Pocket Wilderness & Other Horrors

by Jason Ingolfsland

  Pocket Wilderness

  &

  Other Horrors

  Jason Ingolfsland

  Pocket Wilderness & Other Horrors

  Jason Ingolfsland

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Jason Ingolfsland

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2016

  Cover design by Jason Ingolfsland

  Table of Contents

  Pocket Wilderness

  Trunk

  The Theater

  Peace of Mind

  Orphan’s Hollow

  Contact the Author

  About the Author

  Pocket Wilderness

  Autumn followed behind summer with malicious intentions. Solid green hues transformed to orange and crimson through-out the lush, rich Appalachian landscape. The warm summer blanket was ripped off and replaced with a brisk, cool wind ebbing and flowing, rushing and roaring, giving little solace to the unprepared.

  It was unexpected. Kenny hoped it would postpone the hike his older brother Brandon had been planning. Brandon was hard at work preparing and organizing for weeks making sure they had all the gear they needed for the big day. Hiking in cold, uncomfortable weather wasn't Kenny's idea of a grand old time.

  "Don't be a pussy," his brother said. "Hiking in cold weather is better because you won't sweat as much or die from heat exhaustion."

  "Oh," Kenny said disappointed. "Right. I didn't think of that."

  Brandon smacked him on the back of the head. "Of course you didn't, ya dumb monkey. Stop making excuses and pull up your big boy pants."

  "What if it rains?" Kenny asked.

  Raising an eyebrow, Brandon shrugged. It became perfectly clear, rain or shine, pain or pleasure, the hike was happening and Kenny couldn't do a thing about it.

  He preferred his books to doing anything that might cause a risk of injury. He spent most of his time under a blanket, a flashlight in one hand and a book in the other. He grew pudgy, pale and sickly cooped up in his room for weeks on end. It bothered Brandon that his little brother wasn't out getting dirty, pulling pranks, and playing war-games with friends in the woods. But, fortunately for Kenny, their parents weren't worried about it. It gave them peace of mind he wasn't out getting into trouble. Brandon gave them enough drama. They didn't need a double dose. He wouldn't be deterred, however; not the least by lack of parental intervention. He took the initiative, and before Kenny knew it, they were driving down Back Valley road.

  Brandon drove wildly in his white Nissan pickup with an air of vindication on his face. Holding tightly to passenger door armrest, Kenny looked out the window hoping they wouldn't crash. They turned left onto Pocket Wilderness road. The gravel roared underneath the tires. As they zipped by, clearly going way over the speed limit, the trees bent diagonally as if they were in a hurricane. Kenny thought about the agony of walking through the woods, the aching in his calves, the groaning pain in his stomach, the chill from the autumn wind, all ganging upon him in one deplorable experience. Those feelings excited his brother, the wild, thrill-ride enthusiast. Kenny would rather leave all that adventure nonsense in his books.

  They pulled into the Pocket Wilderness parking lot, which was a small, park-wherever-you-want situation. Only a few cars occupied the gravel lot. It didn't get many tourists, and was usually the hangout of potheads and the occasional hiker like Brandon. Kenny couldn't deny its beauty, especially as the leaves were changing colors.

  Brandon shuffled through the trunk, pulling out his hiking backpack. He tossed a smaller pack over to Kenny.

  "I've got a fanny pack if that backpack is too much for you," he said. His serious, monotone voice made it difficult for Kenny to figure out if he was being sarcastic or not. Assuming he was serious, he frowned, lowered his head and tried to ignore it. The feeling of shame slowly overwhelmed him.

  "I mean I could totally get the fanny pack. It's pink and has Barbie on it," he continued.

  "Shut up!" Kenny exclaimed.

  Brandon laughed.

  "I can handle a backpack."

  But as he threw the backpack over his shoulders, he almost fell under all the weight. He couldn't believe it was so heavy. What did he pack, a friggin elephant? He blew his hair out of his face and held tight to the shoulder straps with a determined will to prove his brother wrong.

