Part 1
Winter, [date illegible]
If you’re reading these pages, I am dead. The words you’re reading are a desperate man’s attempt at staying remembered in society’s eyes. I want my story known so no one else falls into the same fate. I caution you. Do. Not. Linger. Within these woods lies a curse. One that will seep into your pores and drag your mind into crippling madness. Take this book and run. Read it only when you are safe. If you’ve done this, continue.
The story you’re reading began at our family’s hunting lodge. It belonged to my family for generations and was once home to the owner of a flourishing mining operation and paper mill.
When my father inherited it, he made it our haven for hunting season. We brought home furs and meat. My father sold at his bar/trading post along with Native American knick-knacks and jewellery. Those were times of bliss and with how small the town of Mist Woods was, hunters and enthusiasts purchased items to take back with them.
A darkness would poison this light one winter. It would end a precious bonding time and take away a man I loved and idolized more than any in this world.
We hadn’t been to the lodge since the day my father walked into those dark woods and never returned. I remember how my brother and I felt scared and alone. I was only twelve, and my brother, a fragile six-year-old.
Dad was only supposed to be gone for a few hours. “Collecting wood for chopping and setting traps for pelts,” he’d said, smiling as he kissed our foreheads. His broad shoulders rippled beneath the lumberjack’s shirt. The shotgun raised to rest over his shoulders.
“We’ll go hunting when I get back,” he said. “Keep the door locked while I’m gone, James,” he told me.
Our father’s heavy footsteps, like a mighty beast of legend, made the cabin’s wooden floor moan and creak beneath him. We followed him outside into the greying day and watched him descend the winding stairs.
The winter chill bit into my bones. Sounds of creaking tree branches, like old bones, cracked and squealed far into the woods. A shiver ran up my spine.
For the longest time, I’d feared going into the woods. I’d been excited to go, not because I didn’t want to hunt. I was eager to learn how to track, skin, and prepare my meat like my father did.
What scared me was the woods—the unknown of what might watch beyond the shadows my eyes couldn’t see. I’d seen so many stories of hunters disappearing without any clues as to what happened to them. Tales of strange beasts like unnaturally huge bears and black panther-like cats crossed the papers from time to time.
“Those are just old tales,” my father had said, bellowing a great laugh. “There’s nothing in those woods except the wildlife. Man has dominion over beasts, right son. Just like the good book says.”
Nothing in the wilderness terrified Tyler Bakersfield. Ever since our family founded it, we’ve lived in the small town of Mist Woods. Nothing to do but play sports or go hunting.
His father ran the trading post bar and decorated it with the trophies they brought back each hunting season. He was always confident and ready to take on whatever nature threw at him.
Snow broke free of the fat grey clouds. A gust of bitter wind caused tiny hairs to bristle and gooseflesh to form.
My dad turned to wave, that same air of confidence decorating his handsome face. Snow got caught in his brown beard and hair. Crow’s feet formed around his eyes when he smiled, then turned to venture into the woods like they were his second home.
His heavy steps remained audible a little longer, even as he disappeared amidst the treeline.
No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get the thought something was watching us from deep within the trees and brush.
I took my brother inside and bolted the door, keenly aware of the spare gun and ammo leaning against the table where my dad kept his keys.
“What’re we supposed to do while he’s gone?” my brother David, said. He’d found a spot to sit beside the warm, crackling fire.
I flopped onto the couch, suddenly bored and disappointed I didn’t get to go with Dad. There was nothing to do save for reading old posts full of the same headlines about new industrialization and the rising tensions between the United Kingdom and Germany.
My brother played with an old train, humming whatever tune came to his mind. I widdled away time with my favourite pastime: exploring.
The old cabin, with its link to an old mineshaft, had to hold some secrets. Especially since my grandfather supposedly dabbled in something so secret that my mother refused to talk about it when I asked. It was almost like she held a manner of shame about the old man’s secrets.
I found it exciting! What child wouldn’t? My great-great-grandparents had moved our family from London to the United States to invest in the mining and paper milling industry. A booming endeavour at the time, I assumed, since my great-great-grandparents soon amassed a fortune with his mines.
