The Lair - 1. The Lair

ONE: FAMILY

Growing up, I found myself at a loss to connect with my father. He was a man I always admired and respected. In my heart of hearts, I always viewed him as a person to aspire to emulate. He was a strong and capable man, but with a measure of humor and joviality. His patient and earnest approach always balanced well with my mother’s loud and boisterous nature.

It always puzzled me how well I could understand my mother. Even in her most outraged and vein-bursting tirades, I could understand the emotion, and I could see what made her tick. But my father always seemed like an enigma. How was he so calm? What was he thinking behind those dark brown eyes?

My father worked in construction for many years. My parents had even built the family home from the ground up on land purchased from her father for only one dollar. The land being a small part of a farm that had been passed down for generations. This afforded me the luxury of growing up with my grandparents as neighbors, fields across the road, and a vast forest at our back. Any time my mother would come up with some new improvement for the house, my father was able to implement a plan that would make it a reality. When we finally acquired a dish, my mother had endless ideas, courtesy of HGTV, which became the bane of my father’s existence.

Despite his exasperation with my mother’s constant home improvements, I always watched my father approach each new project with a certain level of glee. I could always see how much he enjoyed the work and slowly seeing the project come together. As a child, and even looking back, I never understood it. Getting roped into helping my father was something I would come to dread. And it wasn’t just the house; he knew a lot about cars. It was crucial that I knew how to change the oil and a flat tire, but then it went beyond that. We never took the vehicles in to be serviced; you learned how to do it yourself. He even kept little log journals documenting everything he fixed.

“For the next owner,” he’d like to say as he wrote with tiny print in the journal.

But our vehicles never had another owner. We’d drive the rusted lumps of metal until they could no longer function, and then traded it in for pennies off another used car.

This passion for fixing things and working hands-on, while admirable, was never something I could understand. My father’s other interests included fishing and hunting, which were equally difficult to grasp. Why would we go and kill a squirrel or deer in the forest when you can buy less gamey-tasting beef from the store? And there is the distasteful task of field dressing the creature afterwards. While I’ve probably not seen as many animal guts as someone in a slaughterhouse, I’ve seen more than my fair share.

These differing interests always made me feel like there was a divide between my father and me; some unspoken rift that needed to be bridged, and it was my responsibility to do so. I had to invest the time and follow his lead. Maybe one day I would see what he found so enjoyable about these hobbies if I just stuck with it. I rarely did, but there was one thing we were in complete agreement about: the outdoors are spectacular.

At age seven, I had a small Ninja Turtle tent that I could set up in the back yard near the forest and spend every night outside in the summer, weather permitting. The sounds of crickets chirping and frogs croaking on a nearby pond would lull me to sleep. Each morning I’d awake to the pleasant song of countless birds in the trees overhead. There was nothing sweeter than the awe-inspiring spectacle of the natural world.

My younger brother, Bennett, was the exact opposite in almost every way possible. I had blonde hair, he had dark brown. I liked the outdoors, he hated them. I felt distant from my father, he was attached at the hip. I understood my mother’s ire and could avoid it, they constantly butted heads. I took to school easily, and he struggled with every subject, except maybe art class. As a child, I could not have imagined two people more polar-opposite than my brother and me.

Unlike the differences with my father, I never felt a disconnect from my brother. With my father, I felt a need to make him proud, and each time I found no joy in his hobbies I felt like I failed in some way. The difference in interests with my brother was irrelevant; as an older brother I had a responsibility. Of course, we fought! What siblings don’t, particularly when they are so different? But there was a quiet understanding that I had his back no matter what.

I was twelve when the events unfolded; events that tested my relationship with my father and my brother. When the one common interest I shared with my father became our living nightmare. I remember I was that age, because my brother had just received his firearm learner’s permit and was going to get to join us for the annual shotgun deer hunting season. For the past several years I’d had the benefit of a recoil pad on the butt of my gun, but now it had passed to my brother. I was a little nervous for this new season, since my Remington 870 had quite the kick when it fired the 12-gauge slugs! I’d have to rely on the many layers of warm clothing to protect my shoulder.

