not be the same without Megan and Kayla.

Nathen Anderson studied his wife’s face. Her usually sparkling, joyful, green eyes held a hint of sorrow; a slight frown turned her beautiful smile upside down. She looked slightly older when she was sad. She was 47 years old and still looked the same as when Nathen met her in 1994, except for the little gray hairs sneaking into her naturally brown hair that reached to her waist. She was born on April 4, 1971, in Oakton, where they now live, and graduated from Oakton High School in 1989. She went to college at Vermont State University and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Home Economics. During her last year at the university, she met him. His and her lives have not been the same since. 

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We Stay Out of These Woods

By Hannah Bertalot

I was always curious about the big trucks that drove past all the farmland. Large trailers covered with white sheets thundered down the tiny dirt road all throughout my childhood. They only showed up every few weeks, and I would drive the four-wheeler out to the back corner of the property. I would race them along the fence line, and try to peek under the thick white canvases to see what they hid underneath. 

One night, I went out on the same errand. When I got back, my uncle, who frequently sat out on the front porch in the evenings to shoot coyotes, scolded me for not minding my business. 

“Sorry, Uncle Harris.”

“I had better not catch you doing it again.” He warned as he wiped the barrel of the shotgun resting across his knee. I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but the sheer implication was enough to scare me straight for the rest of my childhood and through my rebellious teenage years. I never once tried to snipe a peek past that point. They also stopped driving past for a long time as well, so it wasn’t like it was a challenge for me to knock it off. It slipped my mind eventually, just as many mysteries in childhood often do.

Or at least it did, until recently. I’m twenty-one now and haven’t chased them down the fence line since I was eleven. I was out at the edge of town near dusk, and I saw the distantly familiar black trucks as they all pulled up to a bar, got out, and traipsed inside. I considered myself old enough to make my own decisions regarding my safety, so I decided to go out of my way and finally sate my younger self’s curiosity. 

I stepped inside the bar- and this is a really nasty place. It was more where motorcyclists would congregate than a nice bar where one might take a lady for a fine evening. Cigar smoke nearly choked me out, and I had to slink past a group of grisly-looking older men who shot me dirty glares on my way to the bar, where the group of men who had gotten out of the trucks were just pulling out recently vacated stools. 

I couldn’t help but notice as I walked closer the tension that built in the air, nor could I ignore the subtle way that others around stared at me as if signaling that I was doing something taboo. 

“Evening, gentlemen.” I greeted, minding my manners and using a polite tone. The group reminded me of a herd of buffalo, gruff and standoffish. Their demeanor tended to ward off outsiders, so maybe that’s why I was regarded so harshly. 

“You had best turn back before you slip into a muddy mess that you won’t be able to pull yourself out of, bud.” A man who looked to be the leader warned softly, his voice toughened like leather from what I knew could have only been years of hard labor. 

“Please, sir,” I started lightly, but leaving enough of an impression that I wouldn’t be frightened off so easily - I let my uncle scare me away from this curiosity as a kid, but now I wanted to chase closure on this childhood mystery. “I’m only curious about what you’ve been up to for so long. You’ve driven past my family ranch for my entire childhood, see, and I’m dyin’ to know what you’re working on in the old woods.” 

A few beats passed, my gaze intently set on his, and I could see the change in the light of his eyes as gears turned in his mind. Something softened, then broke as he sighed and shook his head. 

“I’ll not be held accountable for whatever happens to you, bud. But fine, we’d best be headed out that way tonight anyhow.”

And that was how I found myself in my truck as I followed the old man down the dirt road, going right past my family ranch and over the crest of a steep hill. I watched as it disappeared for the last time in the rearview mirror, a subtle sense of longing began to build in my gut as the place I lived my entire life left my view. Immediately, I discarded the feeling as pointless rumination-- something I had been prone to for a long time. 

We drove for a long while, tall grass and brush eventually gave way to towering pines that obscured my view of the sky. Night fell quickly as I followed the red taillights of the old man’s truck. The bright burgundy glow surrounded by darkness lent itself to tunnel vision, and gave me the impression of staring down a pair of red eyes. 

If I thought the feeling of foreboding in the bar was bad, it was tenfold out here where it was just me and these men who blocked me in front and back on a rough dirt road. 

It felt like hours had passed, but a brief glance at my dashboard told me that it had only been an hour and a quarter since I had last seen the familiar terrain of my homestead, and about thirty minutes since the long fingers of sunlight had slipped out from between the trees and disappeared into a faint glow at the edges of the sky.

At last, the road that seemed to have grown ever narrower finally opened up into a clearing, and the truck in front of me turned off the road, and my sense of tunnel vision was broken. I pulled off to the side with him, then got out of my truck and stood next to him as the rest of the band of vehicles pulled in, the semi-truck hosting the tarp-covered trailer bed brought up the rear.

