Seasons

Warning for language and firearms.

Finn stepped out of his car, adjusting his backpack. He had double checked that it was filled with all the essentials he’d need for his trip: water, food, a tent, sleeping bag, a lighter, a small portable charger, and a flashlight. He checked his belt to make sure his gun and knife were safely secured. He had planned for a three-day camping trip to his favorite spot. The top of Whistling Rock. Finn had found that it was rare that people ventured to this certain location in the dead of winter, making it a perfect spot to be alone and unwind in nature. He locked his car, looking around at the empty parking lot. He checked his watch, 1:03 PM. Finn should arrive and be sitting by a fire on the top of Whistling Rock just before 2:00 PM. He smiled, releasing a cloud of excited breath and set off on his journey.

The forest was silent except for the sounds of Finn’s boots crunching on the hard cold ground. The air was clean and cold, and he enjoyed seeing his breath in front of him as he walked. Building himself up against the cold was part of the journey. Seeing the trail that led to Whistling Rock in every season, watching the changes from spring to winter was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever witnessed. He was amazed that his eyes never grew tired of seeing these same trees and beaten path, with the large roots weaving in and out of the dirt, tripping hazards along the trail.

The familiar landmarks: a large tree that had been sawed in half on each side of the trail, a steep hill, some marked trees, acted as time stamps to his destination. The trees on either side of the trail began to thin out, revealing the gray sky.

The cliffs, Finn thought.

He ventured toward the thinning trees. He stood on a rock before a vast gray valley of winter trees. He smiled, pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture of the amazing view. He must have taken 1,000 pictures of the same thing, thinking that eventually the camera would capture what his eyes saw, but it never did. The picture didn’t justify how high he was on the mountain, but he kept the picture and made his way back to the trail. As he passed the tree that had fallen a couple of years ago, exposing its massive root system, he noted that he was in the last stretch of his hike. He had studied that tree extensively, intrigued by the roots that towered over him as he stood next to the base of the fallen tree. The trees became thinner, and it became more obvious there were drops on either side of him. He watched his feet as he walked, stepping carefully over the large roots twining through the path, going over the things he needed to do once he got to the campsite.

Gather firewood before it gets dark, set up the tent, eat, drink and be merry. Finn grinned. The path became less defined. Finn looked up and noticed that the trees seemed denser than he remembered. He blinked and looked back to the path only to find there was no trail. Finn turned to look behind him.

The trail was gone.

Finn stood there a moment, observing his surroundings. This did not look like the end of the Whistling Rock trail. He looked up at all the bare winter trees, they all seemed to look the same. Trees went on as far he could see on completely flat ground.

No cliffs.

No fallen trees.

Finn took a shaky breath, looking all around him for any explanation to his current surroundings. As he stood there a sense of panic began to set in his stomach and rise to his chest. He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen, but nothing happened. He pressed the power button, and the screen remained black. He had fully charged his phone and portable charger before setting out on his journey. Finn slid his backpack from his shoulders and lowered it to the ground. He rifled through it until he found the charger at the very bottom. He plugged the phone in.

Still nothing.

Finn examined the charger. No lights to indicate power or charging.

Did I black out and get lost on the trail or something? He thought. Finn had never blacked out before. Or had any medical or mental problems in his life. That he was aware of.

Okay, he thought, his eyes darted around, the first thing I need to do is stay calm.

Finn closed his eyes until he steadied his breathing. When he opened them, he noticed that the sky was darker. He looked at his watch, it read 1:49 PM. He looked back to the vast forest of trees. It looked more like it was 4:49 PM. Finn looked back to his watch. The second hand wasn’t moving. He lifted his wrist to his ear.

Nothing.

Finn lowered his wrist from his ear and stood there silently for a moment, listening. If he was still near the trail and he had somehow veered off, it wasn’t uncommon to hear the sounds of traffic passing through the forest on the road below the mountain. Finn knew it was less populated in the winter, and he might be standing there all night before he heard a car pass through.

