The Lumberjack

by Erik Martin Willén

  They came upon a small recess in the terrain, and lying on the ground, whimpering, were Nugget and Tango. Both dogs were bleeding heavily, and when a devastated Frank kneeled next to Nugget, the big dog tried to raise his head while weakly wagging his tail.

  He licked Frank’s hand, and then Nugget closed his eyes.

  Next to a boulder lay Ethan Jones, trying to hold in his entrails with his hands, blood gushing out of his abdomen; next to him lay a broken rifle. He stuttered and moaned in shock; nothing he said made any sense. Whitney kneeled next to Tango’s suddenly still, quiet body, while Frank remained next to Nugget. “WHO DID THIS?” Frank screamed to Ethan.

  Ethan had blood pouring out of his mouth; and the last thing that came out of it before he sagged into stillness was, “A monster…”

  Frank lost it, and dropped next to Nugget, crying; and after a moment, Whitney placed a strong hand on his shoulder. “Get up soldier, there’s still time. We can take ‘em to D&D, they live not far from here. YOU HEAR ME, FRANK? Don’t you give up on them!”

  Whitney saw Carlos running along the top of the ridge; he paused, and Whitney raised his hand in the direction he thought the bear had gone. Carlos looked down on the mess, but now he was hunting. He shouted to one of his deputies and the others coming up far behind, but he couldn’t wait for them. He ran uphill and climbed up on a large rock. He looked over the entire region, holding his rifle ready. A lightning flash lit up the area, and roaring thunder followed. The fog had increased, but now he stood above it, focused on the ridge in the distance, hoping the bear hadn’t made it that far yet.

  Carlos saw the beast crawling on all four legs in the far distance on a rocky hill; it stopped and turned around, staring back at him. He raised his rifle, got the beast in his scope, and snapped off a round, not knowing if he had hit it or not. He lowered his rifle and looked again, but complete darkness lay like a thick blanket over the land. The rain hit his face hard. There was another flash of lightning, and now the beast was standing on its back legs in another location; to Carlos’s surprise, it had moved closer to him. He looked through the scope and was just about to fire when a memory overwhelmed him, and then there was complete darkness again. Another lightning bolt, and this time the monster was gone—but Carlos’s memory wasn’t.

  He had seen that thing before.

  Whitney, a former Marine trained to never give up, forced Frank to his feet. Half a dozen men and a couple of women ran down the hill and stopped, looking wide-eyed at the carnage. Whitney ordered, “At least two of you see what you can do for Ethan; the rest assist Carlos, he’s over that ridge,” he pointed in Carlo’s direction, “and tell him Frank and I are heading over to D&D’s for help, now MOVE OUT!”

  The rest of the hunting party that still dared follow Carlos joined him just after he had fired his rifle, and without any orders or target, all of them emptied their weapons down into the valley. Carlos just stood there, eyes distant, looking scared; but eventually he ordered the madness to stop. The smell of gunpowder lay thick in the fog.

  Frank and Whitney scrambled to their feet, picked up their injured partners, and ran toward D&D’s. With renewed strength from Whitney’s words, Frank ran like a demon with Nugget, only one thought running through his mind: “Not again. Not again!”

  Rohan and Daniela were enjoying a romantic evening alone at last. Both had been looking forward to spending some quality time together, which would ultimately land them both in awkward and strange positions later on, for dessert.

  They were the most unlikely couple in Skull Creek—or pretty much anywhere, for that matter. She was a tall, slender Amazon from South America, with a ravenous beauty that made most men behave like love-struck idiots in her very presence. She looked more like a runway model than a professional physician. He, on the other hand, was almost a head shorter and was from Sri Lanka—a stocky, short man who almost always smiled. He was the local dentist. She had a gentle, soft touch, while he was somewhat clumsy, but his charm was undeniable. Both had combined their Doctor and Dentist (D&D) practice in the same building a mile outside of town, on the opposite side of a lake deep in the forest. Their log home was rustic and beautiful, with a view to die for.

