The Trail Read online

  “Ahh, shit.”

  The rain penetrated his parka and he was so completely soaked that his wet feet almost didn’t matter anymore. Thunder ripped through the valley.

  He pulled himself out of the muck and started hiking toward what he believed to be the south, although he’d lost all sense of direction. After a while, the rain slowed, and he saw that the trees opened into a clearing ahead. A small hunting shack was just visible in the distance. He made for it at once, determined to get directions, or at the very least, get out of the rain.

  When the hiker drew near, the first thing he noticed was that the foliage around the shack appeared burned, everything reduced to twisted black roots. He noticed, too, that the few remaining trees featured carvings in the bark.

  Depictions of crucifixes and numbers.

  “Goddamn,” the hiker whispered, and took a step backward.

  The rain rattled the tin roof of the shack like a snare drum. Sheets of mismatched metal framed the walls. A puff of smoke rose from the dilapidated chimney. The storm’s fury increased.

  He walked to the other side of the shack trying to decide whether or not to enter. Then he saw the two bodies.

  At first he thought they were deer strung up in preparation for skinning. Then he focused on the girl’s hair, hanging limply, almost brushing the ground. Her eyes were open.

  He unsheathed the hatchet that hung from his belt and spun around. He crept closer to the bodies, while continuing to monitor the shack.

  They were both dead.

  The hiker wanted to run, but something pulled him toward the shack. Some curiosity, some fantastic fear. He tightened his grip on the hatchet and limped forward, the pain in his foot just an afterthought now. Rivulets of water ran from under the door of the shack and collected in muddy pools outside the walls. He pressed his ear against the door and listened closely. He could hear the sound of low, repetitive, mumbling. Prayer. The person inside the shack was repeating some sort of prayer.

  He moved to the side of the shack and spied a dirty window with a frayed black curtain pushed aside just enough for him to peer in.

  The hiker took a deep breath and looked inside the window.

  The man in the red shirt stared back at him.

  Chapter Three

  Susan glared as Scott, Jack, and Kim got out of the Ford Explorer. Before Scott could even call out a greeting, she shook her head and stormed back into the house.

  “She’s real happy to see us,” Jack said.

  “I knew you should’ve asked her first,” Kim teased.

  Scott started for the house, stopped, decided against it, and remained standing in the driveway. He didn’t feel like listening to her hysterics today.

  “It’s alright. She’s alright. Or she’ll be alright soon,” Scott assured them. “She was just surprised to see everyone.”

  Surprised, he thought. Surprised and probably pretty pissed-off, too. He knew Susan wanted to be alone with him on this camping trip. She’d only dropped the hint about fifty times over the past week. He’d intended to give her just that, but then Jack had shown up at his work this morning, enthusiastic, charming, and maybe a little stoned, ready to party like it was senior year again. Jack hadn’t come from around the corner, either. He had made a seven-hour trip down from Vermont to surprise his old college buddy. Scott couldn’t just turn Jack away. Couldn’t just send him home. Circumstances had changed.

  Besides, he had missed Jack. Missed partying with him. While the past three years of married life with Susan had been enjoyable, he also felt like his world had become one long succession of two-year-old birthday parties and weekly trips to Bed, Bath, & Beyond.

  He was ready to cut loose a little. Ready to raise a little hell in the woods with his old roommate. He needed it.

  “Where should I put my suitcase?” Kim asked, laughing as she tried on Scott’s Phillies hat. She inspected the results in the Explorer’s side mirror.

  “Just leave it in the truck for now,” said Scott. “No point in bringing it inside. We’re just gonna load up in a minute.”

  Kim was another issue. He’d just met her this morning, when Jack came to his work. He wasn’t sure if Jack and Kim were dating or just friends, but from the way she acted, Kim was single. Very single. She had long black hair and strawberry lips, and she smiled at Scott every time she spoke to him. Which was often.

  Scott made himself stop smiling and said in a quiet, conspiratorial tone, “Look. Just give me a minute to talk to Susan. I’ll let her know what the deal is. And then we’ll pack up and hit the road.”

  Jack shrugged. “Do what you need to do, brother.”

  Inside the house, Susan sat on the couch with her head in her hands.

  “Look, Susan. I didn’t plan on this to happen. I didn’t plan on Jack coming. He just showed up at my work this morning…and what did you want me to do? Tell him to go back to Vermont? It’s not a big deal, really. You always liked Jack. He’s funny. And his friend. Or his girlfriend. I’m not sure if they’re dating—she seems nice. I’ll bet you’d get along with her. You two could talk while we’re gathering wood and stuff.”

  Susan did not look up. Hardly moved. Scott’s eyebrows wrinkled. She wasn’t reacting right. Usually during one of their fights she’d react in some way. Even an explosion of anger would make him feel better than this silence.