  Autumn leaves were strewn across the path, crunching underneath their feet. A small tornado of leaves spiraled off to Kenny's right. It spun and danced as it fluttered off down the path. On the left of the trail ran Richland Creek. It was a larger creek with wild and chaotic water roaring downward. The occasional kayaker would brave the myriad of torrential white water rapids and giant boulders.

  The rapids roared down into a deep pool where teenagers would swing from a rope and swim. Kenny had been invited to go swimming there by a friend once, but he opted to stay home and read the next chapter of his book. As they passed the pool of water, there were a few teenagers swinging from the rope. One younger boy cried out like Tarzan before flying far into the air. Kenny was surprised they were swimming. The water must be freezing, he thought. One boy looked familiar, a peer from school perhaps, but he wasn't sure. Before he could make out his face, he splashed into the water.

  #

  Further down the trail they had come across an old, abandoned coal mine buried into a steep hill. The entrance was a semicircular arch, stone doorway staring into dark oblivion. A thicket of bushes and trees surrounded the sides and the top. Brandon stood at the doorway looking inside while Kenny stayed back a little. Waving him over, Brandon pulled out a flashlight and tried to shine it inside. The cave was so deep even light couldn't pierce its darkness.

  "Who used this?" Kenny asked.

  "Probably Confederate coal miners. I don't think it's been used for quite a while."

  "Did you," Kenny swallowed hard. "Want to go inside and look around?"

  Brandon's troubled look made Kenny's heart sink.

  "You haven't heard?" Brandon asked.

  "No. What?"

  "This mine has a particularly tragic story. Back in the seventies there was a younger group of boys walking through here and they found this mine. They dared one of the boys to go inside and look around. Pestering him over and over, he finally gave in and went inside. He had six matches. He flicked one and went inside, but they couldn't see him as the dark swallowed him and his little light up. They could hear the striking of a match and the distant glow of a light, but eventually they couldn't even see that. They called out to him to come back. Over and over, they called. 'It's not funny anymore,' they said. Listening intently, they stayed quiet to hear anything inside. The last thing they heard was a whimpered cry for help, before it was silenced. They never heard from him again. They say if you come out here at the exact same day and time, you'll hear his cries in the cave."

  Kenny's eyes wide, he glanced into the dark chasm and back at his brother.

  "Boo!" his brother exclaimed, jumping at him. Kenny leapt back screeching like a little girl. He covered his head and huddled on his knees. Brandon, hugging his ribs, lau
ghed hysterically. Looking up, Kenny growled, stood up, and shoved his brother's shoulder.

  "Geez, don't do that! I hate scary stories," he said. The last time he heard a scary story was at a sleep over a few years back. Someone told the scariest story he ever heard. It literally scared the shit out of him. He had to call home and leave early. He was tormented endlessly for it the rest of the year.

  "Okay, okay," he said apologetically. "Come on, we have a lot of ground to cover if we want to make it to Buzzard's Point."

  "Buzzard's Point!" Kenny yelped. "Isn't that miles from here?"

  "It's not that far. Besides, it's beautiful up there and what's the point of a hike if we don't have a destination?"

  "How many times have you been out here anyway?"

  "Enough," he shrugged. "Let's go."

  #

  Before they turned right down the trail, leaving Richland Creek behind, they passed an abandoned train bridge. Large rectangular, moss covered stone pilings were the last remnants crossing the creek. Several trees blocked the bridge's path. Kenny wondered what it looked like before, or how it was abandoned for so long without being torn down all together. He wished at that moment he had a camera to take pictures of everything he had seen. The gorgeous scenery slightly made up for the hiking.

  The trail went deeper into the wood before winding upward. It weaved up the incline, which became a struggle for Kenny. He looked down at his Converse All-Stars in despair. Why did I wear these? The jagged rocks pushed against the rubber bottoms. Glancing at his brothers hiking boots, he longed to have them instead. His backpack weighed him down the more they hiked up. Gnashing his teeth, he pushed onward hoping for some kind of relief.

