Micah

It wasn't much, just a level patch of dirt between tall pines with a buck and ring of stones where the hackers had built fires before us.

We pitched the tent, built a small blaze, and decided to get water before it got fully dark.

The map showed a creed not far away.

The height down was easy.

A narrow side trail that led us to cold, clear water trickling between mossy stones.

We filled our bottles, splashed our faces, joked about how freezing it would be trying to sleep on the ground.

Everything felt normal, though way back didn't, at first.

It was subtle.

The slope seemed sharper.

It turns more sudden.

I stopped and asked Daniel if we'd taken the wrong fork.

He swore we hadn't, but something about the trail didn't sit right.

The trees looked familiar in the way your face does when you're sure you've seen it before but can't place where.

Then we rounded a bend.

And I saw him.

A man stood in the trail just ahead of us.

He wore a faded flannel shirt and scuffed boots.

His back was to us.

His arms differed his size.

He wasn't moving.