by Josh Olsen
The Mountain Town
Josh Olsen ©2016
For those that wander.
Those that enjoy being lost.
Prologue
“It is only after we have defeated our demons, both inward and outward, that we may begin our quest for redemption.”
The man stumbled, dropping his flask and slipping down a hill of hard compact snow. That deep cutting, sharp snow that the chill of winter creates. The thick icy snow that crunches and cracks loudly under boots.
Panicking and gasping he stumbled to his feet, quickly glancing behind himself. Getting to his feet, he picked up his 30-06 Deer Rifle,
“Shit.” he whispers to himself as he attempts to clean the sticks and filthy snow from the action and the barrel of the gun with his frostbitten, frozen hands. Hair stands up on his neck, he knows, his years of hunting and tracking had lent him a sort of sixth sense.
He knew when something had him in its sights, slowly, meticulously, he shifted his eyes and neck to scan the surrounding woods, careful to not produce any unnecessary movement.
The dark, unforgiving pines revealed none of its inhabitants to him, but he could still feel the creeping sense of being stalked or being gazed upon by someone or something. He snapped back into reality quickly, fumbling with his frozen fingers to produce his flashlight from his coat pocket, then, he heard it, the hiss, the heavy pounding of breath. He whipped around quickly, pointing his weapon blindly into the infinite darkness.
Nothing.
Frantically, he whipped around in every direction pointing his meager source of light into the black. It seemed it was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, always behind him, always just out of sight. Sitting, waiting to strike. Whatever the hell it was.
Chills ran down the man’s back, the frost of winter blew a deep cold through his thick coat forcing him to shiver profusely. He couldn’t see the path or any deer trails that would lead him back to it for that matter. He was lost and disoriented and being closed in on.
The beast watched intently, savoring every panicked breath and movement of its prey, feeding off of its fear and desperation. Almost gaining strength and adrenaline from its stalking. It was enjoying every moment, it wouldn’t run, the beast knew that, cliffs to the river were to the east and the steep icy hill prevented his prey from going too far, back the way it had come. The creature was quiet, staying to the shadows evading the mans gaze. Waiting, savoring the preys descent into madness. Its torch will burn out, wait, stalk.
The man whimpered softly as he realized the once comforting beam of light emanating from his Mag-Light had been reduced to a dismal yellow glow eerily illuminating the vast army of pines. All at once he heard it, the shriek, the heavy pounding of breaths. He turned quickly pointing his weapon in its direction, its horrifying silhouette dimly visible as it closed in on him.
“Click.”
“Shit!” he yelled out. He had forgotten the jammed action.
The beast bounded towards him, slipping right past his side at inhuman speed, slicing into his right leg with one calculated strike from its hideous claws.
The man shrieked into the cold night air as he fell, clutching his nearly severed limb with his frozen hands, the leg now barely attached with a few small tendons and ligaments causing it to swing back and forth in the air. Blood spurted and sprayed from the wound, painting the fresh white ground.
Black surrounded his eyes, the pain was too intense, he was fading out. The beast appeared right in front of his face, the man tensed, too far gone to scream.
He smelled the horrific scent of the creatures mouth permeate his nose just before the creature shrieked and clasped down on the mans throat with its rows of rotting decaying teeth. The man gurgled and flailed in the air, his arms desperate to grab something, anything.
The beast tore at him from all over shredding him and devouring him at the same time. As quickly as it had come the beast was done and slid into the night leaving only shreds of the man as evidence of its kill. Disappearing into the black, the beast had one thought, it was still hungry.
Chapter 1
Stinging, that’s all he could feel in his head, it forced its way in through his ear stabbing his mind with its incessant noise. Clark Davis forced open his sleep deprived eyes begging him to close them again. He climbed out of his bed and stumbled toward the source of his pain, the damn phone.
Grabbing it off the wall stopped the noise but only for a moment before holding it up to his ear. He winced hearing Sheriff Arndt’s condescending voice,
“Clark?” the Sheriff belted out before Clark could even collects his thoughts enough to even say hello,
“Yeah?” he asked back.
The sheriff could hear the grogginess in his voice and saw right through it.
“Christ Clark, its 1 in the afternoon, why the hell are you pulling your ass out of bed so late? You’re not using the dust again are you?” The Sheriff sighed loudly into the phone.
“God Dammit Clark, I’ve told you your gonna end up losin-“
Clark cut him off. “Lose what? What exactly do I have that you can take now? I’m minding my own damn business is what I’m doing Jason, something you ought to take up learning real quick, and I’m also about to hang up this damn phone.”
