Perhaps Mum and Dad will be pleased to get rid of me. Maybe life will be easier for them without me — but who will they blame then? There is laughter from the darkness now; deep and other-worldly, and I begin to sob with fear. Halfway in — up to my waist, and I can see nothing below but the eyes — they float down into the darkness like falling embers. Up to my shoulders now, and the earthy smell of mud fills my nostrils.
This cannot be — Jodie didn’t have an evil bone in her body. More laughter, and I am sure that this thing is not Jodie. I grip the edge of the pit with my hands. The lid is almost upon me now, and I will soon be in complete darkness — underground with whatever that is. I twist my head around in time to see the last of the mist disappearing, and the trees emerging in the distance.
It pulls me inside.
“This wasn’t my fault!” I scream as loud as I can. “It wasn’t my fucking fault!”
Then darkness, and silence.
I cannot breathe. I am slipping away — dizzy — swimming — the heavy smell of mud.
* * *
I can see my breath.
Shaking — freezing — where am I? The stars, I can see the stars!
Pushing myself up, I look around, trying to get my bearings. I am back on top of the hill, but there is no longer a ring of mist in the distance, just uneven brown ground and a scattering of trees that sway in the evening breeze. What the hell just happened? Did I fall asleep — was that a dream? I need to get out of here. How long have I been asleep?
As I fumble through my pocket, my fingers finally lock around the compass. I urgently yank it out, sending the scrunched-up candy wrapper flying into the air. It falls to the forest floor, landing next to my right foot. For a fleeting moment I think I hear a distant groan, but it might be just the wind blowing through the trees. I stare at the wrapper and think about picking it up, but she’s gone.
She’s gone.
I do not think we will ever find out what happened to her. She belongs to the soil now — damp, rotten and overwhelmed by darkness. Whatever I experienced was preying on my guilt, trying to lure me in — it nearly got me, but I will not carry the blame anymore. I will not. I do not think I will be hiking around here for a while. It’s time to let go — find a different spot. This land feels bad now. I need to get home. Mum and Dad will be worried, hopefully.
Mark Towse
About the Author
After a 30-year hiatus, Mark recently gave up a lucrative career in sales to pursue his dream of being a writer. His passion and belief have resulted in pieces in many prestigious magazines, including Flash Fiction Magazine, Raconteur, Books N’ Pieces, Artpost, Colp, Antipodean SF, Page & Spine, Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, and Montreal Writes. His work has also appeared twice on The No Sleep Podcast and also on The Grey Rooms. Nine anthologies to date include his stories, two of which are on the 2019 Horror Writers Association recommended list, and a further eight anthologies set for imminent release in 2020 also contain his work. His first collection, ‘Face the Music’ will shortly be released by All Things That Matter Press.
Mark resides in Melbourne, Australia with his wife and two children.
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Seita
Thomas K.S. Wake
“I told you it was still alive. You missed, again.”
The massive blood stain glistened on the moss where Steve had hit the bear. In the waning daylight it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to get a killshot, but he had been doing this for almost 25 years. Only if the animal hadn’t moved at the last minute.
And Carl was right, Steve’s aim had been off lately, ever since he got that letter from the doctor. Cancer by itself is a horrible, soul-crushing word, and when it’s partnered with ‘brains’ and ‘malignant tumor’, it destroys all the hopes and dreams a person might have had.
“The fucker moved just when I released the arrow.”
Carl spat on the ground and kneeled to get a closer look to see which direction the animal was headed. The tracks imprinted on the moist moss were lined with crimson streaks of splattered blood, like sanguine roses.
“Well, at least it’s leaking pretty heavily. Shouldn’t get far. C’mon.” Carl stood up and measured the gloomy thicket in front of them.
“Are you serious? I’m in no mood to go wading in the dark through the…”
“Well one: you should have taken a better aim then. Two: we can’t let a wounded grizzly go wandering free; it’s dangerous. And three, you’re the one who got us this gig. In fact you insisted that we take this one. There’s no fucking way you’re bailing on us now.”
Carl was right, and Steve hated it.
“Shit, you’re right. I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m just exhausted and my head hurts. And we haven’t hunted on these grounds before.”
“Of course I’m right. And don’t be sorry, be a better shot. If you’re feeling sick then maybe you should have thought about that before you agreed to do this. This is the only place where we could snag us a grizzly on such a short notice.”
Without waiting for a reply Carl entered the thick woods, and Steve took one last look back at the clearing they had just crossed. The sun was sinking below the horizon, bathing the landscape in golden light as the bright orange stripes withdrew to reveal the dusk lurking underneath.
The last of the light drew away the night conquered the sky, and the moon took its place as the watcher of their dark world. The two poachers disappeared into the dense woods, and Steve was sure that nature itself was punishing them; as soon as they
