It was by sheer chance that I'd chosen a narrower section, and my running jump had been sufficient to reach the other side. I landed on my stomach, and felt the air thrust from my lungs, but after some gasping, I rolled over and crab-walked away from the water, scanning the opposite side for the specter.
The witch was still out there, though she'd stopped following. Standing amidst the trees and much-covered by shadow, I saw she had her head cocked far to one side, was leering like an owl, and her tortured mouth seemed pressed into a tight smile. What this smile meant was open to interpretation.
“Go to hell,” I spat. With a groan, I managed to stand. Then, without missing a beat, I began jogging downstream, in the direction where I remembered our camp had been.
As I ran, I could feel her eyes on me.
Seventeen
I hobbled along, using the creek as my guide. Though I was unsure how far I was from the footpath that would lead me back to our camp, I had faith it would appear sooner or later.
Now that the witch had called off her chase, I slowed down and gave my tired body time enough to make the long walk without stressing it further. There was scarcely any part of my body that didn't ache; the incredible soreness had spread to every limb, and its constancy was nigh-nauseating whenever I stopped to take stock of all my injuries. There were bumps and scrapes aplenty, along with simmering pains deeper in. Even my jaw hurt, from all the clenching I'd done.
But none of that mattered at the moment. Keeping to the bank and following the turbid flow of Swan Creek, I left the haunted ruins of Newsom's Landing behind and sought out signs of modernity. A simple streetlight, or the sight of those concrete latrines, would have brought me to tears of joy just then.
I had other concerns, too.
“Jared,” I muttered, palming the cold sweat from my brow. “Where are you?”
We'd been separated for a good, long while now. The course of time had been muddled, so there was no telling just how long, but I wondered what he'd been up to since our separation, how he'd fared. Jared was stronger than me, and more comfortable in the wild; maybe he'd found help, made his way out. It was also possible that he was still lost, or that he'd found trouble while looking for me. I ignored those thoughts and hoped I'd find him safe and sound at camp.
The creek had undergone a profound transformation since I'd last seen it. Before, when I'd still been with Jared, it'd been engorged, and portions of the surrounding woods had been flooded. Now, though the water appeared rich with silt and the banks were sodden, it looked absolutely calm by comparison. Perhaps the waters had receded over the course of hours; either that, or the flooding had been another hallucination.
The trees thinned out, and some twenty yards ahead I spied what looked to be the edge of a muddy footpath. My heart soared at the sight of it. “Thank God!” Pushing my weary body a bit harder, I strode towards it, cradling myself. Just when I'd exhausted all of my hope, just when I thought I'd never see it again, I found myself within spitting distance of civilization.
If I could have skipped then, I would have done so as I began down that path. I followed its rain-blurred contours, peering excitedly through the woods for signs of our tent, of the picnic table, of Jared. As it happened, I did find a sign of Jared, though it wasn't the kind I'd expected.
I'd been stamping down the path joyously when the sole of my foot clattered against something in the mud. Pulling my foot away, I peered down at the boot-print I'd left and found something half-buried and metallic staring up at me. With no little discomfort, I knelt down to examine it.
Jared's watch.
“What are you doing here?” I asked the thing as I scooped it out of the muck. Wiping the mud from its face, I found the hands were still frozen. Glancing around the path nervously, my grip on the thing tightened. Why was it here? Had something happened to him? What had begun as a happy jaunt down the path was now transformed into a stressful errand as I wondered what else I might find on the way to camp. I pocketed the watch and continued guardedly. “J-Jared?” I called out. “Jared, where are you?”
There was no reply, save for the bleating of the crickets.
Pain shot up my calves, but I quickened my pace.
“Jared?”
I was rounding a bend, now. Slivers of blue appeared from between the trees that crowded Site M—the tent! Chugging through a thicket of fluttering bushes, I finally arrived at the campsite and took a good look around.
I was utterly devastated by what I found.
