The Devil's Woods

by Brian Moreland

  Kyle challenged the trees with a bold stare.

  Zack marched ten feet ahead along the timberline. Nothing attacked him. The branches shook with the wind but stayed their distance. Feeling foolish for being frightened, Kyle hiked through the patches of dead grass that made up the backyard, moving away from the light that glowed through the windows. One porch light illuminated only half the yard, so they had to search for the firewood in the darkness.

  “Over there.” Zack pointed, hiking toward a woodpile.

  Squinting, Kyle observed eight logs on a platform. “This won’t last another day. Guess we’ll have to chop some more tomorrow.”

  Zack held up his arms while Kyle stacked logs on top of them.

  From behind the woodpile, amid the swaying trees, Kyle heard branches snap. “Okay, you had to hear that.”

  “What?”

  Kyle studied the gloom beyond the woodpile. Silence. “Thought I heard movement again. Just my imagination, I guess.”

  Zack chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve read plenty of your imagination. I’d hate to see any of it roaming the dark woods at night.”

  Chapter Six

  Ten miles away, the full moon glowed through the forest canopy in slanted, scattered beams. Beyond the gloom that surrounded the RV, nocturnal creatures crooned at the moon.

  Lindsey Hanson hiked with her dog through the woods to a campfire and sat down on a log next to her dad. The glow flickered orange flames in his glasses. He was humming to himself and roasting hotdogs, which Chaser eyed, licking his chops.

  Lindsey rubbed her hands over the fire. “Whew, it gets nippy real fast up here.”

  “Why don’t you put on your coat?” her dad said, glancing at her sweatshirt. “You could catch pneumonia.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Dadddddd, I’m a big girl, now, practically a woman.”

  “Am I being a worry wart again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry, ladybug. Old habits die hard.”

  Ever since Lindsey’s mother passed away, her dad was constantly fussing over her like she was still five years old. She looked down at the dark lake. All the boats had gone in for the night. It was quiet now, except for the frogs. They sure were croaking it up out there in the reeds. Her dad used to say when the frogs croaked louder it meant a storm was coming. The wind did seem to be picking up a bit, shaking the pine branches.

  She glanced back at the RV, half hidden by the trees about twenty yards away. There was no one else camping out here but them. It wasn’t a typical campground. More like a dirt road that ended at a small clearing by the water. There were no picnic tables or barbecue grills. The only sign that anyone had ever camped here was a small pit that had once been a campfire. It had been littered with beer cans and a Trojan wrapper.

  “Hungry?” Her dad pulled the sizzling franks out of the fire. “These are about as charred as I can get them.”

  “Guess so.” Lindsey fixed herself a hotdog. She wasn’t real hungry, but anxious to get something warm in her stomach. The chill wasn’t the only thing bothering her. She couldn’t shake the slimy feeling she’d gotten from that hearse driver back in Hagen’s Cove. Hugo’s face kept popping into her head, leering at her breasts with those dull gray eyes. You like to party?

  Unable to eat more than two bites, Lindsey gave the rest of her hotdog to Chaser, who chomped it down.

  Her dad frowned. “That’s all you’re eating?”

  Lindsey faked a smile. “Saving room for s’mores.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get the marshmallows.” He walked toward the camper.

  To take her mind off things, Lindsey tried to text her friend, Megan, but couldn’t find a signal. She wanted to tell her about the cute guy who had rescued her dog earlier. Kyle was hot. But each time she tried to focus on his face, that creep, Hugo, appeared instead.

  After I bury this casket, I’d be happy to take you for a ride.

  Lindsey shuddered. Her dad returned with a bag of marshmallows, chocolate bars and a box of graham crackers. “How about after dessert, we hit the hay? We’ve got an early rise tomorrow.”

  Staring into the crackling flames, she rubbed her hands together for warmth. “I want to go home.”

  “Soon, ladybug. But tomorrow we’ve got one more town. Then we’ll head back.”

  Lindsey began tearing up. She tried to hide it, looking back over her shoulder, but her dad, a homicide detective, noticed everything.

  “Hey…” He put his arm around her. “I miss Amy too. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

  Lindsey leaned her head against his shoulder.

  Somewhere out in the darkness of the pines, branches snapped.

  Chaser rose to his feet, barking.

  An animal growled back with a deep guttural sound.

  Carl Hanson rose at the sound.

  “What was that?” Lindsey gripped his arm.

  “I don’t know. A wolf, maybe. Stay behind me.” Carl pulled out his .38 pistol from a holster on his hip. “Chaser, get back here!”

  The Rottweiler backed up to the edge of the fire’s glow but continued barking.

  The wolf or whatever it was remained in the trees that bordered the campfire. In between growls it made wheezing-hacking sounds.

  Her dad stood. “It might have rabies. Let’s get inside the camper.” He doused the fire with a cooler of water and the campsite went dark.

  Lindsey turned on her flashlight and trained it on the woods. The pine branches were moving. Her beam reflected in a pair of eyes.

