Faithful Shadow

by Howard, Kevin J.

  He couldn’t believe his own eyes when the driver’s side door was pushed open and a young man came crawling out. Joe stood on the shoulder in utter shock, watching as the young man stood up, turning to look at the car with his hands on his head. Before Joe could say a word, the man began climbing up the hill, moving with the speed of a hiker having a friendly climb.

  “Lay down, now!” Joe was panicked, taking hold of the man’s hand as he made it to the top. “You might have something broken and not know it.” Joe helped him onto his back. “Stay as motionless as possible, just in case. You might be in shock.”

  “Okay.” His tone was shaken, but calm.

  Joe just nodded, standing above him in disbelief. He looked from the man on the ground back to the remains of the car and then back again, over and over to confirm he was lying before him. It wasn’t until he read the accident report the following day that he found out the young man was an employee with Canyon. He was released from the Lake hospital an hour after being admitted, his treatment requiring nothing more than a few aspirin; not a single scratch after he’d swerved his car for a squirrel, a freaking squirrel of all things, rolling it three times upside down into a tree. Not a single, tiny scratch. Joe realized at that moment that he had witnessed a miracle; Yellowstone was the kind of place where anything could happen. Now, years later, he’d nearly lost the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

  Joe felt like crying, an odd sensation to feel as you’re flying down a highway seeking monster advice. But there it was; an urge to pull over and once again to mourn the loss of his son and himself, the man he used to know. If the memory he’d cherished for so many years could poke through the barren wasteland of his current existence, then maybe there was hope for the man he used to be. The passion was still there. He could feel it; that little voice pushing him forward, telling him to go five miles faster, despite the posted limit. He had a park to save. He had himself to save.

  Joe had been so wrapped up in thought he nearly missed the turnoff. He slammed on the brakes and veered left, turning off the main road to head west into Mammoth. On any normal day he might have been caught in a number of traffic jams, but lucky for him the fire had frightened all the tourists away; not that he could blame them. When you have a choice of destinations and only a few weeks paid vacation, are you really going to opt for a place that’s burning?

  He passed the oddly stacked mineral deposits on his left and the large open park on his right with its usual high concentration of elk. He followed the road and passed the Mammoth hotel; turning left onto a narrow dirt road that took him past the employee cabins and up a small hill. At the top of this hill was one of the very few private homes in the park, homes that had been passed down through generations of settlers lucky enough to pick such a wonderful spot. Joe pulled up to a house that was almost a cabin, made of old wood carved from trees and built by pioneers. All the modern conveniences inside were recent additions and still considered antiques by today’s homeowner; irons that were heated by stovetop, a toilet with a pull string and overhead tank. Still, better than an outhouse, especially with the harsh winter Yellowstone can deliver.

  “You might as well get back in your truck and turn your ass around, because there’s no way I’m abandoning this home,” Gerol Youngblood yelled from his rocking chair atop the porch. “There hasn’t been a fire yet to claim this house and I sure as shit ain’t handing it over now.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here on official business.” Joe shut his door and approached the porch steps. “I was just hoping for a moment of your time.”

  “Well now this is an honor.” Gerol gave a toothless smile, leaning back with a pair of binoculars in his lap. “Come on and pull up a chair.”

  Joe took the five creaky steps slowly, unsure of his footing. Gerol was an eighty-nine year old man, who hardly had any weight to him, but Joe had put on a few pounds over the last few months, enough to make him order the next size up in work shirts. It was hard to get someone’s cooperation when you fall through their porch. But the boards didn’t break, they moaned wildly, but held. He took a seat beside Gerol, a rocking chair similar to the old man’s house, and looked out over the park.

  “It is a beautiful view.” Joe smiled, looking out at green trees as far as the eye could see to the north, black smoke filling the south.

  It was an odd thing to have an aerial view of the fire. He’d been watching it from the road within the park, seeing only a red flicker or a tuft of smoke. Every once in a while he’d drive up a hill and catch a peek through the trees, but never more than a few acres. On Gerol’s porch he could see the true devastation, stretched out in the distance, red flames shooting into the sky as helicopters dropped water. Joe thought that if they could take every drop of water from the lake and dump it in the heart of this burning beast, it wouldn’t even faze it.

  “Odd how something so terrible can be beautiful.” Gerol looked toward the flames, lifting his binoculars to get a better view.

  “Can you even see anything with those?”

  “I’m not using these for that damn fire. There’s a crane flying around down there. Beautiful birds they are.” Gerol laughed, leaning in close to share a secret. “Not to mention the hot asses of those employees down there. Oh hot damn they’re tight!” Gerol slapped Joe on the knee and erupted in laughter. “Not that it really matters anyway. My pistol don’t exactly shoot no more, if you catch my drift.”

