Red
Blaze
Jason Kucharik
Copyright © 2017 Jason Kucharik
All rights reserved.
ISBN : 1545143269
ISBN-13 : 978-1545143261
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
The Wraith
Ryan and Kyle
Landon Part 1
Eve Part 1
Landon Part 2
Eve Part 2
Landon Part 3
About The Author
acknOWLEDGMENTS
I want to take a minute to thank fellow author and friend, Penegrin Shaw. Your work in horror and the poetic yet disturbing writing style you’ve developed was a huge inspiration for my first attempt at breaking into the horror genre. I would also like to thank Lawrence McNamara, Christian Dam, and Shawn Hockman. Our backpacking trips on the Appalachian Trail led to the idea for this story. Stacey Kucharik, as always, thank you for your expertise, consultation, and overall wisdom that helped finalize the story. John Regal, thanks for Whip and the frosty paw, it definitely helped me visualize Rufus on another level.
The Wraith
Darkness will never be the same so long as I occupy it. It is my comfort, my shelter, my cocoon of sadistic pleasure. No one can see who I am in the dark. They merely see the deeds of my actions and to most, they’re unthinkable. It’s a benefit to someone like me; none can fathom and so none expect.
No stars tonight, too much cloud cover. I turn to look off the ridge to see only fog, an opaque wall of satisfaction obscuring distant residential and street lights from my view. It’s a special kind of night when I’m bathed in darkness. It’s the injection that fuels my addiction. The drug itself...that’s a different story.
The winds picks up, causing the hairs on my arms to stiffen. They want to stand, but the base layer I’m wearing keeps them flush against my skin. Leaves rustle as the gust calls out to my senses, challenging them once more. This time of year, with leaves scattered all around, it can be difficult to move silently. There are two ways to combat this; use the wind as cover, or remove cover from your process. I’ve employed both, but tend to stick with the latter. Being invisible isn’t always about going unseen.
My ears perk as a small twig snaps behind me. The arm hairs, those uncontrollable bastards, pointlessly try to force their way through my base layer again. I freeze in place and close my eyes. You’d be surprised at how much you can hear when you train your ears to just listen. My breathing slows, my heartbeat mirrors the action. The sounds muffle and I become a part of the forest. A living, breathing entity, connected on an organic level with nature. My bare hand quietly maneuvers through the leaves and makes contact with the earth. Its touch absorbs any sense of heat from my palm, leaving a burning, lifeless piece of meat at the end of my wrist. Smaller, bare trees creek slowly back and forth. They sway for several moments before finally coming to a stop. Leaves rustle in a variety of locations. An owl hoots in the distance.
Nothing indicates that I’m alone, yet nothing indicates that I’ve been found. I open my eyes and scan the obscure forest. This process takes time at night. My eyes have adjusted to the pitch-black nature of an overcast eve, but to properly assess a forest in the dark I must stare at one particular location, watching, sensing, and extracting information from nature. I must ensure, without a doubt, there are no threats. That is all about small changes in the present moment. I must be positive. Staying invisible is priority number one. I’m a ghost, an apparition, a nightmare born unto this world in a useless body of flesh and blood. A wraith in plain sight. My skill is the hunt, and that skill is unrivaled.
After focusing on the location of the noise for several minutes, my gaze shifts slightly to the right. Another twig snaps directly in front of me, closer this time. Whatever it is, it’s small, inhuman, and therefore not my concern.
Crack.
The sound reverberates through the forest, bouncing off of tree trunks and rocks until it seeps into my ears. This time the hairs on my arm stay flat, but my blood warms with excitement. That, was not a twig. That was not a squirrel or chipmunk. That was something else, something larger. Something that forces a smile on my face to the point of causing my teeth to clench and my cheeks to grow sore.
