by Jeremy Finn
For hours he forced himself onward up the mountain. In the dim light, he tripped and stumbled often. He rolled his ankles so many times they were beginning to feel like they were held onto his legs by several strands of wet spaghetti. He finally found the large rock where he had initially discovered the shoes. Without hesitation, he placed them on the same spot and carefully ensured the laces were tucked in and the shoes lined up uniformly. Then he rushed back down the hill as fast as he could without a thought or a glance directed back to those cursed shoes. As he neared the bottom, he realized the presence had faded. When he entered his car and turned the ignition, it was gone. For the first time since the mountaintop incident, he felt at peace.
The short drive home was uneventful, and despite the fears and insanity of his recent experiences, he was able to sleep once more. The sun rose far too quickly and Tobo pulled the covers over his head. He spent most of the morning sleeping and went to the local clinic in the afternoon to tend to his injuries. The doctor questioned him about the source of the wounds, but he just explained he had a nasty fall off one of the trails when the dirt along the edge gave way and he slipped off. The doctor looked unconvinced, but did not push the issue.
By the next morning, Tobo had effectively forgotten the whole incident, even if by choice. He strolled to his favorite neighborhood bakery to sit by the window and enjoy a chewy pastry topped with hot dog slices and melted cheese accompanied by a strong cup of breve latte. As he enjoyed his late breakfast, he flipped through the pages of a local paper. One headline caught his attention. It caused him to perspire instantly and sent his mind whirling yet again. It read simply, “SUICIDE ON PUKHA MOUNTAIN; BODY FOUND ENTANGLED IN TREES”.
Insight
This story pulls together many of my strong, cherished memories of hikes/runs through the mountains of Korea, particularly the Tobong Mountain Park beside my brother-in-law’s apartment building. Even some of the smaller scenes like the bakery at the end are unembellished memories. The basis for the suspense, though, actually comes from a real experience I had one day climbing to the peak of one of the mountains. Instead of reiterate all the details of what is true and what is fiction, I can say it was mostly all true experience up to the point of seeing the man jump (I did not see anyone on the mountaintop). I did find the shoes and I did later learn this is a cultural practice for those committing suicide. I never did find out if a body turned up on the mountainside, but it remains a memory and possibility that “haunts” my thoughts from time to time. I am not particularly fond of ghost stories, but thought if I am going to write one, this would be a good foundation to work off. So, if you ever come across a pair of shoes in the mountains of Korea, best just to leave them be and let someone know what you found. Just in case…
THE PREDATORS AMONG US
It was a beautiful day on the rolling green hills where the edge of the deep forest abruptly ended and surrendered to swaying quilts of lush grasses. White, puffy clouds raced silently across the turquoise sky like larger images of the flock below. Little Lamb chewed contentedly on a mouthful of tender grass and enjoyed the peaceful scene. He had not lived long on this earth, but already he was becoming accustomed to the ways of his flock and the habits required of his species. To him, in his limited experience, the world was warm, tender and exciting. All he knew was late spring and early summer, friends and family always nearby and food in abundance. Not but a few days earlier, however, a thought had irritated him, like a bur caught in his hoof it chaffed at his thoughts until the discomfort drew his primary attention.
The day began like any other. Not for the first time in his short life, he had noticed the forest; it’s towering treetops that cast shadows and created ominous caverns full of twisted vines and broken branches reaching out at awkward angles. Now, though, for the first time it had occurred to him that it might be an unfriendly place. He could not say why he suddenly felt this way, but in his gut he sensed a threat – perhaps not the forest itself, but maybe something that lingered there. It was almost as if eyes were watching him – eyes that meant harm and reached out invisibly toward him with claws of malicious intent. When he saw a sudden movement in the forest, he took it at first to be a squirrel or other small creature of the like that occasionally ventured out to the edge of the woodland, but the flock suddenly shifted as a whole in a jerk of momentary mindless panic. It scared Little Lamb terribly, not the movement in the forest, which he now knew was something more sinister than a squirrel, but the change that came so suddenly over the flock. All those sheep he grew up alongside, those who chewed slowly all day and could not be bothered to move faster than they cared, turned in an instant to animals bolting and shoving each other with no regard or sense.