To be clear, I had gone hunting with my father the previous three years, but I had yet to make a killing shot. It is hard to describe the anxiety of finally seeing a deer after waiting hours in the cold. Your heart is racing, your face flushes with excitement while waiting for the deer to get within range. By the time it is in range, and you’re staring down the barrel with your pulse practically hammering in your ears, whatever preparation you’ve made goes right out the window. I’d had two wild shots that never even grazed a deer in the past three years. Dirt flies and the deer flees back into hiding, waving its white tail at you in the process.

I felt embarrassed and made my father promise not to tell anyone what I’d done. A promise he mercifully kept for me. But he never lost faith that I’d get the next one. Calmly coaching me on where I went wrong, he’d finally get me to admit that I closed my eyes when I heard the loud report of the firearm and felt it slam into my shoulder. Maybe deep down my inner saboteur was also afraid to kill the animal while it was just minding its own business. What kept me coming back was trying to figure out why my father loved hunting so much. And the magic of watching the world come alive in the early morning.

The deep stillness of the forest at night would transition to the almost colorless half-light of dawn. The sun was drawing closer, but the sliver of orange light had yet to appear over the tree line. Squirrels would begin to rummage around in the long grass below the deer stand. The dry leaves would stir, making a ruckus. The squirrels sound so big and noisy, I thought it had to be a deer, but deer are quiet and tread softly. You’d never hear a deer coming, unless it was running at a full sprint. Birds would begin to sing, and if you were lucky, and sat still enough, one of those songbirds would alight on your stand or a nearby branch. These were the moments for which I lived while hunting.

 

TWO: AFRAID OF THE DARK

There was one problem with the upcoming hunting trip, and that was my brother’s crippling fear of the dark.

I had for many summers marched unafraid into the dark backyard to the edge of the forest and slept in my tent alone. The night was just another transitional period of the natural world, and I found it just as beautiful and unintimidating as the daytime. Bennie never cared to sleep in the tent and chose to stay in the safety of his room with the nightlight on.

We would be walking out to the deer stand in relative darkness with our firearms slung over our shoulders, attempting to walk heel to toe in clunky winter boots to be as quiet as possible. My father knew we had to address my brother’s fear, or he would never make it very far. A plan was hatched to take him out into the forest behind our house and show him that there was nothing to fear.

My responsibility as an older brother came into play as I confirmed to Bennie that there was nothing threatening in our backyard. I’d walked back by those forests on so many occasions without incident. I was excited to venture further out at night and stand among the sentinel trees that had grown for generations. My brother was terrified and refused to go anywhere without his flashlight. My father at last assented and allowed him to take the flashlight.

Nighttime came early in the late fall, so by 10 p.m., there was sufficient darkness on a moonless night to cover the entire landscape in pitch black. Just crossing the backyard resulted in my brother waving his flashlight beam nervously from side to side. My tent was no longer present, since the weather was beginning to be too cold for staying outdoors. Where the yard ended there was a significant stretch of sparse trees through which you could still see back to the lights of the house.

My mother was waiting inside, uncertain if the plan to subject her baby to his greatest fear was a kindness or not. She had eventually come around when my dad placed hot sauce on Bennie’s thumb to break his sucking habit, and I figured she’d see once more that this was for the best. During the thumb-sucking campaign, I had taken the responsibility, as an older brother, to appeal to my brother’s own sense of shame.

“You can’t stay at your friend’s house, because they’ll see what a big baby you are.”

Helpful, or not, he did stop sucking his thumb, eventually. Just like he’d stop being afraid of the dark, eventually. But we didn’t have the time to wait.

