He cleared the scrub in single strides, the backs of his hands slapping aside canyon flowers and mariposa lilies. He managed this for several minutes, until the flora grew denser, stems and leaves nicking his forearms and hostile choirs trilling along the skin. He parted one bush to find a wide tree before him, his face colliding with the trunk before he could stop.
Jon knew it was a broken nose without knowing exactly what that meant. The blood dripping onto his quick-dry shirt looked black in the dim evening light, marking either the end or the beginning of something. He thought for a moment that he was about to sneeze — the sensation was very close to that, then the voice came through his nostrils. It was in his ears almost before it left his nose.
North, now. To the ground beneath the peak.
Jon reversed again and started walking.
The valley was still when he reached it. His wounds were silent, their bearer not in a condition to speak. The flowers and scrub thinned out before the bottom of the mound, and the peak cast a long, angular shadow across the grass. Nightfall had not fully taken hold. Jon could see them well enough: men and women covered in the day’s scratches and cuts, blood spotting along their outerwear. Some of them raw, their bodies overtaken. The bearers all looked upward at the crag, dozens of them, not making camp but waiting. Jon stationed himself among them, sliding through small gaps between bodies until he stood in the innermost ring. Surrounded, although he couldn’t say that he minded.
Greg Hunter
About the Author
Greg Hunter is a writer-editor based in Minneapolis. He is kind to animals and serious about breakfast. He is a regular contributor to TCJ.com, and his writing has also been featured at LARB, The Rumpus, The Official Catalog of the Library of Potential Literature, and elsewhere. Find him on Twitter @gregjhunter.
Fairies in the forest
Jason Holden
The drive had been a quiet one. Warren, Alex’s son, had hardly spoken to him for the two-hour drive. The kid was fourteen now, and Alex knew he had more interest in his phone and social media pages than he did in spending time with his dad. Since the divorce Alex only got to see his son for two days every third weekend. It wasn’t enough, so he’d decided on a trip to his own father’s old cabin. He hadn’t been there since his dad died a year ago, and the last few trips had not held pleasant memories. He had been losing his mind towards the end of his life, and improperly diagnosed dementia had left him unstable. He had been raving about magical creatures, fairies mostly.
However, the cabin held some good memories from his childhood. Playing in the forest that surrounded it, and sitting by the fire and hearing his dad tell stories of magical worlds, were fresh in his mind. His dad had always had a vivid imagination, so things like camping out and hunting for the fairies became obsessions towards the end of his life. Alex was sure Warren would lose interest in his devices once they arrived in that wonderful place, and then they could finally get some quality bonding time in. Pushing the button in the dash panel, Alex muted the sounds of the car’s radio, putting an end to Freddy singing “Radio gaga”. Then he leaned over, and with two fingers flicked the wire holding the earbud into his son’s ear, sending it tumbling down.
“Hey, aren’t you even a little curious where we’re going?”
“Grandad’s cabin in the woods.” Warren made to put his earbud back in, and started playing a game on his Switch again.
“Aww, come on mate! I haven’t seen you for three weeks, at least talk to me for the last fifteen minutes of the drive, yeah?”
Warren smiled, putting his Switch in his backpack as he looked out of the window at the pine trees whizzing by.
“Remember how Grandad would play the guitar and sing all those silly folk songs about goblins?”
They talked the rest of the journey. It was just what Alex had hoped for with this weekend, to reconnect with his son, and so far it was so good. On the approach to the cabin they took a narrow, winding road, which eventually straightened out and would lead them right up to the door. As soon as he hit the straightaway Alex put his foot down, releasing the full 240bhp from his VW Golf’s engine. Having driven this road many times he knew every dip and every bend. Besides, he wanted to show off a bit to his son. Then, out of nowhere, he slammed hard on the brakes. Alex and Warren were flung forwards, and the car’s back end let loose, throwing them into a fishtail. They came to a stop, just inches from a tree that had fallen across the road.
“Christ, that made me clench. Are you alright mate?” Alex opened his door and stepped out, walking to the fallen tree. Across the trunk someone had carved the word DANGER! in thick, jagged letters. Warren came up alongside his dad as Alex was rubbing his fingers into the grooves that made up the letters.
“Do you think Grandad did it?” he asked
“Yeah, I think so. You know he wasn’t well towards the end, though by then you were with your mum at the other end of the country. For once I was glad you weren’t close by, It’s better that you remember him how he was before.”
“I’m sorry Dad.” Warren slipped an arm around his dad’s waist, and Alex’s heart jumped a bit. He couldn’t think how