  “Sadly I think I do.” Joe grimaced a bit, turning away so Gerol wouldn’t see how disgusted he was with the thought of this old man’s erectile problems. But who was he to pass judgment? One of his routines, a sad one he admitted, was whacking off to the Playboys he got in the mail each month. A few weeks back he’d been ready to roll, or at least he thought he was; fifteen minutes of pep talks, even a few harsh words, and nothing, not even so much as a twitch. Joe subconsciously crossed his legs, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and exposed.

  “Something tells me you didn’t drive all the way out here to talk about my limp willy. What’s on your mind, ranger?”

  “We’re having some trouble with the…wildlife, I guess you could say.”

  “Having a little problem with the bears, are you?” Gerol gave a sly smile.

  “No, I’d say it’s the bears that are having the trouble, along with the humans, too.” Joe took a second to think of the best approach. “Something we’ve never seen before has been killing people.”

  “Goddamn tourists finally getting what they deserve. You know I saw this one little shit the other day throwing a whole bag of trash out his car window.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Joe cut him off. “I need to know if you’ve ever heard of a creature that lives in the ground; something that’s nocturnal and kills animals and people alike, maybe a portion of park history that’s not found in the ranger station.” Joe saw the smile on Gerol’s face weaken at the sides, the lips moving inward until he turned and gave his complete attention. “Your family has been in the park longer than anyone else. I figure if anyone would know, you would.” A little flattery never hurt.

  “There are some stories my father told me a long time ago, back when I was a boy; campfire kind of stuff, to scare me. But he always told it with the straightest face.” Gerol raised his fluffy white brows as he recalled the tale. “My father told me that long before any of this was here, a wagon train stopped for the night; late eighteen-sixties. They’d set up a base camp just a little north of what is now Grant Village. They had their fire burning high and bright as they huddled together, fearing Indian reprisal for crossing into Cheyenne territory, not that they were in any way hostile. But white folks are stupid. Anyway, that night at the campfire, one of the women begins to scream. Story has it that all their shadows were cast on the wagons, save for one man. His shadow actually turned and came toward him. It grabbed him and pulled him into the wo
ods, and he was never heard from again.” Gerol held up his hands, showing the completion of the story as his father always had. “It was a lot more terrifying when you’re a boy.”

  “Did they ever say anything about what it looked like?”

  “The second story is a bit more descriptive. It’s a little older too; maybe the early eighteen hundreds. Story goes that a young brave went out on his horse to find his father. When he didn’t return later that night, the entire tribe went searching for him. They finally saw him trying to pull himself from a hole in the ground. The strongest men of the tribe took hold of his hands and pulled, ripping the boy free of the hole. There was nothing left of the boy below his torso, eaten clean away. But what was worse is that the creature emerged from its hole and reached for the boy, snarling before returning to its home. They called it the dark heart of the forest; a shadow creature.” Gerol fell silent, always feeling sorry for the poor boy.

  “How do you kill it?”

  “I don’t know.” Gerol thought for a moment, leaning in close. “How would one go about killing a shadow?”

  34

  The last thing Gerol had said burned a whole right through his heart. How indeed do you kill a shadow? You could step on it, shoot it, stab it, and it wouldn’t even faze it. Is this a detached shadow of the forest? Some kind of mythical creature left to wander like a damned soul? Joe had felt a lot more confident about his plan before he starting thinking of demons and fairytales. They didn’t have silver bullets and pixie dust. Joe turned down his driveway and put the truck in park, sitting behind the wheel with the engine running. The coward in him began to grow stronger, making its’ voice heard. It would be so easy to turn and drive off, make a new life for himself in Canada. But he couldn’t do that. It was too late to back out now. He’d gotten the call from Andy over the radio; his nervous tone declaring that he’d done it!

  Joe turned off the engine and went inside, plopping down on the couch with his last shred of energy. It was dark, maybe eight o’clock by the sound of his raging stomach. He’d been so caught up in Gerol’s story that he’d completely forgotten lunch. With a sigh of agitation, Joe rocked forward, rolling his exhausted body off the couch and back into a standing position. He shuffled to the fridge and grabbed the carton of milk and two-day-old tuna. No bread; just ate it straight from the bowl, dipping his dirty finger in and carrying it to his mouth.

  So it was all in motion now. Dale and Andy had worked hard to get the proper people notified and in one day they’d organized a massive evacuation, all on the basis of a drunk’s idea. Now this drunk had toyed with cutting out, leaving them all to deal with the mess he’d made. But Joe would see this through. He owed it to them to be there. He owed it to himself. But at least he hadn’t plopped poor Rita into this mess. He’d placed her in charge of facilitating the evacuation and relocation, keeping her in the loop but unaware of the aftermath. Joe figured Andy would have to do; a scary thought to think of fumbling Andy as his trusty sidekick on this possible suicide mission. But as his mother had always told him, you do the best with what you’ve got.

  Joe took his half gallon of milk back to the couch and drank straight from the carton. He set the bowl of tuna on the coffee table and looked up at the ceiling, noticing a pencil he’d thrown up there three weeks ago. An urge to pray surprised him, but he quickly suppressed it. All the praying he’d done to bring back his son hadn’t gotten him anything but sore knees. No, this was all he had; an old ranger who couldn’t shoot straight and a pissed-off fireman, maybe more if he could convince any of his men. Joe laughed, leaning back into the worn cushions of the couch, suffocating under the gravity of what was coming. And whether he liked it or not, it was coming.