  At the lake, terror hit Carl Hanson when he saw glowing eyes high up in the trees. Through thirty-odd years of bear hunting he had faced many a grizzly, but never anything as horrifying as this. Although the beast stood at least eight feet, it wasn’t shaped like any bear.

  Carl wished he had his rifle. He fired his pistol, hoping to scare the thing off.

  It wailed and tore through the branches.

  “Run, Lindsey!”

  His daughter bolted for the RV.

  Carl jerked his legs and started to turn, but moved like a man submerged in quicksand.

  The thing snarled. An arm too long for its body swooped from the darkness and slammed into Carl’s jaw. White sparks burst behind his eyes. Trees spun. The forest flipped upside down.

  His back plunged into a mound of cindering ash, clouds of white dust puffing up around him.

  Lindsey’s screams echoed from somewhere. Chaser barked.

  Gasping, Carl smelled steak burning, and then felt a hundred wasp stings searing his back. Beneath him, charred logs were burning through his flannel shirt. Screaming, Carl rolled out of the biting embers, rolling his body through the grass to extinguish his scalding back.

  The giant shadow blocked out the moon. It reached down for Carl’s leg, but Chaser leaped for the beast’s throat. With quicksilver swiftness, a massive hand whacked across the dog’s neck, sending the Rottweiler’s body flying into the underbrush. Chaser didn’t return.

  Then the beast, outlined in the luminance of the moon, glared down at Carl. His hands sprawled over a pile of wood, grabbing a log he hadn’t burned. He jumped up and smacked the log against its skull, knocking it sideways.

  Carl sprinted through the woods. Toward the camper.

  The beast, roaring, charged from behind with earth-shaking footfalls.

  Twenty yards away Lindsey held out her arm. “Daddy!”

  “Get inside!”

  Ten more yards to the door.

  Behind, heavy footsteps pounded closer. Steaming breath heaved above him.

  Carl’s heart felt as if it would burst. He reached the open camper door, fingers touching Lindsey’s outstretched hand. Five talons dug into Carl’s back, gripped around his spine and catapulted him back. Blood flooded up his throat, spurted over his lips.

  Carl’s arms and legs flailed. The night spun like a carnival ride, with the ground above and the moon below. As novas of fiery pain incinerated every lobe of his brain, he pictured Amy and Lindsey, two li
ttle girls smiling and waving.

  * * *

  Lindsey stood helpless at the RV’s doorway as the nightmare hurled her father. His body spun through the air, end over end, smacking against the trees with an explosion of blood and broken body limbs.

  “Daddy!”

  The thing turned and charged at Lindsey.

  She tried to push the door closed.

  Like a blur, the shadow covered the stretch between the camp and RV in a blink. An elongated arm speared forward. Lindsey slammed the door against it. Black fingers clawed the air above her head.

  Lindsey pulled the door tighter against the arm.

  Dark blood splattered along the cabinets and across her cheeks. She slammed the camper door several more times against the arm until it pulled away.

  She locked the side door as a shoulder impression protruded through the metal with a crashing sound, testing the hinges. They held, but the impact rattled the motor home. Lindsey tumbled against the dining table and then recoiled to the center aisle.

  Something took hold of the camper’s back bumper. The rear section began shaking, the tires and shocks squeaking.

  Fighting to maintain her balance, Lindsey tottered back against the stove as the RV rocked. Then, as quickly as it had started, the violent rocking ceased. The night became silent. Moments passed like hours, without a sound, and then the wind picked up, scraping branches against the metal.

  Lindsey flattened against the bathroom door, away from the windows.

  Her body trembled.

  The front doors aren’t locked!

  She burst down the narrow hall and slammed down the lock on the passenger’s side. Then she turned around to hit the lock on the driver’s side, only to see a hideous face lurking in the window.

  As Lindsey slammed her fist down on the driver’s door lock, a sudden blur burst through the glass. A hand with long black fingers gripped her wrist. Screaming, she clung to the steering wheel, struggling to keep from being pulled out the jagged window.

  Lindsey braced her leg against the door and pulled with every ounce of strength she could muster. The beast’s arm raked across the serrated teeth of the broken window, drenching the door an oily black.

  The thing released its grip in an animal cry of pain.

  Lindsey fell back against the passenger’s seat. She spotted her dad’s keys on the console.

  Sucking in a hard breath, she grabbed the keys and jumped behind the wheel. She jammed the key into the ignition. The night pressed pitch-black against the windshield. She could see the moon and a few conifers spearing through it. She turned the key. The engine roared. She found the reverse gear, and blind to what was behind her, started backing the motor home down the narrow road. Branches scraped overhead, slapped at her window. Tires trundled over rocks.

  Running feet pounded the road in front of her.

  The beast’s grunts grew louder.

  Lindsey slammed down on the accelerator. Rolling backward, the motor home lurched. Branches screeched across the outside walls. She watched the side mirror as the rear end of the RV swayed from side to side, bumping trees. She fought the wheel to stay on course. The darkness made it impossible to maneuver along such a narrow path. To make matters worse, a tree tore off the side mirror with a metallic shriek.