In a word, our camp had been destroyed. Leveled. From one end to the other there were evidences of some great attack, which had left the spot looking storm-battered, but no sign whatsoever of the culprit.
The tent, which I'd glimpsed only moments before through the trees, was in tatters. Fragments of the blue exterior material clung to the lopsided metal poles, and the rest had been scattered about the ground like confetti. It looked as though the damage had been done in a frenzy of knife-thrusts and slashes—or else, by the claws of some immense beast. I knew from my reading that large animals like bears and wild cats were not unknown to the region, but as I paced about the ruined camp I found no sign of such things.
Instead, I found our bags. They'd been split apart in a like manner to the tent, and their contents had been spilled across the grass. The picnic table had been overturned, and the fishing gear we'd stored beneath it had been crushed, reduced to plastic splinters. The cooler where the food had been kept had been broken into jagged pieces, and its contents mashed hatefully into the ground. A sleeping bag, its stuffing protruding from a large tear, was strewn across a nearby bush; all of my spare clothing had been shredded and tossed about the field, too.
And there was no sign of Jared anywhere.
Though I encountered no one as I paced around the war-torn camp, I didn't exactly feel alone. The air was heavy with presence; heavy with the feeling that someone had only just been there. The site was still buzzing with their odiousness, and the muddy ground I walked on was charged with a profoundly violent energy. When I'd taken stock of the whole site, and realized there was nothing worth salvaging, I set about getting as far away as possible, lest the culprit return.
Leaving Site M behind—even the wooden site marker had been ripped from the ground—I marched down the path that would lead me past a succession of other, vacant sites, past the restroom compound, and eventually to the parking lot. I hoped that the Jeep would be there. That Jared would be waiting for me. I hoped for a lot of things on this night that would not end.
The footpath snaked through the woods, coming and going in my vision based on the fickle whims of the moon. I calculated the distance to the parking lot—roughly two miles, in my estimation—and wondered, too, if my retreat from the campgrounds would not free me of the witch's influence. I hadn't seen the crone since fording the stream, but as I rushed down the dark path I couldn't in good faith say she wasn't present. For all I knew she was watching from nearby, perched in the canopy or masquerading as one of the trees. Still, the question stood: If it was still September 14th and she still held sway over these woods, would my leaving their borders set me free?
I got my answer sooner than I expected, as I looked to the next campsite along the stretch. I should have only glanced at it—it should merely have been a moment's worth of passing scenery—but I froze in my tracks and stared.
I was looking at a campsite—an occupied one. It appeared neat and orderly, with a tent pitched on one side and a picnic table sitting opposite. There was a fire burning between the two, and a squat wooden marker sticking out of the ground some feet from the trail, where I presently gawked.
It read “M”.
I blinked confusedly at the scene, wiped at my eyes. I then pinched myself on an arm that was already smarting enough for me to know I wasn't dreaming.
The camp—our camp—was right there. Intact.
A noise escaped my lips—half nervous titter, half sob, as I staggered off the path and towards the s
ite, where our blue tent was pitched, and our fire bumbled, and where—yes!—my boyfriend sat on the bench.
Standing at the border of the campsite, hands limp at my sides, I very nearly fell to my knees. “J-Jared?” I was at a loss for words, and I studied my surroundings dumbly, searching for aberrancy. Everything was as I remembered it, though. The placement of the tent, the cooler, the fishing gear beneath the table.
Jared was sitting at the picnic table with his back to the fire, and to me. With his head balanced on one hand, he seemed to be staring out into woods. For a moment, I thought he'd drifted off to sleep, but as I approached and crunched a few leaves underfoot, he stirred somewhat and spoke. “Penny, you're back. I was so worried about you, babe. Are you all right?”
His voice was calm and comforting, but he didn't turn around.
“Yeah, I... I guess so.” I was taken off guard by him, by his unwillingness to turn and face me. “How about you? Are you OK?”
