Aaron Miller

A faint scraping echoed through the trees once more, growing closer, purposeful. It had returned. It always would. With no other choice, I turned and ran again, stumbling blindly through the darkened trees, knowing deep down it wouldn't matter. Whatever force had trapped me here had no intention of letting me go. The forest stretched endlessly, looping cruelly back upon itself.

A faint scraping echoed through the trees once more, growing closer, purposeful. It had returned. It always would. With no other choice, I turned and ran again, stumbling blindly through the darkened trees, knowing deep down it wouldn't matter. Whatever force had trapped me here had no intention of letting me go. The forest stretched endlessly, looping cruelly back upon itself.

As exhaustion overtook me, I realized the terrible truth. I'd never leave this place, and neither would anyone who followed. I'd grown up fishing these mountains, learning the winding streams and hidden hollers of the Smokies from my dad long before he passed. Now, at 32, these woods felt more like home than anywhere else. More real. More truthful.

As exhaustion overtook me, I realized the terrible truth. I'd never leave this place, and neither would anyone who followed. I'd grown up fishing these mountains, learning the winding streams and hidden hollers of the Smokies from my dad long before he passed. Now, at 32, these woods felt more like home than anywhere else. More real. More truthful.

Ben, my best friend since elementary school, needed something real, something true. His marriage had collapsed, his career stalled, and the frantic pace of Knoxville life had driven him to a place where he needed silence more than advice. We'd chosen Hazel Creek, deep in the Great Smoky Mountains on the Tennessee side, for two reasons. First, solitude.

Ben, my best friend since elementary school, needed something real, something true. His marriage had collapsed, his career stalled, and the frantic pace of Knoxville life had driven him to a place where he needed silence more than advice. We'd chosen Hazel Creek, deep in the Great Smoky Mountains on the Tennessee side, for two reasons. First, solitude.

Hazel Creek is remote, only accessible by canoe or a grueling hike, shielded by a rugged, silent wilderness. Second, trout. I'd stumbled upon an old fly-fishing guidebook from the 80s at a flea market, its pages brittle and yellowed.

Hazel Creek is remote, only accessible by canoe or a grueling hike, shielded by a rugged, silent wilderness. Second, trout. I'd stumbled upon an old fly-fishing guidebook from the 80s at a flea market, its pages brittle and yellowed.

On a whim, I'd bought it for three dollars, and in one of its margins, in faded ballpoint pen, were the words, unmarked runoff, wild brookies, coldest water this side of hell. I'd never heard of it, but the idea stuck. We paddled quietly across Fontana Lake, our gear minimal and purposeful. From the moment we hid the canoe among the pines, the terrain challenged us.

On a whim, I'd bought it for three dollars, and in one of its margins, in faded ballpoint pen, were the words, unmarked runoff, wild brookies, coldest water this side of hell. I'd never heard of it, but the idea stuck. We paddled quietly across Fontana Lake, our gear minimal and purposeful. From the moment we hid the canoe among the pines, the terrain challenged us.

Unmarked and unkept, the wilderness clawed at us with dense underbrush and tangled rhododendrons, like hands determined to turn us away. Ben struggled behind me, swatting at branches and cursing softly, his frustration clear. Why not just fish Hazel Creek itself? Ben finally grumbled. It's right there. It's famous for trout, isn't it?

Unmarked and unkept, the wilderness clawed at us with dense underbrush and tangled rhododendrons, like hands determined to turn us away. Ben struggled behind me, swatting at branches and cursing softly, his frustration clear. Why not just fish Hazel Creek itself? Ben finally grumbled. It's right there. It's famous for trout, isn't it?

Famous trout mean fishermen, I replied, stepping carefully over fallen logs. This runoff isn't even named on newer maps. We'll have it all to ourselves. He sighed heavily but trudged on. Eventually the land flattened, and through a narrow break in the thick woods, we saw water glinting in the sun. The runoff was narrow, perhaps six feet wide, with a steady current trickling between rocks.

Famous trout mean fishermen, I replied, stepping carefully over fallen logs. This runoff isn't even named on newer maps. We'll have it all to ourselves. He sighed heavily but trudged on. Eventually the land flattened, and through a narrow break in the thick woods, we saw water glinting in the sun. The runoff was narrow, perhaps six feet wide, with a steady current trickling between rocks.

Despite its modest size, the water was shockingly cold, clearer than glass, and nearly silent. It ran perfectly straight through a shallow valley, as if sliced by a giant's blade. Ben knelt to scoop a handful of water, splashing his face. Jesus, he sputtered, shaking his hands. It's like ice. My eyes drifted to the shore. I paused.

Despite its modest size, the water was shockingly cold, clearer than glass, and nearly silent. It ran perfectly straight through a shallow valley, as if sliced by a giant's blade. Ben knelt to scoop a handful of water, splashing his face. Jesus, he sputtered, shaking his hands. It's like ice. My eyes drifted to the shore. I paused.

something wasn't right a dead rabbit lay beside the stream eyes wide fur untouched as i examined it closer my pulse quickened its body was strangely intact almost peaceful but something crucial was missing Blood. No bite marks, no wounds, just pale skin beneath the fur. A few yards upstream lay another, a raccoon, then a squirrel, each drained the same way.

something wasn't right a dead rabbit lay beside the stream eyes wide fur untouched as i examined it closer my pulse quickened its body was strangely intact almost peaceful but something crucial was missing Blood. No bite marks, no wounds, just pale skin beneath the fur. A few yards upstream lay another, a raccoon, then a squirrel, each drained the same way.

Ben approached peering over my shoulder. What happened to it? I shook my head. I don't know. They all look like this. We walked slowly upstream. The trees pressed in tighter. The daylight faded into a muted green beneath the thick canopy. The air grew cooler, heavy and still. Every animal we found lay bloodless and untouched by scavengers or insects.

Ben approached peering over my shoulder. What happened to it? I shook my head. I don't know. They all look like this. We walked slowly upstream. The trees pressed in tighter. The daylight faded into a muted green beneath the thick canopy. The air grew cooler, heavy and still. Every animal we found lay bloodless and untouched by scavengers or insects.