by Rick Hautala
“It’s just that ... well, you know these woods a lot better than I do.“ Jack shrugged to relieve the pressure of the backpack’s straps on his shoulders. “But I was thinking we should set up camp before it gets all the way dark, that’s all.“
Off to his left, through the trees, the glimmer of the setting sun reflected off the wide, bending curve of the Missouri River. A cool breeze laden with the scent of pine resin blew through the scrub pines with a high, hissing sound. The land dropped off sharply to the river and, to the east, craggy hills rose up against the deepening blue sky.
Ryan followed Jack’s gaze out over the water to the setting sun. He sighed and shook his head. His voice was low, almost lost beneath the sound of the wind in the trees when he said, “All right then. Let’s find a flat spot to set up. I’ll pitch the tent while you collect some firewood.“
“How come I always get to do the squaw work?“ Jack asked. He was trying to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but he couldn’t repress the slight shiver that teased up his back as he looked around him. For as much hiking as he did, he was always surprised—and a little irritated—at how he felt so uncomfortable around this time of day...twilight time...just as the sun was setting, and the shadows were deepening under the trees. Once it was fully dark, he had no problem, especially if there was a campfire blazing away. But as evening fell, the forest always made him feel ... not afraid, really, but uncomfortable.
Ryan leaned forward and rested his chin on the tip of his hiking stick as he surveyed the area. Suddenly his face lit up. “Hold on a second. Do you have any idea where we are?“
Jack frowned and shrugged. “Yeah,“ he said, “about twenty miles from the nearest town on the Saddleback Trail.“
Ryan pointed with the tip of his walking stick down the slope that led to the river. “No. No. you see those rocks down there, overlooking the river? I’m pretty sure that’s Outlaw’s Cave.“
“Outlaw’s Cave?“ Jack shook his head. The name didn’t mean a thing to him. He took a quick step back and shook his head. “Wait a second. I’m not sleeping in any cave.“
Ryan snorted laughter and shook his head. “We don’t have to if you’re too scared. We can pitch the tent in the clearing down there. It’s a really nice spot. Once we get set up, I’ll tell you the story about it.“
“Maybe I don’t want to hear it,“ Jack said. As his gaze shifted out over the stretch of the river, he suddenly wished that he could fly far away from this place.
“Trust me. You’ll want to hear it,“ Ryan said as he shifted his pack into a more comfortable position on his back and started down the steep slope. “It’s a terrific spot. Nice view of the river, too.“
Not entirely convinced, Jack followed several paces behind Ryan.
The trail wasn’t clearly marked, at least not that Jack could see in the gathering darkness, and the footing was lousy, so they slid as much as walked down the first hundred feet or so. After that, the ground leveled out into a wide bluff that overlooked the river.
“Yup... This is the place all right,“ Ryan called out.
The sun had already dropped below the trees on the opposite shore, turning the river into a wide stretch of dull, beaten silver that was rapidly fading to charcoal gray. Off in the distance, a solitary crow called out, its raucous voice echoing from the cliffs that lined the riverbank.
The spot Ryan was pointing to didn’t look like much at first—just a scattering of boulders against a hill that looked a bit like it had been purposely constructed. Closer to the water, there was a grove of cottonwood trees. Their thin leaves, chattering in the gloom, set Jack’s teeth on edge. At the base of the hill, there was a huge, solitary oak tree that looked as if it had weathered at least a hundred years rooted to this spot.
“I don’t see a—“ Jack started to say, but when he caught up with Ryan, who had stopped near the base of the hill, he cut himself short.
“There it is, all right,“ Ryan said. “Outlaw’s Cave.“
Jack gave the cave barely a glance. He instantly didn’t like it even though it didn’t look like all that much. A person would have to bend down low to enter it, and he wasn’t the least bit curious to go inside. All he could think about was getting the tent pitched so they could settle down for the night. After four days in the wilderness, they planned to be out of the woods by tomorrow afternoon, and he wanted nothing but as good a night’s sleep as he was going to get sleeping on the cold, hard ground.
