Jon Fore - Black Water

“Come on, let’s take the path while we still have it,” Ethan urged as he led the way.

“Will this lead us around to the other side of the mountain?” Shannon asked hopefully.

“Well, the long way. If the fog does not close in on us again, it should.”

This picked her step up, and she helped Kayla navigate the more difficult tripping hazards by actually lifting her from the forest’s floor. The travel was easier now, no longer up hill, but the fact that one foot landed lower than the other threw them off balance a bit, and slowed them to the same speed they had used coming up. It was going to be a long trip, Shannon was sure, but Ethan did not show any sign of concern, so she did not mention hers.

The going became more and more difficult, and Shannon finally started carrying Kayla on her back. Ethan shortly relieved her of the wiggling burden as they continued. Now that they were on this different trail, one that had been under the fog for some time, the plants and trees had begun to decay. This left no trustworthy handhold and the rotting leaves where slick underfoot. When the trail turned rockier and jagged with boulders, Ethan thought of it as a relief and much easier going.

They trekked and hop-scotched their way through the rocky terrain for some time before stopping. The light was beginning to fail the sky, and they were now condemned to spend the night on the mountain. None of them liked this idea, but there was no way to go but further on or back the way they had come, both of which would be much too hazardous in the dark of night. Moreover, the night brought a chill that was simply unseasonable.

Ethan picked a spot to set up the small self-erecting tent and began to gather firewood. This was an easy task considering the amount of dead wood lying about. He made a number of large piles of wood around the clearing and stashed a small bit of fire-starter stick in each pile. He then heaped large amounts of wood within the ring of woodpiles, enough to feed all of the fires all night if he had to. He remembered the creature that hunted these woods at night, knew what he was about, and if he were to reappear, he would light these woods ablaze with fire and gunshots.

He could not help thinking that they were doing exactly as whatever controlled this nightmare wanted. Walk here, then here, then setup camp, and I will see you in the morning. This scared him more than he knew and left him with no need for sleep.

When the tent was up and the girls squirreled away inside, he zipped up the flaps and took a seat in front of the fire. If that thing came out of the trees, he would be ready. Now all he had to do was sit, sit and wait for the screeching thing to realize the night and come bent to the hunt.

It was barely perceivable, but Ethan could tell in the faint firelight that the smoky fog was closing around them, congealing like some dark scab. It had filled in the space they had come from first, easing, sighing into a solid wall of swirling dread and moist membrane. The sound of its passing was a gentle whisper, like a fine rain on dry leaves. This was the only sound other than the soft crackling and random sharp retorts of the fire.

Before he had considered what this swirling closure might mean, the path they were to use in the morning was entirely consumed, their progress barred by the smog and their fear of what might lay in wait within its blinding concealment. The constant swirling motion of his surroundings was maddening, almost sickening, and he looked to the warmth of the fire. Trapped within this intent of the unknown, some evil thing with its dark desires began to rob from him his will.

The pestilent wall had constricted around them, tightening the space where their small camp sat, seeming to suck the very oxygen from the air. Ethan began to feel more than just threatened: defeated. Whatever was plaguing this mountain had taken Madison and made her its tool. This fact scared Ethan more than the evil itself. Enslavement to some force, some tangible evil, for however long it would hold him, was too much a nightmarish ideal.

The smog appeared to have stopped closing in, but the pressure it built within his head was becoming unbearable. A raging migraine had begun to develop, and small bursts of white light teased him from just beyond his vision. Sweat spread across his forehead and began to run down and along his temples as he shivered from the cold and near-blinding pain. He attempted to justify this new concession, convince himself he had tried, fought so very hard to bring himself and the two innocent girls out of here, but the thought seemed unable to find purchase.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying desperately to stop the blinding flashes and overcome the building dread caused by the tightening of the fog. He lay down in the rotting refuse of the dead forest and decided to just stay there and let whatever came have him and the doomed girls sleeping in the tent. The pungent smell of old whiskey washed across his face, drenched in the stench of the unclean.

“Giving up, fucko?” the bum asked in his hiss like voice. “Just gonna lay here and die, huh? What about me, you selfish prick-drip?”

“Leave me alone,” Ethan said, his eyes still clenched tightly against the blinding flashes.

“No, little boy, I won’t. Get the fuck up! Go screw that blonde bruise in the ass! Screw the little girl, I don’t care, but get the fuck up!

“I can’t do anything about this; just leave me alone.” With these words, Ethan suddenly felt conviction for what he was feeling, as though these words confirmed his decision, but deep in the core of his thoughts, a small spark snapped into existence and began to burn with a tiny fire.

“You can’t die yet, you no-ball wonder douche!”

“Why not?” Ethan asked, his voice growing more convinced.

“Because,” the bum said simply, “I am you, and I don’t want to die.”

For the first time, Ethan heard fear in the voice of the ragged, rotting corpse of a man that had plagued him for so long. His eyes shot open, and he found the filthy face hanging just above his, his desperation mirrored in the blood-shot, discolored eyes. Just beyond the putrid face was the night sky, a small circle of it, but still encrusted with stars like some haphazard collection of precious stones. The small flame, the sputtering tiny burn of hope, exploded through his mind with the rage of a storm. He sat up.

“You’re right; I’m not done yet.”

As another first in Ethan troubled life, the bum smiled, just a slight curling of his lips and suddenly vanished, revealing the sensually radiant Madison standing within the small clearing, just inside the wall of smog. Ethan sucked in a frightful breath and became erect at the same instant.

“Ethan, they have asked me to come talk to you,” she said longingly, desire dripping from her words. She was nude, as before, but the mist played across her body in a teasing way, tendrils first showing the promise of her intimacy, and then just barely concealing it.

Fear assaulted Ethan like an ice pick, seeking out and finding his raw need to survive. Her body, her sensuality, the captivating curves of her flesh held this in check. He slowly brought himself up to stand, never breaking eye contact with Madison. “Who, Madison? Who asked you to talk to me?”

“They did—the Culture.”

“Who is the Culture?”

Madison’s eyes sparkled with desire, with unabashed instinctual want. She absently began to trace the smog’s caress with her own hands, her eyes fluttering at the joys of her own touch. “They are the dream givers…the gift bringers…the beginnings and ends to all things…and they want you…”

“The Culture?”

“Yes, Ethan. Don’t you feel them?” She moaned under her own touch. “They were very angry with you at first; you trespassed through their home, walked right around them like you were the god and not they.”