  Brandon stopped at a gargantuan boulder the size of a car. The trail forked in three directions. Pulling out his compass, he assessed the situation. Kenny wasn't sure which direction they should go. He was helpless without his brother.

  "Buzzard's Point is northwest of us, so pretty sure the trail to the left is going to get us there."

  "Pretty sure? What do you mean pretty sure?"

  "Completely, absolutely, undeniably, sure," Brandon replied.

  The hike continued, and so did the pain in Kenny's lower back and feet. He kept chugging the water from his canteen, but Brandon told him to stop.

  "You're going to get a cramp, and you'll run out of water faster than you need. Just take small sips," he scolded. "Ya dumb monkey." He cussed under his breath before turning and continuing up the steep hill.

  After what seemed to be miles of walking, they reached a small waterfall that ran down into a tiny crystalline pool. Kenny rushed over to the water, bent down, and dunked his head. As he pulled out, he flung the water behind his head and wiped his face. It was frigid, but he didn't care. He wanted to put his feet in, but Brandon warned against it.

  "Don't drink the water, either. You're likely to get a nasty parasite," Brandon said.

  "How much farther?" Kenny asked.

  "Not too far now. Just over that ridge. We'll have lunch on the point, hike back, and be home before you know it. But," he paused a moment glancing over his shoulder and looking back at him. "We need to keep moving. So, get up."

  There was a weird look on Brandon's face, a sense of urgency he hadn't seen before which gave Kenny an unsettled feeling in his bones. He scratched the back of his neck and nodded his head. Swinging his pack over his shoulder, he followed behind his brother wondering if he knew something he didn't want to share. Every step hurt. Rest wasn't going to help him anymore. His feet were going to be in pain, and that was that, there was no sense whining. It felt futile to groan. Maybe I'll get some calluses, he thought. What doesn't kill me...

  The trail zig-zagged almost perfectly up the hill. He could see it winding up like a prolonged staircase taunting his efforts to continue. At this point, he knew going back would be a sad, shameful walk of defeat. There was no going back now. He had to, at least, make it to Buzzard's Point. If he died of exhaustion from the walk by then, well maybe that wouldn't so bad a way to go.

  #

  As they reached the top of the hill, he heard a rustling noise behind him and looked down. Having the upward vantage point, he saw the entire trail wind and coil like a snake down the woodland slope. Halfway down, he swore he saw a tall, lanky man hiking upward. He didn't look like a hiker though. He had a white washed denim jacket on with cut off sleeves. Before he could get a better look, the man vanished. A rock smacked Kenny in the side of the head. Surprised, and jilted, he looked up in the direction the rock came and saw Brandon tossing more rocks at him. He ducked down releasing a high pitched squeal.

  "Stop it," he whined.

  "Keep up," Brandon hissed.

  "I saw something," he protested holding the side of his head and glancing down at his palm. There was a blotch of red. He touched it again and it stung. Catching up with his brother, he repeated himself.

  "I know," Brandon said. "I saw something too a while back, and it concerns me. So that's why we have been going a little faster."

  "What's wrong? What is it?"

  "It's fine. Nothing."

  "Then why does it concern you?"

  He shrugged.

  "Are you pulling my leg?"

  "No," he replied. "I wish I was. It's probably not anything, okay?"

  "Then why are you acting so weird?"

  Brandon ignored the question holding out his compass and looking around as if he was trying to gain his bearings again. He closed his compass and took a quick sip from his canteen. Putting his hands on his hips, he released a breath from his nose like a horse.

  "I said-" Kenny started.

  "I know what you said!" his brother snapped back. "I'm acting weird because I think some guy has been tailing us since we passed Richland Creek."

  "No way," Kenny said.

  "We might have to take another route back. But don't worry about it. They were way back there. I'm probably just being paranoid. Anyway, good news, Buzzard Point is just around the bend here. We've made it."