“Aww, shit,“ Ryan muttered.
Jack turned and looked at him, realizing that he must have been staring at the cave mouth much longer than he had thought. Ryan was kneeling on the ground with his opened pack and was fishing around inside the tent bag.
“What’s up?“
“The tent poles...they’re not all here.“ Ryan frowned and shook his head.
“What do you mean? You packed it up after last night, didn’t you?“
Ryan kept muttering to himself as he fumbled with the tent bag, but even in the deepening darkness, Jack could see that no amount of searching was going to make the tent poles suddenly appear. Either they’d left them behind at their last campsite, or they had dropped out of Ryan’s pack somewhere along the trail. Most of the time, though, Jack had walked behind Ryan, so he was sure he would have noticed if they had fallen out.
“Well,“ Ryan said, sighing as he sat back on his heels and brushed his hands together, “looks like we get to sleep under the stars for our last night on the trail. We’ll be all right.“
“Long as it doesn’t rain,“ Jack said, casting a worried glance up at the sky. Through the trees, he could see patches of indigo sky with a few faint, twinkling stars.
“And if it rains, we’ll wait it out in the cave,“ Ryan said casually. “For now, though, I say we scavenge up some deadwood and start ourselves a little campfire. Then I’ll tell you the story about this place.“
“I can hardly wait.“
Not long after that, once night had fallen, and the campfire was blazing away, Jack and Ryan spread their sleeping bags out on the ground and sat down with the fire between them while that ate their last night’s worth of food—baked beans, some dried meat, and two bottles of beer, which they had saved especially for their last night of the hike. By now, the river was lost in darkness, nothing more than a flat, black strip that didn’t even reflect the faint starlight overhead.
“So, you ready to hear the story about this place?“ Ryan asked.
He took a long pull of warm beer, emptying his bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned forward. His wide, moist eyes reflected the campfire, and the flickering flames underlit his features, casting deep shadows over the angles of his face.
“Do I have a choice?“ Jack asked.
He didn’t like the little chill that danced up his back, but he told himself that it was just because he was facing the fire, and the night air was cooling off behind him. Above the snap and crackle of the fire, he could hear the chattering of the oak leaves in the big tree behind him. Against his will, he found himself turning to look over his shoulder to see if he could catch a glimpse of anything that might be lurking in the branches or the woods beyond.
Of course he didn’t see anything.
Still, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that somewhere in the darkness behind him, something was lurking, watching him.
“Well,“ Ryan said, settling down with his arms resting on his crossed legs, “a long time ago, this cave was the camp for a bunch of robbers. They’d lie in wait for any riverboats coming down the Missouri—you know, with furs or gold or whatever—and they’d attack them. The robbers were a family called the Harpes. Hey. Now that I think about it, that’s pretty close to your last name, Harper.“
“Why do I get the feeling you just made that part up?“ Jack said, shaking his head. “Anyway, go on.“
“Well, these guys the Harpes were a pretty ruthless bunch, you see? They had a reputation for killing everyone on
board the riverboat, no matter what. Didn’t matter if it was man, woman, or child. They’d kill ’em all and take anything of value, then bring it all back here, where they’d hole up. That’s why it’s called—“
“—Outlaw’s Cave,“ Jack said with thinly veiled impatience. “I get it. So then one day they all got caught, some posse or whatever killed them all, and their cave is supposed to be haunted, right?“ Jack wanted to get to the end of the story as quickly as possible so he could try to get to sleep. “And I’ll bet that supposedly late at night, anyone who comes out here can see their ghosts in the cave, right? Or maybe they can hear them, moaning and groaning in the darkness.“
“Not even close. No, it’s—“ He paused and then, lowering his voice for dramatic effect, whispered, “It’s a lot worse than that.“
Jack chuckled nervously and shook his head, telling himself there was no way he was going to let Ryan’s story get to him. He was long past the age of getting spooked by campfire tales even if he wasn’t exactly keen on where they had decided to camp for the night.