“Wait, wait,” Jason stammered, “Clark, look, I’m sorry, it’s just….one of the deputies found something in the woods, and we, we think you should get down here.”
“Well what the hell for?” Clark snapped back, losing his patience.
“Listen Clark, we need you down here and its something I can’t,…discuss over the phone.” The static filled voice droned on as Clark pulled the receiver away from his ear.
“I’ll get around to it” Clark snapped down the phone on its mount and stumbled further into the kitchen to make his coffee.
“Yeah, you think I should come down, you think, you piece of shit” Clark laughed in disgust to himself.
“That corrupt sack of shit wouldn’t think to close the door if it was raining outside, so yeah, he gets to decide what someone ought to do. Sure.” Clark started his coffee and returned to the bedroom to throw on his boots.
Almost in unison, about 15 minutes later the doorbell rang and the coffee maker sounded off.
Clark shot up from the chair he was laid back in, “I swear to god, if its-“ He stopped as he flung open the door to see Deputy Macklin, barely 20 years old, almost too small for his uniform.
“Yeah what do you need son?” Clark asked, kneading the sleep from his crusted eyes.
“Mr. Davis, I’ve been instructed to bring you down to the station, your not under arrest, we just need you to identify some evidence we think you might have knowledge of.”
Clark’s curiosity peaked, something was amiss, he’d been shut in his house all weekend with the flu, or so he’d told himself. He couldn’t have done anything on one of his drunk rants or benders. Something was wrong.
“Just a second.” Clark went back inside to snatch his coat and followed the deputy outside through the frozen slush to his jeep.
They pulled up to the sheriffs station 10 minutes later, all of Clark’s attempts to pry some information out of the young man were all met with same response.
“Jason said you need to see for yourself.”
Walking through the thick wood door and shaking off the cold of the winter the Sheriff turned around to greet them.
Gritting his teeth and biting his tongue, Clark simply asked “Well, you got me here Jason. What do you need me so bad for you gotta pull me out of the warm of my house into the cold and drag me down here?”
Sheriff Arndt stood silent. Dismally, he directed Clark to the back of the station into the morgue.
Clark nearly threw up
in his mouth when he saw what was on the table.
Grisly chewed up pieces of some person, an arm, well about half an arm, a shred of a foot, and some shreds of cloth.
“What the hell are you showing me this for?” Clark shot out, choking back vomit.
Just then, the Sheriff gestured to the deputy to open a footlocker. Pulling the contents out, he revealed a rifle, Earl Sheffield’s rifle. Unmistakably his, the notches in the stock counting his deer kills and the old tarnished tan finish.
“You’re not trying to tell me you think that this,-” Clark mumbled out, trying not to gag, his finger shook, pointing to the table.
Jason cut him off, “We know its him Clark, it was in the same area as his cabin. We’re sending off blood and fingerprint samples to one of the big labs in the city for legal, but we know it was him”.
“That dumb son of a bitch was asking for it, he had it coming” Clark choked out.
“Jesus, Clark,” Jason winced, furrowing his brow. “You two were the closest thing either of you had for a friend in this town these days. We thought you’d want to know, I’m sorry for showing you this, but I knew that you’d have to see things for yourself.” Jason rubbed his temples, eyes shut tightly.
“We couldn’t tell anyone else.” Jason said, pulling the rifle from the table and stuffing it back into the locker. “Man had no family, no friends, everyone he knew died or moved away since Irene left, except you” Jason said, attempting to remain sensitive.
Clark shot back, fighting off the salt water that burned his eyes. “If that dumb old bastard wouldn’t have went and holed himself up in that damn cabin he’d be right here fine. Not torn all to pieces by some fuckin’ wolf. Damn it Earl.” he trailed off, mumbling to himself, visibly pained by his thoughts.
“Clark…” Jason started but was cut off,
“I hadn’t talked to him since last spring Jason, I don’t know shit.” Clark snapped back. “I don’t know where he was or what he was doing out or who with or why, I don’t know shit, so take me back to my house and leave me the fuck alone.” Clark stormed out nearly mowing over one of the deputies.
One of the other officers chased after him to offer a ride, but he wasn’t taking it, Clark was walking. As he walked out the door just within earshot he heard two cops talking.
“No way in hell a bear did that to that him. This time of year?” one of the younger officers said to another,
“I don’t know, its rare for damn sure. But I have a cousin a few miles down the road ran into a pissed off Grizz in the middle of December couple winters ago, barely made it out with his skin. It ain’t common, but it sure as hell is possib…”
The large oak door of the police station swung shut leaving Clark out in the cold beginning his trek home.