Beyond the sparse trees was a ravine where dirt had been covered with extra gravel from the construction of the house. My brother and I had played many times on this hill during the daytime, but as my brother flashed his light across the lone tree, its leafless branches appeared to be claws outstretched towards us. The branches split low at the base of the tree forming an open maw where the light of the flashlight failed to penetrate. The darkness taunted us to step inside the hollow of the tree and see what awaited us there.

It was in this moment that the yipping cackle of coyotes filled the night. I had heard them before on many occasions and knew they were quite a distance away, but Bennie jumped and began swinging the beam of his light wildly again.

“What is that?” he asked my dad.

“Coyotes,” he answered. “They are pretty far away. Besides, they avoid people. Come on, let’s go a bit farther, where we can’t see the house.”

My father began to walk down the hill. Even I had never ventured this far after dark and after seeing the twisted tree looming just below with its claws and open maw, I had that chill of fear run down my spine. I pushed that aside and took a step forward.

“Come on, Bennie.”

“Nuh uh,” was all Bennett could choke out as the tears were beginning to fill his eyes. His hand was gripping his flashlight so tightly as he tracked the progress of my father descending the hill.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Show Dad how brave you can be. You want to go hunting, right?”

My brother had been a terrible shot when we were doing target practice, but his enthusiasm never wavered. Besides, you could be a great shot during practice; it didn’t really prepare you for the stress of the real thing. He had been looking forward to the hunting trip for months, and much like me, he didn’t want to let our father down. He began to cautiously descend the hill alongside me.

As we passed the tree, his flashlight revealed no lurking danger or hidden portal to hell in the hollow of the branches. I smiled at my own foolishness. At the base of the hill was a small stream that was easy to step across using the help of a rock jutting up out of the trickling water. My father looked around on the far side of the stream, where the ravine began to climb steadily up the other side. He must have been satisfied with the place he’d chosen.

“Alright,” my father said. “We can’t see the house any longer. How are you feeling?”

“I want to go back,” Bennie answered weakly.

“We can go back,” my father answered. “After you shut off your flashlight.”

I could see my brother’s face in the light as it darkened with dread. The haunted look of betrayal plagued his features as he shook his head. Tears were falling from his eyes now.

“Come on, Bennie,” I said. “There is nothing here except us. You’ll see when you shut out the light.”

“Your eyes adjust,” my father continued. “You’ll see how we adapt even in the dark. But you must shut out the light and give it a moment.”

My brother stood as still as a statue, considering, and then began to shake his head again crying loudly.

“Give me the flashlight,” my father commanded as he held out a hand. It was the tone of voice that never brooked any argument. The talking was done, and it was time to do what you were told. Cautiously, my brother handed over the light, and my father switched it off. My brother let out renewed wracking sobs of terror. I began to feel regret, wondering if we’d made a mistake.

I could sense more than see, my father step forward and grab Bennie by the shoulders.

“Son,” he spoke calmly. “It’s ok, look around. I’m right here.”

The sobs became sniffles. Likely my brother was wiping his eyes.

Then I began to see the faint outlines of my father and my brother standing not far away. My father was crouched in front of Bennie, reassuring him. My father was correct; the longer I stood in the darkness, the more I could make out the surrounding forest. I looked up at the clear sky speckled with stars above. The heavens above, even during the late hour, provided more illumination than we realized. In too many places, we’ve blotted out that incredible view with our multitude of lights.

My father stood and took a step back. My brother was now looking around cautiously and up at the stars as I had done.

“I can see more.” Bennie laughed, a little amazed. I felt myself smile as I heard the relief in his voice. The plan was working after all.

“See, it’s not so bad,” my father assured.

In the shadows of the night, through the periphery of my scotopic vision, I sensed movement between two nearby trees, but when I turned my head to focus on the spot, I saw nothing.

“Can I have the flashlight back, now?” Bennie asked hopefully.

“Yes,” my father replied and held out the object again.