“What was it, then?“ he finally asked, keeping his voice light only with effort. “What happened?“
“Well,“ Ryan said, lowering his voice even more and leaning forward. “One time, this guy got away from the Harpes. The outlaws killed his wife and children, but he only took a bullet in the shoulder or something and fell overboard. But he’d gotten a good look at one of them.“
“And that outlaw had, like, a big scar on his face or something, right?“
“As a matter of fact, their leader—the oldest brother, named Jed Harpe—did have a scar all along the left side of his face. But that’s not really part of the story. The Harpes didn’t bother with this guy, you see, figuring he was already dead, so they looted the riverboat and made off with their booty back to the cave. Only this guy wasn’t dead, and as he drifted downstream, he saw where the Harpes put in to shore.“
“So he’s the guy who came back and killed them all, and that’s why you can still see and hear the ghosts in the cave, right? Okay. End of story. What say we hit the sack? We’ve still got a lot of hiking to do tomorrow.“
“Yeah, but let me finish the story first,“ Ryan said. “I promise you, it’s a good ’un.“
Against his better judgment, Jack nodded and waved his hand for Ryan to wrap it up quickly so they could get to sleep. He was determined not to let his friend get the better of him with this bullshit story and then later in the night do something to scare him.
“So this guy—no one ever says what his name was—made his way back to town and got his wounds healed. He tried to get the townspeople to come out after the Harpes, but no one would listen to him. They were too afraid. These guys were savages, you gotta understand, and there was no way the townspeople were going to go after them. So this guy, determined to get revenge for his wife and children, went out there—came out here—by himself. As it turned out, everyone in the gang was away except for Jed, the oldest brother. This guy who wants revenge hides himself in the brush and he waits. Right around sunset, ole’ Jed comes out of the cave and then—BANG!—the guy shoots Jed dead.“
“The end,“ Jack said, his voice rising hopefully.
“Not guite,“ Ryan replied as he leaned even closer to the campfire. The flames flickered across his face, and his eyes glowed wickedly. “You see, this guy figures the rest of the gang might be close enough to have heard the gunshot, and he knows there’s no way he’d be able to fight all of them without getting killed himself, so what does he do?“
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. What does he do?“
“He cuts off ole’ Jed’s head and hangs it from one of the branches of that oak tree right behind you. That’s what he does.“
Jack couldn’t stop the shiver that gripped him as he turned slowly around and cast a fearful glance at the towering oak tree. Its leaves and branches shifted slightly in the night breeze, and it didn’t take much to imagine that he could see a head, hanging down from a branch and slowly twisting and turning back and forth in the wind. Looking back at Ryan, he had to take a deep breath and lick his lips before he could speak without letting his rising nervousness show.
“So...uh, what happened to the rest of the gang?“
“Well, according to the story—and this is where it gets really creepy—when they came back to the cave that night, the head was still hanging from the tree...just hanging there, swinging back and forth...back and forth. Then, when one of them came up to it, ready to cut it down and bury it before going to find and kill whoever’d done this to their brother, ’ole Jed’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and the head began to scream.“
“Scream?“ Jack asked, his voice a tight, faint echo of Ryan’s.
“Yeah, scream,“ Ryan said. “I mean really scream.“ Then he leaned his head back so the campfire lit his exposed throat and let out the loudest, most piercing scream Jack had ever heard.
“Jesus! Cut it out, will you?“ Jack shouted, blocking his ears with his hands as he looked around nervously. “Quit fooling around—“
But he stopped himself because Ryan kept on screaming, his voice rising and falling in wild shrieks that echoed back to them from the distant riverbank.
Finally, Ryan stopped screaming and looked at Jack. In the sudden, eerie silence that followed, Jack tried hard to convince himself that he didn’t hear an answering screech come from somewhere deep in the woods.