As quickly as it had started, it stopped. There was still a tension in the air, but movement settled once again to a comfortable crawl.
“What is it?” Little Lamb asked Long Horns.
“Young one, it is time you learned the truth of what your instinct already knows,” the old sheep sighed while he continued to scan the edge of the forest.
“What do you mean,” Little Lamb asked innocently. “Was there something bad in the woods?”
“Bad indeed,” Mother Wool joined in. “A wolf was watching us from the shadows.”
“A wolf?” Little Lamb tried the new word. “What is bad about a wolf?”
“They are born to kill,” Long Horns explained. “They have sharp teeth made for tearing and piercing, not like our flat teeth that chew grass.”
“And claws that rip open flesh,” Brother Ram added with enthusiasm as he joined the group.
“When they feel we are weak or inattentive,” Long Horns continued, “they attack and single out the sick or young.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Little Lamb asked trembling. “Because you must know the truth and understand you are to avoid these predators at all costs,” Long Horns said sternly. “Look over there,” he said and raised his head toward a rock outcropping deep in the forest overlooking the trees. A dark, canine silhouette stood against the sunset sky gazing ominously on the distant flock. “It is the wolf. Learn its form and flee from it whenever you see it.”
Just then, the flock shifted again, though with less panic and more like someone temporarily surprised by something unexpected. Little Lamb turned to look and his eyes found the same form he had just seen so far away.
“Wolf!” he cried and found himself crashing into the sheep beside him just as the others had done minutes before.
“Calm down!” Brother Ram shouted. “It’s not a wolf.”
“But it is the same animal I just saw, “Little Lamb protested.
“No, Mother Wool explained, “it is a sheep dog.”
This was another new word for Little Lamb and he was growing confused. “But it has the same dreadful teeth! And I can see the claws! Look how he is pacing around us and watching us.” Then he looked up at the rock face again and saw that the wolf was gone.
“Wolves run from them,” Brother Ram explained. “They are scared of them.”
“So, they are on our side?” Little Lamb asked, dumfounded.
There was what seemed to Little Lamb to be an uncomfortable silence among the grown sheep for some moments before Long Horns broke it. “No, they are not like us. They are also killers – born for violence. They cannot be trusted and you will stay far from them.”
“So, they kill sheep too?” Little Lamb asked as he slipped behind Brother Ram.
“Well, I have not seen it,” Mother Wool said with a snort, “but be sure they are capable of it and may turn their teeth on you at any moment. Now let’s get back to the center of the flock. Being near this long tooth makes my skin crawl.
They slipped slowly into the crowded mass of wool bodies, but before he followed, Little Lamb lingered for a moment at the edge of the flock watching the vicious beast. It paced before the flock at a short distance then turned to retreat farther from them. As the sheep dog turned, his eyes met Littl
e Lamb’s. They were crystal-clear blue, penetrating and focused. Little Lamb felt the soul of the creature through that gaze. It was determined, hard and coiled like a spring. He expected it also to be cold and hungry, but the opposite caught him off guard. While this was clearly a very dangerous, powerful beast, for a heartbeat he felt an unexpected emotion cross to him through the gaze which he could only explain as protection. It seemed wildly inappropriate, so he turned and buried himself deep in the flock.
And so he stood again today as he had for every day of his life he could recall, chewing slowly and pondering the simple things sheep ponder. Increasingly, though, he could not keep the thoughts of the forest and the dark mystery of the sheep dog out of his mind. Would he really tear his throat if the opportunity presented itself? He certainly seemed capable of it and he could see little of physical difference between the wolves and the dog. As the sun began to sink into the low hills, he decided he best be safe and keep his distance from the dogs. His deep thoughts and his idle grazing made him unaware of how close his end of the flock had drifted to the edge of the shadowy forest.
