Men of All Seasons Box Set

by R. W. Clinger

Josh knew there were two park rangers that covered the eight and a half thousand acres of Penichowaba State Forest. Zeth operated in the northern area of the park, and his sidekick, Sandra McBain, an Irish bombshell, patrolled the southern area. The two rangers had a ranger booth near Hoppscott Road, which was somewhere in the middle of the two areas. The booth looked like a tiny barn, painted red with white trim. Inside its miniscule confines sat a desk, file cabinet, Mr. Coffee station, and a phone. Rarely were Zeth and Sandra seen together in the booth.

  Little information about Zeth had been gathered in the last five years, since Josh visited his family’s cabin on a frequent basis. Josh knew that Zeth had just turned thirty-six, used to live in Idaho for a number of years as a park ranger, and resembled Andrew Lincoln from The Walking Dead. He had a head of thick black hair, dark eyes, and a thin build. Unmarried, schooled at Idaho State, and a vegetarian, Zeth came across as a nice guy with some intelligence. Any time Josh had bumped into the man, their conversations were always interesting. Topics shared included witchery, campground fires, and missing children, most of which were quite entertaining and honest.

  * * * *

  After unpacking, Josh decided to cut the yard. The thick grass had grown ankle-plus high and became a plush green that looked summer silk. A tiny shed sat approximately three hundred feet away from the cabin. Inside were tools for keeping the property shipshape: shovels, a pick, machete, chainsaw, five-gallon plastic tank of gasoline, two containers of 10W30 oil, lawn mower, and ceramic garden gnomes with cracked faces and missing limbs. The gnomes needed to be tossed in the garbage, a task that maybe Josh would get around to during the next month. Maybe not, though. As for the lawnmower, it was new, used just a few times last summer, and shiny red.

  Josh checked the mower’s oil. Not fine. Almost empty. He added more. Then he filled the Lawn Boy with gasoline. Good to go now. Amen to that.

  The day turned warm, and he removed his shirt, showing off a sturdy chest of blond hair that matched the curls on his head. He squinted his dazzling blue eyes, wishing he would have remembered his sunglasses in the cabin.

  No, he couldn’t spend an hour on the grass without his shades. After bitching at himself, he made the walk to the cabin, fetched his men’s Polos from the kitchen counter, decided a bottle of water also went well with the sun, and snagged one from the refrigerator.

  Zeth Mandell met him outside on the rear deck that shared a stunning view of the lake. Zeth’s green Jeep was parked on the grass, next to the cabin. The guy also wore sunglasses. Zeth was decked out in an olive green uniform, a matching ranger hat with a narrow chin strap, brown belt, and worn Danner boots caked in dried mud. He had a Colt .38 strapped to his right hip. A six-star brass badge with a pine tree in its center decorated his chest. The shield said Penichowaba Ranger.

  Damn, he’s a good looking guy, Josh thought. Handsome as hell for all the right reasons.

  They didn’t shake hands. Instead, Ranger Zeth moved up to Josh, went in for a hug, collapsed their chests together, and…

  Josh believed that the man with the gun actually brushed his lips against Josh’s neck, ever so slightly, without any force whatsoever, but with intention. And then Zeth patted Josh on the back, adding a swirl with his right palm and fingers. He pulled away from Josh and grinned from ear to ear.

  “Nice to see you made back to these parts. I’ve been watching your place since you left last fall.”

  “Thanks, guy. Nice to see you, too.”

  Zeth’s dark-dark eyes danced in the June sunlight, and his white teeth reflected with a commercial-perfect shine. He patted Josh’s left pec with an extended palm, checked him out from head to toe, and said, “You’re looking good. It’s nice to know that a man takes care of himself. The movie business is doing you well.”

  Truth told, Josh hadn’t worked out since last summer, and he didn’t watch his sugar or carb intake. God had just been nice and given him a good-looking body that he didn’t have to properly maintain much.

  “I can’t lie. I really don’t lift weights or watch everything I put in my mouth. I should exercise, but can’t find the time.”

  “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Keep up the good work.” Zeth paused.

  Zeth’s gaze dropped to Josh’s chest for a few seconds. Then Zeth lifted his stare to Josh’s blue eyes.

