by G. M. Moore
Robert rattled the keys in his hand, turned around, and headed back into the house. About ten minutes later he stood staring at a list of cell phone numbers. Tess didn’t go to Tracks. Ann’s mother had assured him of that. She also assured him that “the girls” would know where Tess was. All he had to do was call or text them to find out. When the conversation took a turn toward a lecture on teen girls and the importance of cell phones, Robert politely thanked Ann’s mother, said his good-bye, and hung up. He wasn’t about to start calling teenage girls—not yet. And he definitely wasn’t going to be texting them—not ever.
So, if Tess didn’t go to the fish fry, where was she? Robert racked his brain for an answer, and slowly a knowing smile surfaced on his face. That meadow of hers. She’s off in that meadow letting off some steam and just forgot the time. He knew his daughter frequently hiked alone in the woods behind their home. He wasn’t thrilled about it but couldn’t see the real harm. He was an outdoorsman and, given the choice between Tess hanging out in the woods or hanging out with a bunch of teens, he’d take the woods every time.
It was after eight o’clock now, and the sun was making its final descent in the sky. It would be completely dark soon. She’ll be home by nine, Robert thought, and then he’d add to their pending discussion the importance of leaving a note. A rumble in his stomach reminded Robert that he hadn’t eaten yet, so he returned to the refrigerator to find something for dinner.
At 9:10 p.m., Robert O’Brien had a rain poncho on and was heading out the door. Tess was still not home, and he was still convinced that she was out hiking in the woods—most likely on the ATV trail that crossed the field behind their house. The drizzling rain and rising fog worried him. Determined to find his daughter and escort her home, Robert set out for the backyard shed. As he approached the old outbuilding, the man stopped short. He could have sworn one of their ATVs had been parked by the shed this morning and had been parked there all week. With a perplexed frown, Robert threw open the shed’s double doors to find a lone Honda Rancher sitting there. Like Tess, the other four-wheeler was gone. It was not like Tess to go four wheeling alone, but if she had, she would have been back before dark—way before dark. Alarm filled his eyes, and his stomach sank deeper and deeper as he looked out into the black, misty night. Forget teenage girls, Robert thought. It was time to call the police.
Chapter Eight
Earl Smothers stood at the cabin window staring out into the fog that eerily engulfed the grounds around him. He was the lone man at the Stone Lake base camp and would be for the rest of the night. Echo One had just called in from the field, and even though the CB radio sat quiet now, its crackling and hissing still filled the seventy-year-old man’s head. He had his orders, and he did not like them.
Get the fawn. Whatever it takes, get rid of the kids and get the fawn.
Those were the words of his nephew.
Whatever it takes, get rid of the kids.
But Earl knew Wes, and he knew him well. That wasn’t his sister’s son talking. No, that was fear—fear of Clyde and what Clyde would do if $10,000 suddenly went poof! and disappeared. Wes and the guys still hadn’t found that numbskull Butch or the albino doe. They needed something to appease Clyde, and that albino fawn was it. Like Wes, most of the guys were afraid of Clyde. The man was a hothead who thought the louder he yelled, the more right he was. If the yelling didn’t work, he thought nothing of throwing a punch to your face. And once Clyde got in a physical fight with someone, he was like a mad dog—he’d fight until someone went down.
“Yyyyup,” Earl nodded. They all jump every time that crazy son of a gun barks an order.
But not Earl. And Clyde knew it. Earl brushed his crooked nose with his knuckles and grinned shrewdly. “Yyyyup,” he nodded again. Clyde thought twice about getting up in his face for two very simple reasons: Earl was smarter than Clyde, and Earl was a former Golden Gloves boxing champ. The man could argue circles around Clyde—even after all the hits he’d taken to the head over the years—and still to this day the aging boxer could knock Clyde out with one punch.