A high-pitched noise cut through the evening air like a cold knife and echoed eerily as it dropped in pitch. All the sheep around him bolted away in a haphazard manner scattering every which way but toward the forest. Little Lamb did not know the sound or the reason why his kin reacted so desperately. He knew it must not be a good thing, but he had no idea what to do, so he just remained frozen in place – a natural survival instinct.
Then he saw it, moving like a flash of lightning across the soft meadow. It was a blur of fur and fangs racing through the flock and heading straight for him. His fellow sheep scattered before the attacking sheep dog, offering no resistance to his murderous charge. Little Lamb knew he had no chance. He could not outrun the beast and could not fight it. Within moments he would be dead – an evening supper for this vicious monster. He cringed and waited for the powerful jaws to close around his neck, but instead felt a rush of wind pass by him and heard a riotous confusion of snarls erupt beside him.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the sheep dog rolling and twisting around the body of a giant black wolf. The violent storm raged just feet away from Little Lamb and he was struck with the understanding that the sheep dog had just saved his life. He had not been racing to kill him, but racing to save him from the danger Little Lamb was not aware of. But why did he do this? Little Lamb wondered why, when the howl cut the air and all the sheep scattered in a panic, did he do the opposite? Why did he run straight toward the danger without hesitation – almost as if it was in his nature to do so? Granted, he had weapons the sheep did not, but the wolf was twice his size and he certainly risked death by confronting him.
Something about the dog, though, perhaps the way he fought or maybe just the fact that he fought out of some inner conviction while the wolf fought out of hunger – whatever it was, turned the tables and sent the wolf retreating to the forest with his tail between his legs. Little Lamb probably would have remained frozen there for some time if the sheep dog had not paced over to him and nudged him with his bloody nose. It took him a moment, but he realized the dog was urging him back to rejoin the flock. He limped behind for a ways but when Little Lamb crested the hill and found his brothers and sisters huddled in a pocket below, he cast his gaze back and saw the dog was nowhere to be seen.
“Where have you been?” Long Horns called out of concern tinged with anger.
“The wolf came for me,” Little Lamb explained, “but the sheep dog saved me.”
“Nonsense!” Brother Ram exclaimed. “Everyone knows sheep dogs and wolves both have but one purpose – to kill sheep. Look, there is even blood on you to prove it.”
“No,” Little Lamb protested, “that’s not my blood, it’s the dog’s. He was injured fighting off the wolf.”
“Likely they were just toying with you young one, or fighting each other over the meal,” Mother Wool proposed. “You are lucky to have escaped their jaws.”
Little Lamb opened his mouth to protest again, but he could read on his audience’s faces they were convinced despite the facts.
“The only chance we have for true peace and safety is if we distance ourselves from their kind,” Brother Ram instructed. “They cannot be trusted among us and if we leave them alone, they will leave us alone.”
“He is right,” Long Horns confirmed. “We will leave this place and travel toward the coast so that these brutal animals will not bother us.”
Little Lamb knew the futility of arguing further and agreed moving away from the forest would be a good idea. However, he could not shake the nagging knowledge of the desperation born of hunger he had sensed in that wolf. Would the wolf indeed leave them alone if they just left him alone?
Days passed and the flock found themselves in a different sort of terrain. There was still enough grass to eat, though it was not as tender or sweet, and the land was generally more rocky and abrupt. Fortunately, though, Long Horns seemed to have been right – there had been no sign of the wolf or the sheep dog since they left the pasture by the woods.
Little Lamb had nearly forgotten about the whole incident as he milled about the flock one sunny morning. Life was good and there was no need to be concerned about tomorrow. Then something big and woolly struck him in the side.
“What’s the problem?” he asked angrily and turned to see Brother Ram with wide eyes and a crazed look on his face.
