Evan Mallory

Seven days, I had promised Jules, ten miles a day and back with a clearer head, but some journeys once lit burn far longer than planned, and some trails once followed never truly let you leave their smoke behind. I caught the first glint of sunrise off the Wolf Creek trailhead sign and felt my nerves twitch. Someone had hammered a splintered board across the kiosk. Keep quiet after dark.

Seven days, I had promised Jules, ten miles a day and back with a clearer head, but some journeys once lit burn far longer than planned, and some trails once followed never truly let you leave their smoke behind. I caught the first glint of sunrise off the Wolf Creek trailhead sign and felt my nerves twitch. Someone had hammered a splintered board across the kiosk. Keep quiet after dark.

Then half ripped it away, as if they changed their mind mid-warning. I pried it loose and slipped it into my pack, telling Jenna I wanted it as a souvenir. Truth was, I hated leaving omens behind me. The air smelled of wet stones and cold pine sap. Fog lay so thick across the switchbacks that each exhale bounced back against my cheeks.

Then half ripped it away, as if they changed their mind mid-warning. I pried it loose and slipped it into my pack, telling Jenna I wanted it as a souvenir. Truth was, I hated leaving omens behind me. The air smelled of wet stones and cold pine sap. Fog lay so thick across the switchbacks that each exhale bounced back against my cheeks.

Jenna's trekking poles clicked a steady rhythm beside me, but everything else—wind, birds, distant road noise—had been muffled to nothing. We climbed in silence until the damp reached through my shirt and tightened across my shoulders. Just past the first saddle, the fog thinned enough to show the trail's dirt spine, and that was when I noticed the boot prints.

Jenna's trekking poles clicked a steady rhythm beside me, but everything else—wind, birds, distant road noise—had been muffled to nothing. We climbed in silence until the damp reached through my shirt and tightened across my shoulders. Just past the first saddle, the fog thinned enough to show the trail's dirt spine, and that was when I noticed the boot prints.

One set, deep and alone in the mud, size 13 at least. They stretched maybe 50 yards, veered to the left, then vanished where the path cut across bare rock. I searched for the next print in the leaf litter beyond, but the earth there looked untouched. No crushed twigs, no skid marks, nothing. My stomach knotted.

One set, deep and alone in the mud, size 13 at least. They stretched maybe 50 yards, veered to the left, then vanished where the path cut across bare rock. I searched for the next print in the leaf litter beyond, but the earth there looked untouched. No crushed twigs, no skid marks, nothing. My stomach knotted.

Whoever made those tracks walked off trail into brush so dense even deer left obvious tunnels. Yet he, or it, left no trace. I told myself a hunter in lightweight boots might manage that, but I kept glancing over my shoulder for the next half mile. By early afternoon the sun punched holes through the whiteout, and we stopped by an unnamed seep the guidebook promised was year-round.

Whoever made those tracks walked off trail into brush so dense even deer left obvious tunnels. Yet he, or it, left no trace. I told myself a hunter in lightweight boots might manage that, but I kept glancing over my shoulder for the next half mile. By early afternoon the sun punched holes through the whiteout, and we stopped by an unnamed seep the guidebook promised was year-round.

Water trickled out of moss-cloaked limestone, clear as glass. But when Jenna knelt to fill the filter bag, she froze. Alex, look! A latticework of sharpened twigs lay wedged beneath the surface, each stick shaved to twin points, crisscrossed like an amateur catcher's trap. They stank of sweetness gone rotten, fermented fruit and wet mulch. I lifted one with my knife tip.

Water trickled out of moss-cloaked limestone, clear as glass. But when Jenna knelt to fill the filter bag, she froze. Alex, look! A latticework of sharpened twigs lay wedged beneath the surface, each stick shaved to twin points, crisscrossed like an amateur catcher's trap. They stank of sweetness gone rotten, fermented fruit and wet mulch. I lifted one with my knife tip.

The bark sloughed off slick as eel skin, exposing pale wood riddled with pinholes the size of sewing needles. I dropped it and tasted copper in my mouth. We camped a little uphill where the ground leveled off, a narrow bench just wide enough for the two-person tent. I forced a laugh while tying the last guy line. Bear cans 30 yards that way, exits over here, no problem.

The bark sloughed off slick as eel skin, exposing pale wood riddled with pinholes the size of sewing needles. I dropped it and tasted copper in my mouth. We camped a little uphill where the ground leveled off, a narrow bench just wide enough for the two-person tent. I forced a laugh while tying the last guy line. Bear cans 30 yards that way, exits over here, no problem.

Jenna nodded and squeezed my hand, but I felt the pulse in her fingers racing faster than mine. Night sealed the forest by nine. Fog drifted back in thicker than before, and moonlight flickered like a dying bulb behind the clouds. I woke with a start to a sound that did not belong. Crunch. Pause. Crunch. Not leaves rustling. Footfalls. Deliberate and measured. Circling.

Jenna nodded and squeezed my hand, but I felt the pulse in her fingers racing faster than mine. Night sealed the forest by nine. Fog drifted back in thicker than before, and moonlight flickered like a dying bulb behind the clouds. I woke with a start to a sound that did not belong. Crunch. Pause. Crunch. Not leaves rustling. Footfalls. Deliberate and measured. Circling.

My watch read 2.03 in the morning. Jenna's eyes shone in the dim as I unzipped the tent halfway and slid the headlamp strap around my wrist. The beam pierced maybe twenty feet before the vapor swallowed it, but in that cone of light three shapes crouched among the laurels, scarecrow thin, limbs wrapped in what looked like burlap ribbon clotted with moss.

My watch read 2.03 in the morning. Jenna's eyes shone in the dim as I unzipped the tent halfway and slid the headlamp strap around my wrist. The beam pierced maybe twenty feet before the vapor swallowed it, but in that cone of light three shapes crouched among the laurels, scarecrow thin, limbs wrapped in what looked like burlap ribbon clotted with moss.

Their heads turned flatly, no bobbing like people adjusting balance, just a single fluid pivot toward me. Eye sockets reflected nothing, matte and dull, as if someone had sculpted faces from river stones. I stepped forward, instincts screamed to drive them off. Hey! My voice cracked and the figures flinched.

Their heads turned flatly, no bobbing like people adjusting balance, just a single fluid pivot toward me. Eye sockets reflected nothing, matte and dull, as if someone had sculpted faces from river stones. I stepped forward, instincts screamed to drive them off. Hey! My voice cracked and the figures flinched.