“I'm just so glad you're back,” he replied without so much as acknowledging my question. “We should get out of here. I'm sure you must be tired. Why don't you relax in the tent while I gather things up?” He still hadn't turned to face me.
“Uh...” I stared at his back, a wild discomfort brewing in me. “I'd... I'd rather not. Jared, what's—”
“Why don't you relax in the tent while I gather things up?” came Jared's voice again.
Except, this time, it didn't issue from the figure sitting at the picnic table.
It came from inside the tent.
I fell back a few paces, my chest tightening. I looked to the tent. The entry flap was sitting ajar, and from the mesh window in it, a livid, white face glowered at me. Glancing back at the picnic bench, I saw it was unoccupied now.
The tent rumbled with demoniac laughter.
I tripped over my own legs as I ran from the campsite and returned to the footpath. Tears clouded my vision as I fled, and my empty stomach clenched around a bolus of cold dread.
The nightmare hadn't ended.
It was never going to.
Eighteen
The wilderness rushed past me in a dark blur as I stomped down the footpath. The sting of tears plagued my eyes, and my lungs ached for want of air. Further on, the noxious yellow light of the staggered streetlamps, of the bathroom complex, punched through the night like cigarette burns. There was no telling what those lights were waiting to reveal, what horrors had accumulated around them and waited to express themselves to a pair of willing, desperate eyes.
I wanted no part of it. I would have chosen perfect darkness to this loaded scenery. More than anything I wished to stop my running, to curl up in a ball and shut out the world—and if not for the mindless action of my feet, I would have dropped down and done it amidst the trees. These woods and everything in them had won; I no longer wanted to take part in the game. If I shut down, willed myself into catatonia until the sun finally rose, would it all stop?
Breath hitching, I left the path and started into the vast field that led to the bathrooms. The concrete building sat imposingly in the distance, its nooks and crannies alive with that yellow light and who could say what else. Charging through this open space, I stared up into the moonlit sky and screamed tearfully for all I was worth. “Help! Help! Someone, please! Help me!” My voice skipped and cracked in the wind, chased up my throat by a wave of hot bile.
There was probably nothing like a sympathetic ear for miles, but I howled into the night nonetheless. Maybe a passing park ranger would hear me and investigate. Or maybe the witch would pin down my location and soon arrive to finish me off. The end result didn't much matter to me in that moment; I was simply tired of running, had overdosed on terror. No matter what, I just wanted a swift resolution. I'd had all the anticipation I could bear.
“Help! Please, please, someone!” I crashed into the ground, my legs weak, and crawled towards a pair of drinking fountains that jutted out of a concrete base in the field. Kneeling, I mashed my shaking hands against the flat, steel button on the side, and a cold spray of water began spilling out of the mouthpiece. I lapped at it like a dog, drinking deep. When the icy water had soothed my raw throat, I looked back into the sky and screamed afresh. “Help! Help me!”
Tucking my knees up against my chest, I sat rocking in the grass. I kept my head low, covered with my arms, as if expecting an earthquake, and tried blocking out the entirety of the world around me.
I was unsuccessful. A noise rose up over my shaky breaths—the sound of footsteps crossing the field. They were quick and determined—and they filled me with a fresh wave of terror. Shuddering uncontrollably now, I cowered further into myself and began muttering. “Now you've found me... do what you want. I won't run anymore. I'm done playing your games...”
The footsteps slowed as they approached, and a panting voice followed. “P-Penny, is that you?”
The voice was Jared's. My reaction to it was visceral; I seized like I'd been electrocuted and my stomach clenched so hard I thought it might implode. Ellie Pomeroy had played this trick on me already; had extended false hope of my reunion with Jared, only to yank it away. I wasn't going to fall for it again. “Get away from me, you monster. Just get away. I'm... I'm not falling for your shit again.” I remained curled in a heap, my fingers digging into my hair.
I could feel the figure standing beside me; felt them kneel down in the grass and extend a gentle hand. “Penny, it's me. It's really me,” insisted the voice.