  In a sudden jolt, the camper crashed ass-end into a tree, and Lindsey fell against the steering wheel. She shifted into drive, stomped on the accelerator, spinning the wheels madly.

  “Come on! Come on!” The RV refused to budge, its bumper hung up on something.

  “Shit!” She fled to the back of the camper.

  Something rammed the side wall with the force of a Mack truck, rocking the RV back on its wheels. Lindsey hit the floor, landing on her elbow. Hot needles stitched up her arm. Panicking from the snarling outside, Lindsey crawled along the floor. The trailer lifted off the ground on one side. Pots and pans clattered to the floor around her. The TV tipped off its console and smashed against the floor a foot away.

  The RV tilted farther back, the metal supports grating. Lindsey rolled sideways over the cabinets, then across the kitchen sink as she felt her world turning off its axis. Then with a crash that shuddered throughout the interior, the camper upended on its side. Shards of glass exploded upward from all the windows, showering down upon her. The ceiling light popped out, tossing elongated shadows through the corridor.

  When the falling debris finally settled, Lindsey found herself lying flat against the window that had been over the sink. It was broken and she could feel grass poking through. Shaking her bruised head, she sat up and opened her eyes to a new dark world. Only the faint wash of moon glow, spilling down through the side windows that were now above her, illuminated the corridor. The RV’s interior had been invaded by the forest, with pine branches and shrubs jutting up through all the windows. To Lindsey, who was still dizzy, everything bloomed at the edges with hazy features.

  She sat up in a cone of moonlight, wiped her tear-drenched face.

  The thing outside jumped on top of the RV. The metal above groaned with every footstep. An elongated arm burst through a window and swooped down, tearing Lindsey’s sweatshirt. She recoiled, curling into a fetal position beneath a mattress. She heard a door wrench open. The camper shook from feet crunching along the aisle. The footsteps stopped when they reached the mattress under which she hid.

  Heavy breathing.

  The mattress lifted off of her. She kept her eyes clamped tight, like a child willing the bogeyman to go away. But the nightmare continued as leathery hands draped around her limp body, snatching her up from the floor.

  Chapter Seven

  Alone behind the cabin, Kyle collected the last of the firewood. Again he heard a noise just beyond the trees. Clouds drifted away from the bright moon, pushing shadows back. Something moved back with them.

  Shuff, shuff, shuff.

  Strange shapes roamed through the forest beyond the woodpile.

  Kyle flinched, trying to focus through the dark maze of pines. A few yards down the hill a tall figure was moving through the gloom. A person? Or just the wind blowing a tree?

  Definitely not a tree, because it was advancing toward Kyle, climbing the hill. A rush of adrenaline flooded his body as he thought maybe his father was returning. “Dad? Is that you?”

  Smaller silhouettes ran ahead of the larger one.

  The forest grew alive with grunts and huffs, and the shuffling of several feet over thick, dry grass. Kyle dropped the pile of logs and grabbed an axe that was stuck blade down into a stump. He had been right. The forest was alive. One of the creatures made clicking sounds.

  Gripping the axe, Kyle backed away from the trees, heading toward the cabin. A shadow shape charged with a rising growl and lurched from the blackness. It knocked Kyle flat against the ground. Sharp fangs tore into his wrist as he fought with the axe to hold back the four-legged beast. Arching its furry humped back, it growled and ripped at the sleeve of his shirt, cutting into his forearm.

  Kyle yelled as blood trickled down his arm. Holding the axe with both hands, he slammed the handle against the thing’s muzzle, and the shadow released its painful grip, only to snap back, snarling. Before jagged teeth could rip into his throat, he dropped the axe and caught the beast with both hands by its thick-muscled nape. Saliva spattered onto Kyle’s cheeks. Fangs snapped inches from his face. Its neck twisted and jerked in his hands. The full moon reflected in its silvery eyes. Kyle tried to flip it off his chest, but the wolf-beast’s paws scraped and jabbed into his chest and stomach.

  Pinned beneath one beast, Kyle felt two more hungry muzzles tear at the cuffs of his jeans. Twisting snouts stretched and pulled at the denim as their growls tore through the blackness.

  He was going to die. Eaten alive by wolves.

  His back and buttocks began sliding over grass and rocks toward the tree line. The pines loomed over him, like hellish gods waiting for their minions to bring them prey.

  With one hand, Kyle kept the
fangs above his throat at bay, while his other hand clawed at the pine-needled earth to keep the creatures from dragging him into the forest.

  Above, thorny branches shredded the moon as they swiftly raked across the sky. Three snarling beasts dragged him deeper into the woods. Swallowed by hovering trees and gloom, kicking and yelling as tree limbs and underbrush slapped past him, Kyle grabbed a rock with one free hand. Growling with his own preternatural rage, he struck the wolf on his chest square in the head. The animal yelped and ran off. Kyle clung to a tree to keep himself from being dragged any farther. The two wolves at his ankles tore at the cuffs of his jeans. Raising the rock, he was about to smack another beast, when the third wolf pounced on his chest again, its dripping fangs growling inches from Kyle’s face.