Pocket Wilderness & Other Horrors Read online

  "You boys lost?" the man's voice asked. He came forward with a walking rod in his right hand and a small backpack on his back. He was middle aged with a short salt and pepper beard and a fishers hat on his head. His friendly smile and warm demeanor put Kenny at ease. Are we saved? Oh my god, are we saved?

  Brandon jumped to his feet and zealously went up to the man. "Yes! Yes! We're lost. Can you help us?"

  The desperation in Brandon's voice took Kenny by surprise.

  "Whoa now, youngin'. Slow down. How'd you get all the way out here?"

  "We hiked from Buzzard's Point."

  The man whistled. "That's a long way. Do yer parents know you're out here?"

  "No," Brandon said. "Do you have a cell phone?"

  The man shook his head. "Nope. Can't say that I do."

  Brandon frowned and hung his head.

  "Tell you what," the man began, "I've got extra food and a full canteen. How about we make a fire and we'll talk about how to get you home."

  "Yeah," Brandon said, nodding. "Let's do that."

  They made camp. The man's name was Charles. Just Charles and don't call him Charlie. They didn't get his last name. Devouring his food and chugging his canteen, they sat back around the fire and felt satisfied. As the light gradually declined, the fire took over for the sun and their conversation spun in all sorts of directions. Brandon told Charles the full story. His generally warm demeanor turned glum like a wrinkled, saggy jack-o-lantern. His story paled in comparison. He planned a two day nature hike to study plants, watch birds, and take pictures on his way.

  "Have these men been following you?" Charles asked.

  "No," Brandon said, "or at least, we don't think so."

  "We haven't seen them for some time," Kenny replied.

  "Well, they're probably just a couple of hillbillies trying to spook the hikers. What we need to do now is get you two home."

  "Thank you so much," Kenny said.

  Charles poked the fire with a stick and frowned. "What did you say were their names again?"

  "Addison, Junius, and Milledge."

  The fire emblazoned on Charles's pupils. A smirk cracked on the side of his lips and he wiped his face with his left hand.

  "What? You know them?" Kenny asked.

  "No," he said, chortling. "They just seem like odd names to have in the 21st century is all."

  "You think we're lying?" Brandon asked, a little offended.

  "No, son. You ain't got the look of a liar. Besides you don't have a reason unless you tryin' to pull a fast one on an old man like me, but I don't suspect that's the case." Charles waved his hand. "It's not the point. I believe you. Here's what I say. We get some sleep tonight and tomorrow we'll hike back to my truck. I'll take you to a phone and we'll get you home."

  #

  They slept in different tents. Charles brought his own one man tent. It was so small his feet almost stuck out of the end. With full bellies and eased minds, it didn't take long for Brandon and Kenny to fall asleep, and despite the cold, hard, unforgiving ground, Kenny slept like a baby.

  Until the sounds came.

  Kenny heard a scream and woke with a start. He sat up and his sleeping bag came with him. It looked like a giant army green glove coming to life. Sitting completely still, he waited to hear the scream again. A rustling and fighting noise came from Charles tent and his heart sunk. Calm down, Kenny. He's probably just looking for something in his bag. Kenny unzipped his sleeping bag and found Brandon still sleeping. He shook Brandon awake. Brandon's eyes peaked open and he grimaced at the sight of Kenny's fat face.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  "Did you hear that?"

  "No. Go back to sleep."

  "Brandon-"

  Brandon's eye shot open. A sound came from outside. They both heard it this time. A gargling sound and something being dragged.

  "Wha-" Kenny started.

  Brandon shushed him and looked around the tents for shadows, but it was only dark. Ever so faintly Brandon heard something in the air. At first he thought it was the whistle of the wind through the trees, but it sounded different than that. It sounded like whispers, faint and inaudible whispers. His heart beat faster the more time passed.

  A menacing chuckle came from outside their tent. It was so soft it was hard to tell it was there, but Brandon heard it. It was faint at at first, but grew in volume, and it never stopped. The whispers continued intermittently between the chuckling. Then came the scratching, like a sharp rake on stone.

  "Brandon," Kenny said terrified. "What's-"

  Brandon wrapped his hand around Kenny's mouth. He didn't know what to do next. They could make a run for it, but it was so dark.