Am I still near the Whistling Rock trail? Finn wondered.

He put the charger back in his backpack and checked the phone once more before sliding it in his pocket. Feeling nervous and scared. He watched as everything became dimmer and colder, but he still didn’t move. He rubbed his eyes, realizing he hadn’t blinked in a while. Finn knew the best thing to do if you were lost was to stay put.

But how was he lost?

How had he gotten lost on a trail that he’d been to more times than he could count?

Why was his technology not working?

Why had his watch stopped?

He reached into his backpack and pulled out his flashlight, clicking it.

Nothing.

“What the fuck!” He made a motion to throw the flashlight but stopped himself. He placed the flashlight on the ground beside him and retrieved the lighter from the front pocket of the backpack. He flicked it a few times, fumbling, and breathed a sigh of relief when a flame appeared.

Finn rose quickly, placing the lighter in his front pocket. He gathered sticks and broken limbs scattered around him. Finn was struggling to work faster than the setting sun and by the time he had a small fire it was already dark. He used the little light of the fire to set up the tent. He sat down in front of the fire warming his hands and drinking a bottle of water, contemplating how he ended up in this position.

Hours passed, and the fire burned out except for a few coals. There was no moon in the sky or stars. Finn went to his tent, shivering, getting into his winter sleeping bag. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen, disappointed when no light illuminated the tent.

He placed it back in his pocket and curled up in his sleeping bag. He listened for the once comforting sounds of nature, but the silence was eerie and foreboding. Finn didn’t think he’d be sleeping tonight. He decided he would wait for the sun to come up and start walking in one direction and find his way out of this forest. He closed his eyes, coaxing sleep to take over his worried mind. 

SNAP.

Finn’s eyes shot open, and he stilled his breathing. He moved for his gun but stopped. The noise of brushing against the sleeping bag seemed amplified in the silence.

He listened, lying so still his body began to ache. His eyes wide and unblinking, staring into darkness. Time seemed to move slower and slower. He could hear his heart pounding in his head and lungs began to burn. He slowly took in a breath as soundlessly as he could.

Maybe it was just an animal, Finn thought, yeah, that’s probably what it was. A deer or a fox.

SNAP.

Finn’s shot towards his belt, jerking his pistol from the holster. He held it in front of his face, switching the safety off with a click. There was a ringing in his ears as silence fell once more and Finn calmed his breathing. His finger rested tense on the trigger. He listened for footsteps to come near his tent, listened for the zipping noise of his tent opening.

Nothing.

Finn stayed in that position, wide awake and bursting with adrenaline until the sun started to rise. His eyes moved rapidly about the tent, looking for the shadows of some menacing figure standing over him. The sun rose slowly and there were no shadows or sounds. Finn moved for the zipper, holding the cold metal in his hands and the gun firmly in the other. He counted to three and burst out of the tent, holding the gun in both hands, he pointed it in the direction he’d heard the noises. 

Finn turned in a circle, holding the gun between him and the forest. His eyes widened. The bare winter trees were now filled with lush green leaves. The sun was shining bright, and the sky was blue. Finn could feel sweat dripping from his forehead and rolling down his back in his heavy winter coat. Finn hit his knees, still holding the gun in front of him, he looked around at the summer forest in awe. 

He reluctantly placed the gun by his knee as he peeled off his coat and shakily unbuttoned his shirt. He reached in the tent for his backpack, keeping his head up and scanning his surroundings. He stuffed his coat into his backpack and tried his phone again with no result. He hurriedly disassembled the tent and crammed it into the backpack, looking over his shoulder the entire time. He slung the backpack over his shoulders and holstered the gun with the safety off and his hand cradling the handle as he took off, almost at a run.