  Zeth asked, “So, tell me how the movie business is going?”

  Executive producing short films for private investors had taken up the last fifteen years of Josh’s life, ever since he graduated from Temple and moved from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh. Various city companies paid Hatch Films a bundle for Josh to produce the flicks. Such companies entailed city colleges and universities, medical facilities, financial institutions, and drug companies. Most of the films ended up on the Internet or were used as selling tools. Other films were for educational purposes with their private foundations.

  Savior Realm, Harriet Dawn, and Umbrella Love were just a few “genre-inspired” films that Josh and his filming crew made in the past two years. Other movies included The Silent Brothers, Spells of Euphoria, and Bixbey Lane.

  Anyone who really knew Josh and his team was familiar with Edward Calling. The two-hour film won the Visual Effect Society Award, putting Hatch Films into Hollywood’s eye, offering Josh Hideaway and his crew fame and money. Edward Calling just happened to be nominated for an Academy Award for best picture, and three other awards, in 2012, but lost. Still, the movie had drawn a lot of attention in the film world and proved to be a contender with talented filmmakers, Josh included.

  Josh told Zeth, “Lately, I’ve been producing seven-minute films for the Stockner GLBTQ Group on Liberty Avenue in downtown Pittsburgh. The group is currently concentrating on an anti-bullying/harassment campaign and is paying Hatch Films a small fortune for the production of nine films. I’ve been overseeing the financing, directors, actors, editors, and every little detail on each project. The next film isn’t going to shoot until August, in a park next to the Ohio River. This gives me the next two months off to find some sanity and relax.”

  Josh wanted to add: And it will maybe give me some time to enjoy Zeth Mandell’s attention, with or without his clothes on.

  “I play with squirrels all day. They’re my best friends up here, besides Sandra McBain, of course,” Zeth joked.

  Josh laughed. “Squirrels can be fun. Don’t underestimate their powers of friendship.”

  Zeth chuckled, checked out Josh’s nicely built chest again, lowering his eyes. “I guess not. Rodents have special powers up in these parts, just like the warlocks used to.”

  They both turned their views to the gray limestone Inuksuk-like statue on the property. The stone art piece sat next to the garden shed on the property and stood approximately five feet high. Limestones circled the Inuksuk for protection. Both knew that Penichowaba warlocks in the mid 1800’s had built the figure, protecting their coven from unwelcomed spirits. Erosion had softened the Inuksuk’s corners and edges throughout time, but it was still sturdy, unmoving, and a permanent feature on Josh’s family’s property.

  “You shouldn’t compare the warlocks with rodents. The extraordinary and spell-spinning men who still exist next to the lake wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  Zeth nodded with respect. “No offense, of course.” The subject turned quickly, just as the weather could along the lake.

  Zeth said, “You’ve got to be careful up here. A pack of coyotes has been seen numerous times. Sandra ran into them just last week. They’re hungry and not so nice.” He rubbed his chin. “Do you have a gun for protection?”

  “Three in the cabin. They are registered.”

  “What kind?”

  “I have a Smith and Wesson twelve-gauge shotgun, a Ruger LC9 handgun, and a 30.06 Remington rifle with a Blazer scope. All three are loaded.”

  Zeth nodded. “You’re protected then.”

  Josh wanted to add: And I have you, Ranger Zeth, to look out for me. A hero in the forest. M
y real protection. But again, he didn’t share his thoughts with his woodsy friend, keeping them to himself and preventing himself from being overly forward.

  Zeth said, “Two campsites had to be evacuated because of the coyotes. A Boy Scout leader was almost attacked two weeks ago. Sandra had to use a tranquilizer rifle on the coyote.”

  “I feel pretty safe with guns at hand.”

  “As well as you should. But only use them for protection, and only if you have to. No one needs to get hurt, including you.”

  Josh knew weapon safety, particularly concerning gun use. Coyotes weren’t creatures to mess around with because they were sneaky and aggressive. The animals were approximately forty pounds each and mean when they wanted to be, just like humans, including warlocks. Josh wasn’t about to mess with one, much less a whole pack.

  “Just look out for any signs of them,” Zeth added. “You have my cell number in your phone?”

  Josh nodded.

  “And you know how to reach the ranger booth and Sandra?”