So, he was to get rid of the kids? Whatever it took? Earl harrumphed. Kiss my ass. He had already frightened the poor girl half to death. She took off like a bat outta hell. He grinned admiringly at that; the girl had gumption, he’d give her that much. He could have easily shot both kids on the trail if he had wanted to, but he hadn’t wanted to, and he’d fired off a series of warning shots instead. He had spooked the girl into making a wrong turn, and those kids were hopelessly lost out there right now. He knew where they were, but they didn’t have a clue.
Whatever it takes, get rid of the kids.
No way, Earl thought stubbornly. He would not be responsible for driving those kids even farther off course and into the dark depths of the Chequamegon forest. No, he wouldn’t be responsible for that or for anything worse. He’d get the fawn. No problem there. But he’d do it just before first light. He’d be in and out of their camp before those kids even woke up. Let them get some shut-eye and find their way home in the daylight. With that thought, Earl Smothers headed to a bunk for some shut-eye of his own.
The next morning, just past four thirty, Earl guided his ATV to a stop at the mouth of an overgrown trail and dismounted the vehicle. The damp, dewy woods held a chill and a smoky fog that only the sun could dissipate. First light would come in about an hour, and he would welcome its warmth—on the way back to the Stone Lake camp with the albino fawn in tow—but right now, he would bear the chill and continue on foot so as to not disturb the kids or the grounds they slept on. Of all the places to have stumbled upon in the dark, he thought bemused. He was very certain those kids had no idea where they were. Who would knowingly camp in a backwoods Indian cemetery, especially two people already spooked and on the run?
The night before, Earl had tracked the kids to an old Ojibwe burial ground. The older man hadn’t been to the cemetery in years; the place unsettled him. Hidden among thick woodlands, the clearing was dotted with small wooden structures the Ojibwe called spirit houses. The houses, built the length, width, and height of a coffin, sat atop the tribes’ buried dead. He remembered dozens of them nestled into the sloping earth in untidy rows, their peaked, moss-covered roofs tilting left and right across the ominous clearing. The area had no signage or markings to indicate that it was a sacred place; it was as if the grounds needed no protection. Earl chuckled darkly. The dead took care of that, he reckoned. Earl had no reason to go there, so he didn’t—until now.
Without hesitation, Earl pushed back the foliage looming over the entrance and stepped onto the grassy path. He walked down the trail a few yards, his wavy salt-and-pepper hair curling tighter and the bottoms of his jeans growing wetter as he went. Then he abruptly stopped, a perplexed look covering his weathered face.
The fog, he thought. There’s something strange about the fog.
He stood there for a moment with his eyes narrowed, gazing down the path behind him and then up the path before him.
It’s thicker, he concluded. The fog is getting thicker.
Behind him only a thin layer of fog hovered above the forest floor, but up ahead it looked to be about a foot deep. And here where he stood it was creeping up to the top of his work boots. He could barely see the ground around him. He lifted his left boot up. Now you see it. He set it back down. Now you don’t. He had never experienced a fog like this—not one that grew in the early morning hours and definitely not one that thickened before your eyes. One for the books, he thought, shrugging dismissively. He casually looked to the purpling sky above him. It will burn off soon enough. With that thought, Earl took a small flashlight from the pocket of his khaki jacket and, waving it ahead of him, continued down the path.
His flashlight cast a hazy glow across the fog as it rolled toward him, growing thicker and thicker, engulfing him with each step. He strained to see what lay ahead and was relieved to finally see the woods pu
lling back. His pace quickened until his foot caught on something and he stumbled heavily forward. The flashlight slipped from his grip and fell. The sturdy man quickly righted himself, then scanned the white tide around him for the flashlight’s glow. He saw nothing. He squatted down, cautiously patting the earth, careful to keep his head above the strange fog. He felt nothing. The flashlight was gone. Earl let out an aggravated sigh as he stood up. He stared with hardened, angry eyes toward the clearing ahead. The billowy fog made the burial grounds look swamp like with blackened trees emerging from its depths, their trunks eerily silhouetted in the lightening sky. Earl lowered his head like a bull ready to charge, his eyes sweeping side to side. Something strange was going on, and he didn’t like it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to stop him. The albino fawn was in that clearing. He was going in, and he was getting it. Period. Earl ran his knuckles across his nose and pushed forward.