  He slowly, and quietly, zipped the tent door open. Kenny tried to object, but Brandon gave him a sharp look before peeking outside. It was too dark to see anything. The moonlight through the trees helped a little, but not by much. Then he heard it again.

  He...hehehe....hehehehe........hehehehehe.

  He froze. The hair on his neck stood up on end. Feeling exposed, he slipped his head back into the tent and sat very still with his legs crossed. He breathed and waited while Kenny looked on in terror. It was quiet outside again. Nothing stirred except perhaps the wind pushing the tree branches to and fro.

  But it returned. The giggling.

  Hehehehehehehe....hehe...hehehehehe.

  "What is that?" Kenny asked in a shrill whisper. "Brandon, this is not good. Where's Charles? We have to run."

  Shaking his head, Brandon's eyes and cheeks puffed out like he was a marshmallow on the verge of exploding. He took a deep breath and started to speak. "We know you are out there!" he yelled. "If you come any closer, I have a gun and I'll shoot you on sight." He paused to wait and see if they were going to respond, but it was silence. Thick, unsettling silence. "So, it's your choice. You come closer and you die, or you leave us alone and no one gets hurt." His voice cracked.

  Heavy breathing came from the side of their tent. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  "I've got three bullets with your name on-" Brandon started.

  "You ain't got no gun," Addison said, his voice dark and guttural. Inhale. Exhale. His hot breath breathed on the tent outside.

  "I....I....I do have a gun. I will bl.....blast your face off."

  "I can smell the fear on your breath. Mmmm, it smells good. I always love my meal simmered in fear. Milledge says he ain't taste no difference, but I testify to the great Lord on high that it surely does."

  "I mean it...I'll-"

  "YOU AIN'T GOT NO GUN!" Addison growled.

  Kenny cried. "Holy shit, holy shit! Brandon, we're going to die. Oh god, we're going to die!"

  Trembling and looking like a helpless rat surrounded by large cats, Brandon twitched a little before opening his mouth to speak. "Wha...what'd you do with Charles?" he asked.

  "Chawles?" Addison whispered sweetly. "There ain't no Chawles here. You seeing things, son? Heheheheh..."

  For a feeling moment, the world went dead silent. The crickets, the howling wolves, the scurrying squirrel, the hooting owl, they all disappeared, leaving nothingness in their wake. Brandon and Kenny glanced at each other, waiting for what was going to happen next. Brandon reached over and wiped his fingers down Kenny's eyes to close them. "Don't watch," he said.

  A pitchfork pierced through the tent right in front of Brandon's face and ripped downward. Kenny shrieked as two hands grabbed Brandon. Addison's face appeared with snarling black teeth. He licked his lips as he pulled Brandon straight through the hole in the tent.

  "No! No! No!" Brandon howled as they dragged him, struggling.

  "Ohhhhhh, yessss," Addison said joyfully in his ear. "I love it when they struggle."

  Milledge and Junius helped hold Brandon down. Their wicked smiles surrounding him. Addison looked up at them and said, "What are you doing? Where's the fat boy?"

  Milledge wildly looked around inside the tent, but it was empty. He slowly turned back toward Addison an
d frowned.

  "You lost him?" Addison asked calmly. "Junius, hunt him down. He couldn't have gotten far."

  His eyes thirsty for blood, Junius nodded, and immediately raced off to catch him.

  "No! Kenny, run! Run!" Brandon screamed. "Don't stop!" His cries were violently choked out by a dirty rag Addison shoved in his mouth.

  "Ain't you sweet calling out to your brother like dat," Addison said. "But it ain't no use. Junius is one of the best trackar's in dees parts. Yessar. What were you thinkin' just sittin' here for us to come and git ya'll? I tell you what, nine times out of ten they do that. I got a theory about it. You wanna hear? Course you do!" he exclaimed as he tied Brandon's hands behind his back. Milledge tied his feet. "Cawrdiss."

  He held up a buck knife and ripped open Brandon's shirt. The blade glimmered in moonlight. He placed the tip gently against Brandon's chest. He looked at it with wide, trembling eyes. Gagging on the dirty rag, tasting oil and soot as he tried to squirm and struggle, he immediately stopped as the point of the knife nicked his flesh.