The forest was endless and unfamiliar. He remembered the stories his grandfather used to tell him about the forest spirits that guided lost travelers. Though he had always dismissed them as mere tales, under the strange circumstances he found himself hoping for some kind of guidance. He kept walking as fast as he could, wiping the sweat from his forehead and panting.

As the hot day wore on, Finn became more aware of his exhaustion, the heat clouding his mind. He stopped to rest, kneeling down to take a bottle of water from his backpack. Tired as he was, he was being less vigilant and careless. He hadn’t heard or seen a thing all day. He feverishly drank the water down.

SNAP.

He jerked his head in the direction of the noise, pointing the gun. He saw a white figure disappear behind a tree.

“H-hey!” He shouted, “Come out, now! I saw you!”

He walked slowly toward the tree, looking over the gun.

“I’ve got a gun! Come out slowly!”

Finn heard a soft rustling behind the tree and halted.

He waited, gun still raised.

“COME OUT!”

He mentally counted to three before rushing toward the tree.

There was nothing.

No disturbance at all near the base of the tree.

He jerked his gun toward the sky, inspecting the treetops.

Not even a single leaf was disturbed.

A scream tore from his throat.

“HELLO!? IS ANYBODY OUT THERE!?” He raised his gun toward the sky and squeezed the trigger. The gun jolted in his hand and Finn’s eyes closed instinctively from the blast. When he opened them, the sun was setting, and the forest was growing dark once again. “What, NO!”

Finn looked back to where he’d left his backpack. It was gone. The green leaves were now a variety of red, yellow, and orange. Finn walked defeated around the tree gathering sticks. He sat in the circle of light created by the small fire, absentmindedly throwing dead leaves into the flames. He stared blankly into the flames, too scared to blink, horrified at what would come next when he opened them.

Somewhere out in the darkness, Finn heard the sound of indistinct voices. He stood up and walked to the edge of the darkness and listened.

There were people talking, maybe someone had come looking for him. Hope jolted Finn headfirst into the darkness.

“HEY!” He shouted, looking over his shoulder at the small light, the safety of his fire, “OVER HERE! HEY!”

The voices grew louder, and Finn stopped to listen. He couldn’t tell which direction they were coming from or what they were saying. They seemed to be all around him now, shouting nonsense. Finn raised the gun and reached into his pocket for the lighter. He struck it and the voices stopped. Finn looked wildly all around, ignoring the burning pain in his thumb.

A small rustling came from behind him, and he jerked around to see a small, glowing aura approaching from the shadows. He watched, gun raised, as it drew closer. It was a fox, its fur shimmering with an ethereal light. The fox looked at Finn with intelligent eyes and then turned, as if beckoning him to follow.

With nothing to lose, Finn decided to trust the mysterious fox. He followed the glowing creature through the forest. The fox moved swiftly and gracefully, a soft light leading Finn along hidden paths and through dense underbrush. The seasons changed from summer to winter to fall. He followed the fox for so long through snow and heat, leaves and rain. It seemed to Finn that days had passed, but it was still night. He grew tired, falling a little behind the fox’s light. Finn fixed his eyes on the fox, unblinking as he followed it through the seasons. Finally, the first light of dawn began to break.

The fox stopped and looked back at Finn. Finn stared back, afraid of what might happen if he moved. The light around the fox started to fade as it stared at Finn. It turned to walk away, only a dim light now as the fox disappeared into the trees.

“No, wait!” Finn shouted, the next steps he took seemed weighted and slow, like he was walking through deep water. He used all his strength to push forward through the darkness, just when Finn felt he was going to give out his feet hit the ground hard. He was running fast, his boots hitting the hard cold ground with loud thuds. Finn stopped and looked around, his hot breath a white mist around him. He saw a large tree that had fallen, its root system exposed. He looked behind him. A trail with roots winding in and out of the ground. Shivering Finn stepped onto the trail, feeling a sense of relief and awe. He stood facing the direction of the parking lot.

He heard a ticking and looked at his wrist.

It was 1:50 PM.