  Both loved the outdoors, and they had spent many wonderful times vacationing near Skull Creek while still in school. They loved camping, climbing in the mountains, and river rafting. Eventually, they had fallen for the place, and several years back had moved here. People were so very friendly, and they loved the environment. The county was pretty much crime-free, with the exception of the past two years, when business had really started booming with the forestry and gold-mining industry. But still, there hadn’t been any major crimes. Some tourists had gotten lost and there had been some casualties from accidents, but that was nothing major compared to the big cities.

  “So, dearest, are you ready for the perfect burgundy to match the perfect dinner made by your truly perfect husband?”

  “Why of course, dear,” Daniela purred. “I do look forward to enjoying all the courses you have planned for the evening, and I’m in no hurry whatsoever.”

  “You’re not? But my dear, if you knew what I intend to do to you for dessert, you wouldn’t have said that.”

  Rohan poured the wine very slowly, gently breathing down Daniela’s neck. She closed her eyes and enjoyed herself. Then she bit her under lip when he carefully caressed her ear with his own lips, his hot breath raising goosebumps on her—causing him to spill the wine in excitement. Both laughed.

  Facing each other, they raised their glasses. Both had been playing their little game for a very long time…too long, perhaps, edging and teasing each other, but work had kept coming between them; so neither had had that special smile on their faces for a while, and both were quite frustrated.

  Rohan gave her his infamous charming smile, his mother-of-pearl teeth contrasting against his dark skin. She had an equally sparkling smile on her picture-perfect face, and her golden skin color enhanced her features.

  “Cheers, my love.” Silence followed, and a patient Rohan held his glass high, waiting for her to respond to his salute.

  In the most innocent voice possible, Daniela responded by saying, “I’m not wearing panties.”

  Rohan’s choked on the wine as he drank, and spewed it all over the table. She laughed uproariously, and then he charged her like an avalanche, taking anything in his way with him. He tossed her onto the table, while tablecloth, candleholder—candle still burning—plates, and wine bottle hit the floor. She laughed even more as he fumbled with his zipper. He wasn’t going to have any of that, so he flipped her over and slapped her butt. Daniele giggled like a naughty school girl, and she kept laughing while waiting patiently on her stomach for her clumsy husband, whose zipper got stuck, as he struggled until he finally managed to yank it open—

  —just as someone knocked on the door.

  The pounding on the door quickly grew persistent and harder. Both Rohan and Daniela started to curse, each in their native languages, while fixing their clothes. Meanwhile, someone outside shouted over the sounds of the storm, “Open up! Open up, for the love of God open up, Doc, please open up!”

  When they opened the door, Frank Hancock charged inside, apologizing almost incoherently. He was carrying a large, bleeding dog in his arms, and was followed by another man, apparently a police officer by his uniform, carrying another dog in even worse shape. “We’re truly sorry but the vet is on the other side of town and we knew you guys lived here and—”

  “Relax, Frank what do you need?”

  “Thank you, Rohan, can you or your wife help us with these poor dogs? They got tore up bad by a bear.”

  “We’re not vets, but…”

  “We know, but I don’t think they have much time,” Whitney shouted.

  Daniela joined them in the hallway; at first she was going to protest, not because she had a mean streak but because she wasn’t a veterinarian. But when she saw the faces of two grown men with teary
eyes and more tears pouring down their faces, she looked the dogs over and nodded her head in consent. “Kitchen, fast, and Rohan, get that plastic tablecloth, please.”

  Both of them operated on the dogs, helping each other as they went. They used the large kitchen island and the kitchen table as operating theatres. The table, which was made of wood, was stained by all the blood, and was probably ruined; but the kitchen island had the plastic cover on it.

  When Daniela and Rohan had done what they could, they made the animals comfortable and spent a long time washing their hands in the kitchen sink. Both dogs lay sleeping soundly, though the rasping sound from their lungs didn’t sound good. Whitney stood by Tango, gently touching his fury head, and Frank did the same with Nugget.

