Along the Smoky Mountains

“Come on, sweetie, get in here. I want to get this view in the background,” Sarah calls out to Michael who is standing at the edge of the cliff behind her, enjoying the view.

Michael squeezes his new bride tightly. Smiling naturally, Sarah snaps the picture. She giggles and gives her husband a smooch on the lips before suggesting they head back to the cabin. Sarah has been snapping pictures to share on social media all day. It’s their honeymoon, opting for fall foliage over summer sand. Although overcast, the weather has been very cooperative. They have spent a lot of time outdoors exploring the east Tennessee tourist attractions and becoming one with nature. They rented a quaint little vacation cabin built of log with a stone fireplace. It has an open living area, a small kitchen, and a cozy little sleeping loft.

Back at the cabin, while Michael cooks some salmon for dinner, Sarah starts uploading pictures to her laptop. Once the pictures are uploaded, she starts clicking on thumbnails to view the pictures. The first one Sarah clicks on is the selfie, the most recent picture taken.

“Mike, come in here, please.”

“What’s up babe?”

“When we were up at the lookout was there anybody else there?

“Not that I remember. I’m pretty sure we were alone all day.”

“Well come here and look at this,” Sarah says, her tone a little concerned.

There, standing behind them in the photo, is a man. He has long shaggy hair that protrudes out from underneath a red truckers cap. A mangy looking neck beard wraps around his face. His brow is furrowed and his eyes sharp. He’s wearing a faded long sleeve shirt, white torso with blue arms, under an old tan vest with camouflage pants. He’s staring right at them with a certain intensity in his eyes, perhaps disgust.

“I was certain we were alone, but some local could have wandered by unnoticed, I guess,” Michael says, returning to the kitchen to check the food.

Sarah brings up the next picture. “Look, there he is again. Do you remember seeing him in the background when you took this picture of me by the stream,” she asks, calling out to him in the kitchen.

“No, babe, I was focused on how pretty you are and how lucky I am,” he says, reentering the room, expecting a kiss.

Sarah, being preoccupied and concerned, doesn’t notice her husband’s request for affection. Instead, she rapidly clicks each thumbnail, bringing them all up. “Michael, he’s in almost all of these. I think he might have been stalking us. Look at his face, Michael. He’s looking at us all hateful and mean.” Sarah yelps and tosses her laptop to the side. Covering her mouth, Sarah balls up on the couch, leaning away from the computer as if cornered by a poisonous snake.

“My god, babe, what is it,” Michael asks, confused, and concerned.

Sarah points at her laptop. Michael picks it up. On it is a picture of Michael acting goofy, flexing his muscles from the previous night. In the window behind him is the same guy that is in all the other pictures, watching Michael with malice in his eyes.

“What the…,” Michael looks up at the door to make sure it’s locked.

“What should we do, Michael? That’s creepy. I don’t like it. Let’s leave.”

“Hold up, babe,” Michael says, returning to the kitchen to dish up the food, “why don’t we just call the sheriff. He might have an idea who this guy is. Let’s not let some hillbilly ruin our honeymoon,” he calls out from the kitchen.

“Okay, does your phone have a signal? Mine hasn’t had one since we arrived.”

Michael set food on the table then pulls his phone out of his pocket. He looks at Sarah and shakes his head no. “Let’s eat. We’ll drive into town afterwards and talk to the sheriff. Maybe we can take in a show while we are there.”

Sarah agrees and they sit down to eat. She feels paranoid, can’t shake the feeling she’s being watched. With every bite, she scans the room checking every window, expecting to see their stalker at any minute. She nearly jumps out of her skin when there is a bang on the door. She and Michael look at each other. Michael gets up and grabs the poker from the fireplace. “Who is it,” he asks, his voice bold and authoritative.

There’s no answer.

He moves slowly to the door to answer it.

“Don’t Michael, please,” begs Sarah.

Michael puts his hand on the door handle and a knock comes from the back door.

Sarah yelps and jumps, starts whimpering as Michael rushes to the backdoor and flings it open, angry to be bothered by such games. He stands in the doorway, staring into the darkness, nobody there. He closes the door and locks it.

Another knock comes at the front door. Michael has had enough, he barges through the door, hoping to catch the prankster.

Something grabs Michael, pulling him off the porch, into the darkness, and out of Sarah’s view. She can hear him screaming, crying out in pain. She cries out to him, tears streaming down her face. She’s too scared to go out there. She turns on the flashlight on her phone and sees nothing, but her husbands mangled corpse laying in the front yard, twisted, and broken. She wails, spins around shutting the door, and locking it.

There’s an angry bang on the door behind her. She screams and backs away.

The window next to the door shatters.

She sees nothing but decides to take a picture of the damage.

When she looks at the picture, she sees the man who has been stalking them climbing in the window.

She looks up from her phone and sees nothing.

She takes another picture and sees the man walking towards her.

She stumbles back into the corner and takes another picture.

He’s getting closer.

She looks up again and sees nothing.

She balls up as small as she can and takes another picture. Looking at it she screams.

He’s right on top of her.