I didn't look up. “Get away from me!” I growled, scrambling back and bumping into the water fountains. “And stop speaking in his voice! I don't want to hear it!”
“Penny...” I felt two hands—firm, but comforting—upon my heaving shoulders. “Penny, it's me. Jared.”
I grit my teeth so hard that my jaw creaked, and I stole a teary glance at the figure before pushing him away and scooting back several feet. It certainly looked like Jared. He was kneeling before me in the grass, his face cloudy with concern. I regarded it for an instant, but didn't allow myself to fall for the witch's ruse. She'd taken his form before. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of fooling me again. “You're not real,” I spat. “Just get away from me!”
He shook my shoulders a little harder. “It is me, damn it. Penny, get ahold of yourself! I've been looking everywhere for you, I—”
I shrugged him off, hurriedly climbing to my feet. Looking down at my hands I saw that I'd absentmindedly yanked several locks of my hair out. The dark hair remained coiled around my fingers as I took another look at him through hooded eyes. “No... no, you're not. I know what you're doing, you damn hag. I know who you really are, and...” He rose, holding his hands out in a non-confrontational pose. Staring him down, I took another step back and challenged him. “Prove it. Prove you're the real Jared.”
His eyes softened, and he gave a toss of his shoulders. “O-OK, but... how, babe?”
I paced in a circle around him, gnawing at my lower lip and grinding my knuckles to dust as I wrung my hands. I didn't have a particular test in mind; old superstitions like dunking him in the creek to see if he'd float, or inspecting his body for “witch” marks seemed pointless. Instead, I settled on asking him a question that only the real Jared would know the answer to—something inane. “If you're really Jared, you'll know the answer to this. W-Who's the best Mr. Darcy?” I asked.
He thought about it an instant, running a dirty hand over his densely stubbled cheek. Finally, he answered with a little smirk. “Well, obviously it's Colin Firth.”
I was so relieved I forgot how to stand. My knees wobbled, and it was only because he rushed in and grabbed me under the arms that I avoided falling. “It's you,” I said, wide-eyed. “It is you, after all.”
He gave a firm nod, brushing the tear-matted hair out of my face. “It is.” I could tell by the way he was looking me over that he, too, had had his doubts about me. “I was worried out of my mind. I thought for sure...” He stopped himself and tried on a smile instead. �
��Thank God.”
We stood there in each other's arms for awhile. Neither of us spoke until I finally looked up at him and asked, “Where have you been? What happened?”
Looking around the field narrowly, Jared shook his head. “It's a long story.” He motioned back to the footpath. “Let's move. We can talk about it on the way to the parking lot, OK?”
I didn't need any convincing. I held his hand like a vise and we took off for the path.
Nineteen
“You ran off on me,” began Jared as he led me down the path. It was clear that the previous hours had taken their toll on him; he was walking with a slight limp and didn't have it in him to run, except in short bursts. That suited me just fine, and the two of us took a brisk stroll down the dirt path whose terminus we hoped would bring us to the Jeep.
“I remember being chased by her—by the witch,” I began. Though the two of us had been subjected to terrifying hallucinations since our arrival here, I still felt a touch of embarrassment in vocalizing it. “The next thing I remember was falling into the creek. It was flooded, and I struggled against the current for awhile. I was drowning...”
Jared shook his head. “That's not what I saw. I'd gone up onto that hill to look for some spot where we could cross, but then I heard you screaming. I came back down in a hurry to see what was up.” Here, he paused uncomfortably. “When I got to the bottom of the hill and neared the bank, I saw, well, two of you. You were on the other side of the creek—had already crossed somehow—but you were also on my side, running back into the woods where we'd just come from. I wasn't sure which was real. It was like you'd split into two. By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, all I could hear were your screams. I didn't know which way to go, which one of 'you' to follow.”
“You saw two of me?” I asked.
He nodded.
I couldn't help turning around just then to scan the shadowed path behind us. “So... what happened after that?”
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