The Pines

glow, a clinging putrescence. Oddly shaped devices hung from the rafters, bent stiff-wire cages and rotten leathern contraptions with tufts of fur adhering. Must’ve been a trapper’s hut. There have to be guns, guns and skinning knives and things. But they’d be old, the guns, she knew—museum pieces. Useless.

Dust laden and cobwebbed, the largest object hung just above her head, and she struggled to pull it down with one hand, thick grime coating her fingers. It weighed more than she expected, and she almost dropped it. Rust ground into her palm. What in the…?

As she hefted the object, examining it, match light gleamed off something on the floor, something bright.

Stooping, she brought the match low. A glistening caul of decay covered the face…but silver jewelry glittered on a bloated wrist. She recognized the design of interlocking leaves. It’s the bracelet Steve gave me, the one that belonged to his wife.

Everything went black.

Oh, Pamela.

Choking, she held one hand across her nose and mouth and felt what remained of her sanity begin to splinter. A moment later, in the darkness, she realized what the heavy object in her hand must be.

“Steve?” Another match sparked. “I’ve found a bear trap.”

In the flickering shadows, his mouth seemed to move.

“It’s pretty rusted,” she whispered. “Oh God, I think I hear it.”

The thing howled again, louder, and dust rained down on her from the ceiling.

Oh God, let this be over. She pawed frantically across the corpses, finding canteens and camping gear, but no guns or knives. I can’t fight anymore. I can’t. Then she saw it. In the corner leaned an ax. She brushed away the silken tent that cocooned it, and black spiders dropped off. She hefted the ax. The handle was rotten, the head dull and loose, but it was something.

From outside, from just the other side of the wall, came the whispery scraping of heavy feet against the sand.

Almost. The match dropped, because she needed both hands now. Working in the dark, she struggled with the trap, trying to figure out how it opened. I’m almost ready for you.

Tugging and grunting, she managed to pull the ridged jaws a few inches apart, but they closed with a grind. She felt blood on her fingers. Taking hold of the ax handle, she pried the jaws open again, exerting all her strength, then worked the handle between the teeth. Holding the trap down with one foot, she levered it, slowly, all the way open. Then she put her lame foot on it and heard a click as the trap flattened.

“’Thena, run.”

“Ssh, Steve.” Stepping back, she felt for the matches. One left. She set fire to the pack and examined the spring plate in the center of the trap. This better work. Holding the flame gingerly, she positioned the trap by the doorway.

She dropped the curling matchbook and watched the red fade. Then she stood out of the strike of moonlight and waited with the ax raised above her head.

The footsteps ceased.

It’s just standing there, on the other side of the doorway. She could hear it breathing and realized with a sinking terror that it could hear her. Its breath became a slavering growl, a guttural snarl that ground thickly on and on.

“Thh thth ththtenahthena”

Soft as spider’s silk.

Then silence.

The damp wood of the ax handle began to crumble in her grip. It…said…my… name.

She heard a wet slithering.

Then Matthew’s voice echoed clearly in her mind: Behind…behind inna dark…turn around…right behind…

From where Steve lay came a giggle that choked into a sob, and she spun, swinging with all her strength.

She heard a harsh animal shriek as the ax connected.

She swung again, shouting with a ferocity of her own. The handle snapped. She leaped for the doorway as fingers clawed at her. Her foot struck something hard and she went down, dragging the heavy object across the floor, feeling its metal teeth dig into her leg.

She scrambled outside and shoved at the leaning door, sent it toppling. For an instant, she glimpsed the blue-gray face above her in the moonlight, the wide, luminous eyes, the chin wet with drool. Then the door thudded, the thing disappearing beneath it.

Moonlight struck like a wave of energy. She plunged into it, stumbling, and fought her way against that current, still clutching the steel-jaw trap. Too rusted. It hadn’t worked, hadn’t snapped shut when she’d fallen on it. Thank God. She had to reach the pines—lose herself in them. Steve, forgive me.

At the edge of the woods stood the boy. His eyes shone white.

“Run! Matty, get away!” The wind blew strong against her as, limping heavily, she raced toward him.

The boy stood very still, and his gaze traveled past her.

“Run!” Yelling as she turned, she saw the thing burst from the hut and streak forward, blurring.

The gaping maw. The clutching hands.

“No!” She hurled the trap, falling to her knees, arms outstretched to shield the boy.

She heard a muffled clang, and the moonlight faded steadily, sinking the world in darkness.

Mired in the stench of the hut, Steve heard the awful screech and knew he had to help her. He tried to rise but felt the blood pool in his bowels and then leak out around the burning coil of pain. Again, his strength ebbed, receding into darkness. Something was sticking into him, sharp and hard at his back. He tried to squirm off it.

He couldn’t die here, not now, couldn’t abandon her when she needed him. He twisted over on his side, the pain searing him in half, his breath burning through his throat. Then his hand struck the thing he’d been lying on and fastened instantly on the familiar hardness.

The sky seemed to boil, the clouds strange and fleet.

She approached. It lay on the ground. A naked thing, it convulsed, shrieking and gibbering. She waited for it to die. In the dark, the feet looked horny and malformed. Cautiously, she bent closer. It breathed still but no longer growled, the worst of its death spasms over. Only as Matty drew forward did she recognize the long whitish hair that trailed about its shoulders.

The trap had stuck the abdomen, clamping shut on its stomach.

He’s still alive. Heavy shadow lay across the face, but she could see the twitching of the lips, like the struggles of a dying bird. I don’t want to hear.

Stench rose from the earth.

“…kill anybody’d try ta chase you ’way…you ’bout the only friend I ever…”

The words grew even fainter, and she tried to hold Matty back from him.

“…no don’ tie me up! Wanna help ya. Ernie, they comin’…come to get Lonny’s things she said you know what’s out there, boy. My own son. You and yer ma out there inna woods…”

She watched his bowels looping out, listened to the pathetic ravings. He’s spilling his guts. She wanted to scream or laugh. It seemed incredible he still could speak, incredible he could breathe, and in the weak light the entrails seemed to unclench and writhe on the ground like serpents.

His face. Moonlight raced, dappling over him. I have to see. Nothing of his features remained visible for more than a fleeting second, and the sibilant gasp of his voice ebbed, growing even more chaotic. I have to know.

“…what’d you do to my father loony you ain’t like them others what are we sort of like cousins where’s my old man I know you know where…”