  Josh continued to nod. “I’ll call you if something comes up. I’m not up here for emergencies, though. I’m here to rest and relax.” He wanted to tell Zeth that it was doctor-prescribed for his head, a stretch of reparation, but Zeth didn’t need to know about his strangeness these days and the possibility that Josh just happened to be losing his mind. Some things you shared with handsome park rangers; other things you didn’t.

  Zeth winked. “You know what to do then. I trust you won’t instigate them if you see the pack or one alone. Some campers think the coyotes are fun to tease. That’s when problems arise.”

  “I have no intention of playing with the dogs, Zeth. No need to worry. As I said, I’m up here to read a few books and rest up for a busy fall. Don’t worry about me.”

  Half of Josh wanted Zeth to worry about him, though. He couldn’t remember when a guy had an interest in him last. Nor could he remember the last time he went on a date or felt comforted by a man, both sexually and endearingly. His dating life had been at a standstill for…fifteen months now. No, that was wrong. Seventeen months.

  Some handsome Biology professor who looked like Channing Tatum had a threesome with him after picking Josh up at the Unicorn Bar in downtown Pittsburgh. Channing had a husband at home who resembled Chris Hemsworth. The guys were good-looking and awesome in bed, players with triple-X skills in the sheets, but Josh didn’t like being a third wheel in any relationship and ducked out at dawn, leaving the married couple behind, enjoying the one-night-stand for what it was worth.

  Since then, he hadn’t been on a date, kissed a guy, or arranged another one-night-stand. Things had become sexually dead in his life. His cock turned dormant for the last year and a half. No wonder he wanted the park ranger to worry about him. Any man in Josh’s sexually obsolete life would have. Right?

  “I figured as much,” Zeth said. Then his cellphone chirped. He lifted it off his left hip. He looked at the incoming number and said, “Sandra needs me.”

  “You should get that. And I should get to my lawn.”

  Again, the two men didn’t shake hands. Instead, Zeth closed the comfortable gap between them, wrapped Josh against him, brushed lips against Josh’s neck, and provided the man a firm squeeze. Chests locked together. Crotches touched.

  When Zeth pulled away from Josh, he said, “I’ll be checking in on you from time to time. Just don’t shoot me.”

  “Never. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Accidents happen. You know they do.”

  Josh nodded, watched the stud walk back to the parked Jeep, climb inside, and drive away.

  The only accident I want to happen is for our clothes to come off and we kiss. Hell yeah.

  * * * *

  An hour later. No, that wasn’t quite right. Two hours later, after Zeth’s visit, there were voices inside Josh’s head. Sometimes they sounded like warlocks. Sometimes they didn’t. Wispy. Guttural. Uncontrolled. Tampering. He tried to focus on cutting the lawn, bare-chested and gleaming in the sun, catching the heat under his arms and against his pecs. Part of him believed that Ranger Zeth’s palms caressed his bare chest instead of the sunbeams. Soothing strokes ensued. Comforting motion. Josh walked to and fro with the mower, cutting the high grass, semi-hard between his legs, inside his jeans, and unable to concentrate on his job.

  Time for a drink. Something strong. Anything strong. He found a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the kitchen, above the sink. Filled a glass with three fingers’ worth. Sucked it down and started to feel numb, less hard between his legs. Not as excited.

  Damn, why did hot and sexy Zeth have to come around and bother him? Didn’t the guy have marijuana growers in the park to attend? Wasn’t there another forest fire he had to worry about because of careless college-aged campers? Wasn’t the pack of coyotes acting up again, keeping him occupied?

  The erection didn’t subside. Nor did the sunlight over the cabin, baking its roof and the property. Josh felt hot and bothered, unable to do anything except concentrate on Zeth’s lips against the splay of his neck and their chests folded together.

  “Damn, Zeth. What have you done to me? Why?”

  Alone in the woods, except for the pack of coyotes, a distant whippoorwill, and many squirrels. No one around. Just Josh. All alone. He never felt more hot and bothered in his life, all because of Zeth’s short visit. Horny as fuck. So hard.

  “Get out of my head,” he said to himself, still alone.

  Josh couldn’t push the erection away, though. The thing pulsed, and two droplets of ejaculate leaked out of its cut cap, coating his cotton boxer briefs, making a little spew-mess.