  "A warrior. A true chief. He doesn't feel the fear you do right now. The fear that smells and tastes so good. A warrior chief would merely stare me down and wait for the end. But ain't no one like that no more. They've become weak and brittle by all that modern convenience." He hawked up and spit a long, brown strand of spit on the ground next to Brandon. "So, back to what I be saying, most of the ones we find, like you and your brother, are little Bo-peeps and instead'a running or instead'a fightin', they make threats. Ain't no teeth to your threats, boy. All you got is gums."

  His crooked smile flashed briefly. He pushed the knife deeper into his flesh. A slight trickle of blood ran down Brandon's breast. He groaned and looked away, but the sharp pain was suddenly gone. Addison pulled it away and slid it back into his sheath.

  "Did you think I was about to kill you?" he asked, cackling. "Did you hear nothin' I've said?"

  Milledge tried to pull Brandon to his feet, but he jerked and bit at Milledge's arm.

  "Woooo-wee! This one may have some fight inim aft'all. Like a wild, Yankee stallion, buckin' and bitin'. We might hafter punch'm a few times, Milledge. You know? Break him and the like."

  Milledge's massive fist smashed against Brandon's left cheek like a sledge hammer. A long stream of blood burst out of his mouth as he instantly fell to the ground. His jaw throbbed with the taste of iron in the back of his throat. He thought it might be broken as he tried to move it.

  "Milledge!" Addison yelled. "I swar, you don't know yer own strength. Don't bruise the meat. Just knock him out."

  Milledge smiled brightly. "With pleasure," he said. He bent down, lifted up Brandon, who dangled like a lifeless doll, and wrapped his muscular arms around his neck. Brandon was helpless to stop him. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he gradually lost consciousness. The last thing he could hear was chuckling.

  #

  The cries of his brother hung over Kenny's head as he raced furiously through the woods. Branches and leaves rustled with his wild, erratic breathing. Pine needles slapped him in the face vigorously and without remorse. It hurt like hell, but he kept moving. Better that than the alternative. Tears streamed down his face. He tried to hold them back, but fear set in as the adrenaline rushed through his veins and dread's clammy hands firmly wrapped around his throat. The burn intensified in his lungs as he pushed harder into the wilderness. He was too overweight, and too unhealthy. I knew I should have played soccer. Mom kept telling me, but no, I had to be a lazy sack of shit.

  After running for some time, he wondered if he had lost them. He slowed down for only a few moments before he heard rustling and footsteps behind him. Oh shit. He looked over his shoulder. The darkness filled the gaps in-between the tree trunks. His eyes wide and his mouth agape, he saw the whites of Junius's eyes light up in the darkness.

  "Found you," Junius said like a demon on the hunt.

  Kenny was paralyzed. His hands trembled. His heart pounded in his chest. Run. Why can't I run? Move. Move. Oh god, move! Using pure will, he forced one foot backward. Leaves and twigs crunched under his feet. Their eyes were interlocked. Kenny slowly moved backward as Junius took a few more steps forward.

  He held out his hands and said, "Listen, kid, we can do this one of two ways. You can keep running and I'll catch you eventually, which will only make me angrier, or you can give up now and I'll go easy on you." He didn't have as strong of an accent as Addison, and his warm, charming smile put Kenny at ease. It was tempting for him to give in and call it quits, but without saying a word Kenny turned and bolted.

  "You got five seconds," Junius hollered. "One!"

  Sprinting through the brush, he knew five seconds wouldn't be enough, but he couldn't find any hiding spots. He looked everywhere for a cave or a large boulder, but it was an endless sea of trees. His breathing was heavy and loud, but he couldn't control it. He took short breaths through his nose, but his side began to cramp. He stopped and heaved sucking in deep gulps of air.

  "Two!"

  His best chance was to double back and try to throw him off the trail. He tore a little bit of his shirt and put it on a branch, ran a little farther, but then turned around and went a different way. He came upon a thicket and slid on the dirt and hid inside it the best he could. He tried to control his heavy breathing and the unyielding thump of his heart.

  "Three!"