  “They’ll be out for a while from the anesthetic. Can we get you guys anything?”

  “I’m fine, Daniela,” said Frank.

  “I’ll have some water, please,” Whitney said. “Will they make it?”

  Daniela answered in a comfortable tone, making sure she didn’t make any promises she couldn’t keep. “Only time will tell. We did our best with what we had. They need to be X-rayed and have a professional vet check them over.”

  “What monster did this?” Rohan demanded.

  Both Whitney and Frank looked up, and their expressions made Rohan regret even asking.

  “You took the words right out of our mouths. Probably an injured bear that might have gotten hurt by some amateur hunter, who knows?” Whitney said in a low, whispering voice filled with rage. “Got ahold of two highway patrolmen, too. The EMTs are with them by now.”

  Both Rohan and Danielle knew his anger wasn’t directed towards them.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to put on some freshly grounded coffee, might toss in some stronger stuff too. Both of you need it; dentist orders,” Rohan said.

  The car left a dust cloud behind as it drove away. An arm stretched out on the driver’s side, waving good bye. The young boy cried, tears pouring down his face with his hands stretched towards the car; he struggled fiercely, but a strong hand held him back. Standing next to the young boy was an old woman, waving goodbye. The boy struggled and cried out louder, but then out of the blue there hung a nice, sweet chocolate bar in front of his nose. Instantly he smiled and looked up behind him at his grandfather, who smiled back at him. He had to reach for the candy bar a few times, but eventually had it in his own hands. He no longer cried, having completely forgotten about his parents having left him behind, like the traitors they were. Soon his face was covered in chocolate.

  Flash.

  The kids played in a small creek, while the adults prepared a fiesta on a hill above, next to a large tree. Some berries still attached to a branch floated by, and the little boy picked them up. He put one of the tempting red berries in his mouth. The other kids were splashing water. Everyone was laughing and screaming with happiness.

  Flash.

  The little boy cried and lay on his stomach, very ill. His grandfather comforted him, while his grandmother leaned over the child with a steaming cup. The grandfather helped him drink. The child closed his eyes and rested.

  Flash.

  There was music, dancing, laughter, people celebrating, sitting by several long tables eating and cheering. There was a large fire with many people dancing and celebrating around it. The many colorful decorations were lit up brightly, strung all over the place. Kids were chasing each other while grownups clapped their hands. The thunder of fireworks lit the dark, full-moon night, exploding in thousands of colors.

  Flash.

  Louder explosions, screams, shouts, fire, heat. Gunshots and more explosions.

  Flash.

  Scared, the little boy crawled out of bed. He moved slowly towards the door, opened it, and peeked outside. Still very frightened, he crouched and looked out carefully.

  Flash.

  His eyes grew larger and larger. People lay on the ground while houses burned; cars and trucks were ablaze, and some exploded as he watched. His grandmother ran towards him, screaming, waving her hands in the air. His grandfather fought something huge in the background. The boy was too afraid to go outside; he had to hide or run away, but from what?

  Flash.

  The entire village was engulfed in flames, and from them came a sick, radiating heat and a dense, nauseating smoke that made it difficult to see anything.

  Flash.

  A man with a rifle fired many times at something huge and hairy rushing him. Another man came up from behind with a revolver, firing at the beast, but it kept attacking. slaughtering the men.

  Flash.

  He slowly closed the door, and then peeked through the keyhole. His grandmother laid on the porch, and something huge and hairy leaned over her.

  Flash.

  A large black eye peered into the keyhole and met his.

  Flash.

  And there was an awful, horrifying stench.

  Flash.

  Carlos opened his eyes, but he couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear. He held his breath for a long while before he managed to move his eyes from one side of the bedroom to the next. He saw his wife hugging her pillow, sleeping calmly, in her typical deep trance. He wanted to smile, but couldn’t, because he knew that something was amiss. He turned his head slowly towards the closed bedroom door. He looked at it and relaxed, and breathed out in relief as he closed his eyes.