“Damn you Earl, you dumb son of a bitch, why the hell couldn’t you have stayed in Whiteridge? You just had to get mixed up with that dumb bitch and go and drink your life away up in the mountains, didn’t you you son of a bitch, well now your gone, woe is me, torn to shreds by some animal.”
Clark swore to himself during his trek back home fighting back the bitter tears, and brushing off the cold creeping its way inside of his coat.
“That’s a great way to be remembered, good going. Some drunk hermit killed by some animal wandering piss drunk through the woods at night. That’s how they’ll remember you Earl and its your fucking fault.”
Clarks thoughts continued to spin and twist on his long walk back home. It wasn’t until he reached his house and went to grab more coffee that he snapped. The lonely, gray cabin cracking and creaking in the wind was too much for him to stand.
“FUCK!”
Clark yelled out, punching a hole clean through a wooden cabinet. He flung open his liquor cabinet and grabbed the first thing he could reach. He needed to get out of his head. At least for a long while. He was all alone now. All alone in this shit town freezing to death, barely scraping by.
The dreams came again that night, as they always did, he almost preferred the nightmares over these alcohol infused recollections of past mistakes and regrets, as vague as they may be sometimes. It haunted him the most, what could have been, what he could have done.
But these dreams, these were far different than the nightmares, images of what he wished his present held, and what he could never have.
He could see her face as he always did in these dreams, she was back, safe and sound in his arms. With him able to care for her. It were these short moments that Clark was truly happy, in his dreams holding his little girl in his arms, she had come back to him at last. He hadn’t lost her after all.
A state of temporary euphoria and sanctuary surrounded him. This was far different than his rented happiness he gained from the liquor or any of the drugs. Always, he awoke from these dreams quickly snapping back into reality, realizing how dim his life was compared to the safe haven of his dreams. Reminded constantly of how alone, and how worthless he was. In the eyes of himself, and of everyone around him. He wasn’t that different from Earl after all was he?
Chapter 2
Not far from the town of Whiteridge, further up the great mountain, past the jutting, jagged peaks and slopes, was the Paradise Ski Lodge. A 5 star rated establishment, bragged about and detailed in almost every travel magazine in the world.
The hotel at the resort, which was the largest, and tallest building at the lodge, was one of the top stops for the rich upper class or even some celebrities during the winter months.
Hundreds would flock to the small town to find comfort in the enormous Paradise Hotel. The resort, equipped with all manner of luxuries and comfort was a priority destination for the rich and powerful. The guests leisurely spending the winter weeks or even months living in their massive private rooms, enjoyed the surrounding ski resort and the small quaint town just down the hill from it.
Buying food at the small town diner, the guests laughed to themselves about how it seemed that this town had been forgotten in time, its small knick knack shops on every corner, run by families, stuck in this town, sentenced to run the shops and stands seemingly forever. The small one roomed hospital and the police station, old wood twisted and warped,housed it. The old building sitting near the center of town.
The wealthy guests emanated an attitude of superiority and snobbishness to their small town, kind hosts. The residents of the town simply didn’t care or couldn’t afford to care, this spurt in economic activity every winter, every year would always help them get through the dull and fruitless spring. Keeping their families off food stamps or welfare checks. Either way, the residents of the town were always glad when February would finally roll around and send this league of rich prudish people back to their summer homes or beach houses and life could go back to the simple way that had allured the residents to this town in the first place.
The quiet security and family mentality the neighbors had with the other people comforted and reassured all who called this desolate place home. They looked out for each other and knew everyones’ name. A concept lost out in the modern, demanding, and chaotic world that they had moved here to escape either by choice or by the way of financial circumstances.
The people loved their town and so would endure each winter with a fake smile worn on their face accommodating their guests to make it through another year.
The tourism season was still a few weeks off though, the snow was falling but not quite how it would yet. The shops and bars were barren, save a few locals buying essentials. The Paradise Hotels vast hallways and rooms were dimly lit and the residents tasked with the upkeep of the hotel could feel intimidation from this massive structure and its eerily lit vastness. No large amounts of guests would be arriving for a few weeks still and the employees still meticulously cleaned and straightened everything so it would be just so for their rich guests. The early birds would be arriving next week or so but they were so few and far between, the town didn’t excite much when the first few groups of people or so would pour in. Bu
t as more and more would pour in, the people of the town would study them with a sort of hateful fascination.