People fear the dark, and normally they have no reason to. It’s an irrational emotion brought on by misconception and a of lack visual stimuli to their brain...but as long as I occupy the night, normalcy will be a distant dream. A fleeting hope that escapes comprehension as they try to rationalize everything I love and hold dear. There is but one option, however useless it may be, pray that fortune favors you. Pray that our paths never cross, pray that you don’t take up hiking and I maintain my territory and ritual. Pray...because if we meet, the sheer amount of joy in my heart will not be contained and all you will know for the rest of your short life...will be dread.
Ryan and Kyle
“Don’t!” I shout for the third time.
“Wha-what?” Ryan manages to squeeze out through coughs.
“We only have so much of the...lettuce and I still want to,” I look around the woods for some invisible presence that may record what I’m saying. “Have a good time,” I finish warily.
Ryan exhales, “Whoooo! That’s some good shit, and stop saying ‘lettuce’ and ‘have a good time’ for christssake. It’s ‘weed’ and ‘get high’. We’re in the middle of the fucking woods, man.”
Ryan’s right. He’s always right about this shit. I shuffle my feet around the dirt, then reach over to my pack and pull it close.
“You know,” I say pulling bratwurst, chips, and a six pack of beer out of bag, “this is how it’s supposed to be.”
Ryan exhales another puff of smoke then turns oddly serious. “What? No. No this is not how it’s supposed to be! Backpacking is all about conserving weight, eating freeze-dried food, and drinking a bunch of water so you don’t dehydrate. We, on the other hand,” Ryan flippantly waves his hand at me then back to himself several times. “We hiked a mile in with gourmet food, booze, and drugs and plopped down in the most comfortable spot we could find. Shit, we have a bluetooth speaker playing acoustic music that’s being streamed from the internets.” Ryan tends to unnecessarily pluralize words when he’s high. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!” He yells before blankly staring back at me. He can only hold the ruse for a few seconds before an ear to ear smile finds its way across his face. “That’s just the way it is, man.”
We both start laughing.
The wind picks up, and blows the last remaining wisps of smoke from Ryan’s pipe toward my face. As I reach out to indicate it’s my turn, the wind calms and I hear what sounds like someone stumbling down the trail forty feet away. A short, thin, blonde girl approaches our campsite. Her shirt is ripped to threads, there are scratches up and down her arms, and more than a few spots of blood across her skin. Even in the condition she’s in, I can tell that she’s strikingly beautiful.
“Jesus,” I yell at no one in particular. Ryan is just staring at her slack jawed, his high mind more than likely trying to figure out if she’s real or a zombie. I launch up from my chair and rush over to her.
“Please,” she begs. “Please help, please,” she collapses into my arms. “Do you have a knife? Please you have to, you have to save me from him.”
“Who?” I ask rebounding from what little weight she has.
“This guy in the woods. I don’t know who he was, he just came out of nowhere and...”
“All right, calm down,” I say helping her over to our fire. Girl may have been a simplification, she appears to be in her mid-twenties. Ryan’s two hits have kicked in full bore and he’s just staring at the woman in my arms as I help her into my chair.
“Do you have a kni
fe?” she yells suddenly causing Ryan to jump.
“I do,” I pull out the four-inch folding knife clipped to the inside of my pocket and show it to her. “See, I’ve got one.” I look around to see if anyone could have followed her. With the exception of her frantic breathing, the area is pretty quiet, even the wind died down. It’s hard to tell in the dark and fog, but it doesn’t seem like anyone followed her.
“Ryan, watch the trail,” I say without looking away from her, trying my best to calm her down. Ryan doesn’t say anything. I turn to see him staring at us, pupils dilated and red. I snap my fingers and whistle.
“Ryan!” He focuses on me and slowly nods. “Watch. The. Trail.” Another slow nod and he turns to look at the path leading to our site.
“Is he okay?” the girl asks shivering before me. I take off my hoodie and wrap it around her shoulders.
“Yeah, he’s just high, now what happened?”