“There’s something out there!” he babbled nervously. “I saw it creeping among the rocks.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother Wool cut in and tried to calm him. “We all know this is a safe place. Your imagination is getting the better of you.”
“No,” Brother Ram protested. “I know I saw something and I think it looked like a wolf!”
At the mention of the dreaded word, several sheep around them jumped and began shoving each other and casting furtive looks in all directions.
“Enough!” Long Horns burst out. “I will not have the flock in a panic over some shadows you mistook for a threat!”
“But his authoritative command had no effect as the large black wolf from the forest jumped out from behind a rock not far from the flock and released a howl that sent the sheep running in all directions. Their dispersion was cut short, though, as two smaller, brown wolves emerged from across the other side of the flock and began to work with the black wolf to corral the sheep.
“Quick!” Long Horns called. “We must head this way! It is the only path left open by the wolves!”
Just as the flock started to move in that direction, though, a flash of fur bolted down the slope toward them. It was the sheep dog. Apparently, he was collaborating with the wolves because he raced to the open ground where the sheep were fleeing and bared his teeth threateningly.
Little Lamb tried to push to the inside of the flock for safety, but the bigger sheep pushed him aside and stepped on him in their panic. The black wolf lunged for the flock and caught a small lamb about the same size as Little Lamb. He dragged her by the leg away from the flock.
“Somebody help him!” Little Lamb pleaded.
“That’s foolishness!” Mother Wool returned. “He would kill us too. Our only hope is to run.”
Suddenly, the sheep dog flashed into Little Lamb’s vision. He tackled the mighty wolf and a vicious fight ensued. The lamb took the opportunity to flee certain death and was reunited with the flock. Little Lamb felt the mass of sheep moving again in the direction away from the wolves. The sheep dog saw this and broke away from his struggle with the black wolf. Neither was defeated. Both were bloodied, but for some reason the sheep dog raced back to his post on the far side of the flock and growled menacingly. The flock reacted again and Little Lamb found himself shoved closer to the edge of the mass of sheep closest to the dog. His thoughts were dizzying. Why was this sheep dog both helping and attacking the wolves? Was he senseless? Maybe he had lost his mind after living a life of violence.
Then,
a pain-soaked bleating rose over the din and Little Lamb saw another sheep dragged away by one of the brown wolves. The sheep dog reacted unexpectedly again and ran toward the brown wolf. He seized it by the neck and threw it to the ground. The brown wolf fought back viciously, but the dog had a strong grip on its neck and soon the wolf lay still. Instead of racing to intercept the other wolves, though, the sheep dog dashed back to the far side of the flock, where the sheep were making steady progress moving away from the wolves.
“What is he doing?” Little Lamb blurted. He was among less familiar sheep now as the shuffle forced him closer to the sheep dog’s position.
“He’s crazed!” a large sheep shouted. “He will kill anything in his path!”
Little Lamb was certainly confused, but he knew the dog had not harmed a sheep yet, despite his unexplainable behavior. Over the heads of the other sheep he could see the remaining wolves attacking more defenseless lambs. This time, however, the sheep dog did not move. He remained atop a small rise in the terrain and barked ferociously as the wall of sheep moved toward him. The flock acted as any crowd does in a panicked situation – they sensed a greater threat in the violence meted out by the wolves and continued to push and shove away from them and toward the sheep dog.
There were only a few layers of sheep between Little Lamb and the sheep dog, who did not budge despite the fact the margin between him and the flock was closing quickly. When the outer ring of lambs who were not strong enough to force themselves deeper into the mass of sheep came within a few feet of the crazed dog, he flung himself at them. Little Lamb screamed as he expected to see the dog tear into one of the helpless lambs almost within reach of him. But the dog never opened his mouth full of sharp teeth. Instead, he rammed into the sheep and pushed with all his might. Little Lamb watched perplexed and felt the flock push slightly inward with the dog’s efforts. He was no match for the force of the whole flock, though, which continued to push away from the wolves drenched in crimson blood.
