The Snow Walker Who Couldn't Win

The crisp smell of ice was the first thing to fill my nose. Around my den, the world was quiet and still. All except for one prickly porcupine that happily munched on a bit of bark it had pulled from the pine tree just outside of my den. I would love to report that I lazily laid there and watched the ball of spikes as it ate, but my own hunger forced me to my feet. If I didn’t eat today, surely I would die.

Emerging from my underground home amongst the roots, rocks, and rot, I stretched my old bones. Cracks and pops filled the woods and air around me. Dusk, the perfect time to begin my hunt. At this point fires would be large, the smell of smoke heavy in the air, making it easy to find my prey. The one that would ensure my immortality and end this maddening gnawing in my stomach.

“Can-” My voice cracked. That was embarrassing. The porcupine didn’t seem to notice though, so I cleared my throat to try again. “Can’t waste a moment dawdling… must go find some fresh flesh.”

Slowly, I stepped forward and coyly glanced back at the porcupine. Again, my words, my footsteps, it all went unnoticed. Have I lost my touch?

The moment I was out of sight, I checked my hands, my feet, and tugged at the scraps which made up my ensemble. Deathly? Check. Paper thin skin? Yes. Clothes, filthy, blood splattered. I had to shake this off.

Just a fat porcupine. The forest will still fear you. I tried to reassure myself as I found my favorite old pine to climb and sniff the wind.

Just make the tales of your hunt more gruesome. Give the forest something to talk about. Something more interesting than your voice cracking like a prepubescent boy.

High in the air, the tops of other trees made up the dark tides below. Gray clouds filled the starless sky, and frost hung heavily in the air. Tonight, anybody foolish enough to sleep in my forest would certainly light a fire. I just needed to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I tried to remain vigilant but my thoughts went back to my spikey neighbor. I really hope that porcupine doesn’t have many friends. If I had a heart, it would flutter. If my cheeks could feel warmth, they would be pink. My first emergence in a decade and it went poorly, at best.

Just as the last remaining touch of sunlight left the dusk and my hope for a meal fluttered by like a dead leaf on an icy breeze, I caught the wonderful, sweet smell of a campfire. The seasoning on my dinner dish. With a deep breath through my elongated, skeletal nostrils, the hunger took control, and I let out a howl which echoed through the skies.

The forest would echo my name. Bark and pine needles would tremble in fear at the rumor of my return. The rocks would-

SNAP. The branch I stepped down on upon my descent gave way and I found myself looking up at the black canopy of treetops above. A squirrel chittered with laughter out of my line of sight.

Ah, crap. I knew it would be hard to live down that one. To cover my tracks I messed up the impression my body left. With cautious glances over my bony shoulders, I checked for any other potential witnesses.

Nothing.

After a readjustment of my clothes, I took back to the trees, and hurried along in the direction of my long awaited meal. Driven by hunger and plagued by uncooperative, stiff joints, I cautiously chose my branches and direction.

After a mile of hopping and sticky sap finding its way once again onto my hands, I sat out of reach of the fire’s light and watched the two foolish hikers before their fire.

“I can’t believe you talked me into a winter hike,” the young woman complained as she tried to warm her hands by the fire.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He chuckled and nudged a pot onto the fire. The man with broad shoulders and a scruffy beard seemed to fare better than she did in the cold. He’d have to go first.

“Back at home, in the electric blanket, finding out who gets kicked off my show next.”

“Ah, right.” He laughed and came up behind her. Crouched down, he wrapped his arms around his love from behind. One big easy ball of heart pounding, blood pumping, flesh.

I licked my lips and eyeballed my sharp talons at the edge of my ghoul like fingers. With quick, accurate slices, there wouldn’t be much of a fight, and plenty of decorative splatters to build my reputation back up.

A few sweet whispers, a small black box before the fire later, the young woman who made up my side dish had a sparkle on her finger. Tears of joy swept over the campfire, a loving embrace, and the perfect distraction.

Screams filled the silent woods as I did what I do best. When I was finished with my dance of death, the cloth home they had constructed was torn to shreds, blood decorated the snow which was now in disarray, and I sat back before their fire with my stomach engorged. Not a scarp of their bodies went to waste.

Now, tired from my exertion, I patted out their fire, and scattered the hot embers into the snow to put it out. When I was certain any risk of a forest fire was mitigated, I gathered myself together, and waddled back towards my den. The trees would not hold me with this added weight. Bulbous like a bear in fall, I feared I would not be able to hold myself up while swinging from branch to branch.

Sluggish, my digestion slowed from my hibernation, I dragged my feet upon return to my den. My long arms dragged along at my side. The porcupine neighbor was long gone, no squirrels to speak of, and no owls hooted in the distance. I settled back in and allowed my stomach to do the long, grueling work of digesting my feast.

When I awoke the next evening, as the sun set, I heard the forest alive with chattering. My stomach was still a bit plump, I’d need longer to work through this. I laid my head back and listened intently to the gossip.

“Two humans were killed.” Some critter called out to the forest.

“Blood everywhere.” Another neighbor added. A smirk pulled at my lipless face. That’s more like it.

“Rabid coyote…” Those words caught my attention and I sat up on my elbows.

“A hungry bear.”

What? No! I have to right this.

“I heard it was a monster!” The brutality of my voice echoed through the woods and hills.

“My mom says monsters aren’t real.” The first voice returned.

“I think it was a bear.” The second added.

Oh, come on!