Landon part 1
“Don’t give me that look, Rufus. It was a viable purchase.” I ignore him and scan the dark forest with my new night vision monocle. “It’s pretty amazing how far technology has come, buddy. No more green wash, the white phosphorous makes it much easier to see. Maybe it’s a mental thing, yeah know? Like I know I don’t see in black and white, but all green is so different than what my mind is used to. What do you think?”
I look down at Rufus with the scope to see him monochromatically staring up at me. He tilts his head slightly to the right.
“I know, and I agree. Twenty-six hundred dollars is a lot,” I lower the monocle and kneel down next to Rufus. After Tara left, I didn’t think there was anyone who could fill the void in my heart, that is until I was running down by the canal one Sunday and saw the adoption fair. Though he was only three years old, Rufus had been with the Lehigh Valley Animal Shelter the longest. Most people weren’t keen on pit bulls to begin with. Add stray to the mix and people just didn’t want to take the chance.
I saw it right away though, Rufus was nothing but a love bug. He didn’t show it, lying near the adoption table with his head on the ground, all mopey, but I could tell the second I laid eyes on him. That was a year ago, and honestly it has been the best year of my life. Rufus rescued me, and I just so happened to thank him with a permanent home and endless amounts of love. I scratch Rufus behind the ears and his neck cranes back so I’ll do his chin next, I smile and comply.
“See, I know how to get you to agree with me,” I say in a stupid voice. I never understood people who did that to babies or animals, and then just started doing it myself one day. Oh well, I couldn’t care less. This cute little bastard saved me. I pull him close and kiss his head. He moans.
“Fine how about a Frosty Paw to make up for it?” At the mention of his favorite frozen treat, Rufus immediately parks his rear and looks up expectantly. “Okay,” I chuckle and reach into my pack. Most nights we do these walks, I’d keep his doggie ice cream in a small cooler, but winter hit us so hard this year there was no need. It was still technically fall, but fall and spring have been growing shorter and shorter each year. One day you wake up and the sun isn’t there to greet you and there’s ice on your windshield, when in all reality it shouldn’t be happening for another month.
I wrestle the treat out of my bag and Rufus’s butt begins to wiggle at the sight of it. “Staaaay,” The wiggle reduces, but you can tell it takes everything in him to subdue the excitement. Those training classes ended up being money well spent. I peel the top off and pocket it before putting the small paper cup on the ground near my feet. Rufus looks at the cup then up at me. I stand back up and his head follows mine.
After ten seconds a low whine escapes his clenched mouth. I chuckle. “Okay boy,” I say with a nod. “Go!”
Rufus doesn’t waste any time assaulting the top of his cold treat with his tongue. At first the licks come fast and careless as he laps up the cool, sweet peanut butter flavor. After a few seconds, the licks slow down and Rufus’s front end lowers over his paws on the ground. A few more licks and his rear follows. Now he’s sitting in the middle of the trail like a sphinx statue, in what can only be described as a euphoric state of ecstasy, slowly taking in each injection of flavor that hits his tongue. His eyes close and his head rhythmically bobs down toward the cup with each lick.
With Rufus occupied, I have some time to get back to the forest. I was hired by the PA State Game Commission to scout the trail on weekends. The official statement by government officials has long been that the eastern cougar, mountain lion, puma, or whatever term you wish to use, is in fact extinct. Still, sightings happen every year and despite how safe people perceive the Appalachian Trail to be, there are still vicious animal attacks. The Game Commission has decided to contract more than a few trained individuals to patrol the trail throughout the year. Quietly of course. We’ve all signed nondisclosure agreements.
My family is a long line of hunters and trackers, possessing skills passed down through generations leading all the way back to the Native Americans. So, having seen several mountain lions in Pennsylvania with my own eyes, and possessing the necessary skills including not only tracking and survival, but extensive training in tactical handgun and knife fighting skills, I was at the top of their list. Besides, I feel more relaxed in the woods at night with Rufus than I do at home or at my office job.