  Following his strong drink, he took the uncomfortable situation outside on the deck. Unzipped and unbuckled his jeans. He pushed the denim and underwear down to his knees. The meaty flag stood between his legs, waving, beating with blood, and vibrating.

  Zeth whispered inside his mind, sit down on the step and let me give you a handjob. It’s what I want to do.

  Josh listened to the imaginary Zeth within his head. He sat down on the top step, meeting wood against his ass, spread his legs, and whispered, “Do your thing, Zeth. Go for it.”

  He closed his eyes, arched his back, and grasped the cock between his legs. Slow motion began with his right palm and fingers, and then sped up. Josh groaned Zeth’s name a number of times, felt elation ripple through his entire torso, and pre-ejaculate coat his fingers.

  “Zeth. Zeth. Zeth,” echoed out of his throat as he continued to jack his dick up and down, quickening his pace and becoming sweaty in the afternoon sun.

  Josh labored over the tool between his legs, pumping the cock and its throbbing veins. Sweat furrowed his brow and cheeks. He puffed a number of times, growled, and…

  White ejaculate shot out of his cock and drizzled over his naked stomach. He felt depleted on the deck, empty of something powerful and strong.

  As he panted, post-sexed and exhausted, he whispered to the imaginary Zeth inside his mind, “Thank you, friend. Nice work. I hope we get to do this again sometime. Soon.”

  * * * *

  June 5

  There were warlocks in the cabin. Two brothers. Josh felt them within every room. They opened and closed doors. They chortled together. They moved his paperback novels from one side of his bedroom to the other. Sometimes he saw them floating at the corners of his eyes, believing they were wearing long dark cloaks or robes. Faceless male beings inside the cabin, hiding among its walls and floorboards.

  Josh knew the history of the cabin because of his father, Mitchell Lane Hideaway. The brothers, Edward and William Penichowaba, created a coven. After seven young men were missing from the local village, a village that was now Templeton and the home of seven thousand residents, the brothers were burned on the property in 1867. Their spirits were still there. The siblings built the Inuksuk with their own hands before they were burned.

  Some historians believed that the seven missing men were buried under the Inuksuk. The stat
ue was said to ward off evil spirts. Others claimed that the warlocks used the blood of the men for practicing their dark craft at the statue. Few thought of the pair as cannibals, skinning and eating their victims’ flesh, including their organs. No matter what tales transpired of the coven, Josh believed the brothers were still present, haunting the cabin and property along the lake, filling his head with voices, haunting him. Josh already knew he was crazy, but seeing the brother warlocks didn’t help him. Not in the slightest.

  Crazy is as crazy does, he always told himself.

  He only slept on the left side of the bed. He washed his hair twice when showering. He refused to wear red, despising the color. Sometimes he couldn’t make up his mind which side of the bread he should spread peanut butter on while making a sandwich. He only watched shows on nature and various shopping networks. All of those idiosyncrasies felt normal compared to seeing and hearing the brother warlocks.

  The warlocks whispered Zeth’s name. They laughed. They chided Josh, which he really didn’t mind.

  Zeth. Zeth. Zeth.

  The warlocks chanted to him in Latin: Septiesque robustiorem in nomine Jesu, suscipe maiore pugnabat et angeli e caelo, et pariter conglobati circumdabunt nos protegat.

  He translated the message in English, using his cellphone: Seven times stronger in the name of Jesus, I welcome the major warring angels from heaven to surround us and protect you.

  And by June 7, only four days into his northern adventure, he had lost more of his mind and started to talk to the warlocks. They hadn’t answered him, at least not yet, but they would in due time, he told himself.

  * * * *

  Hominem. Hominem. Hominem. (Man down. Man down. Man down.)

  It had kept him awake that night. All night.

  He didn’t fall asleep until dawn.

  Damn warlocks. Inside his head.

  * * * *

  June 8

  A storm rushed down from Canada, crossed over the lake, and nailed Templeton and Penichowaba State Forest. Winds and rain smacked against the cabin, and the temperature dropped to fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Josh stayed inside, reading an apocalyptic novel about a virus. The author lived in Pittsburgh and was well-known, having a variety of bestsellers.