The move brought with it some amazing changes. My grandfather married a Native American woman against my other grandfather’s wishes. We only saw the old man during birthdays and my grandmother’s “sacred” times. It was during these times that my grandfather told me his terrifying tales.
Still, my grandmother’s family fascinated me, and I often begged her to regale me with her stories. She never scared me like her father did, thankfully, telling me of good land spirits and the Great Spirit.
“I’m going to go look around,” I said. David replied with a half-nod and continued playing in the firelight.
Where to start? I asked myself after walking into the kitchen.
We’d seen the old place so many times, I wondered if the hope of finding something new might escape me.
After much internal debate, I decided to start upstairs where Dad’s bedroom was. He often kept his office locked. He never revealed why, making us promise to not go in there.
Dad’s office would be a place I’d go for sure. In the opposite door, Dad kept an old radio in case we needed to call the local authorities for help. He showed us how to use it if we ever needed it while he went out to search for wood or a source of food.
I crept upstairs, the old wood creaking beneath my weight causing me to jump. Why am I so jumpy?
Beyond the old paned window at the opposite end of the hall, an old tree creaked its bones. A single, gnarled finger tapped the glass depending on if the wind blew it right.
It’s the woods. Those damned woods.
I’d been uneasy since we arrived. Something had changed. I was so young I couldn’t be sure, but I wasn’t stupid.
My hair bristled. My lungs ceased. Gooseflesh formed all over my body. The longer I stared at that tree, the faster my heart raced.
Come home soon, Dad, I said to myself and any god listening.
The sun would set in a mere few hours, making the forest more ominous.
I tore my eyes from the tree and continued my trek to my dad’s office. Old photos of our family lined the wall to my left and right. I stopped to look at generations of family members from my grandfather’s side.
Something in their eyes frightened me. They seemed to turn dark. Almost lifeless the longer I stared at them. I didn’t know why and quickly continued my exploration.
The old handle-shaped knob I wanted came into view. I reached out to tug on it, finding it as I expected: locked.
Damn¸ I thought and searched for any means of entry. Nothing obvious came into view, so I decided to leave this room for later exploration.
The room next door, which my dad dubbed the radio room, was ajar. I pushed my way in to see the same things I saw every time I went in there.
An old radio complete with cream dials and an old microphone sat illuminated in the fading sunlight. Dust motes fluttered like fairies through the air.
Books and tattered maps lay strewn on the table beside the radio. Everything was so much the same, I nearly dismissed the room entirely.
I stopped upon realizing a drawer on the old desk on the opposite side of the radio was open. I distinctly recalled my dad locking it and getting slightly angry when David pulled on it with such force as to almost break it.
Dad’s nostrils flared when he became enraged. We both knew to freeze, keep our mouths shut, and nod when the flaring came.
“Stay out of this drawer, boys,” my dad said in a firm voice. I knew he was trying to remain calm when the creases between his eyebrows and tight lips deepened to be visible.
We’d left the drawer alone from then on.
Until now.
As though my dad would catch me, I drifted into the room like a shadow. My feet barely touched the floor to avoid any loud and bothersome creaking.
When I reached the desk, I pulled the drawer far enough to see its contents. To my disappointment, I found an old, dusty journal belonging to someone named Elias Black.
I wasn’t sure who that was. The last name didn’t sound familiar, and I didn’t care much for reading at the time.
Looking back, I wish I had. Doing so might have saved me from the terrible future that a young boy would go through as a man.
Curiosity led me to flip through the pages, their age evident in how they cracked and chipped with each turn. I didn’t bother reading any of the words. Someone stuck multiple photos and news clippings between the pages. Pictures of the mine shaft, a man I assumed was one of my grandfathers and a news clipping regarding the old mine’s opening day nearly fluttered to the ground before I caught them.
Nothing too exciting, I thought. I put the book back and closed the drawer. When my dad came back, I didn’t want any incriminating evidence left behind.