Taking comfort in my toy, I close one eye and raise the monocle to the opposite. I’m used to being in the woods without any moon or starlight, so between my trained sense and the peace of being in the woods alone at night, I garner a certain level of confidence when it comes to nocturnal skills. This new toy however, makes everything so much easier. The forest comes alive in fast array of black and white imagery as the technological marvel illuminates the surrounding area. I carefully scan the woods around me, looking for any kind of sign that would indicate a large predator is or has been in the area. No signs of unusual activity.
Turning my attention back to Rufus, he’s finished the Frosty Paw and has set his satisfied mug on my boot. “We’ve still got a long night ahead of us, pal,” Rufus sighs and opens his eyes, turning them up to me without moving. “Come on,” I say patting the side of my thigh.
Rufus pauses for a second, then wearily stands, stuck in the momentarily overwhelming gratification of sweet, frozen peanut butter that now resides in his belly. This won’t last too long, he has a habit of snapping back to his normal, active demeanor pretty quickly.
“I know,” I say in that stupid baby voice again while scratching behind his ears. His head tilts back and he squints his eyes in joy. “But we’ve got another seven miles to get in before we make camp. We’re going past Smith Gap tonight, so let’s get moving.”
I stop scratching Rufus’s head and his attention turns back to the trail in front of us. With an extra bounce in his step, Rufus bounds forward into the darkness.
Eve part 1
Looking at the inside of the bratwurst I just bit into, I can't help but wonder who the first person was to think, let's grind up the meat of a dirty animal and shove it in some intestines for cohesion. It not only amazes me that someone would think of this, but also that something like the act of killing another human being is considered so evil and vile. The atrocious things we as a species do to other species on this planet is fully acceptable, yet if people knew of my well-needed population control I’d be burned at the stake.
I shake my head at the thought and use my tongue to force the raw meat over the inside of my teeth. With a little pressure, it oozes through some of the more prominent gaps near my gums as I savor the seasoning. Relying on my tongue once more, I scrape the viscous substance from my teeth and gums to swallow it.
Hmm, I ponder at the remaining bit. Needs a touch of flavor. "Ryan, could you pass the ketchup?" He doesn't respond.
"I have to do everything on my own don't I?" With a look of innocence in my eyes and a seductive lean, I flash a cute little smile, my attention clearly directed near his groin. Still no response
. So be it. I dip the bratwurst in his gaping stomach cavity, oddly enough near his lower intestines. After a few turns, the meat is thoroughly coated in thick, warm blood. I shove the bratwurst in my mouth and begin to chew the now coppery tasting meat.
With a long, satisfied exhale I turn to his face and say, "It may be weird, but damn it all if it isn't fucking delicious."
Turning my head to glance at Kyle in the chair next to me I ask, "What do you think?"
He doesn't answer. They never do, but I like to check from time to time to make sure my sanity is intact. The day the dead start talking back, I've got a huge problem on my hands. A look of shock is cemented into Kyle's face as his cheek rests against his shoulder. The blood finally stopped flowing from the extensive laceration I drew across his throat with his own blade. Kyle went quickly and quietly as I tightly gripped his mouth to prevent any wails of pain from piercing the night air. Ryan wasn't so lucky.
See, between the weed and whatever else Ryan took prior to my arrival, he was doing circles around the moon. I like to take advantage of opportunities when they arise. Most of my kills are quick, but part of staying sharp involves experimenting with new methods and trying to create new forms to expand my skill set. Ryan was very helpful in this regard. Once I drugged him a little further, I was able to do whatever I wanted. I'm not one to squander a chance to learn. The experience was much less satisfying for him. Between the gag and the drugs, he wasn't able to talk, but I could read the pain in his eyes. It was an excruciating two hours...for him. I, on the other hand, had a delightful time.
I toss the bratwurst aside and scooch my chair closer to his corpse. The flickering light from the dimming fire dances across the surface of all the blood I've spilt, creating a very pleasing sight to behold. Looking over his remains once more, I rotate my jaw and dive in.
Red Blaze Page 1