It was in this moment that the movement I sensed occurred again. I saw the looming shape too late to speak or even cry out to alert the others. It was massive, like a bear, but not loping around like a bear. Bears are generally not very common where we are from, and besides, they tend to avoid humans if possible. We were not living in the thrilling film “The Edge” starring Anthony Hopkins. We had entered territory far stranger and inexplicable.

When the blur of motion had passed, Bennie was gone with it. Then his screams pierced the night as the creature crashed through the underbrush, climbing the other side of the ravine. I’ll never forget that terrified scream that tore from my brother’s throat as long as I live. My body felt heavy, and time seemed to slow down as adrenaline flooded my body in response to the warning bells of self-preservation triggered by my central nervous system.

I don’t know what my father hoped to accomplish, but he began to race after the creature that had taken Bennie. His rush of adrenaline was not about self-preservation; he only knew that his child was in danger, and he had to help him. As time slowed, it felt as if I had an entire inner monologue debating my next move, but truly I was following my father almost immediately. The consensus in my misfiring mind being that I didn’t want to be standing there alone.

The progress of the creature was easy to track because of the sound as it rushed through the underbrush accompanied by my brother’s tortured screams. I kept my eyes on my father’s back as I scrambled up the hill. It became steep enough that it was easier to bear crawl up the side, yanking myself up with roots that were sticking out or even grabbing low branches. Such a climb would normally require me to catch my breath, but in that moment the bellowing of my lungs was totally irrelevant.

At the top of the ridge, the forest became denser. I felt thorns tear at my clothes and scratch my exposed skin as I passed through the bushes. I had to duck under branches as we ran. I did not notice that my father had veered slightly to the right, and by the time my mind thought to wonder why, I had already collided with the barbed wire fence at the edge of our property. It struck me squarely in the gut, and I took a great tumble forward in an exaggerated somersault that left me flat on my back on the other side. I groaned in surprise and pain.

“Andy!” My father suddenly gasped. I think it was the first time he even noticed I had come along.

“I’m coming.” I panted as I began to find my feet again.

“Go back and get help!” my father shouted. Then I could hear him running again in the direction of my brother’s cries for help. Whatever had taken my brother was starting to place a great deal of distance between us. I hesitated, afraid to go back alone, but what could we achieve by racing ahead? What help would I be?

In the end, I followed my father’s instructions and turned back toward the ravine. I ran down so fast, practically sliding down on my back and using my feet and bleeding hands as brakes when I neared the bottom. I splashed across the stream and up the far side. It had seemed like such a great distance when we had trekked out into the night, but it took no time at all to reach the edge of the forest.

Something teased at the back of my mind as I approached the house. It unnerved me as I tried to put my finger on the source of my alarm.

“Mom!” I began shouting as I approached the door. “MOM!”

“What is it?” She was in the doorway instantly, her face drawn with horror. “What happened?”

“Bennie! It… something!” I realized I was crying and shaking. “It took him!”

“What?” My mother’s desperation showed that she grasped that the unspeakable had happened, but I couldn’t articulate what. Honestly, I didn’t know what.

My mother looked ready to bolt toward the forest, as my father had chased after the creature. That’s when I realized what had disturbed me as I approached the house. My brother’s cries had stopped. The forest was silent now.

“Call someone!” I shouted as I grabbed my mother’s shoulders. I steered her away from the direction of the forest. “The police… animal control… the game warden?”

“Was it a… a… mountain lion?”

I hadn’t considered that. Was it a mountain lion? I just knew it was big and it had moved fast.

“Maybe,” I answered at last. “Just call someone! Wait for them to get here.”

I didn’t know who I was. I’d never ordered my mother to do anything. I wouldn’t have dared, but I suddenly knew exactly what I had to do. I ran into the house and grabbed the big flashlight from the pantry room and then went to my deer hunting gear and retrieved my gun case. I threw open the clasps and pulled out the 12-gauge shotgun and filled the chamber with a slug. Three more rounds fit into the magazine. And another handful of shells found their way into my pocket.