A quick look to my right indicated the sun had sunk below the treeline. The night was only an hour or two away. How long had I looked at that book?
Where was our dad? He never stayed out past late afternoon. I swallowed a knot in my throat. The sense of dread stirred the bile in my stomach, nauseating me.
No. He’s coming. He just had to go deeper into the woods. Maybe deer were scarce, I told myself, eyes squinting.
Terrified out of my wits, I went back to David. The cabin I’d loved since I was David’s age suddenly became suffocating and frightening. My desire to flee from it intensified with each passing minute our dad didn’t return.
I went back downstairs to find David gone. “David!” I shouted into the dark. A sound in the kitchen caught my ear and I raced toward it.
David had crawled upon the counter, opened a cabinet and rummaged through it. Probably to find something to eat. There wasn’t much of course. We always hunted our meals out here.
The only things our dad brought besides his gun and dressing tools were cans of beans and beer. Neither of these sounded appetizing.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I said, exhaling a deep breath.
“Sorry,” David replied. “I was hungry.” I helped him down off the counter. “When do you think Dad will be back? I’m so hungry.”
“I know,” I said reassuringly, though I had no idea when our dad might return. “He probably had to go deeper into the woods. Maybe the cold drove the deer into hibernation sooner this year.”
I tried desperately to believe the tales I told my brother. We went back into the living room. I threw a few thick logs onto the fire and stoked it with the iron tools Dad kept beside the hearth.
Fierce snow kicked up almost an hour later. Just as night settled over the cabin. My brother had drifted into a deep slumber beneath the thick blankets I pulled from the closet. David’s soft snores entered my ear, his breath tickling the tiny hairs.
I couldn’t sleep. My heart was pounding like a drum against my ribs. Our dad still hadn’t returned, and a tightness gripped my chest like a vice.
The hour was late when I finally joined David in sleep only to lurch awake when a loud thump echoed from the porch.
Dad! I thought. Not wanting to wake David, I slithered out from beneath the blanket and crept silently to the door.
“Dad!” I said loud enough I knew he could hear me, but not to wake my brother.
No answer came.
Cold shivers crawled up my spine when something met the door with the force to rattle it, but not break it. The knob jiggled back and forth yet held fast against its assailant.
My breaths came quicker, then.
Who or whatever tested the door had no intention of breaking it. Almost like they or it were curious as to what it was.
I heard heavy footsteps and what sounded like clacking as the intruder circled the house. They never came within view of the windows.
A loud pounding against the wall outside the living room made me jump! I nearly had a heart attack when David suddenly appeared beside me.
“What was that? Is it Dad?” David said low in my ear.
“Shh, I don’t know,” I replied, swallowing again. It wasn’t our dad. He’d call out to us to let him in. “Go up to the radio room. Call for help. You remember how, don’t you?”
David nodded quickly, gripping my arm. “I don’t want to. I’m scared.”
I placed a hand on his. “Don’t be. This is just someone trying to scare us. They probably got lost on the mountain and want us to let them in.”
If they even know we’re here. I hoped the curtains my father put into place obscured their view good enough to keep the fire hidden.
“Go,” I said in a rushed whisper.
David eventually listened and rushed upstairs.
I stayed put. My eyes searched every window. Ears poised for any other pounding or knob rattling in case we forgot to lock one of the doors.
Shadows flickered across the curtains. Snow crunched as though someone stepped into it with heavy hunting boots like my dad wore.
I pressed my ear against the front door, eyes closed, straining to hear if any sign of the intruder remained. I waited for a good number of minutes. My hand clenched to white-knuckling on the knob.
When no other sounds came, I dared to release the knob and slipped over to the nearest window. I took a slivered glance out from the curtains, careful not to reveal myself. Nothing came into immediate view save for the bizarre prints left in the snow covering our porch.
Whoever entertained themselves by scaring two boys in the dead of night was nowhere to be seen. The prints didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen, though our dad hadn’t gotten around to teaching me to track. They could belong to a new species or perhaps a spike-covered boot from a hiker.