  35

  The last hour of work was always the slowest. Stew strongly believed there was some kind of astral phenomenon, like the Earth entered into a new gravitation pull with some evil planet to extend the length of a day. Conspiracies were one of his favorite topics of conversation. He just found them interesting mostly because he was sure many of them were real; alien abductions, time travel, and especially undiscovered creatures. He could hardly believe that he was smack dab in the middle of a conspiracy in the making. Murder, monsters, and mayhem made him shiver with excitement.

  There was an unsettling thought growing in the back of his mind. He was in the rental store; nothing more than a small wooden shed really, set at the edge of the dining room like a satellite, touching the building but not connected. It looked more like a storage shed than a store. There were three kayaks against the wall, five mountain bikes, some TVs, and lots of DVDs, videos and CDs; all of them for rent. The big equipment, such as the camping stoves and the camcorder, required a fifteen-dollar deposit; not that he would be leaving one when he took it tonight. It was a large enough shack to have dark corners, shadows on the ceiling. The ranger’s words came back to haunt him, that this creature was now hiding somewhere in the Inn. Now he wasn’t officially part of the Inn, but who could say what this thing’s territory was? There weren’t that many people left inside and it had a ravenous appetite. Stew turned on all the lights, even the one to the bathroom behind him. He felt better, pushing back the shadows to nothing more than a few inches in the corners.

  Stew looked up at the clock, rolling his eyes noticing only ten minutes had passed. Just fifty minutes and he could get this show on the road, sneaking through the night like a ninja or a spy—more likely a reporter filming the story for the national news. This last bit sparked a revelation, a thought he’d suppressed with his anger for the ranger. The footage they were going to capture would most definitely make him famous. He’d be known by the world as the man that uncovered the truth behind a string of gruesome murders. National Geographic would give him a million dollars for the recorded discovery of an unknown creature. His name would go down in history.

  “Hey.”

  “What?” Stew shook his head, startled by Richard’s voice. He looked at the clock and saw it was now ten minutes to nine. How time flies when you’re dreaming of the high life. “Where are the girls?”

  “They’re both inside the parlor waiting for our signal.”

  Stew nodded, looking up as the clock finally rolled its big hand to the twelve. He locked the back door and turned off all the lights, handing the extension cord to Richard while gripping the large camcorder’s handle with both hands. He set it down and locked up shop.

  “Are you sure you know how to work this thing? It looks twenty years old.”

  “Oh ye of little faith.” Stew gave a smirk, lifting the camera with a grunt. It was a lot heavier than he thought it would be. “This baby has a brand new VHS tape already inside and is ready to roll. All we need is the cord, an outlet and one hell of a scandal. Check, check and double check. Now let’s get going before someone thinks we’re stealing this bitch.”

  “A VHS tape?”

  “What do you expect, top of the line equipment? This whole place is twenty years behind.”

  Stew ran hunched over, keeping low as they passed through the open ground between the shop and the Inn. Of course there was no one out to see them but better to be safe than sorry. It would have been such a bummer to come all this way, the chance of a life time just waiting there, to have a stupid-ass manager come walking by with a dozen questions. But they were lucky, creeping by the side of the Inn to the window of the ice cream parlor. Stew gently tapped his knuckle against the window, waving to Sonia as she hurried over to unlock the back door.

  “I was starting to get worried.” Sonia wiped her sweaty palms down the front of her apron repeatedly.

  “It’s only five minutes past nine.”

  “I know.” Sonia whined, shaking her hands in the air with agitation. “I’m just really freaking out.”

  “Calm down. You’ll be fine.”

  Sonia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, summoning
control over her jittery nerves. She put her game face on and began the long walk down the hall, her target standing behind the counter. It was completely foolish to be nervous; she’d spoken to Gretchen a dozen times. She’d even seen her sneak out to smoke a joint. That’s all she was, just one of the girls with a title. But because there was a hidden agenda, Sonia was terrified.

  “She looks really nervous.” Richard took a seat with the best angle of the hall, trying to look like he wasn’t watching her out of the corner of his eye as she left.

  “Is she out there?” Kelly came out from the bathroom, wiping her damp hands on her pants. “How’s she doing?” Kelly asked as she took a seat opposite Richard, smiling as Sonia approached Gretchen.

  “Hey.”

  “Hello.” Gretchen looked up from her magazine, a bit startled.

  “Hello.” Sonia smiled, bouncing slightly on her tiptoes.

  “Hey.” Gretchen raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”

  Sonia froze. The lines she’d been given were nowhere to be found, blown off the desk in her mind in a mad panic. She could feel Gretchen’s eyes weighing on her, wondering what the hell she’d come all the way down the hall to bother her with.