As he entered the cemetery, a quick blur of movement caught his eye. He turned instantly but saw nothing. Earl stood motionless, all senses on alert. He felt a presence. Maybe the kids? Maybe the fawn? he wondered. He moved slowly in a circle scanning the clearing. As he took a step to the left, a ghostly figure rose from the fog and darted toward him. Fists instinctively flew to his face, and he bobbed low.
But nothing was there.
Earl slowly straightened his stance, staring dumbfounded into the rolling fog. He knew he had seen something. Knew it. With fists high and ready for a fight, Earl turned his torso left and right. He pivoted, turning left again, and then he saw it—the ghostly figure of a deer stood just feet away, its legs nothing but smoky wisps floating above the fog.
Earl’s fists dropped a few inches as he cocked his head to one side and eased his stance. That’s not there, the man tried to convince himself. That can’t be there. I am seeing things.
The ghost deer lingered, staring, holding Earl spellbound. Then its hollow eyes glowed a bright red and it charged.
Earl’s nerves came unhinged, and he did something just then that he had never done before in his life—he turned his back and started to run. As he took the first stride, a dark face with large white eyes popped up out of the fog a few feet away. The man jerked to a stop, but his momentum was too strong, and he staggered wildly forward. His boot caught on something hidden in the fog, and his legs buckled under him. As Earl tumbled to the ground, he instinctively threw his hands in front of him. He didn’t see the smoldering fire until his palms landed in its bed of burning coals. The fire seared and charred his flesh, but he did not scream; he had no time for such things. The fighter in him took over, and with veins rippling down his muscular arms, Earl pushed off the fire and rolled away from the fiery embers. The man came to rest on his back, hands held at his chin in a grotesque fighter’s stance. His skin quickly tightened, twisting his hands into blistered claws. Earl let out an excruciating moan as pain finally overwhelmed him. The putrid smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils as his eyes rolled back to white and then to darkness.
Chapter Nine
Something was out there—something in the rolling fog. Tess had to get away, she had to run now before it was too late. But her legs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t get her legs to move.
Run. Run! she pleaded to her unyielding limbs, but they stayed anchored in the thick forest fog. Tess opened her mouth to scream for help, but no sound came. She could feel the sharp edges of panic rising in her.
It was coming. It was coming.
Oh God, please. Help…
A high-pitched screech echoed menacingly through the air.
Oh, God. No. No.
An eagle suddenly dove at her from the dark sky above, its talons pulling at her hair as its massive wings battered her face.
Tess jerked awake, arms flailing out to fight off nothing but the cool morning air. She sat bolt upright, fog lulling around her in billowy waves. A dreamy, distant thought entered her mind.
It was coming.
A sense of déjà vu filled her and panic quickly followed. She pushed up with her hands, ready to spring into a run, but hesitated, suddenly unsure of whether she was awake or not. She shook her head, squinting her eyes hard again and again.
I’m awake. Right?
Her sleep-clouded mind struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Yes, she told herself, dropping slowly back to her knees. You’re awake. It was just a dream. But the fog… She looked warily around. Where am I? A bone-chilling moan reverberated through the sea of white around her. The sound was close, very close. She shivered, peering fearfully into woods now purple with the shadows of the morning’s first light. Then a roaring hum filled the air and something dark, yet glowing, came charging at her. She shrunk low into the fog, praying whatever it was hadn’t seen her.
“Tess,” a voice called out over the hum. “Tess, where are you?”
Cain? Of course, it was Cain.