  Scott tried a different angle.

  “Come on, babe,” he continued. “To be honest with you, I need Jack’s help. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to hike out to the camp spot with all that equipment? And the beer and everything else” His voice boomed, grew indignant. “I know you don’t carry a lot, and I don’t ask you to, but it’s hard being the only guy on the trip. You have to do everything. If Jack’s with us, it’ll lighten the load.”

  Susan remained silent. Guilt wasn’t working either. Time for a mixture of mockery and promises.

  “What are you gonna do, Susan? Not come? Stay home? Come on! I know you wanted us to be alone this weekend. And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Soon. Next month I have an article about Rome. How about you take off work and the two of us do our thing. The assignment is for three days, but I could extend it for a week. The two of us. Italy. Picture it. Come on, I’ll make it up to you.”

  Scott reached down and squeezed her hand.

  For the first time since he had entered the house, Susan looked up. Her eyes were red and blurry with tears. She gripped Scott’s hand and looked into his eyes.

  “Jeffery is dead.”

  Chapter Four

  Jeffery’s body lay in a fetal position among the camping equipment. The lantern was tipped over near the sleeping bags, and a puddle of kerosene glistened on the hardwood floor. Susan studied the cat’s damp paws and mouth.

  She knelt and touched Jeffery, but he wasn’t Jeffery anymore. A strange weight pervaded his body and tiny needle-like teeth poked out from his slack mouth. Susan shivered. The cat seemed unfamiliar. Predatory. The eyes were thin slits, housing two listless white orbs.

  She drew away, stood, and buried her head in Scott’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Scott said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She cried for a minute, quiet sobs, and then pulled back and peered at Scott. His face looked bored.

  “I still want to go,” she said.

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I need to go. I need to get away from all this.”

  “Okay,” Scott said, shaking his head.

  “You’re right, it will be fun with Jack. He’s funny. We’ll have a good time.”

  As Susan spoke, she continued to convince herself, and her conviction grew. She’d miss the cat, sure, but maybe it was symbolic, in a way. Maybe the cat’s death would finally stop this sort of pseudo-motherhood for her pets that she knew she’d been harboring for years. It was time to talk to Scott. It was time for the real thing.

  “I’ll put the body in the shed,” Scott said, quickly
scooping up the carcass. “We’ll figure out what to do with him when we get back.”

  * * * *

  Outside, Jack and Kim were playing a sloppy game of touch football. Kim, with Scott’s Phillies hat on backwards, directed Jack on a pass route. As Scott emerged from the house holding the dead cat by its tail, they froze, staring.

  “What the hell?” Jack asked.

  “Well…umm. We had a little death in the family.”

  “What! What happened?” Kim asked.

  “Apparently old Jeffery couldn’t hold his lantern kerosene.”

  “Oh, my God,” Kim said. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yeah, man. That sucks.”

  “Yup,” Scott said, and walked to the backyard shed to store the body. He washed his hands with the side garden hose, then he returned to the driveway, took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. Across the street, the neighbor’s sprinkler system came to life with a flickering hiss.

  “Susan said that she still wants to go. She’s just getting herself together. She’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Cool,” said Jack. He moved in a little closer and gave Scott a boyish smirk. Scott knew the look. He’d seen that look many times while in college. That smirk meant Jack was about to offer a proposition. Like the girlfriend swapping in college. Or another week’s grace on the rent. Or splitting a bag of psychedelic mushrooms.

  Scott loved and hated that smirk.

  “Listen,” Jack started. “We were out here talking about this camping trip. You’re planning on going to our college spot, right? Central Pennsylvania?”

  “Yeah. Backwoods camping.”

  “Okay, cool,” Jack said. “We’re both excited to come with you guys. But I was down around there last year camping, and I found a better spot, not too far away.”

  Scott said nothing.

  “It’s right off the trail. Got a beautiful lake. We could all go for a swim. There’s even a store up the trail that sells beer. You know, if we need to make a beer run. Kim and I think we should go to this spot instead.”

  Scott looked back at the house, but Susan was still inside.

  Jack flashed the smirk again.

  “Whaddya think?”

  Chapter Five

  “…is the only light, is the only salvation! Repent and… sskkkkkkksss…garden of Gethsemane. Repent! He suffered for you on the mountain of Golgotha, where the nails and the thorns …ssssskkkkkk…Repent! …died…Repent!”

  The hiker couldn’t see the radio. He thought about exploring the shack and finding the source of the sound, but the chains around his legs, arms and neck prevented any movement. He figured he had been unconscious for a couple of hours, at least. During that time, the hiker had felt himself slip in and out of dark dreams. Images of torture, blood, pain. The radio’s insane volume blasted through every inch of the filthy shack and the preacher’s voice wormed his way into the hiker’s nightmares.