  No, he'll find me. He punched the dirt and got out, the branches scratching his skin, and kept running. It occurred to him that climbing a tree might be a good option, but if he found him up there, it would be game over. How am I not going to be found? One thing was for certain, he couldn't keep up running for long. His lungs couldn't handle it.

  "Four!"

  It was now or never. Pushing deeper into the wood, he went down a hill before reaching an old stone wall pushed against the hill. The wall had an arch doorway with a large tree trunk sticking out of it pushing against it. Overexcited and careless, he raced down the steep hill and tripped over his feet. He tumbled down through the leaves and sticks, fell off the wall, and landed on his back knocking the wind out of him. Gasping for breath, he plunged his fingers into the dirt and clawed his way toward the doorway into the dark hideout.

  "Five!" Junius yelled.

  #

  Crickets chirped. The first thing Brandon smelled was a mixture of campfire and cigarette smoke as it thickly hung in the air. Harshly coughing, he tried to place his hand to his mouth, but he couldn't. His right hand was restrained tightly above his head. He pulled on it, but it wouldn't budge. It was the same for his left hand, and the more he began to move he remembered Addison. He remembered. His body jerked, desperate to get free, but it was no use. Addison's web had a firm grip. He coughed again, hacking up phlegm and spit all over his face. Letting out a pathetic groan, like an old dog ready to die, he opened his eyes and looked around.

  "You ain't gown nowhere," Addison said. He looked at Brandon casually before turning to dig inside a satchel.

  Trees towered over him as he lay on the dirt. His hands and legs were stretched out like the Vitruvian Man with rope that cut into his wrists and ankles. Nearby, the dance and warmth of fire blanketed his body. He couldn't see much, except Addison and Milledge sitting around the campfire with Addison on one side and Milledge on the other, talking about God only knows. A medium sized, black pot dangled over the fire with something sticking out of it. He blinked a few times to get a better look, but regretted trying. A man's leg stuck out of the black pot with the foot dangling on the edge. Brandon froze. His intestines churned and twisted. It's not real, he thought. It's not real.

  Addison stirred a few times. He took a dirty knife from his pocket and stabbed a can of beans, slowly sawing around the edge until the lid peeled up like a hatch. He poured the can into the pot, and started opening another can. After pouring the last can in, he looked at Brandon.

  "You hungray?" he asked. "Course you are. You'll have to wait a little longer, I'm 'frai
d. We ain't got much. We but lowly servants to the lawd," he said with a yellow smile.

  "What are you going to do to me?" Brandon asked, but he already knew.

  "Ah, now that would spoil the sarprise."

  "Please," Brandon begged. "Please let me go."

  "What did I just say, son?" Addison snapped. "You. Ain't. Gown. Nowhere!" He barked, inching a little closer to Brandon as each word rolled off his tongue. He sat back down and stirred a little more of the black pot. Milledge deeply chuckled.

  Brandon shivered from terror that sunk further into his belly. He had to calm his nerves and to think of a way to escape, or if anything, a way to prolong the fate of the man in the cauldron. Then it occurred to him. The man in the cauldron might have been Charles. Who else?

  Addison gave Braond a devilish gaze and slow smirk like he knew exactly what he was thinking.

  "Yer wonderin' whose foot that thar is, ain'tcha?" Addison asked.

  Brandon shook his head.

  "Oh," he said, grinning, "you already know don't you?'

  "No," Brandon said, violently shaking his head. "I don't know. I don't want to know!"

  "It's Chawles!" Addison exclaimed. "I guess I lied back when we found you. I honestly couldn't bring myself to tell ya the truth."

  Taking a few deep breaths, Brandon cleared his mind. He tried to think of something he could offer them. Money? His parents weren't rich. His equipment? They probably had everything he did, and it technically wasn't his anymore. It wasn't long before he accepted the truth. They weren't thieves, and even treating them like it would only anger them even more. They want me.

  He gritted his teeth and held back the tears. He had to talk them out of it. That was the only way to get out of it, but he didn't know how to do that except to just talk. He figured Addison would just start screaming at him again, but it was better than laying down and dying.

  "You don't know who I am, do you? My family is very wealthy. I can give you anything. Anything," he said with a smile, trying to act natural but coming across as awkward and desperate.

  "We don't want your money," Milledge said.

  "He dern't git it, do he, Milledge?" Addison asked.