“Don’t wander too far kid, we’re finishing it tonight.” The old man advised ominously before he wandered toward an old camper that looked so old that nature had started the process of reclaiming it. Vines of ivy grew up onto the awning and rooted the shelter in place.

I braved further exploration of the clearing, which had slowly begun to light up as other buildings further into the trees turned their lights on, the people who lurked inside stirred by the cacophony of trucks that had just arrived. Front and center was a tall structure, obscured by white tarps that waved gently in the breeze. A large cabin that looked just as aged as everything around it, but exuded a sense of grandeur, stood at the back edge of the clearing. People with gas lanterns began to gather before the porch steps, and I curiously wandered closer when an elderly woman stepped out.

The quiet chatter that echoed around the clearing died away as soon as she appeared, so I took that to mean that whatever was meant to be happening was about to start. I searched the crowd for the band of old men that had led me here, then found them gathered around what I had originally assumed to be some kind of generator, but upon closer inspection, turned out to be a large crane. The mast stretched high into the trees and blended with the narrow trunks. 

A hush muffled any other noises as the old woman began to speak, “Hear me, valued tenants, as we finish reassembling the statue of Pandora, the guardian of these woods,” her voice was frail and creaked the same way the trees did in the breeze. “As you all know, Aldous--” she gestured toward the old man, who dipped his head respectfully as the woman acknowledged him, ”--and his dedicated crew of scouts have worked tirelessly for over twenty years, and scoured far and wide to find and bring all of the missing pieces of His statue back together again, so that He may once again watch over us all.” She explained in a reverent tone. 

A murmur of appreciation echoed through the crowd before it was again silent. 

“Now, we will begin the final assembly!” The elder announced in a grander tone, and a little bit of the youth she had lost in the wait for this night seemed to return to her. 

The crane in the corner of the clearing roared to life, and Aldous and his men all set to work as they carefully lifted the tarp from the structure in the middle of the clearing. Beneath it was a sculpted figure. A well-built man with hooved feet, the legs of a goat, I reckoned. The head was missing, though I looked over and saw the crane as it lifted a smaller piece off the semi's truck bed. The sheet that sheltered it from the elements fell away, revealing a handsomely sculpted face. 

I watched alongside the rest of the crowd with bated breath as the head of the statue was slowly lowered to the base of the neck, and several men shouted directions.

  With a loud rumble, they connected; the head mended the cracks and sealed itself to the neck all on its own. 

The air went dead still, the crane withdrew and shut off, and everyone watched in a stifled silence. 

I waited for anything to happen. 

Everyone did. 

All at once, the wind began to pick up. The moon, which once barely shone through the trees, was shrouded by dark clouds. It wasn’t long before trees lashed violently about, their trunks flexed and creaked threateningly as thunder roared. I heard people cry out in fear as a crack sounded out across the clearing, and chaos seemed to break loose. All around me, the crowd rushed for shelter anywhere they could find it, though destruction was faster than any of us as it circled the clearing. Shattered propane lanterns cast an eerie orange glow as young flames licked at the trees. A smoky haze filled the air as we realized there was no way to escape.

These people played too carelessly with old forces of magic that were better off untouched and forgotten. I let my curiosity get the best of me and now it’s too late to back out. Uncle Harris, if you ever read this, I’m sorry.  

Teardrops dripped off the hooked nose of a bespectacled old man as he pushed the newspaper featuring the journal entry and obituary of his nephew away. “I told you, foolish little boy,” He grumbled in a wobbly tone, “To knock that right off, didn’t I?”

Shadow on the Horizon

Written by Treyton Allphin

A lone figure walked through the endless stretch of sand, the sun hanging low but still beating on him from above. His clothes, once dark and full, were now torn and shredded from the harsh desert winds. His lips were peeling, his eyes sunken, and his steps sluggish, yet he continued.

The man had been walking for days, maybe weeks, he had come from a city once, a place with bustling streets and busy markets, he even had his own cloth store, a name even, Amir, but now it seemed as distant as a dream he was no longer welcome back. All he had was the desert with its vast, unyielding stretch of sand, the sky that never changed, and the blistering heat that clung to him like a second skin.

His identity was slowly fading. Just the endless horizon and the crunch of his feet in the sand. His water had run dry days ago. His food was long since gone. Yet, even with every step feeling heavier than the last, he couldn’t stop. It can't end now. 

And the wind shifted. A soft whisper in the air, so faint it could have been his breath. His eyes flickered toward it, and there, on the horizon, a shadow appeared. It was not a mirage, not this time.

In the distance, a woman, draped in black with no sand on her to be seen. Her cold eyes held his gaze, he was captivated.

With the last of his strength, the wanderer made his way toward her, his body almost dragging him forward. The air grew cooler as he neared, and his skin felt even drier than before, like parchment. He fell to his knees beside the woman, he was stuck, the sand swallowing him. He looked up, the woman was doll-like but held a terrifying gaze and a slight grin, she held out her hand to him. He raised his hand, slowly grasping her hand, and with all his worries fading away, he smiled.