WILDERNESS #57:
FEAR WEAVER
David
Thompson
LOST AND FOUND
“Are you Philberta?” Nate asked. She answered the description he had been given.
“This little pig went to market, this little pig stayed at home.”
“Talk sense, will you?”
“This little pig had roast beef, this little pig had none.”
“Cut that out. And tell me, are you Philberta or aren’t you?”
“To be honest, sir, I’m not sure anymore.” She laughed again, a sad sort of laugh. Then she swept a knitting needle over her head and cried, “Let’s see which one of us is real!”
And with that she attacked.
Before
The man had tears in his eyes and spittle on his chin. He ran through the woods in a wild panic, every now and then letting out a piercing shriek. He collided with a tree, but it barely slowed him. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Twice he slashed at the air with a Green River knife.
“Stay away!” he screeched. “Stay away!’
Bursting from the undergrowth into a clearing, he fell to his hands and knees, exhausted. More spittle dribbled from his lower lip into his matted beard. He mewed in fright and looked back again, and his pale face became paler.
“God no, God no, God no, God no.”
Pushing to his feet, the man thrust his knife at the forest.
“Don’t you dare! I won’t be easy!”
The wind had died. Not so much as a leaf or pine needle stirred in the dark woods.
“I know you are there! Show yourselves!”
The man’s eyes blazed with fire. His haggard features hardened. He held the knife above his head, ready to stab. “I’m waiting!”
Something moved at the edge of the clearing to his right and the man whirled, the knife in front of him. “You won’t get me! I will kill you, do you hear me?”
A horse came out of the woods and regarded the man, its ears pricked. Whinnying, it stamped a hoof.
“They are after you too?”
The man took a step, then stopped and swatted the air. He swatted it again and again, as if trying to drive off a swarm of bees. He swung and swung, only stopping when he was too weak to continue.
The horse just stood there.
“Of course,” the man said. “It’s not just people. They go after everything. Deer, rabbits, elk, birds, everything. Why didn’t I see it sooner? How could I have been so stupid?”
The horse bobbed its head.
“It’s all right.” The man smiled a crooked smile. “I won’t hurt you.” He moved slowly toward it, the corners of his mouth twitching. “We’ll get away from here. I promise to take care of you.”
The horse stamped again.
“Stay calm. That’s it. I’ll get on you and we’ll leave this terrible place. I never should have come. But how was I to know? How was anyone to know?” The man gazed at a patch of blue far above, then at the towering cliffs that reared thousands of feet on three sides of the valley. “I thought I found heaven on earth. But I unleashed demons, didn’t I? From my own seed I spawned them. From my ignorance.”
The man shook. His mouth still twitching, he took another step. “You and me, boy. You and me. Let’s light a shuck.” He chuckled, but the sound that came from his throat was like the rattle of a dry gourd.
The next instant the horse wheeled and trotted off, its brown body dappled by shadows.
“Noooooo!” The man ran after it, but only as far as the trees.
“Come back! Please come back! I can’t make it afoot. Not with them everywhere. I need you!”
The thud of hooves faded. The forest was still again.
“Lord, preserve me. I’m doomed.” The man raised his left hand to his brow. “I can’t take this anymore. I just can’t.” Uttering a low sob, he turned.
Nearly invisible in the gloom, a cabin stood at the other side of the clearing. Small and sturdily built, it had a stone chimney from which curled writhing tendrils of smoke. Red curtains hung over the window like splashes of fresh blood.
The man gasped. He shuffled toward the cabin with reluctance, as if he didn’t quite believe it was there, or as if the cabin nursed a new fear that made his legs weak.
“I am not, I can not, I will not,” he said.
A dozen feet out the man stopped. From within came humming, low and soft and peaceful. He stood and listened for a good long while. Only when a brisk gust from off the heights fanned the nape of his neck and sent goose bumps rippling down his skin did he stir and step to the door. He didn’t knock. He didn’t call out and ask permission to enter. He simply worked the wooden latch and strode in.
The cabin was warm and cozy and filled with the scent of burning logs. A bearskin rug covered the middle of the floor. To the left was a log table with log benches. To the right, the doorway to a pantry. Straight ahead was