“And that’s what’s supposed to be scary about this place,“ Ryan said, his face lighting up with a self-satisfied smirk as he regarded Jack. “They say the brothers were so scared that they left the place and never came back, and that the head stayed hanging from the oak tree, screaming every night. Anyone who passed by on the river after dark could hear it. Supposedly the head kept screaming until finally the flesh all rotted away. Once that happened, they say the screaming finally stopped.“
“Okay,“ Jack said, swallowing with difficulty. “You’ve told your little story. What do you say we get some shuteye now?“
“Shuteye?“ Ryan said. “Man, you’re starting to sound like a regular buckaroo.“
Jack sniffed with laughter as he kicked off his hiking boots, zipped opened up his sleeping bag, and slid into it. He had chosen a spot under the big oak tree where there was a small mound on the ground that he could use as a pillow.
Gusts of wind sighed in the leaves overhead, and the firelight gradually faded to a warm, pulsating red bed of coals, but try as he might, Jack couldn’t get to sleep. He kept rolling over from one side to the other and then back again. Even using the little grassy mound as a pillow, he couldn’t get comfortable. It hadn’t taken Ryan long to drift off, though. Less than ten minutes after finishing his story, he was curled up on his left side, facing the campfire and snoring away.
But not Jack.
Despite his best efforts, he found himself dwelling on Ryan’s story. It wasn’t long before the shadows overhead and all around him deepened and shifted and then began to take on the twisted, menacing shapes of severed heads hanging from the branches, and hands reaching out for him.
Jack kept checking his watch, tracking the slow progress of time as the few stars he could see through the canopy of trees wheeled slowly around, keeping their own stately time. Far off in the distance, something—probably a coyote, Jack thought—began to howl. Jack reassured himself that whatever it was, it was far away, and it certainly was not a screaming head.
The firelight faded, and its heat gradually subsided. Deep shadows closed in. Sometime after midnight, Jack got drowsy and began to drift off. He dipped into sleep like a timid swimmer slipping into cold water, inch by inch. Gradually, he slipped into a dream.
In the dream, a voice was whispering to him from the darkness. He couldn’t make out any of the words, but on some deep level, he understood in that vague, dreamlike way what the voice was telling him. It blended with the hissing of the leaves overhead and the faint crackle and snap of the dying fire and the howls of t
he distant coyote until suddenly, with a roaring intake of breath, Jack sat bolt-upright and let out a loud, shrill scream.
“No!!!“
His body was rigid and trembling with tension. Every nerve and muscle was humming like a taut wire. Somehow, he had crawled out of his sleeping bag and found himself sitting up with his hands hooked like claws and fastened to the sides of his face, almost covering his eyes as he stared straight ahead at the nearly dead campfire.
“Oh, Jesus... Jesus,“ he whispered heatedly as the dream quickly melted away, and his eyes focused more clearly on his surroundings. Gradually, he realized where he was, and in the dull, amber glow, he saw Ryan lying on his side, staring wide-eyes at Jack.
“Shit, man. I—I’m sorry I woke you up,“ Jack said through chattering teeth. He rubbed his forearms vigorously, hoping to restore the circulation. “I—you wouldn’t believe the dream I just had, thanks to you and your half-assed story.“
Ryan didn’t say a word as he stared across the remains of the campfire at Jack.
“There was a... Jesus, it was weird. I...I heard this voice, whispering to me...telling me things, saying...saying—“
Jack’s voice cut off with an audible click as he suddenly spun around and tore the top of his sleeping bag off the small rise of ground that he’d been using as a pillow. His entire body was trembling as he looked down at the small mound. The voice in his dreams and what it had said was slowly coming back to him.
“It’s right here,“ he said in a hoarse whisper. His hand was shaking as he pointed toward the mound. “It’s buried right here!“
Without waiting for Ryan to respond, Jack ripped open his pack and grabbed the hunting knife he carried with him. In the campfire’s dull glow, the blade looked smudged and dirty, but he ignored that as he hunched over and began to scrape away the earth. He dug down into the soil until the knife blade fetched up on something hard. He wanted to convince himself that it was just a rock or maybe one of the oak tree’s roots, but he knew better.