  His head hurt, and his right eye was sealed shut. He moved his mouth and felt a sticky film on his face. He could smell the dull mineral scent of his own blood. He was chained to the wall of the shack, in a dank anteroom in the far corner of the cabin. The metal held him like a straitjacket. He wriggled back and forth as the maddening thoughts of claustrophobia set in.

  He focused on the room around him. Trash was scattered everywhere. Rotten newspapers layered the floor. Above him, a squirrel shrieked in a tiny cage, its paws slipping endlessly though the floor bars. On a table sat seven or eight mason jars, containing what appeared to be urine. Next to the jars, tiny bones rested on the table, resembling pieces of a demented board game. A Confederate flag hung on one wall.

  The scent of spoiled meats and acrid smoke drifted into the room. He gagged, trying not to choke.

  The preacher ceased bleating, and the radio settled on a steady stream of static.

  The volume increased.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” the hiker moaned weakly. The thunder outside and the static from the radio clashed in a mad cacophony. He fought against his chains.

  The radio cut off.

  “Who’s there?” the hiker cried.

  Something heavy dragged across the floor in another room.

  Someone grunted.

  A large object crashed through the murk and sprawled on the floor at his feet. It was the girl from the tree. Her lifeless limbs splayed on the ground. Her hair, which earlier this morning had swung so gently in the wind, now settled in a tangled, wet mess across her face. He could not see her eyes, and for that, he was grateful.

  The man in the red shirt entered the room. The hiker stared, taking in the man’s large, muscular frame and dirty black hair.

  “Help me!” the hiker screamed. “What the fuck are you doing? Let me out of here!”

  The man in the red shirt remained silent. He turned to the stove, stoked the embers of the fire until it crackled with heat, and hung a metal pot over the flame.

  The hiker started sobbing. He looked down at the floor, now illuminated further by firelight, and saw a broken shovel, a rusty screwdriver, and two cans of white spray paint.

  The kind of spray paint you’d use to make trail markers, he thought.

  Chapter Six

  Jack knew the suggestion of a different camping spot would cause controversy, but he hadn’t expected that Scott would need to consult with Susan before making a decision. How far Scott has fallen, Jack thought. How castrated.

  Scott had met Susan during their senior year of college, and the change in his roommate was immediate. Jack witnessed Scott go from a party-every-night guy to a lump on a couch, quietly watching movies with Susan. Coffee replaced beer, and Scott’s ratty sweatshirts turned into collared-knit fabrics with a picture of a little horse on the front. The transformation was stunning.

  The worst was the phone. Scott languished during his precious remaining months of college, spending most of his time chatting aimlessly with Susan. From the other room Jack heard: “What are you doing now? What are you watching?” For hours and hours, this sort of mental masturbation. He always knew when it was Susan on the phone because Scott’s voice rose to an effeminate warble. It was sick.

  Scott glanced back at the house again. “A new spot, huh? Sounds interesting, maybe. Could be fun.”

  Jack had two reasons for the new spot: one, to see how Scott handled the decision. Two, to see Susan in a bathing suit.

  He liked Susan. A lot. And although she had changed his best friend into a groveling boy, there were things about her that Jack wanted. Her shiny blonde hair. Her long legs. Her smile.

  Susan opened the door and emerged from the house. Her eyes were puffy from crying.

  “Hi, Susan,” Jack said. “I’m really sorry about your cat.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” she said.

  Jack had actually met Susan first, before Scott, in the laundry room of a drunken party that seemed to go on for days. He was waiting for the bathroom and Susan was looking for the bathroom, lost, and floundering haplessly in a cocoon of hanging clothes. He walked into the room, confident off the buzz of Pabst Blue Ribbon and weed, and poked his head out from behind a damp tee shirt. She laughed. They looked at each other, smiled, looked again more deeply, and kissed. Simply. Wordlessly. He pulled her closer as laundry slipped from the hangers and fell about their heads and shoulders.

  They returned to the party and back to their pockets of friends, but stole giddy glances at each other for the remainder of the night.

  For exactly one week, Susan was Jack’s mystery girl. He searched for her all over campus. At parties, he faked his way through conversations, only pretending to listen. His eyes constantly darted around the room, looking for her. He wanted to find her again.

  And he did.

  In his house.

  Sitting on the couch, holding Scott’s hand.

  The neighbor’s automatic lawn sprinkler clicked off. “Susan,” Scott broke in. “Jack said that he knows this other camping spot, near our coll
ege spot. He went there last year with other people. Apparently there’s a lake there or something. We can go swimming. What do you want to do? Do you want to go there instead of my spot?”

  “A lake?” She looked around at Kim, Scott, and lastly, at Jack. “That sounds good. Let’s do Jack’s spot.”

  Jack smiled to himself.

  Neither of them had ever told Scott about the laundry room.