Moments later I was passing my mother; she was talking to someone on the home phone, which we so rarely used any more.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, but I simply walked past and marched outside toward the forest armed with a bigger flashlight and my gun over my shoulder.

 

THREE: THE LAIR

Retracing my steps, I returned to the barbed wire fence that marked the edge of our property. My body was beginning to feel exhausted after climbing the steeper side of the ravine for a second time, and I was sweating under my layers of clothes. I tore the outer coat free and threw it down at my feet. Then, the flashlight scanned the forest in the direction I believed my father had continued to run ahead.

The flashlight beam caught the bright red smear across the low leaves easily. I proceeded in that direction, looking for more fresh blood to guide my way.

“My… brother’s blood.” – a thought that turned my stomach.

The trail of the creature became obvious with the flashlight, since you could see where the brush was torn and practically uprooted in several spots. I even encountered a healthy green sapling that had been split in two by the creature’s passing. What was this monstrosity? Could a mountain lion split a tree?

I was compelled by a need to help my father and my brother, but there was a sickly fascination that had taken hold too. When I look back and reflect, I knew that I had to see. I had to know what that creature was. Even if it was the last thing I did.

In a clearing, the underbrush thinned, and I was afraid I lost the trail, but another smear of red in the tall grass showed me the way.

“Someone there?” my father’s voice called out from a short distance. I turned the flashlight and discovered an odd patch of grassless earth. It was a perfect rectangle with one jutting pillar of old stones. My father was leaned against this pillar with a gash bleeding on his forehead.

I realized the pillar was the remnant of an old fireplace, and the beaten down patch of earth must have been the site of some settler’s house from days gone by.

“What happened, Dad?” I asked.

“I tripped and fell, damn it!” He gritted his teeth. “Probably concussed… felt sick trying to get up.”

“Mom’s calling for help,” I told him. It was strange how calm I suddenly felt. Somehow, I knew, with my father injured, it was up to me. I’d known when I grabbed the gun.

“Andy,” my father managed. “I remember there is an old cave…”

My father pointed in the direction I had seen the blood in the grass.

“Down the big hill, near the creek. I remember we’d explore there as teens.”

“I’ll get him back,” I found myself promising, but I kept thinking about the moment the screaming stopped.

“Keep your eye open,” my father rasped. “Follow the bullet through the target.”

“It should be you,” I whispered on the verge of tears again. But I managed to fight them back.

“I know, son,” my father’s voice cracked with emotion too. “I know.”

I couldn’t wait any longer. Every second I hesitated could spell disaster for Bennie if he wasn’t already gone. I found my feet and walked resolutely in the direction my father had pointed.

My father was correct; the blood trail led down the far side of the hill and disappeared at a steady creek. I saw no way across without getting a little wet, so I just plunged my shoes and socks into the cold water and waded my way to the other side. My flashlight played across the far bank and not for the first time that night discovered an open maw set into the rocks. The light failed to penetrate the indomitable blackness beyond the cave’s entrance, except to shine upon some stalactites that only enhanced the illusion of some waiting, hungry mouth.

I had to stoop to enter the first chamber of the cave. The stench inside was that of fetid water. I almost dropped the flashlight when I nearly placed a hand on a bat hanging from the ceiling. The winged rodent fled into the night after our near miss. I clapped a hand over my mouth and heard my shoes scuff loudly on the smooth rock floor. I held my breath, listening, waiting for a response to my clumsy arrival. When nothing stirred within, I proceeded forward. I skirted the small amount of standing water as I made my way toward the far side of the chamber.

There were two openings, but one was far too small for me to fit and the other would still require me to crawl on my belly to get through. I recalled the size of the creature and wondered if it was possible for such a thing to be inside this cave at all. Was there another cave and my father just didn’t recall the second one? Or had the creature crossed the creek and headed off in another direction?