  Kenny wasn't relieved. He was glad they could rest and eat, but the thought of someone following them made him uneasy and skittish. Not that he wasn't usually skittish, but this time, an extra helping of skittish added on top.

  A large gust of wind pushed against them as they made their way toward the peak. The temperatures weren't as bad as he thought they might be, at least when the sun was out. But the sun wasn't out, and the cold bit his pale skin.

  A narrow, rocky protrusion amongst a sea of trees rolling up and down, Buzzard's Point looked like slabs of frozen meat stacked on top of each other. At the peak was a flat, square base large enough for ten to twenty people to easily sit and relax, but to get up there you had to climb up a vertical cliff. Brandon could climb it in his sleep. He found the cracks in-between each boulder and quickly climbed up to the top. Smiling down at Kenny, he waved for him to come up and disappeared.

  Placing his foot in the nearest crevice, Kenny desperately tried to lift his portly body up the incline, but found it increasingly difficult to find a place to hold on to while he climbed, not to mention the upper body strength to lift upward. Halfway up, he saw a crevice to his right that was out of his reach. His fingertips tried to grab hold, but it was useless. He tried again, but lost focus, slipped, and fell to the ground. Bashing his knee against the side of a rock, he landed on his back staring up at the blue sky.

  Brandon's head appeared from up top. He grinned.

  "You okay?" he asked nonchalant.

  "I think I'm dead," Kenny said.

  Brandon rolled his eyes. "Stop being melodramatic and get up here."

  Lifting himself up, Kenny took off his backpack and flung it as hard as he could up to the surface of the cliff. His eyes sharpened. Determined to get to the top, he climbed up faster and harder. Light shoulders, light feet, he reached the top without incident, but heaved over trying to catch his breath.

  "My knee hurts," he moaned.

  "Poor baby," Brand
on mocked before throwing a ziplock bag at him with a sandwich inside. It landed on his face. "Eat up. You'll need your strength for the hike back."

  "Oh I think I'll just die here, thanks. Or maybe Gandalf will send those large eagles."

  "Gan-who?"

  "Did you not watch The Lord of the Rings?"

  "No," he said curtly. "Ms. Vanderbilt made us read The Lord of the Flies, though. That the same?"

  "Not at all."

  "I actually read that book cause Ms. Vanderbilt is hot. Didn't want to seem stupid."

  "Heaven forbid," Kenny replied, digging into his sandwich bag and taking a bite. It was a badly made peanut butter and jelly sandwich, too much peanut butter with a little glaze of jelly. How anyone could mess up PB&J was beyond him. Ravenously hungry, he devoured it. They sat near each other not saying much, too busy masticating their food. Too busy being brothers that didn't know what to say to each other. Even though he might not know it, Kenny admired his brother. He envied his adventurous spirit. His father was the same as Brandon, wild and filled with an adventurous heart. Sometimes Kenny wondered if he was secretly adopted or worse yet, a lovechild from an affair. He hoped his parents would have told him if that were the case. Breaking the silence, his brother spoke almost as if he had a speech prepared the entire time, an important speech with bullet points and a thesis, it started unexpectedly.

  "You were always a disappointment to me," he began. "When you were first born, I had these expectations that we were going to be best friends causing all kinds of trouble, kind of like partners in crime, and I had so much planned for us. You'd be the lookout when I wanted to steal mom's peanut butter cookies, or if one of us got into a fight with a bully we'd back each other up and kick his ass. I'd help you get girls and you'd do the same for me. We'd play football together and our names would be notorious through-out the county. We'd sneak into the local carnivals and go to camp together. You have no idea all the things that went through my mind." He stopped to take a bite from his bag of potato chips. "But, you never wanted any of that. You tried once in a while, just to make me happy, but I could tell your heart wasn't in it. You'd whine or cry most the time, which really pissed me off. I hated that you didn't live up to my expectations. I figured maybe you had to grow out of it, but the older you got it was clear you weren't going to change. I realized we were too completely different people, and deep down I resented you for it."