Either way, I didn’t dare believe we were safe, yet. No one disappeared that fast. They likely went to the opposite side of the cabin to test the cellar and whatever other doors and windows they could find.
Still, it was quiet. A good time for me to check if David found any help via the radio. I raced upstairs to meet my brother.
David had managed to contact a local ranger. “He says he’ll come in the morning. The snow’s too strong, right now.”
Morning wasn’t that far off. I could get the spare rifle from our dad’s closet and keep close while we waited out our unknown assailant.
I’m not sure what time it was, but my eyes flickered open to a peculiar sound I swore was my dad’s voice.
“Son,” the voice said. “Let me in.”
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I’d fallen asleep and everything that happened with the intruder turned out to be a dream. My bare feet touched the cold ground, and I shivered before walking slowly toward the door.
“Dad?” I said quietly in case it wasn’t him.
“James,” the voice said again. There was something off about it. Like two voices spoke to me at once. “Let me in, son.”
My heart pounded in my chest. Sweat coated my face and slid down my back. I gripped the doorknob, testing it to see if anyone tried turning it. Every instinct screamed at me to leave the door closed, yet I still wanted to check. If they were my dad, he’d freeze if I didn’t make sure.
No. It’s someone playing a trick. A robber or something trying to get in. Then how did they know my name? It’s a common English name. That’s how. Do. Not. Open. This. Door.
I backed away and stared, breaths heaving from my chest. No force on Earth would make me open that door.
I went back to the couch and grabbed the rifle, pulling a chair to sit and be ready in case someone broke the door down.
I don’t know when, but I fell asleep. The sun seeped through the silk curtains onto the floor, bringing the fairy-like dust motes to life. David shaking me and calling my name startled me awake.
“David?” I said groggily.
David’s small arms flew around my neck. “Thank you for not being dead.”
An odd thing to say, but I patted his back reassuringly. “Dad ever come back?”
David shook his head. Tears misted his eyes. His hands shook, lower lip trembling. “What happened last night? I had such a weird dream.” He tilted his head upon seeing the gun. “Why are you sitting in a chair with Dad’s rifle?”
I didn’t know what to say. The night before felt like a fever dream. My head throbbed like I’d had another try of Dad’s most potent whiskey.
The sound of boots on the stairs made David and I jump. I jumped to hold the gun, readying it to fire. David ran behind me, clutching my shirt.
“Hello?” an older man’s voice called out. “David, James, it’s Rick!” he knocked. “I’m here to help, boys. It’s okay now.”
We’d known Rick for a long time. His wife and our mom were good friends who attended a weekly book club together. Still, I didn’t want to risk it. Not after all the strangeness of the previous night.
“James, come on. He said he’d come this morning, remember?” My brother shook my arm. “What’s wrong with you? Open the door,” When I didn’t move, David left his safe spot, walked to the door, and worked on the locks.
“David, no!” I said.
“It’s okay,” David replied, his eyes soft and trusting there wasn’t anything beyond the door capable of hurting us. He opened the door to an old man wearing sheriff’s garb, complete with a flat hat.
I didn’t lower the gun, my breath heaving, heart a racing mustang. Nothing in my mind made sense. I wanted my dad!
The sheriff’s hands flew up defensively. “Easy, son.” He reached out slowly. “You can put that down. I’m here to help.”
My tears finally broke free from their dam. I lowered the gun, sobbing as the sheriff’s arms embraced me. Mine barely went around his rounded belly.
“It’s alright, now. I’m taking you boys home to your mom,” the sheriff said, rubbing my back. “God, what happened to you last night to scare you so badly?”
“I want my dad,” I said through choking sobs, not wanting to think about the unsettling things that happened.
Rick pulled me away and knelt, grunting, and struggling as he did. His soft eyes almost glowed under the shade of his hat and white beard. “I know. We’re looking for him. If he’s out there, we’ll find him, okay?”
We went home to our mother that day. The search for our dad went on for weeks with multiple trackers and their dogs working around the clock.
They never found a trace of him. My dad was swallowed by the darkness of the woods.