As I considered my options at the opening to the second chamber, I suddenly caught the scent of death in the air. I recalled my aunt once asking me to help change out her mouse trap. There was a distinctly unpleasant aroma that accompanied a mouse that had been dead for several days. This was far worse.

The putrid stench caused me to retch loudly, despite my best efforts to hold it back. The sound echoed through the chamber and then silence fell. The silence was deafening until it was broken by the most unnatural sound I have ever heard.

The creature roared with the layered voices of several indistinguishable predators and under that sound a metallic wobble, like from those long saws you see in cartoons or old loggers would use. A normally comical sound that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Then, I heard the movement; it was coming to me.

I took some steps back, my foot splashing in the disgusting water. I was surprised off balance when I went into the water up to my knee. I feared my gun would drop into the water as well, rendering my ammunition useless or potentially ineffectual. Fortunately, I clutched the stock tightly and managed to regain my balance. I pulled myself back up again, set the light in such a way as to aim toward the second opening, and then kneeled with my elbow on my knee. This allowed me to look down the barrel of the shotgun while steadying my arm. My father’s training kicking in, I switched off the safety.

The creature arrived not from the opening to the second chamber, but a yet unseen hole in the ceiling I had not noticed farther back in the cave. I had just enough time to swivel the gun and fire wildly in the creature’s direction. The explosion of the gun echoed through the cave, and my ears were ringing. The creature let out another furious shriek, the metallic wobbling reverberating in my bones.

I still had not seen the creature, since the light was pointing in the wrong direction, and I had no idea if I had hit it with the slug or not. I pumped the shotgun, ejecting the shell from the chamber, and another round was automatically loaded from the magazine. Backing away, I snatched the flashlight and shined it upon my quarry.

The vaguely humanoid face had deep, sunken eyes. Its nose was missing and a ragged hole with exposed cartilage jutted out instead. Its mouth was lined with gnashing teeth and great tusks, like that of a boar. The paws were massive, like something you’d see on a lion at the zoo, with great sharp, retractable claws. From its head sprouted twisted horns like some demonic entity. The fur of the creature was jet black, as if the dark heart of the forest had birthed some grotesque amalgamation of predatory malice.

The creature lunged at me with such speed, I’m not sure if I meant to shoot or if it was an accident, but I was grateful when the gun discharged and struck the monster. It recoiled backward; the metallic wobbling was now accompanied by a gurgling sound, like liquid through a straw. Perhaps it was the sound of its lungs filling with blood, if it even had lungs and blood. I pumped the shotgun again, retreated into another crouching position.

“Breathe in,” my father would say. “Pull the trigger slowly as you let out your breath. Keep your eye open and follow the bullet through the target.”

As I let out my breath, my eye wide open looking down the barrel of the shotgun, I watched the face of the horrifying creature cave in with the impact of the slug. It sputtered one last unnatural sound and then slumped against the back wall of the cave.

I stayed there, paralyzed, my breath coming in great ragged gasps. I waited, expecting it to move again, but the beast was still. When I dared to stand, I picked up my flashlight and moved to the back of the cave. I remembered to chamber another round, just before I poked the creature with the barrel of the gun. It did not move.

I explored the hole in the ceiling above the creature. The smell from the beast was unimaginable; the pheromonal stink of some animal marking its territory and the stench of death. How had we not smelled it long before we’d been attacked? The vaguely humanoid face made me wonder if there was not some intelligence to the creature. Had it known to approach us downwind? Stalking us? Hunting us?

I saw only one way I could get up into the opening above, so I put one foot on the creature and pushed my way up into the gap. I looked around at a chamber strewn with blood, guts, and bone fragments. I nearly slipped in the gore as I crouched and shuffled forward. I’d rather not get my already cut and bleeding hand in the blood and guts if I were to stumble to my hands and knees. I held my breath against the terrible smell, but also because I was afraid what I’d find of Bennett.