  The foul stench made his eyes fly open, and move towards the source of the smell. He looked at the keyhole on the bedroom door, and knew that something was looking back at him through it.

  Flash.

  * * * * *

  CARLOS OPENED his eyes, his heart racing as he woke for real. He stared at the ceiling, soaked from having sweat so profusely. It took him a while before he could hear his wife’s soft breathing. She had her back turned to him. Good; he hadn’t woken her up this time. He slowly got up; the bedroom was dark. He stopped to sniff the air; nothing. He was no longer dreaming, thank the Lord. He touched his pillows and sheet; like him, they were soaking wet. He slowly looked up at the bedroom door and the keyhole, then walked over and opened the door gently, looking back at his wife, making sure he wasn’t waking her up.

  He trembled as he sneaked down the upstairs hallway, not wanting to wake his family. He cursed to himself when he heard the wooden floor creak. He stopped several times, making sure everyone still was still asleep. When he reached the stairs, he had to hold onto the railing to make it all the way down. He walked to the guest bathroom, and turned on the light after he had closed the door. He then turned on the water and washed his face.

  He didn’t like what he saw in the mirror. He was worn out, and looked it. His eyes were bloodshot, and he thought he could hear his own heartbeat, it was pounding that hard. He turned off the light and headed to the basement door. He opened it slowly, and the hinges squeaked loudly, while the old wooden door made a creaking sound. Everything downstairs was very dark, and he fumbled carefully as he descended. Standing right by the staircase, Carlos waved one of his hands in the air until his palm brushed a long cord hanging down. He pulled it, and an old light bulb lit up.

  He looked around at his family legacy: hundreds of boxes, with most of their contents forgotten. Many times he had planned to turn this place into a man cave, or something for the kids; his wife already had her own sewing room, so maybe once the kids had left the nest he’ll make good on his dream.

  He searched all over for a specific box, and after what seemed forever, having made many nice discoveries of missing items, he found what he was looking for. It was perhaps the oldest of all the boxes and crates lying around. He took a deep breath as he reached for it on a shelf. He looked it over and brushed off a lot of dust, which made him sneeze.

  He moved some stuff away to make more room, and once he was satisfied, he sat down on an old barstool next to a joiner table. He opened the box—and when he looked inside, it felt like time had stood still.

  He remember
ed vividly when he had opened it last and filled it with its contents. He had been a child then, very young. Inside were some toy soldiers, a few toy cars, and a kid’s baseball cap, along with other stuff only a young child would treasure. Then there was the largest item, carefully wrapped in an old newspaper. He slowly removed the old yellowing newsprint, treating the package as if he were handling evidence from a crime scene.

  He lifted out a very old child’s safe. It had been blue, once, with a red number combination lock on the small safety door. Now it was rusty, with dents in it, and just a few flakes of blue paint left. It was a child’s toy that no modern child would ever appreciate. He held it in his hands, and suddenly he started to tremble, and tears fell from his eyes.

  “Now, son, we will place all your horrors in your own secret safe, and then you will lock the door. Only you have the combination, no one else. Once you have locked that door, all the horrors and monsters will vanish from your life forever.”

  “Now do as your father asks, and all will be well. You’ll see.”

  His father’s and mother’s voices and images flashed in his mind.

  He tried to remember the combination, and began spinning the dial. On the second try, he heard a click. Before he opened the little safe, he closed his eyes; and once he had gathered his strength, he slowly opened them. There were many folded papers laying neatly stacked inside. One shelf divided the safe in two.

  He took out each document or newspaper clipping, one by one, and read them carefully. Anything with a picture he examined intently. The many different headlines from equally as many newspapers read differently, and the headlines flashed one by one. Some were written in Spanish, while a few were in English. Drug War. Massacre. Slaughtered. Mass grave. No survivors. American witness. FBI. Special Agent Harvey Cole. Perez.

  Carlos looked again into the safe, and found a small, blue plastic bracelet, the kind you wear in the hospital as ID. It only had a number on it.