Scarlet Grin

An ambiguous, iniquitous entity exists in Utah, an unnatural presence felt merely from itinerant travel through the Great Basin. Rising elevation stokes greater separation from the scope of human perception, upslope fog concealing mystery as the endless grind of time and weather before it. Those native to this land know of what I describe, for urban legend began long before settlers descended the Rocky Mountains seeking fairer climes. 

My introduction to this wretched place came as I found myself in service to Dr. Gregory Porter, a research Professor of Anthropology hailing from University of Denver, indentured as his research assistant. Dr. Porter’s expedition focused keenly on indigenous tribes, specifically along the Dirty Devil River where the Navajo and recondite others once resided. 

The confluence whereby Muddy Creek fed into the river was our first in a series of excogitate destinations. Traversing the mountains of Utah fared similarly in some manner to those of of Colorado that the sage Professor and I were greater accustomed to, yet found dichotomy from the Rockies due to its badlands motif - lush spruce and pine plunged into arid shrub and bush, frosty peaks and winding mountain passes morphed into elevated mesas presiding over gorges and canyons. Roads observably ascended into disquietude nimbostratus clouds and the abnormal feeling that struck me upon entering the foreboding state exacerbated, although I cautiously avoided revealing my uneasy presentiment to my mentor, for I valued it both a great honor and precious opportunity to work so closely to an individual of such distinguishment as Dr. Porter, whose demeanor appeared unchanged by the emotion that had been troubling me. 

We arrived at Muddy Creek Gorge by midday, although midday seemed subjective due to bleak haze coating the entire visible sky in dreary gray canvas. I stepped out of the automobile met by air that reeked of moisture, rugged rocky ground toned in different spectrums of brown, gray, and red, and littered with intermittent dry foliage, giving way to the top of the gorge, which overlooked the ravine below that flowed and sloshed along with a peculiar shade of water. Along the stream grew plants uniquely green to the area. I immediately set about raising a small camp for us, namely a cozy, though ancient looking tent, and a fire. Meanwhile, the old man, who expected us to stay a night or two, wasted no time starting his research, wandering off mentioning something about finding a path down to the creek. He returned after about an hour and told of such a mystifying discovery that my mind stirred with anticipation.

“Dugout homes!”

“Come again?” I asked quizzically.

“Among the earliest settlers and even some native tribes dug homes into the banks and canyons. And I’ve just discovered some down by the water! Quick, grab my general bag. I’ll grab the photography equipment.”

Now my mind could hardly contain the possibilities that we might be on the verge of uncovering historical records. I scooped up the bag out of the back of the auto, newfound inspiration shaking off the lethargy from the length and discursive drive.

I followed the old man down to the creek and looked on at what he’d described earlier, primitive shelters dug into the rock and earth. As we got closer we could make out interesting details that may even suggest they were not as crude as initially thought, even having the luxury of fireplaces. They were located opposite the side of the stream from which we descended, so we were forced to cross, an irritating process to be certain. As we were halfway across, the howl of a near beast chilled the air; I looked about, but found nothing.  We continued wading and eventually made it through, the entire process taking at least 10 minutes and the current reaching well above waist height. Upon reaching the other side, another dreadful howl echoed off the canyon walls. This time we were able to spot the perpetrator, a massive canine on the other side of the creek. The creature glared us down, but apparently had no interest in wetting its thick black coat in order to investigate further, as it wandered off after a moment.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ve never seen a wolf so large,” remarked the professor, an apprehensive look on his face.

I attempted to agree, but no words would reach my tongue. We shared a moment of silent disbelief before progressing with our work. There were 12 dugouts grouped in this area alone, and we spent hours documenting our findings in great detail, moving from hovel to hovel. By the time we began recording our research of the seventh structure, daylight had begun to fade rather quickly. Since both of us were still energized despite the hours of long work, the professor asked me to prepare us some food and a lantern that we might continue onward. I agreed, of course, and made the soaking trip back to camp. With the sun going down, my moisten status made for a frigid walk back, but preparing our dinner over the warmth of the campfire eased my discomfort. I considered changing out of my seeping clothes, but realized if I did that I would be burning another set when I would inevitably be forced to cross the creek again.

The wolf’s dreadful voice erupted once more, sending me to a fit of shudders. I kept at preparing our dinner in a vain attempt to shrug off the awful implication. The sun being now all but replaced by the moon only compounded my mental state. 

I prepped the lanterns and some extra sets of clothes for us as our stew near finished, its warmth featured as its most attractive feature at the moment. Just as I had all in tow for my return journey, I heard the agonizing scream that could belong to none other than my traveling companion. Horror stricken and perhaps fighting madness, my details from this point may not make sense, but I swear to my honest account and can only say that I acted on intuition.

I ran to the creek with a lantern, leaving the rest, as quickly as I could, the trek slightly more treacherous by moonlight. 

“Dr. Porter!”

I called thrice more, no response, wading into the creek as I yelled for my colleague. The current stronger pulled me under, I gulped in disgusting crik water as I fought to pull my head above the surface. Miraculously the lantern stayed lit as I struggled ashore on the other side.

“Dr. Porter!”

No response. I searched each of the dugouts we had been in up to that point, but the professor wasn’t in any of them. I came to the dugout which would have been our next to document, and as my lantern revealed the secrets of the shadows, I was not prepared for the nightmarish scene I was about to digest, and difficult to put into words. The simplest way to describe it was a human being, minus the skin. The body was freshly deceased, and my first inclination was that it must belong to Dr. Porter. His outer flesh and hair and clothing were nowhere to be found. 

Fear motivated my next priority, getting back to the automobile. As I set off, I could swear I heard a voice on the other side.

After crossing the creek once again, becoming far more common an occurrence for my preference, I brought my lantern to bear, though to no avail, nothing out of the ordinary. I continued on into our camp, and started clearing equipment out of the way to create an exit path. 

“What are you doing?”

I spun around, both startled and not believing my ears. The camp’s open flame flickered illumination across the face of Gregory Porter.

“Dr. Porter? You scared the shit out of me.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I. I couldn’t find you. Where did you go?”

“I came upon a goldmine, a shaman’s domain.”

“A shaman’s domain?”

“Yes, a landmark discovery. We must shift all focus to this. I’ll show you the way.”

“Oh wow, how incredible professor! Congratulations! Perhaps we should pack it in and wait until tomorrow to start on this though. The daunting wolven howls have been unnerving me.”

“Of course, we ought to play it safe against the horrendous monster. Let’s bring everything back here for the night.”

“I’m right behind you, I just have to refill this other lantern. You can take that one.”

He smiled a teeth-revealing grin and agreed, departing to recollect our stranded equipment.

As soon as his figure extinguished completely into darkness, I jumped in the automobile and drove off alone, for Gregory Porter’s grin was freshly glossed scarlet.