Tess sprang up out of the fog. “Here! Here!” she called to him, happy relief washing over her. She saw everything more clearly now—Cain’s dark figure sitting atop the ATV, its engine idling as its headlights sent a hazy glow through the thick fog. “Get on,” he ordered. His hand reached out for her and she grabbed it readily, moving swiftly to him, but then pulling sharply back.
“Your face? What…what happened to your face?”
“Huh?” he replied, his voice edged with impatience.
Her eyes darted over the smears and streaks covering his face. “Your face is black.”
“Never mind that,” he said with a brisk, dismissive nod. “Just get on. They’re here.”
“Here? Where?” She nervously looked around. “The fawn—”
“I’ve got him. Let’s go.”
Tess hopped onto the ATV, swinging one leg over the seat behind Cain. She reached for his waist but only got a fistful of his black sweatshirt as the vehicle peeled out. She held fast to the fabric, rocking hard to the left until she could pull herself forward, locking her arms tightly around his waist. Tess looked over her shoulder into the glade they were leaving behind. The rising sun began to burn through the sea of white fog, and tops of what looked like small houses now peeked through. The sight sent a shiver rippling through her, and her body shook with it.
“You OK?” Cain called over the din of the motor.
“Uh-huh. Yeah.” she answered, still looking back. No one or no thing came out of the fog after them, but still her skin crawled with goose pimples.
What is that place? Tess wondered. Her memory of the night before was strangely fuzzy. She remembered driving through the woods toward a fire, hoping to find help, but instead finding a pile of smoldering embers and nothing else but darkness and fog. She had tended to the still groggy Cain and the albino fawn, finding a chemical ice pack in the ATV’s first aid kit for him, and finding what she thought were bottles of formula in Cain’s backpack for the deer. She had stoked the fire, gathered up what little kindling she could, and…well, that was it. Tess thought hard, searching her memory, but nothing else came. She kept wary eyes locked on the mysterious glade until the path curved and the woods closed in behind them. Only then did she relax, turning her head to rest a cheek safely on Cain’s back.
Tess watched as they raced by stands of ancient hemlock. The towering pines zipped by one after another, their lower trunks bare except for a few spindly branches long deprived of sun by the forest canopy above. She stared deep into the almost perfect rows the trees formed, their steady succession hypnotizing her until the repetitious blur brought on a headache and she closed her eyes against it. Tess kept them closed until the vehicle’s pace slowed and she felt it turn. She wasn’t sure what the time was and was too afraid to loosen her grip on Cain to check her watch, but the sun shone brightly above in a sky now clear blue. Wasn’t there a saying that things always looked better in the morning? They did, she thought. Sunshine could make anything better.
Cain guided th
e ATV slowly down a sandy path, killing the engine only when they were safely hidden from view. Tess thought the path must be an old logging road. She was certain they were no longer on the ATV trail system.
“I don’t think we were followed,” Cain said as he dismounted the vehicle. He placed his hands on his knees and lowered his head in a heavy exhale, then he tilted his face upward to look at Tess. It was still streaked with black, his head still wrapped in her yellow scarf. “Do you?” he asked.
Tess shook her head. “No. I was watching. I didn’t see anyone.” She scooted forward on the seat, taking the lid off the basket strapped to the front rack. The albino fawn immediately stretched upward and yawned. Tess gently petted his nose.
“Good. That’s good,” Cain replied. The boy exhaled again. “I think.” He breathed heavily in and out. “I think something happened to him, to one of the poachers.”
Tess’s hand hovered over the deer as her heart skipped a beat. “Like what?” she asked, the pit of her stomach knotted as the sound of that awful moan came back to her. “What would have happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Cain said. “Something bad. Did you hear the moan? It gave me the heebie-jeebies.”
Tess nodded slowly and stared solemnly at the fawn, stroking the sides of its face over and over. The two were quiet for a moment, then Tess asked in a whispery voice, “What was that place? I saw strange little houses.”