At last, I found my unconscious brother. His wounds looked to be severe; blood was trickling out of his chest and abdomen. He was likely in shock, but his pulse was still there, however faint, when I felt his neck. I set my gun near the hole, then went back to hoist his limp body, practically having to drag him across the chamber. He was heavier than he looked, and it didn’t help that I could not stand at my full height.

I lowered my legs out first and meant to step down on the carcass, but when my foot found nothing, my heart skipped a beat. The sharp claws of the beast sliced through the meaty part of my calf, and I was dragged out of the opening, my forehead striking the stone as I fell. My back hit the stone floor hard, and I struggled to breathe as the monster bore down upon me. The mangled jaw of the beast hung open, emitting the sickening wet metallic warble, as it sprayed blood in my face.

Claws raked my side, tearing through the layers of clothes like tissue paper. I was grateful I had the layers, or my skin and the muscle underneath might have been flayed from the bone. I looked around desperately for anything, but the flashlight and the gun were in the chamber above. Blindly, I groped for anything while kicking and punching at the underside of the monstrosity trying to tear me apart.

My right hand found a sharp fragment of bone on the stone floor, and I gripped it hard. I cut myself, I grabbed so hard, and then jabbed the sharp end into the creature’s eye. It shrieked, spraying me with a fresh spatter of blood from its ragged maw. I found my feet, swaying, and reached up through the hole to grab the butt of the gun.

I watched the creature pacing the outer wall of the cave now, like a big cat, thinking to stalk around me and strike again. I pulled the trigger and watched some part of the monster splatter across the wall and the ground. Pumped the shotgun and pulled again, but nothing happened. The ejection port was locked open after the final round had been discharged. I backed away, keeping my distance from the beast as I fumbled in my pocket. I closed around another couple shells and jammed them into the chamber.

I fired again and again and watched the creature slump to the ground again. It let out a whimpering sound that reminded me of my brother’s sobs in the darkness earlier that night. I took the final three shells from my pocket and loaded them as well. I got as close as I dared and plugged it full of three more holes from short range.

My shoulder would ache and be bruised later, and my ears would ring for days from the explosive sound of the gun in the close quarters, but I was done with this piece of shit! My curiosity had been satisfied and this heinous entity just needed to die. Out of ammunition, I grabbed the barrel of the gun and began hammering on the creature with the stock as I screamed. Through my ringing ears, my outraged cry reverberated back to me with a metallic wobbling sound.

I think about that often. In the end, I had sounded like that creature. Was the creature presenting me with a sound it knew I would eventually make? Or was it my imagination that we sounded the same at all?

I let the gun clatter to the ground from my weakened fingers, and then I went back to the opening to retrieve my brother and finally get him out of the hell hole. I made it to the other side of the creek, carrying my brother on my back before I collapsed on the ground and lost consciousness.

 

FOUR: THE END

My brother and I were in the hospital for a long time, not just for injuries but for the strange infections we had been exposed to from the creature. Doctors puzzled over our mysterious and exotic diseases, not prevalent in our part of the world or in humans. I didn’t understand it all, but I was just happy to be alive.

Police and the game warden never found the creature’s body. My fantastic story fell on deaf ears, and they assumed I had encountered a black bear sick with all manner of diseases. In its crazed state, it attacked my brother and then me. There were times over the years when I questioned my own sanity and thought it was easier just to believe the lie. But I had a new understanding that the natural world held darker mysteries. Or perhaps it was a supernatural occurrence, like people seeing ghosts.

Did it mean anything? I’m afraid sometimes things just happen, but I’ll leave the deeper meaning for others to interpret. I only know what this encounter meant for me. I suddenly realized that it didn’t matter if I understood my father. It didn’t matter if I lived up to his image or gained his approval. I had proven to myself that I was more than enough, just being myself. My father loved me and wanted to share his passions with me, but he’d love and respect me no matter how I turned out.